Crossing The (Broward) Line

 I always joke that I have become one of those curmudgeonly old guys who sees little need to ever drive out of his home County. I joke because it's true -- everything truly important to me is in the 305 -- though it's also the 785 and, I just learned, adding 645. Oy.

My family, of course, and all of my essential cultural inststitutions, like places the Canes, Heat, Marlins, and Dolphins play. The Panthers are in Broward, and I appreciate going there with Norman, but not other than that -- I don't know I would be a hockey fan anymore. Too many white players.

Dear friends live in Broward and Palm Beach -- but we get together on Zoom, or, more sacredly, during the High Holidays, which are tailgate parties at Joe Robbie Stadium during the Fall.

Alas, today is a rare exception. Mike's boy Chris scored we three lawyers tix to see John Fogarty at the Hard Rock Live -- the arena owned by the Seminoles. I was there months ago for a fine Springsteen show -- it happens to be a terrific theater. And I love Fogarty -- saw him 2 times already.

The first was also in Broward -- at the then newly opened theater Downtown Lauderdale. This must have been in the late or mid 90s, and he was terrific. Even better, two Novembers ago, for Kenny's 60th, we went to Key West to see him at the wonderful ampitheater they have there, on land deeded from the US Navy. It was a magical trip -- I bored Joelle and Kenny with my Key West tour facts, including drinks at the Chart Room where Jimmy Buffet and Bob Marley first played, as well as a smattering of Hemingway, Capote, Williams, and McGuane.

Fogarty plays with his son now, and is in fine form for a guy in his late 70s. It still cracks me up how many fans think he's a Cajun guy because of his songs -- he was born and raised in SF.

Anyway, the plan is to fetch father and son at Mike's house at 4, cruise the man sized SUV to Anthony's Runway 84 for a big Italian dinner, and then Uber over to the Hard Rock. Parking there is a Bear, and not the Sitting kind. Lord -- can't I ever get away from the bad Indian puns? I cannot -- I am a devotee of Mel Brooks, and to Jews, Indians doing stuff like speaking Yiddish, or explaing the origins of the Fuckawee Tribe are always funny. Recently, I heard a Mumbai comic say that when he tells someone he's Indian, they ask "Computer or Casino?" Racist? Yes. Funny? Yes -- and this is from said comedian.

Chris is a third generation Miami lawyer, and always had, and still does, an old soul. He has tons of friends his own age, but loves being around we old guys, too. Watching him grow up, his relationship with Mike used to bring tears to my eyes -- it reminded me of my relationship with my own Dad. 

To this day, Mike calls him "Son," and Chris calls Mike "Father." It always cracks me up -- though I'm guessing after several adult drinks at Anthony's, Chris will revert to the more simple "Dad and Dave."

Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan send daily videos from Heaven, also known as Lake Como. They checked into a hotel and got upgraded to a suite fit for George Clooney, on account of the manager's wife was Venezuelan and Jonathan sweet talked him into the suite. The photos are amazing -- the two young-uns are having an awesome time -- they leave tomorrow for Majorca.

Dog sitting the enormous puppy has been ok -- but she is just such a PRESENCE. Yesterday I took her for a 1.5 mile walk, thinking that would tire her out, but it seemed to energize her. She's loveable, but not a "Background dog," as Wifey says.

In other news, my trainer Juan, who is my favorite MF, on account of I really like him but loathe working out, is off for greener pastures. This new full service apartment/gym called Lifetime has hired him to manage their staff of 40 -- trainers, pilates, swim instructors, etc. I am thrilled for him -- we hugged on Thursday, and I told him all kidding aside, he has truly kept me stronger and more agile -- the better to chase around the very active grandson, and his on deck brother.

It should be a seamless transition for me, though. There's a young trainer named Jonathan who I'm friends with -- a Palmetto grad and Sephardic Jew -- he and I are the only ones who greet each other on the Jewish holidays -- and he has happily taken on my large carcass for continued attempts to keep me upright. We meet Tuesday.

Monday I have a grandson pickup after camp -- and Tuesday old friend Vince returns to the practice with Stuart. I plan to visit the office more -- he and I relate quite well -- and he needs more collaboration than the mentoring Stu's associate had. 

Problem is, he no longer drinks -- but that's ok. He feared, I guess, following the path of many of his Irish American relatives who lost their functionality with the old ETOH, and so avoids the stuff. I'll sip my Tito's in the office evening alone -- or with Stu, if he attends.

