Paperwork Memories

 So D has asked for some family documents, like passports and birth and death certificates, and  I set about doing a small historical dig through some file cabinets. In doing so, I realized it was finally time to consign some once important documents to the recycle bin of history.

There were thick files about my late Mom, Sunny. There were guardianship and trust documents, executed in May of 2012, when she entered the nursing home for the final 11 months she had left on this mortal coil. There was a quitclaim deed to my sisters and me for her condo -- it was comical what an awful investment that place turned out to be.

My parents bought the unit in the Spring of 1979 for $39K. When we sold it, in Spring of 2013, after Mom passed, I think the selling price was $48K. Had Mom and Dad bought a $40K house, it would have sold for close to $500K -- much more today. But Mom was SO happy in her condo surrounded by parking lots -- she lived there with Dad for 3 years, and as a widow for an additional 3 decades.

I decided it was ok to toss these old papers -- Mom's gone over a decade now, and I don't think anyone is going to question her final financial affairs.

I also came across files for other properties we owned. One was another bad investment -- a condo in Palmetto Bay. I made the mistake of listening to the advice of my friend Vince, who was worried that our kids would be priced out of the real estate market when they became adults. He was correct about that, somewhat, but he brought me to a condo conversion back in 2004. I checked out one of the units, and thought it might be worth $100K. Nope -- this was during the last bubble, and I ended up buying it for $235K. 

We rented it, first to a Burmese doctor and his family, and then for years to Lenny, a friend of a friend in the flower industry. After the first year of his lease, I made a deal with Lenny: I wouldn't raise his $1500 monthly rent, and he would take care of all small repairs. Also, we would each give each other one month's notice before he either moved out or I needed him to move out.

He was there so long, the market rate for rents had doubled. After my father in law died, we decided to move my suegra Rachel into the unit, with an aide. I called Lenny, and gave him two months notice. "No! You can't! This is my home! I can't afford any other rents!"

Sorry, Lenny -- I need the condo back for family. He mopishly agreed to move out, and then Wifey and I saw he really didn't keep up his end of the bargain. Toilet tank COVERS were missing! He was living like a fraternity boy. Whatever. Wifey hired Nestor, our loquacious Argentine handyman, and they got the unit into nice shape. My suegra lived there for a year, and then announced she was lonely. "Each day I look at the four valls."

We sold the place to the fellow who lived upstairs -- a retired teacher. He loved living there, but bad knees made the stairs a problem. We sold for, I think, $150K. I just got a notice that he's finally selling -- 6 years later. He's asking $295K. It appears that the unit is FINALLY worth more than I paid, or overpaid, in 2005.

But investments aside, the papers bring me back -- to events that were recorded. I kept all our family's passports -- they return them with holes punched in them when you renew. It was lovely to see the Ds as babies, and then little girls, and then young beautiful women.

D1 and hopefully D2 will get that thrill someday.

Speaking of grandkids, the adorable toddler said something yesterday that made me a bit teary eyed. He was playing on his slide, and was going to push his rubber llama down. He looked at me, and said "Grandpa Dev -- watch this!"

I'm not sure why that moved me so -- I guess because he was acknowledging me as his abuelo -- truly becoming a little boy from toddlerhood. 

His baby brother turns one in just over a month. THAT I can remember even without looking at the legal paperwork.

Learning To Be A Better Friend

 I joke with a close friend that he is Mr. Impressionable. He'll see a movie, or read a book, and proclaim that is was "life changing." That's rare for me, though I am very gratified when I do learn a truly resonating lesson.

When I thnk about my identity, about who I really AM, I unhesitatingly proclaim that number one, I am a father. It is a role I sought, and give all of my heart and head to, and though am self deprecating about much else, am NEVER selling myself short as a Dad. I know my Ds and their men will agree.

Next, I pride myself on who I am as a friend. If you are in my inner circle, well, you know I will go to the mat for you. Years ago, Rabbi Yossi taught me a lesson about friendship, and I think about it constantly.

He asked me to define friendship, and I answered it means being there for your friend in a time of need. No -- he corrected -- that is ANY decent person. According to the Rabbi, and his knowledge of the wisdom of we Chosen -- a true friend is one who wants you to soar -- in the way we want our kids to soar.

Many people have friends, and when they hear about them winning some life lottery, have private misgivings. "Why did THAT lazy bastard get so rich? How did that meishkeit score such a successful man?" It's human nature to envy. 

But a true friend truly wants you to do better. And in a Top 10 compliment, Rabbi Yossi told me he sees that in me -- I KVELL about the accomplishments of my true friends. When one of them soars, I soar with them. I'm just waiting for one of them to become truly wealthy -- and thereafter pick up every tab we encounter! Also, private jet travel would be nice...

Anyway, I reflected on this last night, as Joelle and Kenny came by for pizza, drinks, and watching Kubrick's first movie, "The Killing."

A little teary, I told Joelle she had made me a better friend. Poor thing had already heard the tale several times, but last night I shared it again.

When Wifey was in the hospital and then rehab following her stroke 2.5 years ago, all of my crew were there for me. I assembled Team Wifey, consisting of Drs. Eric, Barry, and Kenny. Any decisions I ran past them, and Wifey knew she got the best advice available.

I was invited out a lot, of course, but Joelle did something unique: she FORCED me to get together with her and her family. She would call, and I would beg off, and she would say "Yeah -- be at our house at 6. No excuses."

And those evenings with her and Kenny and their amazing sons meant everything to me. I needed company more than I had realized.

Joelle also showed her colors when D2 got married. D2, surrounded by her amazing friends, sought quiet on her actual wedding day -- wanted to get her mani/pedi done alone.

That same day, another guest, from out of town, called her. The hotel wasn't honoring the room discount, and what would D2 do about it???? D2 was too polite to summon her Logan Roy, and say Fuck Off, but instead told the guest to please contact her wedding planner -- she really couldn't help her on what was supposed to be a hassle free day of a young woman's life.

Coincidentally, Joelle was at the same salon, getting her stuff done for the night. She hugged D2, and said "I have a sense you want to be alone, or else your bridal party would all be here." And she walked away.

When D2 went to pay the large tab, they said the other lady had taken care of it. Now THAT is a friend.

Hopefully, we continue to learn each day of our lives. And when it comes to learning human nature, love, and friendship, I love to be a perpetual student -- especially when the lessons run so deep.

A Fun Impromptu Saturday Afternoon

 So D1 and Joey and the boys were busy all weekend, and so it appeared we'd wait until Tuesday to see them. But D1 texted -- they were bringing the boys to MIA to watch planes takeoff and land. Would we like to meet? We would -- and Wifey and I drove the 20 minutes to a spot off Perimeter Road.

The toddler was fast asleep. The adorable baby was up, taking it all in. We caught up with the latest news as the big jets came and left. Finally, they awoke the toddler, and we distracted his post nap crankiness by showing him where he was.

He had a blast -- watching the planes and tossing the rocks from the adjoining old railroad tracks. Even though it's a seldom used spur, my head was on a swivel looking for the slow moving freight trains. I can't remove the plaintiff's lawyer in me.

After an hour or so, D1 suggested maybe we get dinner together. What was close? Wifey remembered Stephen's -- the throwback deli in Hialeah. I thought they were closed for dinner, but was wrong, and so we met there -- the oldest deli in Miami Dade. The restauranteur Matt Kuscher took it over a few years back and restored it to its former glory -- a time when Hialeah had lots of Jewish schmata industry owners and worker, and several great delis.

We were the only ones there at first, and D1 and Joey got a kick out of all the Kuscher kitsch -- Bar Mitzvah photos and all. The toddler seemed to enjoy his grilled cheese and chips, and the little guy devoured some vegan meatloaf.

D1 was knackered, but came around with her adorable boys. Joey and I got a beer and a Sky vodka and toasted.

We each left for our homes, and Wifey reminded me of the joy of grandparenthood: we enjoy the little ones, and then retreat to the quiet of our own house. Yep -- nice gig we have going.

