And All The Ships At Sea

 So I was supposed to be waking up this am in Nassau, about the Disney Magic, I think the ship is called. Wifey and I were taking D1 and Joey and the boys on the cruise -- 4 nights -- to Nassau and Disney's private island, where D1 had booked a cabana for us for that day. I had joked that I liked neither Disney nor Caribbean cruises, and as a grandfather was, of course, doing both. 

But fate had other plans. Last week, the 3.5 year old adorable toddler started a new preschool, transferred there by his strategic Mom in hopes of it being a feeder pre k to a very highly regarded charter school. He liked the school, but brought home one of the many fierce viral illnesses that live in those places -- by Friday night, he had a fever and felt poorly.

Saturday brought the runs -- bad ones. D1 consulted with her many doctor friends, whose opinions ranged from influenza B, which is running through South Florida, to simple gastritis, caused by some other virus. It was truly academic -- the only things to do were pedialyte to keep the little man hydrated, and tylenol for his fever and aches. I met D1 Sunday in my role as Leche Dave -- taking a large load of her frozen milk to our garage freezer, where it will be stored for a needy recipient Mom less cow-like than our thin daughter, and I sent her home with lots of pedialyte from the Walgreens where we did the exchange.

The hope was we could still go on the trip Thursday. Well, next came Joey -- he got hit, and finally, D1 herself. Luckily the world's best baby, turning 1 next month, seems to have been spared. So on Wednesday we contacted Earl, a family friend and cruise maven travel agent, to cancel the trip. Luckily, we had bought trip insurance, and D1 and I each sent in our claims. Hopefully they don't hassle us too much.

As of last night, all had recovered except D1 -- still feeling poorly, but I suspect she'll bounce back over this weekend. She was SO disappointed about canceling the trip, but I assured her the Caribbean and Disney will likely ALWAYS be here -- in fact -- long after our creepy governer, DeSantis, and his anti-Disney ways is a bad political history footnote.

Meanwhile, there was tumult for the other D and her man -- for the closing of their house. Some transactions among brokerages and banks were delayed, and so I gave them a bridge loan, which also took an extra day. The closing was set for yesterday afternoon, and the morning was a series of calls and texts to get the transfers done. The were, finally, as I sat having breakfast with Paul at a Latin Cafe near MIA, where we had met to do some law firm business.

All was well that ended well, and now our entire family is homeowners in the 305. I am one very lucky, rocking Daddy in the USA.

Jonathan turns 31 today, and last night told us his parents are having a getty for him Sunday -- Wifey and I may drive up to NMB and attend -- now that we're landlubbers instead of cruisers.

I offered to take the toddler and his family on a local Bayside sightseeing trip Monday if health permits -- sort of as a consolation prize for the little man who was so excited about his "big boat with the hotel" ride. We'll see.

For July 4, I bought tickets to the Marlins. Wifey opted out, and Norman is in. Barry and Josh are invited, too, though Barry makes it clear he much prefers NOT driving back to Miami from Pembroke Pines on his days off -- but maybe baseball on the Fourth of July will be a sufficient draw.

Meanwhile, it's Friday and I have my constitutional to start -- hot, steamy Pinecrest instead of hot, steamy Nassau.

As Rosean Roseanadanna said, it's always something...

Online Lawyering

 So we had a big trip to Argentina and Chile planned with friends for December, and unfortunately due to a health issue with a dear friend, have to postpone it. I had been dreading the dealing with the airlines, or specifically Expedia.com.

Typically I book on AA.com, and, as we have become spoiled and like to fly Business Class, understand it will cost a lot. But this trip, from MIA to Buenos Aires and then returning from Santiago, Chile, was way past my tipping point. The round trip on AA was going to cost about $25K for Wifey and me. No way.

So I checked Expedia, and sure enough, by flying down on AA and returning on Delta/LATAM, the price was still a lot, but under the tipping point, and so I booked it in March. They were non refundable tickets.

I figured the best I could do was get credits, which always ends up being a hassle. So with great trepidation, I went online last night and got a virtual agent named "Cristian."

Cristian, whose gender remained unknown to me, though I suspect male, was very polite. And then I took a shot -- with that name, I had someone pretty Evangelical, and so I peppered my texts with "prayers" and "blessed."

Cristian found my reservations and kept asking me for more time. He said he needed to "escalate" in order to do the best for me. Finally he came back on with "great news" - he was able to offer a full refund, minus a $30 service fee. My AMEX card should show the credit within a week.

I stayed online and gave Cristian a stellar review.

And of course, the only "great news" will be when our friend fully recovers. Hopefully that will be very late this year, or early 2024.

I also emailed the hotels. One already responded -- full refund. I await a second, and I think there's a third that our friends booked for us -- I seem to recall Zelling money to them.

I generally handle all of these matters. It's a huge pain -- daunting to this near 62 year old. Yesterday Wifey had to book her own flights to a wedding in August, on account of I was uninvited because I might get drunk and "ruin the whole thing." Nah. The wedding is in Colorado -- I would have probably eaten edibles there like everyone else and passed out under the Roger Waters posters (the groom is an ultra Lefty).

Anyway, she decided to use some of the 500,000 points she didn't know she had on a credit card. It took her 2.5 hours with an agent from Manila -- and he got it wrong! She had to have him cancel everything and do it all over again.

Maybe it gave her a new appreciation for the mule who typically does all that stuff for her -- along with much of the rest of our financial lives. I wonder what it's like to simply get into a car and drive without thought about registration and insurance and oil changes and current tires. I guess it's like magic. Well -- I always say the Heart song "Magic Man" was written about me -- I guess it's true!