But tonight, ketel martinis, sausage and peppers, and the best Italian bread South of Brooklyn/South Philly await, followed by some great music -- with two awesome friends. 

As my late in laws would have said: "Could be voise."

A Job For the Young

 Yesterday I was tasked with fetching my 3.5 year old grandson from camp, and spending some time with him. Typically we go get "eye cream" and then back to his house, but D1 said he had mentioned he wanted a new umbrella -- maybe that would be a fund grandpa/grandson activity. And, they opened a new Michael's right next to a new Dollar Store -- probably places that would have umbrellas.

The little guy was adorable and funny as always, as the nice counselor buckled him into his car seat, which these days are the equivalent of fighter pilot seats in supersonic jets. I think I finally figured them out -- and the boy is nearing 4.

We chatted, and I told him we were stopping to buy him a new umbrella. He responded that sounded like a "good idea." I pulled up to the Michael's -- indeed next to a Dollar Store.

We walked into both -- no umbrellas! But, there was also a Burlington -- which I guess was formerly Burlington Coat Factory, a store I have affection for. Years ago, we stopped in one in the Dolphin Mall, and I found a leather jacket I really liked. It was originally $500, and marked down to $50. I was sure it was a mistake, but they sold it to me, and I have gotten years of use out of it whenever I travel to cold climates.

There was a helpful young lady, and she directed us to the umbrellas. We picked two -- one for the toddler, and one "for my baby brother." Of course, getting this also involved walks, then runs, down each aisle, and my being asked if we could "Get this?"  He is high energy!

We went to check out, and there were a good 40 people on a line with 2 cashiers. It is clear to me why people all shop online now. But, the little man was a trooper -- keeping busy pulling stuff off the display racks and having me put it back, and charming a young couple waiting in front -- especially when the Venezuelan girlfriend learned he spoke Spanish.

It took a good half hour, and tired me out. I'm used to girls -- boys move a LOT more. I was reminded of a field trip where I chaperoned when D2 was in kindergarten.

The teacher, Mrs. Tables, figured she would put me in charge of 5 boys. We were at the then Parrot Jungle -- now Pinecrest Gardens. No problem -- I was a grown ass man, and these were 5 year olds.

When we got back to the entrance, to leave, to my horror I realized Nicholas was missing! I must have aged 10 years -- where the hell did he go, I was watching like a hawk.

Mrs. Tables was unworried, and retraced our steps back to a huge banyan tree. Sure enough Nicholas has scurried up the tree like a squirrel and was sitting on a branch 20 feet high, grinning. He reluctantly came back to earth.

So I guess I learned then, over a quarter century ago, but now I have it first hand.

Umbrellas bought, we headed to McDonalds for the vanilla cone, which the little guy savored. 

We walked in to D1, and I clearly looked like I needed a drink. She reminded me I was with him for 1.5 hours -- she has him all day!

Indeed she does, but she and Joey are nearly 30 years younger. Children are for the young adults.

When I see old guys with younger wives, toddlers in tow, I shake my head. Not on my life!

I take kids too seriously, and I know I am too old for fatherhood.

 For those fellows who feel otherwise -- power to you.

D1 is chaperoning the camp today -- the kids are at a play hall in South Miami. She is getting a taste of little girls -- less active, but capable of much more meanness, apparently.

I just know I love the grandpa gig -- play time, and then a handoff, before it gets too much.

The key is to remain one cool rocking grandaddy in the USA.

A Day At The Beach

So our dear friend Joelle is the master (mistress?) of fun, and she suggested we take advantage of Miami Spa Days. I'm not much of a spa guy, but this is a program where locals can book spa stuff at deep discounts, and it comes with free valet parking (probably$50 at these hotels) and cabana service at the beach. She picked the Setai, a top place on 20th and Collins, and yesterday we attended.

I had never been to the property, but Wifey had. A few years back, her friend's daughter was living with a really rich guy who rented there -- for, I think, $15Kper month. It's one of those uber expensive properties, but at bargain prices for us -- well -- a real treat.

We fetched our friends in the Grove, and enjoyed the traffic free time of no school in Miami Dade. We checked in early at the spa, and were directed to the beach, where helpful pool guys set us up with 4 chaise lounges and multiple umbrellas. The breeze was delicious -- turns out that going to the beach is pretty pleasant.

This is a running joke with Wifey and me. We live close to a beach where millions pay tons of money to come visit, and we rarely go. When we do, we always say we ought to go more often!