We tuned into the Heat, and I knew they would lose by the second quarter. They mounted a furious comeback, though, and had it won with 3 seconds left, until Boston got an impossible second shot to go it. Game 7 is tomorrow night, and I fear our boys will become historical -- in a bad way -- the first NBA team EVER to be up 3-0 that goes on to lose a Finals series. We'll see.

Meanwhile, on the impromptu scale -- we're having Joelle and Kenny over for some Memorial Day pizza this evening. Their boys are in Spain. Our D2 and Jonathan are in the Bahamas. But things in the 305 are ok -- the oppressive humidity and heat haven't hit yet.

So sometimes the unplanned is best -- that was surely the case yesterday.

Memorial Day Weekend

 It astonishes me how few Americans know the difference between Veterans' Day and Memorial Day --Veteran's Day honors living vets and MD honors those who have died in service of their country. 

We're in Memorial Day weekend now, and it's a good one to avoid the traffic of Miami Beach. Over the years, MD has evolved into Urban Beach Weekend, with thousands of hip hop fans from around the world packing it in. Sadly, it resulted in violence, to the point that many residents high tail it out of town for the weekend -- D2 and Jonathan among them.

The City can't really cancel UBW, and so they try to sort of dilute it. They host the Air and Sea Show, in hopes of bringing in a different demographic -- and sending some of the raucous gatherings over to the mainland. The result is epic traffic -- the cops use license plate scanners to look for criminals who might be entering the Beach -- and it's a good area to avoid.

D2 and Jonathan are in the Bahamas -- celebrating their friend Michael's 32nd. 7 Millennials are there -- Jonathan sent pictures, and the house, in Harbor Island, looks gorgeous.

I began the weekend with an Uber to the Grove last night. Wifey begged off, but I met her friend Diane at the Commodore -- she wanted to pick my brain about what I knew about the law biz job market. I shared what I knew, and Joelle and Kenny joined us. They're off to Spain today, to meet their boys on a cruise out of Barcelona.

After my final martini, I got into another Uber, and spoke Spanish to the driver, who was a proud Nicaraguan. He thought, falsely, I was better at Spanish than I was, and talked the whole way home about politics in Managua. I faked my way through it, and realized that living in Miami, you truly do get to experience the world without leaving the 305.

Today we may meet the grandsons and their parents over at MIA -- the older one LOVES to watch the planes take off and land. His Dad and both grandpas do, too.

My thoughts this holiday season always return to a tale my Dad told about Fate, as he called her, or The Big Man, as I call Him. The tale showed how close a family's history comes to being completely altered.

Mom had gone back to The Bronx to have my sister, due in January of 1945. Dad had been shipped to a base in Texas for battle training before being sent into combat in Europe. One evening, before Dad was shipping out, he was at the post exchange, in a T shirt, and happened to meet a fellow NY Jew also there, also in a T shirt. The two Landsmen hit it off, and though the fact that the other fellow was a bit older and a college grad should have set off a signal to my father, it didn't.

The older fellow asked Dad why he was so down in the dumps. Dad replied that his wife was about to have her first baby, and he might never get to meet him or her (in those days the surprise came at birth). The other fellow said yeah -- that was why the War was so awful, and then the two men put on their shirts.

To my Dad's shock, the other fellow was an officer! My Dad started stumbling with "Sir" and honorifics, and the other fellow shut him down -- they were Hy and whatever the other man's first name was from NYC. My Dad went back to his barracks, to get up early for the airplane trip to Europe.

He lined up, and as he got to the plane, the soldier said "No -- order change came in, per whatever his new friend's name was. You're going back to Pasadena." Dad was relieved and shocked, but not as shocked as he would be several months later.

Back in Pasadena, a Texas comrade ran into him, and said "You're dead!" My Dad said obviously he wasn't -- he was standing right there. The fellow said that Dad's platoon had suffered over 90% casualties -- how was Dad fine? The reason was because of a friendship at the PX.

So thanks to whoever that officer was. He's long gone by now. He was older than Dad, and Dad would be 104 now.

But that one small bureacratic favor led to my entire family -- two sisters, me, 6 grandkids, and now 6 greatgrandkids.

Unfortunately, the family is not close, but everyone is living their lives -- and they have those lives because of an act in Texas in 1944.

So for me, that is Memorial Day.

When You Know It's Time

 So my brother in law Dennis just returned from Amsterdam and Paris -- a trip where he took his granddaughter. He's 80. I asked him about it, and he had a great time, but complained about the difficulty of navigating the many steps at the Paris Metro, and distances walking at Versailles. My sister, his wife, stayed home -- knowing the trip would have been far too daunting for her. She uses a walker and Euro things like cobblestones and long distances without vehicles would have done her in.

And it got me remembering -- back when we celebrated my Mom's birthdays, in her eighties. They were some fine times.

In April of 2000, I took Wifey, the Ds, and my Florida sister to SF. We met my California sister and two nephews there, and had a great time. As we boarded the plane at MIA, I told the flight attendant the purpose of the trip, and the Captain announced a happy birthday to a special passenger, Sunny. They brought us a bottle of champagne, which we drank later in the hotel.

Back then, still in the chips, I paid for everyone and everything. The hotel was up a hill with a view of Alcatraz. Sunny was still mostly mobile, though the hills of that once beautiful city required some comical pushing at the tuches by her grandkids. We found a restaurant called Pat's Cafe, which was my eldest nephew's name, and had all of our breakfasts there.

We drove to wine country and toured a winery. We visited Alcatraz. The minivan I rented sat 7, and PJ good naturedly rode in the back -- we would laugh when we freed him each time we reached a destination.

Sunny loved it. One of my all time favorite all time photos of her was posed with two punk rocker guys with mohawks and lots of steel jewelry. One stuck his tongue in her ear. At Fisherman's Wharf, there was a street performer called Bush Man. He would hide behind a plant, and scare passersby. A crowd gathered to laugh. We laughed -- a lot.

After our SF stay, my California sister took Sunny to LA -- and they took a cruise from there. As I said -- I was in the chips -- and Sunny was to be treated like a queen. After that, they went back to Sue's house in Visalia and spent some more time. Sunny had lots of energy for an 80 year old.

At 85 for Sunny, I was still in the chips, and this time took everyone, except my Florida sister who was left off the free flight plan this time, to LA. Wifey found a hotel in Hollywood next to the legendary Magic Castle, where magician from around the world gathered. By then, my nephew Henry and his then girlfriend lived in SF, where they attended college. We mustered, and it was another lovely celebration.

This time -- it was more poignant. We went to Pasadena, where Mom had married Dad during WW II, and visited the Huntington Ritz Carlton, where the wedding took place, and had breakfast. We had Sunny direct us to places from her early wedded days, and ended up on Colorado Boulevard, of Little Old Lady Beach Boys fame. 

She recalled having coffee each morning at a place called Owl Drugs, before taking a streetcar up the hills to CalTech, where she was a secretary to the Dean. Hmm...where was it. We were standing at a Gap store, and PJ looked down. The mosiac tiles said "Owl Drug Building!" It was a moment of shivers across the decades.

We took her to the Ghetty, and Skirball Jewish Museum. My law school friend Chery and her husband Neal had the Ds and me to House of Blues, where a young man hung with us. He was the bassist from Yellow Card, a group the Ds knew well. Everyone had a great time.

Cheyl hosted us for dinner, and Sunny had a fall. Luckily nothing broken -- but it was a sign.

Her 85th birthday would be her last airplane trip. She knew it, and we did, too. She had reached the end of that line.

There were another 4 years of independence -- until at 89 she reversed her car instead of putting it into Drive, and wrecked two other vehicles in a parking lot. That was it for her license.

That seemed to signal the beginning of the long decline. Probably by 91 she needed to go into an ALF --but she resisted mightily. We compromised -- she had to leave her door unlocked, so visiting paramedics could easily enter to right her when she fell and couldn't get up, like the comical warning buzzer commercials.

I took her to Miami Jewish for an evaluation, and she was a candidate for full nursing care -- she had declined past ALF status. But she wailed -- no -- she would be just fine with her thrice weekly aide!