Meanwhile, these are just the annoyances of the quotidian. Important things are health -- and hopefully our dear friend gets over this speed bump of life. And when she does -- we'll book again. 

At the beginning of Covid, we had a dustup with the manager of the Arsht Theater. The County had already shut down, and we had 6 tickets to see "Hamilton." The jerk Director refused refunds. I actually called Doug Hanks, a Herald reporter, and he did a story, in which he wrote "David just wants his money back." Somehow that has become a humorous saying in my family now -- Jonathan's brother Dan was particularly tickled by it.

And last night I got it! Thanks, Expedia.com.

They ASKED FOR IT

 My mother in law Rachel died a year ago. When she moved from the Palace ALF to its nursing home, across the parking lot, the social worker cautioned Wifey: the hospice contract with the ALF was with a company called Seasons, which was great, but the nursing home had Vitas, which was not. And boy was she correct!

We had experience with Seasons at Miami Jewish -- they gave decent care to my mother and father in law at the end of their lives. And Seasons for Rachel was fine, too, but Vitas people were often missing, and you could never get their supervisors on the phone.

Still -- we were as low maintainence as possible -- we knew Rachel was at the end, and just wanted someone there for pain meds and support. Unfortunately, as Rachel's baseball game of life reached the bottom of the ninth, Vitas walked off the field.

Wifey and I were visiting, and Vitas's nurse was leaving, and, she told us, due to short staffing, would not be replaced that night. But it was crunch time, we protested! She shrugged and left. What was worse, as Vitas was in charge, the regular Palace nursing staff told us they were limited in what they could do. It was a real problem -- especially as Rachel's breathing was becoming labored.

I called and called, trying to "Escalate" using corporate speak. I got to someone claiming to be a nurse manager, and she told me that Covid had really hurt -- they were just too short staffed. Surely they could pay someone extra, though, I begged -- it was really the end of the line for my mother in law. She said she would call back. She never did.

I drove to the Kendall CVS and Publix in a pouring June evening rain, to get Wifey supplies. I bought gourmet cookies for the nice Palace nurse -- in a blatant bribe attempt for as much attention as he could give us. And then I went home.

Mercifully, Rachel died just a few hours later, as Wifey held her hand, and I was on the phone with the funeral home asking about late night pickup. I finished my call, and the funeral people said they would be at the Palace within 2 hours, but could only take Rachel if Vitas signed off on a death certificate!

More stress! I called back all the numbers I had, and finally they answered -- they would send a chaplain who had the power to sign the certificate. Luckily, he arrived just as I got back to the Kendall address -- a very nice, Christian fellow. He asked if we wished to do a Christian prayer, and Wifey and I said no -- we were Jews, and would be speaking to Dad and not the Son. He understood, but asked if he could pray for Rachel on his own. Sure, I said, you never know...

Anyway, we left, and Rachel's funeral went on two days later. Rabbi Yossi made it back from NYC to preside, and as Wifey wished, no shiva. And that was that, as the saying goes.

Until it wasn't. Vitas sent Wifey a letter that arrived yesterday -- noting the anniversary and asking, like former NYC Mayor Koch used to ask "How am I doin?"

So I sat at the keyboard last night, as Dylan played of the Sonos, at Wifey's request (my writing, not Dylan) and I composed a scathing letter to Vitas, even summoning the sad 70s ballad by John VonWarmer "You Left Me Just When I Needed You Most."

Wifey signed it, and we'll mail it out today. I noted in the letter we COULD have sued, but decided not to, even though my friend Stuart settled a nice sized claim against Vitas for their botching of hospice care with an old Cuban abuelo. Nah -- Wifey just wanted someone at the company to know. I'm sure my missive will end up in the circular file.

And we will NOT be bringing any of our death business to Vitas ever again! Big Man willing, we won't need their competitors, either.

Successful Pussy Procurement

 So it was off early, to the MIA Centurion Lounge, where they open at 530, for a nice breakfast and a check on the flight status. Lo and behold: Kenny and I were upgraded for First -- I don't recall the last time that happened. Kenny sauntered to the gate and I handed him the cardboard boarding pass -- he waved me off and said "Got it on my phone." You do NOT, Sir, I answered and handed him the First pass. We boarded a big ass 787 and started the trip like gentlemen -- a nice touch.

We had time in Philly and went to the Centurion there, for a little lunch and day drinking, and then off to Portland. Kenny had an electric Chevy waiting, and we went to the house, checked on the target cats, and then went to his friends Claire and David for a lovely dinner, followed by a trip home and the best part of the trip -- sleeping weather! I love sleeping when it's cool out, and it was in the mid to low 50s.

Tuesday we had some errands, and took a nice walk across the private causeway, waving at kayakers on the lake. We had lunch at Honey Badger, a local place I had been before, and later, after a few errands including Kenny procuring the cat tranquilizer, dinner at a place in a nearby town.

The people are SO different -- so white! Spanish or other languages isn't heard. Wifey loves one part of it -- the women all dress SO frumpy in Maine -- and for women past a certain age, there is zero competition in that regard. For a viejo verde like me, well, Miami is the equivalent of an African veldt, whereas Maine is far less so -- sort of a wasteland for guys who like to check out attractive young women. It's just as well -- I'm turning 62 --- enough of that already!

Yesterday was the heart of the mission, and it wasn't so easy. There's a reason "like herding cats" is a true simile, and it was no mean feat corralling these critters. Kenny and Joelle's cats are older, and once Kenny trapped them in a towel, I was able to squirt in the syringe of sleepy juice with just a few hisses -- but their boy Adam's small, female cat was a hellion. She kept escaping, one time vaulting Kenny after hiding in a tiny space under a vanity, and I foresaw having to tell Adam his cat was simply going to have to survive outside on birds and rodents until he could wrangle her.