I attempted to remedy this in 1997, by buying an oceanfront condo on Mid- Beach. It was in an older building, on the 11th floor, but had gorgeous views of the sea. The problem was, the Ds were 5 and 8, and most weekends were booked with dance recitals, parties, and all the curricula post school of  modern kids. So we ended up using the place rarely -- actually -- friends were there, happily, much more often than we were.

Near the end of ownership, I let the estranged husband of Wifey's dear friend stay there with his younger girlfriend -- he was cheap and didn't want to spring for a hotel, and I figured, well, why not. Turns out the friend never forgave me for that -- even decades later.

We ended up selling the place in 2000 to buy Villa Wifey -- but yesterday brought back memories.

Anyway, after the beach, we retired to the pool, which was NOT included in our Spa Days package, but Joelle charmed her way in, and we took a dip among the international guests. Interestingly, there were several older fathers there with their amazingly gorgeous young daughters! Kenny and I found that so heartwarming. Wifey and Joelle not so much, for some strange reason.

After lunch oceanside, we went to the treatment center, up on the 18th floor of the main building, with gorgeous balcony views of the sea, and west to the amazing Miami skyline, which is probably now a top 3 in the US, with NYC and Chicago. We drank the Setai's signature lemongrass iced tea, which is addictive. And then we were called into the treatment rooms.

The Ds used to make me get facials, on account of I need them, but my last was over 5 years ago, and was an aggressive "extraction" of blackheads and such, all the stuff growing and burrowed deep into my aging face. This one was much more relaxing -- just massage and various exfoliants. Wifey got one, too,  and we both emerged relaxed and glowing.

We had the man sized SUV brought around, and it was back to the Grove, to meet Joelle and Kenny's latest addition: Moxie, an adorable 30 lb Lab mix they just rescued. She was all energy and face licking -- a truly sweet new pup for them. My dog obsessed family had me send pictures, of course.

So it was a lovely day, as expected. Today I meet my trainer, to get tortured, and then host a haberdasher, to buy the first new clothes in years. I loathe shopping, and this service comes to your office or house, measures you, and brings back clothes. They're not bespoke, but a bit more expensive than stores. I need new duds on account of I am very fat. As Juan notes, I work like a slave but won't give up eating like a king. So -- new clothes.

I know who I AM, as my dear friend Paul likes to say, and who I am NOT.

Maybe I'll get around to eating more like a slave, and be ready for some bathing suits for the next beach trip. Nah. Probably not.

Big Birthday for Big Daddy

 So one of the greatest men I know, who saves children's lives for a living and has taught thousands of young docs to do the same, turns 60 today. Although charming and welcoming, he once took a psych test which scored him a classic introvert. He loves his close family and friends, but in social settings gets sweaty hands, it seems.

Still, he decided to host a birthday dinner Saturday night, and it was wonderful. Our house guest Allison was here with her many special needs dog, helping Wifey declutter and organize, and when Norman arrived for the carpool up to Aven-torture, as Allison calls the very crowded NE Village, I texted Norman that Wifey had been undergoing some surgery lately, and then I brought out Allison instead of Wifey. I try to be a funny guy.

Norman's wife is off in Europe yoga-ing, and so appreciated the company for the drive up to Aventorture. We met at Motek, and Israeli place in the Mall there -- a mall that hasn't been told that malls are less crowded and selling than they used to. The place was buzzing.

We sat in a large alcove, and Dr. Barry's wife and boys were there -- my nephews of another mother. Scott's lady had missed her flight from LGA, so it was a DNA only family list, but Eric, Dana, Paul, Patricia, and Patti and Delores were there, too.

We feasted, as the staff brought out platter after platter of salmon, chicken, lamb, and all manner of sides. There was food for three parties instead of one, and after my second martini made inappropriate jokes about there being enough to feel the tense West Bank.

Later, Josh's friends came, and took some lovely pix, so the night would be properly memorialized. We sang happy birthday, and had MORE desserts. Dr. Barry was beaming -- and it gladdened all of us who love him so.

D1 tried to send dessert, but learned there was already a surfeit of sweets, and so sent a nice glass of bourbon. It was that kind of night.

I wrote my brother a heartfelt email where I discussed the presence of the Big Man. Ha -- two old fucks discussing the nature of G-d -- who'd have seen that coming in 1981, when we met, and talked about classes and girls?