She wasn't incompetent, and so I followed her wishes, until finally, after a nasty fall in May of 2012, after she turned 92, she was taken to Delray Hospital. Dr. Eric, her doctor and additional son, told me something that changed everything -- her albumin levels were those of a starving person -- she wasn't eating, as she promised she was.

Well -- that was the "no more monkeys jumping on the bed" moment, and after fetching D2 at Gainesville for the Summer, stopped off and fetched Sunny -- to Miami Jewish Home for her final 11 months.

But the point was, we knew when the travel part of her life had concluded. And it was fine -- she had seen the world! She visited everyplace she ever dreamed about -- including two trips to her beloved China, a place she dreamed about since she read Pearl S Buck's "The Good Earth" as a teenager.

I feel like the lyrics of the Johnny Cash song: I've been everywhere, man. I've been everywhere.

Of course, I haven't really, and I thank Wifey for being the engine of having me overcome the laziness that would keep me in the 305. We have a big trip all planned for December -- Buenos Aires, Mendoza, and a luxury resort in Chile. Buenos Aires has always been on my list. I need to learn to tango. Ha. I DO need some of their fine steaks and maybe even some wine. I assume they have Argentinian vodka.

I guess the point is to do it now -- until I know it's time.

A Sad Anniversary

 It was May 25, 2021 -- two years ago tomorrow. Wifey had thankfully survived her stroke, and completed four days in the hospital at Baptist and three weeks inpatient therapy at Jackson. She was making nice strides -- some at home PT followed, and then some more outpatient held at the new hotel next to Baptist.

Covid was still around, but we were fully vaxxed, and less worried than we were months before. We had settled into a routine -- Wifey was still unable to drive -- I would take her to the PT at Baptist, and walk around the lake in front, along Kendall Drive. After PT we would drive to the Palace, and visit with her mother -- still in the ALF part of the Palace, but fading. After the visit, we'd stop somewhere for dinner.

As we were driving to the Palace, Wifey saw a call from Ruby, our dear friend Elizabeth's sister. Elizabeth was off on a hiking tour in Utah, and I assumed Ruby was calling to maybe set up a get together after her sister returned to Florida. We had talked about that for some time. Instead, Wifey shrieked "What??? She died????"

It felt like the temperature in the SUV had dropped 50 degrees. I pulled off the street into a parking lot -- in shock. Wifey put Ruby on the speaker -- Wifey was unable to speak. Ruby, calm in a crisis like I am, shared what she knew: Elizabeth was having the time of her life hiking those glorious trails. Indeed, she had posted on FaceBook (tm) and we were all enjoying the shots. She was due to meet her group for breakfast and never showed. The staff opened her room's door, and our dear Elizabeth was in bed, gone during the night.

I don't remember what we said to Ruby, other than we loved her and were shocked and devastated. Elizabeth was an inner circle friend -- we adored her, and had shared so much of life together. And now she was gone.

I recall we turned around and headed for home -- Wifey peppering me with questions, as she does when she is anxious, and of course I had no answers -- just speculation.

Later, an autopsy showed she had a completely occuded major heart vessel. She had been to a cardiologist for a possible rhythm disorder, which checked out. But I guess the Orlando specialist never looked further -- later, Dr. Eric said a calcium score test may well have turned up the coming problem.

Last year, Wifey and I had dinner with Ruby and Harris, Ruby's long time boyfriend. We met in the Grove, and celebrated our dear friend and sister. After, we placed our SUVs next to each other and transferred the items Elizabeth had left for Wifey -- some paintings and art pieces. She was very detail oriented about her possessions. 

I tend to want to get rid of stuff and would normally politely decline any gifts of that sort -- but there was no question we would accept Elizabeth's bequests -- Wifey just had a handyman hang a painting last month. Also, there's a part of our yard in the front, where Elizabeth did some gardening. We honor her with a placque that says "Elizabeth's Garden."

Wifey and I discussed it earlier today. Her death still seems unreal to us. She was the closest friend we lost, and, ironically, the most healthy. She ate clean and worked out like a fiend. She worked full time -- at 63. But when the Big Man calls, as we know, there isn't negotiation.

Tonight we have dinner with Joelle and Kenny, in the Grove. They met Elizabeth over the years. I plan to toast her. The Grove was her old stamping grounds. In fact, she had an apartment there in the late 70s, when she and Wifey were classmates at FIU.

The two young coeds were at the pool, and a long haired guy was blasting loud rock music on a boom box. Elizabeth got up and asked him to turn it down -- she and Wifey found it annoying. The fellow laughed -- he was playing his own music, and one record had just gone gold: it was Pat Travers.

He became Elizabeth's first and only husband, and when I met her, in 1983, I met Pat, too. He and I hit it off, and I loved when he regaled me with his tales of the music business. They stayed over at our first house, for New Years of, I think, 87, and Pat played for our guests. He also played with the Borscht Belt type wedding band we had at our wedding in January of '87, along with Wifey's friend Eileen, who was quite drunk and sang "Gimme Some Lovin'" while Pat and the band played "Good Lovin.'" Pat -- the professional, got it sorted out and we all danced and laughed.

After they divorced, we stayed with Team Elizabeth, of course. Ruby called Pat to tell him of Elizabeth's death -- he was shocked, too, of course.

After Pat, there were other loves, including a long term one with Mauro, an OB/Gyn she met when she was a Pharma salesperson for Ortho. There was another guy I liked a lot, Doug, whose cousin is married to Marc Shaman, the Broadway composer. We got to meet him at the preview of "Hairspray."

There are a LOT of memories.

So on this yahrzeit, we remember our dear, lost friend. To our family, her memory is a blessing. 

A sad anniversary, indeed.

Summer -- Heart Time

 My Dad died, in my arms, of a heart attack, on July 14, 1982. By May of 1983, as a college senior, I had chest pains. I hadn't been to a doc other than the campus clinic for a few college related things during my entire college career, and so I called my friend and mentor Dr. Bob, a neurologist. He referred me to his primary physician, a nice young frum guy in the Grove, who gave me my first ECG. It was normal, though I have a variant called bundle branch block. The doc, who's name escapes me but died young, explained it wasn't a life threatening thing, but did make ruling out heart issues with a mere ECG difficult.

He diagnosed the problem with my 21 year old self --PTSD from my Dad's death, manifesting in chest pains. I realized one didn't need a PhD in Psychology to figure this out.

Thankfully, due to hopefully my mother's cardiac genetics and taking statins -- no problems. But the psychomatic symptoms return most years -- always in late Spring and early Summer.

In July of '17, two months before D1 and Joey's wedding and days before my 56th birthday, I felt chest pressure -- not pain. I called Dr. Eric and told him. Turns out pressure is more concerning to a cardiologist than pain -- and he ordered me to go immediately, without stopping or passing Go, to his buddy Harry Aldrich, in South Miami. I did, but Harry was on vacation. Miami being the schtetl it is, Harry is also close friends with Kenny -- their boys went to school together. The office got me in to see Harry's older partner, Yale Samole.

Dr. S ordered an ECG, immediately saw the bundle branch block, and gave me unnerving news: I had unstable angina, a non diagnostic ECG -- get thee to the hospital until a stress test could be performed. I begged off -- amazingly I never spent a single night in a hospital and wished to keep up my streak -- and so Dr. S made me promise to return the next day for the stress test. I went home and the next am got my haircut -- also a creepy coincidence, as my Dad died in the barber chair in Delray. The literary symbols were piling up on me.

And then, Dr. S's office called -- Av-Med wouldn't approve the test without my being in the hospital. What? How about I pay myself. The secretary said "Well it costs $3000." I told her I would be in, AMEX card in hand. There are plenty of fairly well off people who won't get the best medicine if "it isn't covered by my insurance." I am not one of those fairly well off people.

Wifey came with me, and into the room. I walked to tiredness as Dr. S watched the machine, and made verbal comments to himself. "Hmmm. Well. A ha." I then got the X ray with the stuff in my veins.