Finally, Kenny trapped her in a bathroom, and I was able to shoot the syringe, which resulted in a foaming at the mouth angry little cat -- but Kenny was able to get her into the carrier.

We stopped for great sandwiches, and were off to Portland International Jetport. TSA was great -- they took us each for "private search" in a room, but the huge guard told me I had to remove the hell cat from its carrier. Oh boy -- I told him the thing would be tough, and then the guard asked if I wanted him to do it. I did -- turned out the giant loved cats, and kept the kitty calm while they confirmed the carrier didn't have explosives.

But then the drama started. Southwest told Kenny it wasn't two cats/one person -- it was one! Had this entire trip been in vain? Luckily a nice lady stepped up -- she would carry the cat onto the plane -- at least to Baltimore DEI International Airport. I made up the name, but the lady was really nice. And we were off for leg one of the trip.

In Baltymore, as Philly people call it, we waited for the flight to FLL, and it was packed. They paid 2 passengers $1200 each to take a later flight! We had 3 carriers, and knew they would only allow us to take on 2. So Kenny asked a nice teenager if  he would carry the cat. He would. Turned out be was part of a 7 person Israeli-American family - -I chatted with the young mentsch's bubbe the entire way -- she was younger than I am! We arrived in FLL -- 3 cats safely extracted from Maine.

We got into a cab rather than mess with Uber, and we off to the Grove. The hi-jinks weren't over, though. The Haitian driver, on I-95, asked if it was ok if he stopped -- his gas gauge was solidly on E. Really? It didn't occur to him that maybe he should have gas??? He stopped in Opa Locka, and got us the rest of the way.

The cats were happy to be back with Joelle and Adam. Mission accomplished. Wifey drove me home -- to our dogs. Yeah -- I'm really much more of a dog guy. But there are 3 Maine cats back where they need to be -- and that was the whole point.

My Father's Son -- No Alarm Clock Needed

 As a young boy and then teen, I slept very well. I remember it was the 6th grade when my Mom decided she would no longer wake me for school, and my parents bought me a clock radio to do the job. Man -- I loathed the sound of the music at 6:40 a.m. -- the time to wake up to go to early to school.

But my Dad had a superpower. He NEVER needed an alarm clock. He said it started in the Army -- he knew when he had to awaken, and he simply did it -- no matter how early. I never understood, until I got older -- and then I inherited the superpower. And sure enough, today I set my clock radio, now a Bose Wave model that plays nice quality sound, and sure enough I was up and at 'em a full 1.5 hours before it was time to get up. Maybe I can catch up on some sleep on the plane.

Meanwhile, I may have had the best Father's Day of all time -- a day early. The crew arrived, and we shared Anthony's Coal Fired, and I poured some Stoli Elit martinis for Jonathan and myself. Joey stuck to beer. The rains swept by, leaving it less than torrid, and we set out, minus Wifey who really doesn't enjoy walking in the heat, on a mango hunt. And the toddler was ebullient. As Tio Jonfin and Daddy jumped into the trees to pull them down, he laughed SO hard -- and put the fruit into a bag I gave D1 -- a gift from O.Miami, a poetry non profit I support since my friend's daughter is now Development Director -- the bag says "Dade Poet's Society." Get it?

His baby brother, who we call "The best baby in the world" because he is, looked around at all the activity in wonder. We ran into a few different neighbors and I proudly introduced my tribe to them -- Gloria was on her way out with her son and his husband, visiting from New Jersey. And then we ran into another new neighbor -- part of a lesbian couple who rescue dogs. No one can say our leafy 'hood isn't LGBTQ friendly!

Anyway -- back to the house, and D1 and family left around 630. D2 and Jonathan stayed for another martini for Jonathan -- D2 was driving anyway, and we went over remodel plans for their new house in Miami Shores. Yes -- it was a delightful FD for this aging, rocking Daddy in the USA.

So Kenny and I are off soon -- 830 flight to Philly, change planes, and then a flight to Portland, where Kenny rented a car. If all goes to plan, we return Wednesday, three cats in tow. And it's funny -- we shared a tale with Joelle the other day I was sure she had heard, but somehow had missed. It was about a field trip Kenny and I took back in 1978. We two honors students forgot about expensive NY tolls, and had to sell some band M and Ms to raise money to get as far as eastern NYC, and then a stop at Kenny's aunt to get the money for the LI tolls. Much laughter resulted when the smartest guy in our high school and his next tier friend returned, barely.

Luckily, this trip, we can afford it, although in the worst case scenario, I guess we can sell a cat or two for Uber fare back to the Grove from FLL.

So the dogs have been fed. Wifey is deep in slumber. Since I'm so early anyway -- maybe I'll grab breakfast at the Centurion Lounge at MIA -- my favorite way to start a trip. I'll text Kenny -- if he's early, too, he can join me. Otherwise, we'll meet at the gate for the great cat trip of '23.

Of course, I thought a lot about my Dad yesterday. Boy, do I miss him, and have since July of 1982. The years have a way of slipping by, as Willie Nelson sang so poetically.

But Dad is still here with me -- sans alarm clock, as always.

Everything's Quiet on Father's Day

 Ah, FD -- the po relation of Mother's Day. The latter was signed into law by a US President. FD just sort of appeared as an after thought. And that's ok. Mom's get all the press -- I mean, their commitment to having a child is monumental in relation to what men have to do, and from there the best Mom's have very loving yet complicated relationships with their kids. The best fathers are mules.