Norman and I talked on the way home, as Wifey slept. Allison was asleep -- the house was quiet, and our kitchen drawers looked like adults had put stuff in them, instead of wild 9 year old boys! It was nice to see.

Yesterday Wifey and Allison continued their work, and I made two trips to give away literally hundreds of pounds of old clothes. Wifey has realized she has a bit of a problem, but took solace that she is a "clothes hoarder" instead of a general one.

D2 came by with the enormous puppy, followed by D1 and the best baby in the world. We brought in Carrot Express and ate together. Both Ds and the baby left, Betsy remained behind for her 2 week stay with us while her parents go to Europe, on a trip planned before they bought their new house. Allison took the special special needs dog home, too, but will be back to continue the monumental task of organizing Wifey.

Today, assuming I can rouse the late sleeping Wifey, we're off with Kenny and Joelle to the Setai, a 5 star Miami Beach resort. They host "Miami Spa Days," a special for locals to get massages or facials at 1/3 the normal cost, which includes free valet parking (it's usually $40) and a chair at the beach. Wifey and I have facials scheduled -- I haven't had one in years -- my facialist hopefully has a jackhammer.

But Dr. Barry is the reason for the season. I think he'll be breakfasting with his #2 son -- #1 son is already back in D.C. And I texted him -- hoping the grand party Saturday night sets the tone for his coming days.

Tommy O

 From Kindergarten through 2nd grade, I had a close neighborhood friend named Tommy. He was a maverick -- a Reds fan in a 'hood where loving the Mets was seemingly required. And in football -- neither Giants nor Jets -- he loved the Green Bay Packers. 

He came from a big Irish Catholic family -- very fine people. His older brother was very cool -- didn't mind little babies like us hanging around. And the coolest thing to Tommy and I was our birthdays were a single day apart -- he was born the 19th, and I the 18th. Before third grade, he gave me sad news -- he was no longer to be a student at East Broadway -- he was switching to St. James.

I recall speaking to his Dad , who looked to me like Marcus Welby, M.D., and appealing for Tommy to stay in school with us. He patiently explained that their religion was important, and wanted Tommy to have a Catholic education. "Why can't he go to catechism like everyone else?" Mr. O laughed -- I guess he appreciated my moxie, but the deal was done. We saw each other little after that.

Well, as a running joke for myself, each year following my birthday, I thank all the well wising FaceBook (tm) posters for their greetings, and add "And happy birthday to you, Tommy O, wherever you are." Well THIS year, I got a response -- a message from a fellow named Brian, a year behind me in school, who was in fact FaceBook (TM) friends with Eileen O, Tommy's older sister. He invited me to contact her.

I did, and last night, while I was having Zoom cocktails with Eric, Dana, Barry, and Donna, Eileen wrote back -- she was WITH Tommy, at his White Plains, NY home -- and why didn't I call. The drinking and laughing lasted late, followed by my inspection of the closet purging led by our friend Allison helping Wifey, and I called Tommy's number this am.

What a delight! We talked for an hour. Sure enough, from St. James he went to Chaminade, and then Pace for college. The result? He married a Jewish girl from LI, and they're raising the kids in the Old Testament way! He's in real estate finance, and living in White Plains. His kids are a bit younger than the Ds -- recent college grad, college student, and high school senior, at a boarding school.

We laughed -- two blue collar kids have a kid in an expensive boarding school. Tommy didn't elaborate, but I gleaned he had done well -- living in the Upper East Side before decamping to White Plains -- private schools and colleges for his kids.

His parents are long gone. In fact, Mr. O was born in 1920 and died in 2013, just like my Mom. Tommy was shocked to learn my Dad had died so young -- he remembered him, and the fact that we visited Israel in 1969. He remembers my Mom showing him all the stuff we brought back, including a wood puzzle of Old Jerusalem, which Tommy knew better than I because of his religious studies.

We compared notes about our LI childhoods, and aging. He shared a great anecdote -- he was at a party in NYC after college, and a Gossip Girl type asked him "Where did you prep?" He thought she was asking about a colonoscopy. Yes -- we weren't blue bloods at all.

It turns out Tommy's wife has relatives in Parkland, and her parents moved to SoFla a few years back. "Let me guess -- Boynton Beach?" He was impressed I knew So Fla demographics so well -- indeed that's where his suegros live, in Boca Del Vista Rey, or some such.