I had two thoughts. If the test was bad, they wouldn't have sent me out. But all those comments? I told Wifey I was done for. The receptionist said I would hear from the doc in a few days. Wifey begged her to have Doc make an exception -- we were due to meet D1 and Joey for dinner for my birthday -- and I would worry for days. She was right. No promises, the receptionist said.

We got into the car to drive to Brickell. Just past 27th Avenue, Dr. S called -- "David -- completely clear vessels. I guarantee no ischemic events for one year. Glad to share the good news!" I got a bit emotional, of course -- the Big Man decided I would get more time.

And WHAT time it has been! Both Ds married to great men. Two beautiful grandsons. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan buying a house near D1 and Joey, and adding to the grandchild roster. Trips that Wifey requests, and I reluctantly accept, and then end up having the best time! Wifey having a health crisis and recovering. D1 having an IVF related health crisis, and recovering! Big runs, all around.

Of course, I haven't followed up with the cardiologist since then, though get executive physicals each year, and several blood draws, all of which reveal the same diagnosis: "Pretty healthy for a fat pig." As my trainer Juan noted -- my balance and strength have improved with years of training, but I "eat like a king!"

Well -- this year I decided to avoid the birthday rush. I just called and made an appointment for a heart check -- with Dr. Aldrich. They gave me July 19 -- the day after my birthday. When the annual symptoms appear -- I'll already have the appointment! Eric suggests I get a calcium score, which I plan to before I see Dr. A.

Our dear friend Elizabeth followed with a cardiologist for a possible rhythm problem -- but they never checked her for ischemia -- and she died in her sleep after a hike in Utah. Hopefully I prevent that for myself.

If not -- no regrets. I never really had a bucket list, but it I did, the bucket would be not only empty, but missing its bottom.

Now will I get to see one or more Canes championships while I'm still on the planet? Hmm...

You Don't Mess Around With Jim(my)

 So the only teams I truly care absurdly about are my Hurricanes. Oh, my favorite pro teams are the Marlins, Dolphins, Panthers, and Heat, but, truth be told, I only follow them closely when they're winning, and this year both the Cats and Heat are in their respective Eastern Conference Finals.

Wifey is, surprisingly, a pretty big Heat fan. Jonathan is, too -- they were his guys since he was a boy, and I feel best for him when they succeed. This season they are succeeding, in a huge way -- up 2-0 games in the Finals over the heavily favored Boston Celtics.

Yesterday was a great Friday. The Ds and Wifey returned from their staycation glowing -- they had an awesome bonding time, free from the Y chromosomes that impact their lives. The Ds find Wifey hilarious -- and she is more and more, well, quirky. As I reminded Wifey, we are, after all, a tribe of wise ass Ashkenazim, and cracking wise and making fun is our birthright. She agreed, that it is the Ds' "language of love."

D1 sprinted off, to fetch the adorable toddler, and D2 stayed awhile, talking about a hopefully impending house purchase. It will become final or not this coming week, and I hope the deal goes through -- I get a terrific feel for the place, and it's all of five minutes from D1 and Joey's house. Wifey is already murmuring about us selling in Pinecrest and moving North of Flagler Street. Nah. I love where I live and don't mind the drive -- all of 35 minutes without traffic.

Then D2 left and we had a quick international Shabbos Zoom --Eric and Dana signed in from Portugal! They're leaving this am for Barcelona, and I thought they might be there the same time as Joelle and Kenny -- but they're missing each other by a few days.

After that, Barry FaceTimed (tm) and we caught up with him. Josh was breezing by -- big brother and girlfriend were on a late flight to MIA to celebrate Barry's Mom's 80th. She was indeed very young when she birthed my brother -- I think the family is taking her to an Italian place in Boca where Eric and Dana's first consuegros hosted a rehearsal dinner several years back -- before the Plague.

And then Wifey and I watched the Heat. I was of little faith -- convinced the more talented Celtics would win the home game. And then this year's star, Jimmy Butler, ramped up his game, as he is wont to do, especially after a Celtics player jawed with him. I of course thought about the great Jim Croce song -- I was surprised no journalists made the reference, but I guess most of them are millennials -- too young.

And the announcers seem content with the tired "The Butler did it." Whatever. When your team is winning -- everything is witty and fun.

Today Wifey and I are living out the song from some years back about "not doing anything -- nothing at all." We just ordered Publix delivery and marveled at this brave new world. A few keystrokes, willingness to pay a few dollars more, and a shopper brings you all you need to your doorstep. As my eldest grandson said, "Gwaw!"

Tonight, we may just tune into the Panthers, though Wifey doesn't much get hockey. She likes warmer temps -- even watching the Winter game makes her feel cold.

Tomorrow, we may make the rare trek north of the Miami-Dade-Broward line. Barry's colleague Patti is hosting a 70th birthday party for Delores, her wife. They're both awesome. And afterwards, if logistics allow, we'll have a farewell meal with Scott and Sam before they return to D.C. and the work of journalism.

And then, hopefully, home to watch Game 3 -- to see if the Celtics again try to mess around with Jim(my).

Dog Sitting

 The final evening of bachelerhood was a fine one. Kenny suggested Titanic, and then Canes baseball, but a family health issue called him away, so just baseball. He had free tix on account of being a Navy veteran, but I knew Mike had great, chairbacked seats, and so called him. Mike sent us a few of his tickets, and said he'd probably drop by the game after a dinner Downtown.

I arrived in the late afternoon heat, but the stadium was lovely, as always. Kenny arrived as the sun was setting, and the temperature became fine. We ordered a couple of beers from the longtime vendor, who promised "coldest beer in the world," and watched 7 innings. The Canes took a 3-2 lead over Duke, and then we both realized that dinner at Titanic sounded better than watching the end of the game. It proved a good choice -- Duke ended up winning, anyway.

Mike called. Were we still there? We were not, but headed across the street to Titanic. Mike joined us just as we were seated, under TVs showing the Panthers game. We got chili and wings, just like in college, and chatted about life. At one point, I realized we were talking about aging men's health issues, and had us change the subject. Luckily, the issues are prostates and eyes -- both more annoying than life threatening. 

I called my California sister on the way home -- knowing it was only 7 her time. She told me something that caused a true laugh out loud -- to be filed under the "you never stop learing about human nature" Department.

We have a cousin in Queens -- a very reserved and quiet guy. He lived with my aunt, his mother, until she died at 99, leaving him his co-op. He retired, and is now 70. We were never close, but when I was last in NYC, in December of '19, I took him for lunch on my way to LGA. At lunch, I asked him if he would like me to keep in contact with him, and he said he would.

So since then, every month or so, I text -- just to let him have a connection with his family. My sister speaks to him, which I did for awhile, until there were long talks about issues he was having with his co-op, and I tried to advise him best I could, but with the disclaimer that I ain't no NY property law maven.

Anyway, Sue told me during their last conversation, he complained that I only text him, and "don't really care about him." Oh well -- so much for my efforts about keeping in contact.

I told Sue I planned to keep on -- though I'm not sure why. It's funny -- his name came up with my dinner with Mirta Wednesday night. She always teases me about my harebrained idea that maybe she and the cousin would get married -- and we spent the most awkward afternoon some years back exploring that -- except he had zero interest, or ability to communicate with a woman. Mirta was a good sport.

D2 texted -- checkout is noon, and my Ds and Wifey will head back then. D1 will then reunite with her boys and Joey, and D2 can take the enormous puppy back to her Dad, Jonathan.

Bacherlerhood is nice, temporarily. And judging by the pictures, it was a great mother/daughter bonding trip. Wifey is very lucky -- plenty of grown daughters would rather get root canals than spend nights in a hotel with their mothers. I'm sure there'll be tales told of the past three days.

From Toddler to Little Boy

 So we've started a nice routine in our family -- Tuesday's for D1's oldest. D2, Wifey, and I, in some combination or all together, pick up the 3.5 year old from his pre school and take him out for a few hours, allowing D1 to get in any needed work calls without the noise and tumult of this thankfully high energy child. Yesterday it was just Wifey and me.