And therein lies the dignity. One of my favorite celebrities was Sidney Poitier. I first thought he was cool when I was 5. There was a kids' movie out called "Puss N Boots," and I asked my sister Sue to take me. She asked where it was playing, and I said the Levittown Theater. We arrived there, and "To Sir, With Love" was the feature. Sue questioned me, and my 5 year old version said "Well the TV said it was playing at a theater near you, and the Levittown is near us!" Yes, I was a cute kid, and we stayed for the updated "Blackboard Jungle," and I learned that Poitier was the epitome of cool.

Anyway, he wrote an autobiography years back, entitled "The Measure of a Man." And this international figure, born in the US to Bahamian parents --in Miami, in fact -- had a very simple definition of a good man: "One who takes care of his family."

Luckily, I had a supreme role model in my Dad. He took care of his family first and foremost -- probably to a point it led to an early death, in that he would internalize the problems of his kids. I try to leave that last part out -- easier said than done.

Last night I had our usual Zoom cocktail party with Barry and Donna and Eric and Dana. Wifey sat off to the side -- she HATES Zooms -- and the running joke is she sits off to the side silently judging. But I toasted Barry and Eric and me -- three friend since we were late teens in college, who have all become top notch fathers, and for Eric and me, top notch grandfathers.

And we're proud men -- last year described as assholes by Wifey's friend, I guess because we think we're in fact proud -- and it is well deserved. We enjoy our lives immensely, and realize how blessed we are -- but we eat after our kids eat. It's that simple.

I used to proclaim I was the best Dad I knew, but years ago I abdicated that title to a young friend, Alex. He gives and gives so much to his kids, one of whom is profoundly disabled and non verbal. Once, over lunch, he explained that his daughter, and most kids, can say "I love you, Dad," and "Thanks for all you do." His son can't, and yet Alex KNOWS how much the boy loves him. To me -- he goes to the next level, and I told him so. So on this FD, I remember and honor, as I always do, Alex.

We plan to celebrate FD a day early: today. Jonathan's sister and brother and law are visiting from Canada, and his family is getting together tomorrow. Joey heard that and was thrilled -- his FD wish is to watch golf tomorrow -- I guess the US Open is on.

So the Ds and their men are due this afternoon. I'll pour some martinis for my sons in law and me, and we'll probably take the 2 little men for a walk around the 'hood -- D1 had a covered wagon sent over, and the 3.5 year old enjoys the search for iguanas and peafowl. Also, our 'hood is littered with mangoes, and I'm sure there'll be some gleaning. Mangoes don't do it for me, but I get why some people are nuts for them, so to speak.

Tomorrow I plan to reflect on my Dad -- the leader of the band to me. The last FD I got to celebrate with him was in June of '82 -- now 41 years gone by. I don't recall what we did -- probably shared some corned beef sandwiches at one of the Delray delis. He'd be gone less than a month later.

And I think of him daily. Some of it is with sadness -- he loved the closeness of his family -- and that wasn't in the cards. The fate of a grandson he got to meet as a baby has been particularly challenging. He never got to meet Wifey, or my Ds, or my grandchildren. But he lives on -- my oldest grandson's middle name is Dad's.

Someday I'll tell him long tales about his namesake -- although hearing about a man born in 1919 will be ancient history to someone born 100 years later.

And then Monday, early, I'm off -- to Maine as a wingman on a field trip to bring some cats back to Miami. I'm looking forward to it -- spending some quality time with a brother since junior high -- and drinking a vodka or two while looking out on beautiful Thompson Lake. I already checked the weather -- 50s at night -- perfect sleeping weather.

So another FD is upon us. Juneteenth, too, which has become a thing -- they're even closing the banks and stock markets Monday. Funny -- I'm headed to the whitest state in the country -- I don't imagine Juneteenth will be a thing there -- but you never know.

My traveling companion is also a magnificent Dad. We'll toast to that, too, a couple of highly effective mules.

Time To Get Out of Dodge

 I'm very fortunate that, despite family genetics that has affected all branches of my mother's family tree, I have never suffered from depression. Anxiety, yes, but mostly the humorous Woody Allen in "Hannah and Her Sisters" type, where I fear each headache is a brain tumor "the size of a basketball" and track all of my family members' flights to make sure the planes don't fall out of the sky.

I know about depression, though, and it's very different than the blues, or short bouts of melancholy. I get those, thankfully infrequently, and am climbing out of one of those now. And I know the trigger.

Wifey has pointed out that as a man of many close relationships, I draw energy from people. The best is when all are happy -- say at a party, or a dinner with martini toasts, or a family gathering watching our amazing grandsons play. But lately, sadly, there has been a bunch of negative energy.

It's pointless to audit the sources, but they range from the end of long time friendships, to difficult times for family and friends, some life threatening, but mostly not.

And it came to me that all of this dark energy got to me, finally, and changed my normal uplifting, joking, source of humor and comfort to a guy less fun to be around.

I'm reminded of the beginning of "Moby Dick," when the narrator Ishmael describes the same thing -- a period of his life where he lingers too long at funeral processions, and is quick to anger. In his case, it tells him it is time to put to sea, which he does, to become the recorder of one of American Literature's great tales.

Well -- the Big Man works in mysterious ways, and I have been asked by a dear friend to take a three day trip with him -- to fetch pet cats from a Summer house since their plans for snowbird-ship this year have been changed.

I immediately saw the comedic side of this trip -- two gray haired 61 year olds schlepping a total of three cats home from New England on two flights -- there is zero chance every gate agent and fellow passenger we meet won't assume we're a senior gay couple -- not that there's anything wrong with that, as Seinfeld taught us.