He and his wife are probably coming down in October, and we will try to get together and bore our wives with tales of 1966-1969 East Broadway School. It was great to hear his still heavy NY accent -- reminded me of the way I spoke until I met my Midwestern roommates at UM and decided I wanted to sound more like they do than the way I sounded coming straight outta South Central. Nassau County, that is.

So I walked in my Devonwood neighborhood physically, but back in time 55 years, in fact. It was a lovely journey, and hopefully it continues this Fall.

Dem Bones Dem Bones...

 So I was hoping to have an event-less birthday, just sort of slouch into my 63rd year, and I ALMOST got my wish.

On Tuesday, Wifey and I drove up to North Miami and fetched the hilarious toddler, along with Tia D2. We took him for "eye cream," and then home. Joey came home, too, and we shared a birthday L'chaim, and also celebrated Joey's new vehicle, which is the GMC version of my SUV. Man sized car.

D2, Wifey, and I repaired to a new restaurant called "New Schnitzel," on 79th Street. D1 had been and said I would love it, and I did. Classic German fare mixed with the MiMo hipster vibe, but done well, not preciously. We ate, and toasted, and then each headed home.

Wifey and I were relaxing on the couch, when Wifey started reading a text from D1, that began "Don't tell Dad, but..." Well Wifey DID tell Dad -- I guess she felt guilty about not buying me a birthday gift, and wished to make sure I at least received some tensosity.

It turned out that the little man had rolled off his bed during story time -- a small fall onto a rug, but fell funny on his foot and was in pain. Joey had him off to urgent care. Sure enough, there was a small fracture -- he's already seen an ortho, and will be just fine -- though several weeks in a walking boot so his toe heals right, and, of course, no soccer.

Coincidentally, the baby had an ortho appointment set for the very same day, yesterday, and I met D1 and that beautiful baby at Miami Children's, to drop off an extra stroller we had, in case the big brother needs to be wheeled around on any long hikes during his healing. Thankfully the news for the little guy was great, too, as delivered by, well, no proper way to say it, a total smoke show of a young female ortho doc from Germany. She reported the little guy is just fine, despite his unfortunate genetic history of dodgy hips -- from my family.

Being a mature, now 62 year old, classy man, I immediately forwarded a promotional video of this young orthopedic doc to my friends, to invite their input on her medical training and qualifications. It was agreed -- she was indeed well qualified, and the hope is someday she moves cross town to the Children's Hospital where my brother Barry is the jefe. Hey -- if I get tensosity, I have to find a way to make light of it!

So all's well that ends well, though in hindsight, as D1 had attempted, it would have been just fine to spare me the worry on my actual birthday. Yeah -- like that ever happens!

But in the Birthday Department, aforementioned Dr. Barry has a big one coming up on Monday: he's turning 60. He is self effacing to a fault, and always worried about others instead of himself, and I think was going to let it pass without celebration.

I told him I was a firm believer in following The Chairman's advice and doing it "Your Way, " but ought to consider the sage advice of Rabbi Yossi. Assuming you believe in the Big Man (he does) and believe your life is a gift from Him (he does) than isn't failing to mark at least the milestone birthdays (the zeros and 5s) kind of ungrateful?

Well, in any event, Dr. Barry decided he WOULD host a dinner, and tomorrow night a dozen of us will meet in confederacy at Motek, an Israeli place in Aventura. My nephew of another mister Scott is flying in from D.C. with his lady Sam, my other nephew Josh, already local will be there, and friends who truly love this man, for very good reason, will attend, too.

I completely savored MY 60th two years ago -- a weekend on Key Biscayne, as I did it MY way. Only Kenny and Joelle, who I wished there, had to miss on account of a wedding in California, and two guests were included to keep Wifey happy -- but all in all, it was a wonderful time. And at its end, on Sunday night, I met the Ds and their men for a great meal at Capitol Grille. Yes -- starting my 61st year of life was grand.

I look forward to watching one of the greatest humans I have ever known likewise enjoy this passage of time -- a time to take stock, verily. 

We're going to be a tribe of mostly Ashkenazim, so there will be much cracking wise, I know, with a strong undercurrent of love. 

Hopefully HIS stressors will leave him the hell alone this weekend. That's a true privilege.

The Birthday Steak

 Thursday and Friday we had our friend Allison as a house guest -- of course I kept calling her Kato Kaelin. Luckily no wives or waiters were murdered during her stay. She's helping Wifey decorate and organize -- the latter a herculean task. Several years ago, the Ds tried, and removed 4 hefty bags worth of 1980s era workout outfits. Wifey was very angry. She has issues.