Of course, we can't be objective, but we find him almost illegally cute. He is truly passing through the stage from toddlerhood to little boy, and he is a very talkative one -- completely bilingual. He switches between Spanish and English seamlessly -- since he's learning both tongues at the same time.

He also sounds to me exactly like the comedian Adam Sandler when he plays a little boy -- that adorable voice with the charming mispronounciations. Wifey and I can see how hard it is to discipline him -- all he needs to do is put on the cute, and you're disarmed.

The drive from school is a barrage of questions. He points out to us the little bridge over the Bay and the big bridge, and why sometimes the traffic stops so the boats can go. I stopped in D1's SUV to fill her tank, and he said "Mommy will be SO HAPPY."

Typically our first stop is an ice cream shop in nearby Miami Shores, where he always gets "eye cream." His favorite flavor is "pink." Sometimes pink is mango, or watermelon, or strawberry. Yesterday the pink flavor had sprinkles! That made for even more joy.

As I was walking back in the shop to get napkins, a young Dad was there with his boy, and said to me "Your son really enjoys his ice cream!" My son? Ha -- I guess he mistook all the gray hair for blonde in the bright sunlight. I told him he made my day, but then I realized we were in Miami -- and lots of guys my age have kids that age -- with wives #2, or 3, or 4...

Not this guy. My two grown daughters are plenty -- and the grandparent gig is plenty, too -- Wifey and I always come home from our time with the kids and collapse.

After "eye cream" it was back home -- and the actual baby was up from his nap. He's a delight. He turns one in July, and is amazingly good natured and easy. He just crawls around happy. His big brother keeps him out of the play area where he builds stuff -- lest the little guy wreck it, in lieu of his own wrecking his creations. Boys. This is new territory for Wifey and me.

My consuegro Ricardo was over, and we caught up. I thanked him again for all his great work procuring my new manly SUV. He asked if it had any problems. I told him only that I was annoyed at myself for being such a cheap bastard and driving a too small car for the past 6 years. We laughed -- the problem was solved.

Joey came home. D1 poured a glass of wine and I poured a Ketel. Joey invited us to stay, but I remain true to my "try to be the best suegro in the world" approach -- I made Wifey get up and we left to give the young family their time.

My late father in law Richard was different. When I would get home from work, he would bark that I should "Put on da short pants!" and relax with he and my mother in law there. I was too nice to tell them that more than anything I wanted them to fade out after a day at the office. But, I pledged then to be different -- so after a brief greet with Joey, we was out.

We stopped a few blocks away at Pinch, a place we enjoy. I toasted our sons in law -- in an already contest winning life, we hit the big jackpot. Both are awesome and love our Ds, and now our grandsons.

We know several people who would rather attend their sons in laws' funerals than weddings. And that is a rough hand to play in life.

Meanwhile, D1 adores her boys, but recognizes some time away from them is therapeutic. So she planned a Mother/Daughter staycation for her, her sister, and Wifey. They leave today for nearby Key Biscayne -- 2 nights and 3 days of no dealing with Y chromosomes. 

D2 is leaving her enormous puppy with me -- so I get to dog sit. And that's fine. I love the role of the noble mule.

I plan to have dinner tonight with my sister of another mister, Mirta. We'll catch up with our lives -- she is HER family's mule -- caring for grown sons and grandkids and a very nice boyfriend, Jay.

Tomorrow, Joelle was invited to join my womenfolk for dinner on the Key. If she goes, Kenny and I may bach it together. I suggested salads and quiche. Joelle said we should have Chablis as well. Yes -- that would be our dinner of choice -- if we were a couple and lived in Provincetown.

This am I ran into my cheerful Venezuelan neighbor Berta. She's expecting her second grandchild in July. She is also retiring -- from a high paid finance job -- to spend more time with the grandkids. She's lucky -- her husband owns a very successful family business, so money isn't a real problem. But still -- always nice to have the extra shekels, I said.

"David -- I just turned 60 and had a serious heart scare. Time is the only precious thing -- never money."

We hugged as we agreed. And yesterday, for Wifey and me, our time was extremely well spent.

Everything's Quiet On Mother's Day

 So Wifey went out to get her hair did, and I set about an annoying but required task -- replacing the smoke detector batteries. We have 10 of them, PLUS the two that the alarm company provides. Richard and Jennifer did some overkill when they built the house -- both trained architects. Poor Richard might have put more thought into choosing his life partner -- things there ended very bad.

But today is one for optimism and happiness -- so no going dark. Wifey had also asked me if I knew what would make her happy? The answer was to clean out the A/C intake vent in our bedroom -- lots of caked on dust. So a few easy swipes from the vacuum did the job -- and now Wifey is happy. I wish I knew it would take so little -- we'd have spic and spam AC vents all the time!

She returned, and I ordered some Daily Bread, which Joelle and Kenny fetched on their way over. I poured us some martinis and red wine, and we ate in the dining room -- talking of days past, present, and yet to come. Joelle's Mom is still with us, and they're headed up to Broward today to celebrate MD with her. Kenny is one of my very rare friends with both living parents. That's to be expected, of course as we slouch farther into our 60s.

They left around 9, and then Wifey grabbed me as I walked by. Not physically, but by having something on TV she knows will pull me in. Typically it's a gangster movie, or a documentary about one of my interests, but PBS was showing "Fiddler on the Roof," and so I plopped down to watch -- probably for the 20th time.

I recall seeing it when it came out in 1971. My sister Sue was back from Cali for the first time, and she and my Dad and I went -- can't recall what Mom was doing. Also, in a synchronicty moment, Dr. Barry had earlier sent an email about Norman Jewison, who is still alive. The Director, despite his name and directing one of the most famous Jewish films of all time, is NOT Jewish -- but he really got the tale of our people -- with some of the greatest Broadway songs ever.

Wifey kept peeking to see if I got teary eyed during "Sunrise, Sunset" or "Far From the Home I Love." I did NOT. So there!

We have a chill MD planned today. Wifey mentioned wanting to go to Pinecrest Gardens -- the former Parrot Jungle and a beautiful Village park. I reminded her MD is the single most packed day there -- how about we take the grandsons any other day? She agreed.

So the plan is to bring in lunch, and pour some adult beverages, and share some appreciative words about D1 and Wifey as mothers without equal. Also D2 as a dog Mom -- with ZERO pressure on her and Jonathan to join the human parent cohort. Zero. As in not really zero.

The three year old is evolving into a very smart, and very talkative little boy -- hilarious, too. His baby brother is a delight -- one of the easiest babies ever -- happy all the time, BH as my Rabbi always adds.

At some point we'll probably pack the boys into a covered wagon D1 bought and had shipped here. Mercifully the mosquitoes aren't bad -- the County must have sprayed -- and we will go in search of iguanas and pavo royales -- our local peafowl. Last night as Kenny and Joelle were leaving, they heard a loud comical sound coming from our pond -- bullfrogs' mating calls this time of year, punctuated by the shrieks of peafowl. We truly live in a jungle -- and I love it.

We'll also toast the Moms gone by -- Rachel and Sunny. This is Wifey's first MD without her mother, and the 11th without mine.

Sunrise, sunset. I guess I got teary eyed after all.

End Of Watch Call

 When cops retire, or worse, die in the line of duty, there's a tradition. The dispatcher calls their unit, and there is silence, and then the retiring cop (or friend of the deceased one), replies "End of Watch for (Fill in the Name). Yesterday, for one of my life's duties, I reached that milestone.

I made MUCH fun of my late suegros, Richard and Rachel. They survived the Holocaust, and lived strong, productive lives, but suffered the effects expected in being slaves, facing death, and worst of all, having most of your family killed because of their identity. I never forgot their origin stories, even when their behaviors which caused strife among my family reached absurd levels.

There are more than enough examples to fill a memoir, but the silliest and therefore most telling happened in 1994, after we moved back into our Hurricane Andrew repaired house. We had bought my suegros' house and lived there for a year and a half, and decided to keep it as a rental property -- a decision that ultimately cost us six figures of money since we became friends with Rabbi Yossi and Nechama. Ha. Worth every charitable penny.