But for me, as it turns out, the get away is coming at the perfect time. I truly now look forward to changing my scene, to talk like a beatnik, and spend some time sipping vodka on the dock of a beautiful lake, the only sounds the conversation of a friend since junior high, and the occasional loon. Hopefully the actual loon will calm this loony fellow.

A truism is that Man plans, while the Big Man laughs. We think we have control over our lives, and that everything is cause and effect. I know people to whom that falsehood is a mantra -- whenever tragedy befalls someone, these people take comfort in "Well -- that would NEVER happen to me, because I would have known better than to (fill in the blank).

I've come to understand this is nonsense. Sometimes even all the wise choices and proper courses of action don't help a bit. The best we can do is hope...and ask the Big Man for His blessings.

I've also learned it's folly to judge other peoples' reactions to their life situations. Wifey used to get that a lot. She'd be the first to agree that she's lived a charmed life -- first as the adored only child of two parents treating her like the Second Coming, and later, after the Ds came, of being able to enjoy motherhood and only work as she pleased -- and since the Ds became adults, literally doing only what she chooses. And yet she has had struggles, and difficult times, and a health crisis two and a half years ago.

We all have our demons. Those of us lucky enough to not be anhedonic also have plenty of joy, too, and it's sure nice when there's more of the latter than former.

All I know is, this weekend I get to celebrate Father's Day a day early -- Jonathan's Canadian sister is here, and so he and D2 are spending Sunday with his family. And Joey, who is the best father a guy could hope for for his grandsons, told D1 that he wished to spend his FD watching golf, quietly.

So the plan is for everyone to come here Saturday -- kids, dogs, adults, and older adults (Wifey and me). I love those afternoons.

And then, a few days after, if all goes to plan, a couple of flights to cooler climes for a few days -- and some much needed head clearing.

I have a strong feeling I'll return with my pleasant nature restored -- or else I guess I'll have to find a whaling ship looking for help.

Entertaining Myself

 I recall well Dad's retirement, brief as it was. Each day he would have errands to run, and somehow he made them fun -- chatting with people he would meet, causing riots at the Publix bakery based on false rumors of free rye breads to the first 10 customers, etc...

Well, I am nothing if not his son, and likewise find the mundane entertaining -- like today.

I had an appointment at Baptist Medical Complex, with my charming South African born glaucoma doc. He checks me every 6 months to make sure my eye pressure is acceptable. The appointments are staggered with his partner the retina guy, who makes sure his laser repair of my horseshoe tear is ok. Ah...aging.

I arrived as usual around 730, but something had changed. Instead of the line for the elevators, there were 3 security guards running the show. They asked my floor, and I told them 4. "Nope -- gotta wait until 8am when they open." Ok, fine.

But then an older lady in a walker came -- and said she was going to 5, which happens to be another floor for the print money eye docs. She motioned me, and I lied that I indeed needed floor 5. The elevator let us off there, and my new partner in crime explained that if you did this, and then walked down to 4, you got there before the "hordes" who rushed in at 8.

Her name was Nicki, and we became fast friends, as I imagine people do who bust out of jail together. We made our way to the stairs, and I offered to hold her walker and purse while she held on for the descent. And then -- the door was LOCKED! Oh no, Nikki -- we were screwed. Not yet -- a few bangs on the door, and a fellow let us in, gently scolding us to wait until 8 next time. He left out "You seniors can be SO sneaky!"

So we chatted. Her husband had died last year -- he was a highly decorated Metro cop. I actually knew some mutual friends, and that made her smile -- especially Fred, who is Fred Taylor, the long time chief, who I work with as a security consultant. Nikki got a call -- her granddaughter checking up on her. She lives in Midtown -- these are an old school Miami family. I later learned Nikki's daughter had died young, too.

At 8, I got up and held Nikki's spot. She checked in -- we were both seeing Dr. Brink. The PAs all knew Nikki and adored her -- and she introduced me to her new friend Dave, and what a gentleman I was! So I guess if I need to, I can make it with the octegenarians...

Nikki went in, and soon I was called in. I decided to surprise Dr. Brink with some SA slang, and greeted him with HOWZITT -- the local J Berg greeting. He loved it. He introduced his "medical student," a third year at FIU, who, Dr. B happily explained, was from Capetown.

She was also shockingly beautiful -- Halle Berry could have been her mother. She knew the HOWZITT, too, and laughed.

Dr. B said to her "Well, opthamology is great, but tough to get in. But I guess not TOO tough -- they took me." Yeah, right. Handsome, charming, and self deprecating. Dude's sort of a Tom Brady of medicine.

He told me I was lucky that my dominant eye was the one that saw distance better -- I can do without contacts or glasses for the first time since college. He said if (when) I get cataract surgery, to remind him or whoever does it of that fact -- he said I'd get a great result. 

Terrific -- something to look forward to.

I wished the gorgeous FIU med student luck, and thought that in a few years, any program director either a straight man or gay woman will think it was Christmas in July.

Ay -- I am such a viejo verde, as the Cubans say.

Tonight, Joelle and Kenny are coming over for some UberEat-in Indian food. Wifey wants to watch the Heat, though I think it will be their last game in a still improbably great season.

Ya gotta make your own fun wherever you are...

Sunday With The Boys

 So D1 was enjoying her Saturday night in Chicago -- sending me pictures of my favorite steak place, Gibson's, but making clear she and her flock of girlfriends did NOT plan to have dinner there. She also sent a shot of famous deep dish pizza place Lou Malnatti's. Eh. I'm not a deep dish pizza fan -- to me NY style is the way to go. The deep dish is really a doughy tomato pie. Chicagoans can keep it.

Joey and the nanny had things well in hand, but we were certainly invited for a Saturday visit, and so Wifey and I got in the manly SUV and drove up to Shorecrest. We arrived and the happy toddler was looking out the window for us -- happy his Ippi and Dev were there.

We played, and savored his baby brother, who is truly the most chill baby we've been around. You truly forget he's there until the occasional "Meep," followed by a smile and a wave, or maybe a clap of hands. He is so precious.

The toddler was busy playing and destroying stuff -- so different for us than the girlie girls we raised. Finally he took his IPad and started watching -- allowing Joey to sneak upstairs for a long shave and shower.

Wifey and I love it, too -- we get to sit next to him and stroke him while he is focused on his shows -- some hilarious, like a British cooking demonstration where he shouts along with some of the ingredients.

After Joey came back, we offered a trip to the Miami Shores "eye cream" place he likes, for some of his favorite flavor: "pink." He is so sweet -- reminding us to bring some dulce de leche for the nanny, which we did.

We put the little guy to sleep after his bath, and then Joey and I poured a few adult beverages -- Ketel for me, and a beer for Joey. I toasted him -- the best and most loving and devoted Dad a suegro could hope for his grandkids.

As the ketel took effect, I ordered Uber Eats -- a barbecue place that seemed pretty "on point" as the Millennials say -- from Midtown. Joey bathed the toddler, and I ate delicious brisket burnt ends and some beans -- it was indeed delicious. Wifey deferred on her chicken -- she's on one of those weight loss injections and it is truly working -- she's down 20 and eats the way I should.

Joey brought down a very clean little guy, and it was story time. I read him an Eric Carle about making a pancake, in English, as he has both English and Spanish books. Wifey read another book, and then it was Joey's turn -- Wifey and I got exquisite hugs and we were out the door.

Turns out this grandparent gig really IS wonderful -- you get the best of the kids, and leave the heavy lifting for the parents.

We returned to some happy dogs, and a little TV -- talking about how precious are those boys.

I was supposed to call back D2 -- she and Jonathan are immersed in home improvements for their new place in Miami Shores -- due to close in late June. I texted that we got home late -- they were out at dinner -- but we could catch up today.

Wifey asked me about my thoughts about the project and I told her I had very strong feelings about what they were doing -- and those feelings were informed by the NUNYA Company, as in none my business.

My late father in law Richard was always very quick to tell me "how tings be done!!!" and I vowed at that time that, when the time came, I would be the opposite. I'll share opinions when asked, but otherwise hold my peace.

Being an awesome father in law is important to me, and it involves generously giving but with no strings attached. Plus, I don't know nothin' about birthin' no house projects -- other than falling asleep weekend afternoons to PBS's "This Old House."

Speaking of grandfather related issues, tomorrow I see one of my TWO eye doctors -- the one from South Africa monitoring my pressure. Hopefully the nightly drops are keeping it in check. I think I see his partner, the retina guy, the following week -- hopefully no new tears or anything.

Yep -- doctors as we age. An unfortunate fellow traveler to the advancing years. But if they give me more time with those grandkids -- well -- not a huge price to pay.

Meals With Bros

 So yesterday turned out to be a challenge to my healthy zero calcium score, and it was worth every spec of cholesterol.

I stopped by the local Amerant Bank to sign papers for a new CD -- paying 5.25% now. Finally -- more money on savings for we older folks with cash! Unfortunately I committed lots of money to a much lower paying investment -- 3.5% -- but that investment may assist in the quest for more grandkids, so you can't put a price on that!

I met Kenny at Whisk, a gourmet gem in South Miami. I had suggested Deli Lane, which has a big parking lot. Instead, I had to search for street parking. When Kenny arrived, I reminded him that a sage man noted that 60 is the beginning of old age, and he and I were nearly 15% past that status. One of the hallmarks of cranky old men is avoiding places due to inconvenience, and Kenny motivated me to get past that for lunch at the superior food place. I was glad he did.

We talked about milestones in life -- we're getting ready for a field trip this coming Juneteenth -- an appropriate way to mark the day for a couple of white guys. We took a field trip in 1978 -- from LI to Riverdale, in the Bronx, so Kenny could hear information about Wash U, the school he ended up choosing. We two honors students forgot about the toll thing, and had little cash between us. Luckily, Kenny had some M and M boxes from a band fundraiser, and the proceeds got us to Brooklyn, where a stop at his aunt's house got us the funds needed to get home. We fondly recall our stupidity to this day.

I'm thinking the next trip, to Maine, won't be one where we run out of money.

I came home to a lovely Bo nap, so named because I share the sofa with the snoring Spaniel, as I fall asleep to Mayday: Air Disaster, my favorite documentary about the many and varied ways airplanes fall out of the sky, and the fascinating investigations of the causes.

I awoke to a text from Barry. He was at a faculty retreat in North Miami, and had a later function at his partner Mike's house at 730 in Schenley Park. Would I be up for an earlier than usual Happy Hour? Would the Pope be up for an Easter Mass? 

I ordered DiNapoli, and cracked open the Stoli Elit, and mixed some serviceable martinis. Wifey joined us, to provide entertainment in the form of explaining to Barry the decades of cruelty I showed to her best friend , including an ill fated trip to Key West a few months back, which resulted in the rescinding of my invitation to her daughter's upcoming wedding in Colorado this August, lest I drunkenly ruin the whole party.