But the house needed a paint job, and Richard offered to do it -- he had painted the place 10 years before. But now, he was 70, post a quadruple bypass, and my brother in law Dennis asked me if I was crazy -- he would likely fall off a ladder, or die of another heart attack doing the job in our tropical heat. I agreed, and hired a painter to do the job. Back then, I think the total cost $2000.

When I told Richard, he freaked. But HE vas going to do it! I apologized for going back on the "deal," but pointed out it was just simpler and safer to have a professional painter knock out the job. 

Richard stopped talking to me. For over a year, as I believe. He would only visit when I was at work, which at that time, luckily, was much of the time. And, he would "Take nothing from him (me)." If he was thirsty, he would go outside our house and drink from the hose -- as if in some way water from the outside spigot was NOT his evil son in law's water.

So there was family strife, and finally he forgave me for this awful trespass of trying to keep him alive. And life went on -- to even bigger and more absurd bouts of broigus, the transliteration for family feuds.

Still -- Wifey was an only child, and I took my responsibilities to support and care for her parents very seriously. We bought them a condo in Pembroke Pines, and later, when Richard was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease, Wifey took over their affairs, under my guidance, as Wifey never became a financial planner, like I am, in a lay way. We moved Richard into Miami Jewish Home, where he lived out his final 5 years, When he died, we moved Rachel to a condo close to us, and provided her daily care, until the time came for her to move to an ALF -- we picked the closer Palace, where she lived out her final years (many of them) in comfort.

I helped Wifey get Richard's funeral done, and Rachel's last June. Eleven months later, it was time for the unveiling of the gravestone, which I pestered Wifey repeatedly to complete. I knew it was the final act for my in laws -- who wanted traditional Jewish funerals and follow up.

Yesterday came the day. We met the Ds in the peaceful Kendall cemetery right next to the Palmetto. I had brought a towel, and jumped out and covered the stone marker. I brought rocks from our house, and printed out a lovely paragraph one says when the marker is unveiled. I sent Wifey and the Ds the Mourners Kaddish, and Psalm 23.

We could have had Rabbi Yossi officiate, but Wifey wanted things kept very simple -- hence -- just my in-laws child and 2 granddaughters. We said Kaddish and I recited the Psalm. We placed the stones, and each spoke to Rachel.

We acknowledged Richard, too, of course. I told him I knew things were quiet from 2016 until 2022, when his besheret joined him in the Hereafter, but his soul was now at rest with his life partner.

The four of us drove to Bagel Emporium across from UM and had lunch. We told some Sabta stories -- the Ds thanking her for being such a loving grandmother and bringing tremendous amounts of laughter to us -- often unknowingly. She was no "background Sabta," as Wifey said.

And on the way home, I wiped my hands, in the comical way a gravedigger does to get the dirt off of them. Mission accomplished. The final act I had sworn to myself to complete, for Wifey's parents, was completed.

For that now gone generation from WW II, I had reached my end of watch. May their memories be blessings.

Meetings

 My friends who are still actively working always bemoan their meetings. They're medical administrators, and the egos they deal with tend to be inflated, especially Dr. Barry, who leads an academic medical center. The classic line about fights among faculty is that they tend to be vicious because the stakes are so small -- and often there are major tussles that seem comical when viewed from the outside.

Over the years, I have dropped out of and refused to join committees. I was on one at UM for years -- matter of fact -- I helped start it. My old friend Ross was the Arts and Sciences Dean, and asked me to found an advisory committee, which would meet and tell the Dean what the College could do best to benefit Miami at large. We'd meet, and it was enjoyable, but over the decades , under the current and very long serving Dean, evolved into a much bigger deal -- I ended up being the poorest guy in the group -- the Dean properly saw the Committee as a way to get the real machers involved in the College. My lifetime six figure gifts were dwarfed by people who wrote a single check for far more than that amount.

Then, my idea, to set up a big internship office, which would allow undergrads to work with professionals in various fields, to see if they truly wanted to become, say, lawyers or artists, somehow became the Dean's idea. Whatever. I ended up making a quiet exit years ago.

My friend Yossi has repeatedly asked me to be on his Center's advisory board, too. Ha. No to the way, as they say. I've grown far too politically incorrect, and I could see blowing the entire thing up with an off color, probably pig man sort of joke. "But you're so friendly," Yossi protests. Not really, I assure him.

Well, the one committee I AM on is our HOA, which is a voluntary Board that deals with the issues of our 82 house neighborhood of rich people. The cheapest house is now worth well north of $1.5M, and the newest one under construction will probably be worth closer to $5M. So we're bunch of very fortunate, spoiled people. 

Wifey is on the Board, too -- as Crime Watch Chair, which is funny, since there has been, other than the random stealing stuff out of unlocked cars, zero crime for the last decade. Until last week (cue ominous music). Our oldest neighbor, Edye, is in her mid 90s, and lives alone. She drove to her daughter's house, and while gone, some fellows (I'm assuming) broke in through her rear sliding doors and poked around. Apparently nothing of value was taken. Since Pinecrest Police isn't exactly a Department that deals with much other than speeders and loud house parties, there is a full investigation -- including asking if any surveillance cameras caught the bad guys. Construction workers a few houses away saw a gray car "loitering" in the area near the time of the crime, but got no tag number.

So last night's Board meeting discussed this crime wave. Should we get license plate readers? Nah -- most of the time the burglars use stolen cars anyway, and a few members voiced privacy concerns. I was reminded of a tale I heard years ago involving a lawyer named Curtis, who went ballistic when his HOA in the Gables suggested cameras -- he had a few girlfriends visiting his mansion and wanted zero proof of that! Can you blame him?

My job is Welcome Chair. When we get a new neighbor, I bring over a welcome packet with info of the 'hood, as well as a bottle of inexpensive but drinkable wine.

Still, the rest of the Board are very nice -- all women. The current president had a long career as a foreign service agent, mostly in Haiti, and met her husband there -- a Waitian, as my Ds call them -- white guy who was born on the mostly Black island. The VP is Wifey and my friend -- widow of an exec of the biggest bicycle importer in the US, and a brilliant lady. The Board has 2 new members -- a teacher at a local Christian school, and a very involved Mom of three girls --- on other boards, including the really rich synagogue in Pinecrest, Temple Beth Am.

Our host's husband Rod was there, and brought me a vodka to toast him as he had an evening bourbon. 

Maybe that was the key to enjoying a meeting -- a little pop of an adult beverage.

I need to suggest to my friends that they employ that strategy at their hospitals...

Spending The Shekels

 So I got a call from Eric last night -- he was heading later on to a shiva call for an old friend of his, Marc. Marc and Eric joined Mt. Sinai on the Beach at the same time -- both came back home from Harvard training programs -- Marc was an orthopedic surgeon. Eric introduced me.

At the time, I was building my PI practice, and Marc seemed a great fit for us -- I could refer clients to him for ortho care, know I was referring them to a well trained person, and hopefully get easy cooperation in getting records and depositions from Marc, as needed. Sure enough, soon after our meeting, we got a client who was on the job when he had a terrible car crash, with multiple fractures, and I referred the client to Marc.

He did a fine job, and billed the Workers Compensation carrier nearly $100K. Great, I thought, the guy knew I was going to send real patients, not the "my back and neck hurt" BS common to many PI firms. I asked Norma, my secretary, to get the records, and she came to me saying that Dr. Marc's office wanted $500 to send them. Oh, I laughed, clearly the office doesn't realize that I was the one who referred said patient, for which they made a healthy fee. So I called and the manager said no -- that was office policy -- no tickey, no laundry. Well, that was of course the final client we referred to him, but he soared professionally nonetheless -- became Chair of the Department.

I last saw him years ago at the hospital, when we gathered there as Eric's father was being treated for what proved to be his fatal heart attack -- transferred from a small hospital in Broward, but I think we all knew the outcome. I shook Marc's hand, of course, and never saw him again. Eric and Dana remained friends with him and his wife, though in 2000, when they moved to Palm Beach, they mostly lost touch.

Miami being a small town, my friend Jeff knew Marc's wife Rachel from their shul on the Beach, and knew he had been sick for awhile. Turns out he was diagnosed with a brain tumor 2.5 years ago, treated it aggressively, but ended up in hospice for the final months, not recognizing his kids. Truly sad -- a great healer gone at 60.

But then Eric and I talked about his upcoming trip -- his first out of the US since the plague, and how he and I only fly Business on long flights, and only stay in good hotels. When we met, we were necessarily penurious, since we were broke ass, but now, though generous with our families, and charitable to community needs -- we treat ourselves, too.

Last night we had Joelle and Kenny over for a pre-game, and then out to a nice dinner at a local place, Platea. We toasted -- Joelle proposed we travel together, one big trip, each year. We travel great with them -- Joelle is a fine planner, and Wifey and  I fine followers. And likewise, after long careers in law academics and medicine, and still treating their grown sons to great trips (they're leaving next week on a Euro cruise with the sons) -- no holding back on doing the things we wish to do.

I often pride myself on living below our means. I kept a smallish car, which I called a girlie Lexus, for two lease cycles -- who needs a more expensive car. My family convinced me to get something more substantial, and I did -- a large Caddy SUV -- and each time I get in or out, and ooze down the street as the Boss noted one does in a Caddy (though a pink one, in his song), I kick myself for the last 6 years of an uncomfortable car.

We're finishing up the details of our big Joelle and Kenny trip for December -- South America. Flying to Buenos Aires, which Wifey comically pronounces Air-ees, and then Mendoza, and finally a resort in Chile, before a flight home from Santiago. The trip will cost more than my first year's salary as a lawyer -- especially given my insistence on flying Business for overnight flights.

I wasn't friends with Dr. Marc. Jeff is going to the second shiva minyan tonight. I have a feeling he would say: Dave -- spend the shekels.

What A World, What a World...

 I proudly ventured nowhere yesterday -- even skipped my usual walk. I was SO lazy, I didn't even fetch the mail until late in the day -- unusual for me. Wifey and I watched the Heat beat the Knicks, and chatted a bit on the phone with family and friends. And, usual for me, I read the news. A lot.

There was, of course, another mass shooting -- in Texas. There are so many, you can't keep track. Was that the crazy Asian one in California, or the college victims in Idaho, or the gay guys in Orlando?

After Sandy Hook, the event which killed all of those precious little children, and no real gun control happened, one writer noted that we Americans have decided that guns are more important than childrens' lives. And so it is -- that awful reality.

Wifey and I have been blessed with a lot of years, but we have kids, and now grandkids, and we worry about them. I guess all you can do is hope  you're not in that terrible right place at the wrong time.

But the political folks who so favor guns also are obsessed with fetuses, and I read about a case out of Texas that really shocked me, though nothing these days should shock me. I woman divorced her husband, on account of he was an abusive jerk, but found she was pregnant with his child. She sought help from friends about getting the abortion pill, which she did, and thankfully didn't carry the hate child.

Well, the guy got ahold of her phone, and learned of three friends' helping her, and have now sued the three women for wrongful death for killing his baby! I guess Texas has decided a fetus is a person, and although his ex's abortion was legal, he wants to punish her friends. They have counterclaimed, based on privacy violations, since the creep read their private texts with his ex wife.

Wow. So it's come to this, I guess -- though hopefully his case is dismissed. If not, at least in Texas it'll be ok to steal private messages in order to punish women who get abortions AND THOSE WHO HELPED THEM!

What a country of idiots we are. How can everyone ignore Ireland, and their awakening. As a Catholic country, abortion was illegal there, always. Well, two young women died after being forced to carry non viable fetuses. The Irish electorate realized their lives were ruled by a bunch of pedophiles and thieves -- the church there had many scandals. And so they legalized abortion -- leaving it to the choice of a woman -- instead of those who claim to know what the Big Man wants.

Not here. Every reputable poll shows a majority of Americans are pro choice, and yet we revert to the medieval. I just don't get it.

I realize I can do little -- maybe try to support the proper candidates, and hope the political pendulum swings back. But the problem is, the party of my grandparents, parents, and myself is clownish, too.

They've been co-opted by extreme lefties, as evidenced by a new protest in NYC yesterday. A dangerous maniac was on a subway train, threatening people. A young retired Marine grabbed the maniac, along with a few other heroes. Well, the chokehold was too tight, I guess, and the criminal died. Clearly there was no intent to kill the poor loser -- he had skipped bond after breaking an older woman's nose, and the day before had thrown some people onto the subway tracks. NYC will get over his death.

But people protested against the hero! How dare he kill the "poor homeless guy." Predictably, AOC weighed in -- demanding the hero and the two who helped him be charged with murder.

So when "my side" includes this sort of thing -- well -- seems like we're in for quite a long slog towards any sort of a unified nation.

I guess the only realistic course of action can come tonight -- several adult beverages with our friends Joelle and Kenny -- and forget about the problems. They'll wait for tomorrow.

No More Meals!

 So Thursday my friend and financial advisor Pat was in town and wanted to know if I cared to meet for drinks? I would -- and we settled on the bar at Captain's Tavern. I decided to Uber over, and then asked Wifey -- would she care to meet me there after Pat left for dinner with his girl Marie, in Little Havana? She would, too.

Pat and I caught up about investments. He definitely favors buying low and selling high, and I agree. Ha. Actually, of the several brokers I have had over the years, Pat is the most sage -- he takes the time to really understand a company before advising investing -- the Warren Buffet approach. Years ago, I would invest, typically, a certain amount in each security, as my earnings from the law business would allow. In about 2003, he suggested we double down on a particular company -- they sold fruit -- and I agreed.

Well it wasn't fruit -- it was Apple Computers, at an all time low, and over the past 20 years the investment has grown to the point where it has funded nice accounts for the Ds, and provided significant charitable donations to FIU and Friendship Circle. No matter what else, Pat always gets credit for that.

I referred him to Wifey's friend Linda and her sister Karen, and they love him -- his calm, measured approach has been perfect for 2 ladies who never really understood anything about investing. I also referred him to my friend Steve the cop,and John, another retired  cop who had the sense to marry a VERY rich woman, whose parents recently died -- so Pat is keeping busy.

Anyway, Wifey arrived, and we moved from a bar to a table, and Pat laughed at how gringo the Tavern still is. Indeed, the fellow at the next table was an old friend of his from church -- and fellow Gator. He's a lawyer actually named Saint -- I joked that gave him an unfair advantage in court -- but Saint typically doesn't litigate. His wife is a lawyer, too, and a Hurricane like I am, so some ribbing ensued.

Pat left, and Wifey and I both had some lobster tails. She was a fine Wifey-ber ride home, too.

Last night, Cara had invited us to dinner at her new senior place, the Vi. Apparently they are very upscale, but of course have ancient people, and I am unashamedly ageist. I like several very old people, but that's it, and I still have PTSD from meals at Miami Jewish and The Palace -- hacking up phlegm into mashed potatoes is an image I can't get out of my mind. So I negotiated a settlement -- how about we meet at The Palm instead?

I bought my consuegros Ricardo and Jacqui a Palm gift certificate to thank Ricardo for the awesome job he did selling my little girl Lexus off my lease, and replacing it with the big man Caddy SUV, and the Palm sent me a $50 bonus certificate for my own use! Again -- so nice when there is something good for rich, white people!

Open Table said the only opening was at 5, and so we left at 4. There was a terrible accident on I-95, and so Caddy navigation took us across the Tuttle, past Miami Beach, and up Alton Road. It took a full 1.5 hours to get there. Traffic is truly the worst part of Miami.

We met Cara, and had a fine time -- one martini each, and a shared NY Strip and Sea Bass, with some sides. We talked of the long friendships -- she and Wifey met in the 80s -- and how much we still miss Jack, her late, wonderful husband. Jack loved the Palm, and Joe's -- my kind of guy.