In truth, the mother and stepfather detest the groom to be and I unfortunately have experience with a good friend paying for her daughter's wedding to clearly the wrong guy -- the ensuing years have turned out very bad. So I'm actually relieved to be missing this joyous event. I'm a better dogsitter than guest at an event where I'd be as welcome as the proverbial turd in a swimming pool.

But the true lesson to me is that going forward, maybe Wifey doesn't need to be a part of my friends' and I partaking of ethanol. We enjoy the buzz, and don't need or want it killed.

Barry, ever the peacemaker, and to the best friend the only one of my friends MAYBE not an asshole (David -- ALL of your friends are assholes with the possible exception of Barry), suggested that maybe envy of Wifey's life and blessings is a source of these feelings. Wifey shut that down fast. -- No, it was me and my despicable actions over the past 20 years.

Hey -- if I've learned anything in nearly 62 years on this planet - it's to take a hint, especially when the hint is the very direct "You're not welcome here!"

Barry reminded us of some of his issues at work, involving brain dead toddlers, recurrences of terminal leukemia in beautiful children, and other assorted examples of true human misery, and how silly it is to focus on slights and insults. I called him Rick from Casablanca -- "the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans..." and so it is.

Speaking of happy things: D1 is off in Chicago with her dear friends -- girls she met in Middle School, and are now all married and some with babies. She is sending back pictures in the Art Institute and Rush Street, and having an awesome time, the better to clear her head for the lifelong job of motherhood.

And my son in law Joey, who I was THRILLED to have marry our girl, is getting by just fine -- I think I may mosey over there later to bring in an early dinner and pass some time with the grandsons.

Luckily, I haven't been banned from that house.

Ha. Wifey's friend is right: I sure CAN be an asshole. Sarcastic and apathetic. Whatever.

To use another fellow asshole friend Paul's language: I know who I am, and I know who I am NOT.

And meals with my brothers just strengthen that -- buzz kills or not.

Getting Zeros On Tests

 So I was always a good student, though struggled with Math beginning with pre-Calculus in high school. Since I was going to be pre-med in college, I knew I would have to take Calculus, and dreaded it. I put it off until my junior year.

Sure enough, the first test came, in September of  1981. I was living with Dr. Barry, and Dr. Eric was our apartment's squatter -- he commuted but spent most of his time with us. They're both Math whizzes.

I got the test back: ZERO!.  I'm pretty sure that was a first for me. Calculus was like learning Chinese to me -- it made no sense. Barry said he needed to come to my class to see first hand what was going on, and so he did.

In fact, Professor MacDougal was a bit addled. He did a problem where his answer was that the center of mass of an object was, by his calculations, OFF of the object! Barry said that partially explained my being so befuddled -- I had a bad teacher, though he was a very nice fellow.

Barry and Eric tutored me, and somehow I managed a gentleman's C for the course. It was one of the factors telling me that pre-med wasn't for me. But I still recall getting the zero on the test.

Well, fast forward 42 years. I got another zero on a test. Last week, I had a CT Scan for a Calcium Score, which measures calcium in the vessels around the heart, as a predictor of heart disease.

So this time, Zero was perfect! It was terrific news. I'm confident that if Dad was administered the test as he was nearing 62 years of age, he would have gotten some findings. Indeed, he died at 63.

My Mom died at 93, and never had heart issues, despite a Burger King Whopper habit that was a lifelong thing. Her other favorite foods were lobster drenched in butter, and the Costco $1 hot dogs. Not exactly a healthy eater.

So hopefully I inherited my Dad's sharp wit, but Mom's cardiovascular genetics.  I guess time will tell, but at least for now, per the CT scanner at Baptist West Kendall, as read by radiologist Medina, ain't nothing clogging stuff up.

In a related anecdote, I watched the hilarious Charles Barkley being interviewed about taking Ozempic for weight loss. He was asked why, and he replied to live longer, since he worked so hard and wanted to enjoy his money in lieu of "all the freeloaders getting to spend it." He's a funny guy.

Meanwhile, at 3:45 today we're fetching our friend Ronnie from Deering Bay and schlepping up to Aventura for our friend Cara's "housewarming dinner" at 5 pm. Really. 5 pm.

Cara moved into the very upscale senior living place called the Vi, and in a marketing ploy, they invite new residents to have friends join them in the restaurant for dinner. It makes sense -- they figure a new Vi resident must have friends also as old as fuh, as the Millennials say, and maybe they'd be interested in moving there.

In a preview of the future, I'm the only guy. I think the other guests are Allison, Linda, Wifey, and Ronnie and Cara. I guess I'll know what a sheik feels like surrounded by a harem, albeit a harem of not very young slave girls.

Still, I'm sure they'll have vodka there, and I plan to toast: to the best Zero on a test one can obtain.

Vicarious

 So D2 made a lovely unexpected visit yesterday, with the enormous puppy. She had some business in the South part of town, and so stopped over. We roused Wifey, and ran some errands -- Truist Bank to get cash for Wifey, as she never goes to the bank herself, and then lunch at Roasters, and then UPS for me to drop off a package for my Cali sister. There was also a stop in the liquor store next to UPS, and then a return at DWS Shoes.

D2 loved the visit. The Truist stop gave her some Daddy cash, and I paid for the wine she needed as a dinner gift to some friends. "Wow," she noted, "I LOVE coming to Pinecrest."

And I love it, too -- spoiling my Ds and sons in law and grandkids. And it made me think about my Dad, gone 41 years this July.

My Dad returned from the Army in WW II and set about working 3 jobs -- to support my Mom and sister, born in January of 1945. As time went on, he dropped to 2 jobs and then finally a single one, in the late 50s. The year after I was born, he and my Mom realized they needed more room than the garden apartment in Queens provided, and so Dad borrowed $2K from his boss and they bought the house where I grew up, on Long Island.

But Dad always felt he missed out -- on college. He prized intelligence and education, and though some of his cohort attended college on the GI Bill, or with family money, higher education wasn't in Dad's fate.

My sisters both got AA degrees, from a commuter school, FIT, but I was the first to attend university. And boy -- Dad was so proud. He truly lived college vicariously through me.

When I would drive home for weekend visits, or over the Summers, he wanted to know everything -- about the girls, the sports, the parties, and most of all, the classes. He would glow hearing about a particularly interesting classroom discussion. And I loved to share the tales with him, knowing this most important person in my life was getting to live out his dream through me.

My friends and I do the same -- though since we all attended college -- it's not about that. We enjoy hearing about fields other than law and medicine. We enjoy hearing about the travel and experiences our kids have at younger ages than we could afford.

Wifey and my starter house cost $86.5K. That's about $235K in today's dollars. In Miami, that amount might get you a starter studio -- and not in a good part of town.

D1 and Joey live in a 7 figure house. D2 and Jonathan just bought one, too --they close on it at the end of the month.

And this gives me thrills, vicariously -- to see the lifestyles they can enjoy in their 30s.

Other friends have kids that have had more fun in their first 25 years than they have at age 60. By a long shot. And it's funny -- none of my doctor friends have kids who have become physicians as well. They're too smart -- they see how tough it was for their Dads, and the hours, and know life can be enjoyed a lot more by avoiding that demanding profession.

There are a few lawyer offspring, but not many. Likewise, the young-uns picked finance, and accounting, and HR, and journalism, and communications and engineering. 

A few friends have kids who eschewed college completely. One of the young men started a tech company while he was in high school, that's now attracted serious investors. This kid was throwing parties for frat boys while he was in high school. As his Dad noted -- what's the point of going to frat parties now?

Most of my friends still provide material support for their adult kids. We weren't so lucky -- once I was a lawyer, I was on my own. There were generous gifts, of course, but no paying for my kids' college -- that's the plan the Ds are on with Wifey and me.

And we love it. We know we've had blessed, and fortunate lives. And we want our kids to have even better lives than we did.

That is the best vicarious thrill of all.

Leche Dave -- Usurped!

 So D1, despite being a little, flaca, adorable young Mom, is a PRODIGIOUS producer of milk for her babies. She would pump after nursing the now 3.5 year old, and store her milk in an additional freezer she bought, as well as our garage freezer.

When it became clear she had more than anyone little one needed, she set about the mitzvah of donating it -- to new mothers who either couldn't breast feed, or had stopped, and had babies that needed the real stuff.

Around that time, there was a classic storyline on our beloved show "Curb," in which Larry David opens a "spite store" to compete with "Mocha Joe's," and he names it "Latte Larry's." I enjoyed the subplot so much, that Josh, my nephew of another mother, bought me a "Latte Larry's" coffee mug, which I enjoy to this day.

I was inspired by this, and when D1 asked me to help in the distribution of her frozen milk, adopted the moniker "Leche Dave." When the recipients would come by the house, or I would have to schlep the bags of frozen milk back to the house, I assumed the name Leche Dave.

One of D1's high school friends became my top customer. They reconnected on a Mom Page, and the young lady had a son with reflux -- he could only keep down breast milk. Alas, the Mom was a busy PT locally, and found it tough to keep up with the baby's needs, so on several occasions she and her husband came by. He was a terrific guy -- a sergeant in the Doral Police Department, and I was pretty, pretty confident that if any of us got traffic tickets in Doral, they might be handled in a gentlemanly manner.

Well, Leche Dave went into retirement -- but then was pulled back in when D2 had her second baby. The prodigious production continued, and a few months ago D1 absolutely FILLED our garage freezer -- to the point I had to construct jenga-like structures on the shelves to fit it all in.

I reminded her it was there, and D1 went back to work -- and found an old co-worker from the restaurant she worked while in grad school -- a Colombiana who needed the milk for her second baby.

D1 asked me yesterday if I was home. I was, having returned from a trek to the East Everglades, where Baptist West Kendall is located. I was getting a calcium score test, at my own request, to learn how likely I am to drop like my Dad did. Hopefully I inherited my Mom's cardiovascular genetics -- she lived to 93 with zero heart problems.

Anyway, D1 texted, and told me I would hear from Andrea, and so I prattled on on my desktop -- feeding my news junkie habit and going down rabbit holes in the quest for knowledge. Plus I did some financial stuff -- trying to keep ahead of the constant uncertainty in the markets.

After a few hours, D1 texted that mission was accomplished -- and maybe we ought to rename our street "Leche Dave Avenue." No -- I corrected her -- Andrea had never called. How could this be, D1 queried -- Andrea had thanked her.

And then came the answer: Andrea simply drove over, and was greeted by Wifey, who directed her t the garage freezer. Wifey reported that Andrea was pretty and lovely. Great -- I missed a perfect viejo verde moment!!!!

I questioned Wifey. She just gave away precious milk to a random young woman who drove up? She wasn't in the Leche Dave loop. What if the woman was a thief -- looking to sell our daughter's hard pumped milk on the White Market????

Wifey was nonplussed -- the young girl said D1's name, and Wifey assumed, correctly, the pickup was legit.

But I was sad. Leche Dave had been worked around. The good news is that the baby is just turning one -- and D1 will probably remain humanly cow-like for another year.

Leche Dave may well schlep again!