95 apparently remained a mess, and Nav took us back home down Alton Road, and across the Tuttle again, which was wonderful, as we saw one of those fake looking Miami sunsets, where the glorious skyline looks backlit like in a science fiction movie.

Tomorrow night we have dinner with Joelle and Kenny, and so when Donna called -- did Wifey and I want to meet her and Barry -- we had to beg off. We adore them, but the thought of another restaurant was too much -- gotta do our version of a small fast.

Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan are in the midst of deciding where they're moving. Their Miami Beach lease is up late June, and they want out of the 11th floor unit. It's lovely, but not really tenable if they start a human family to go along with Betsy, the large, furry puppy. There are many moving pieces -- a nice unit in a smaller building on Belle Isle, and maybe a house right by D2 and Joey. If the latter happens -- well -- that'd be a dream. The coming weeks will tell.

They both have Masters in Business, and Jonathan handles large investment deals, and so the two of them are more than qualified for the analysis -- but tensosity still ensues. They'll pick correctly.

So the Heat game beckons, although truth be told, I tend to tune into NBA games late, when the result it truly near. Joey and Jonathan are both at F1 today -- I know Jonathan will be keeping one eye of a TV for his favorite team.

And as for Wifey and me? No dinner tonight!

Justice Delayed

 So we completed the annoying hearing on the matter of Fredo stealing a case from us nearly 2 months ago. The judge, who a friend who really knows the guy said, is one of those fellows who thinks he's much smarter than he really is. He was affable and respectful enough, but as the hearing went on, it was clear he wasn't grasping the many of the fairly arcane legal arguments.

For me, the worst part of the ordeal was having to squeeze into my suit and wear a tie for three days. I don't like dressing up anymore.

Well, yesterday the order came in, and, as Larry David said, "Eh." We were awarded twice what the  defense expert testified we should get, but far less than we had hoped. As I read through the Order, it became clear to me: we were awarded nothing for the time Fredo spent working on the case under our direction -- and that part of the earned fee went to Saul Goodman as a windfall. I had always thought that Fredo was, essentially, a worker bee for our side. Stu paid all of the costs, and Fredo wasn't allowed to make a move without consulting us. But our lawyer said that wasn't the law, and I feared what would become of that part of the pie, as an expert described sharing this fee. Ultimately, the judge gave that large slice to the other side.

Whatever. I dealt with the disappointing news in the only appropriate way I know: I drafted gift letters to Pat, my financial guy, for our annual donations to FIU and Friendship Circle. Conventional wisdom is you give more when a windfall comes in. I figure why not switch things up -- thank the Big Man for the manifold blessings He has bestowed upon us regardless of the trivial outcome of a craven fee fight among greedy lawyers.

And it was a lovely Tuesday, other than that Order. I met D2 and D1's house, and we plucked the hilarious toddler from preschool. He announced that his preferred activity was to go for "Eye Cream," and so we did -- to his shop in Miami Shores, where he gets his favorite flavor: Pink. I think yesterday it was strawberry -- D2 handled the details.

From there we headed back home, where Joey was on work calls and we got the little man to keep things to his version of a whisper. His baby brother was up, smiling and just a ray of sunshine, as usual.

Jonathan came by, and D2, Jonathan, and I went to look at a house for sale in D1 and Joey's 'hood. Dare I dream my Ds would be neighbors, sharing lives, with, dare I dream, grandkid or kids from D2? I do dare, and the house is beautiful and absurdly overpriced in this market, but I still think it's the right move for them. I hope they agree and my family ends up controlling 1/9 of an 18 house development in Shorecrest.

I left the happy tumult of D1 and Joey's house, and decided to stop at Kon Chau for some solo dim sum. But wait! Not so fast! A sign said they were closing for a few Tuesdays. What? It was Tuesday! So no dim sum for me! Instead I ordered the comically named Takee Outee, and delivery was minutes after I fought Kendall traffic to make it home. Wifey had her special won ton soup. Yes -- I married a won ton woman -- it's her favorite.

We watched the Heat lose game 2 of their playoff series -- but they still fought -- without their best player Jimmy Butler, nursing a bad ankle and with clownish officiating. I still think they'll win this series. I checked in on the Panthers, and saw they pulled another upset in their series in Toronto. My biggest Panther fan friend Norman may be right -- he bought the toddler grandson a LOT of Cat swag , and it may be bringing luck to the team to have an adorable toddler fan.

So life goes happily on. My share of the fee, assuming Saul Goodman doesn't appeal, will just about pay for the expensive South American vacation we've planned for December. I make fun that Wifey insists we fly Business Class, when in truth it's me. It's a luxury I happily pay for -- especially on flights longer than a few hours. 

Wifey asked if I thought Fredo was thrilled with the Judge's decision. I truly no longer care -- I kicked the MF, betraying con artist, out of my head. Time wounds all heels, often.

As for things around here -- too much good stuff going on to get bogged down by a fee result. The other thought that occurs to me is that the great Joe Walsh line is appropriate: I can't complain, but sometimes I still do.

It'll be nice to stay out of court.

Amazing Dinner Party

 So it was a banner weekend for Wifey and me. Saturday Stu and Traci hosted a Top 5 dinner party I ever attended. It was just one of those evenings where everything came together -- a conspiracy towards a memorable event.

Wifey and I fetched Cara at the Vi, the luxury senior place she moved. Cara moved to the independent living section, and we thought it was silly -- Cara is very youthful and vigorous. But, she points out, she has no kids and just a sister in Arizona, and so wants to be in a place where you can "graduate" to an ALF and then Nursing, if needed. Hopefully it's not needed.

We navigated through Aventura to Aventura Lakes, the development of our hosts. We parked and went in -- Stu was mixing martinis and corking wine. Soon after Traci came down, looking spectacular and feeling great, and then Donna and Barry arrived, followed by Paul and Patricia and Allison. And then, surprise guests -- Susan and Steve. Susan is Stu's childhood Philly friend who is now a pediatrician in Boca, and Steve's Stu's best Emory Law friend -- Stu fixed the two up. It was supposed to be a dinner -- and now it's been decades of seders.

The real treat was that Val was there, as well as Ava. Ava is a graduating senior, and a beautiful girl, and I advised Stu to NOT let her go off to Alabama -- she's too attractive. "Oh -- she can't get in trouble at FIU or UM?" Well she could, but at least Stu was in threatening distance.

But the truth is, when my friends' kids soar, my heart is warmed, and Stu's are soaring.

Val started a media app in high school, and it's attracted SERIOUS funding. Val lives in a Penthouse Downtown with his partners, but makes the time to visit his elderly grandparents at least weekly. And last night, he hung with we Boomers, and supervised the cooking of delicious prime rib.

We ate well, and drank well, and had truly sparkling conversation. Val explained AI to us in a way that I finally understood -- and I was way impressed.

Those of us with grandkids assured those without that yes, it is the greatest of gigs. And there was just the right amount of nostalgia with Paul, Allison, Stuart, and I -- talking about our early days when our firms were lions. Well, at least Cheetahs.

Even Henry had a blast. Henry is Stu and Traci's 12 year old Corgi mix. He used his seal-like cuteness to score pieces of the prime rib under the table. Henry is a very sweet dog.

As we were leaving, Stu asked if it was a good time. No, I answered -- it was a GREAT time. I told him it was a party like the Medecis used to host, but without the plague.

Wifey drove home, and we circled the Lakes development a few times before I activated Navigation back to Cara's, and from there back home.

And the fun continued. Sunday D1 and Joey brought their men. The toddler and I killed our bagels and nova, and then Joey assembled a new wagon D1 had bought and had delivered here. We sat the brothers, and walked the 'hood -- in search of peafowl and iguanas. The iguanas hid -- we found plenty of peafowl, and Joey picked some mangoes. They're starting to be everywhere -- I wish I liked them.

After they left, we cleaned up the hurricane of toys, and settled in for some post grandchild naps. Later we watched "Succession," our newest Sunday night show, which D2 and Jonathan turned us on to when they were bunking here at Villa Wifey.

So it was a fine weekend! Martinis, prime rib, and most of all, those we love. You can't beat that with a big stick!