Allison likes to drink, and I don't drink alone, so there were cocktails both nights -- going hard, as the millennials say, on Friday. We turned our Zoom with Eric, Dana, Barry, and Donna into a more lively than normal virtual party -- so much that Barry checked in on me Saturday am. Nah -- my secret is only vodka -- never a hangover.

Allison bolted Saturday am -- to check on her declining Dad, who is 91. He's a great guy -- lives on the very street D2 and Jonathan just bought their house -- but time's chariot has caught up with Sy, unfortunately.

We had plans for a Full Squad dinner at the Palm for my 62nd, but D1 caught a bug again, and so it was just the four of us. They bought me my favorite gift -- an arm of Stoli Elit, and that ended up being the basis for a "Curb" like moment at the end of the evening.

We toasted, and savored the steaks -- what a contrast to the crappy Perry's the week before. Our server was great, heavily NY accented, per normal at The Palm, and we truly feasted -- talking about the new house, and upcoming trip for the young-uns.

After carrot and cheesecake, it was time to go, and we gathered on the small porch to wait for the valets. D2 needed cash for their car, and I handed her the heavy vodka bottle. I noticed she was struggling a bit, and just then, an older lady with ponderous bat wings, for some reason in a sleeveless dress, walked out. As she passed, I said to D2 "Heavy arm, right?" The patron looked at me with great anger, thinking I was making fun of her. I stumbled and pointed to D2 -- "Oh no -- heavy ARM of vodka!" But I still got the stinkeye. Jonathan I stifled laughter. This one will become family lore, along with the time Wifey thought a Spanish accented waited was saying "Feesh" instead of "Quiche" and inadvertently insulted him. 

Hey -- it happens.

Wifey drove us home, though I went less hard than Friday. I like to drink but remain somewhat of a lightweight -- I simply can't take alcohol more than a few nights in a row. I guess my aging liver appreciates it.

I think this afternoon we'll head back North -- to spell D1 and Joey for awhile with the energetic toddler. He's hilarious -- goes and goes -- Energizer bunny-like, until he literally keels over at the end of the day. In other words, thankfully a normal little boy.

Tomorrow evening we're headed to the South Dade JCC -- a place so much a part of the Ds childhoods, and where we haven't been in a decade. There's a memorial service for my friend Yossi's father Meir, who died last month.

Rabbi Meir was high up in the Chabad heirarchy -- a rabbi known to all -- and I assume there'll be tons of folks there. I'm sure the visit to the J will bring back memories of pick up/drop off at Summer camp -- for so many years. And now we help do that with a grandson. Sunrise;sunset.

Tuesday is my actual birthday -- but no big whoop. I plan to get my haircut, work out, and then fetch the grandson at school -- for eye cream afterwards.

So another trip around the sun comes to an end, soon. And I, like my late friend and mentor Judge Murray Meyerson, have no just complaints.

Poetry, Life, and Death

 So family friend Marie, after BA from BC, and MFA from UF, and moving to D.C., became a poet and fundraiser for non profits. Like many pulled back by the powerful sun of Miami, she got a great position last year -- Development Director of O Miami, a group that teaches poetry, and teaches teachers HOW to teach poetry, and puts on a great April Festival.

I met with Marie and because I like to support the my friends' kids, joined O Miami -- I am now a member of the Dade Poets Society. Get it? Lots of puns with these folks. Last night I attended an event at UM -- I assumed there'd be a few old ladies from the Gables and Beach. Ha. Over 300 were there -- teachers at the O Miami Teachers' Institute, staying at UM as they learn. They had wine and beer and a full buffet. They featured three poets who gave readings: a Black woman ("I am a true daughter of Miami") who teaches at UM and read poems about growing up in Overtown, with her Vietnam Vet grandpa who kept a scrapbook of the Obamas like they were his own family, an Indian American from Chicago who had hilarious tales of his immigrant family wanting to fit in, even if it meant eating dog -- as sold from hot dog carts in Queens, and finally a former poet laureate from Cali, a Mexican guy from LA, who credited a third grade teacher who told him "You have a beautiful voice" with his entire storied career.

It was delightful -- I truly do love words and their power -- and a night I thought would be a favor to a young friend turned into one of the best in awhile.

And today dawned. It's my dear friend Norman's wife's Deb's birthday -- she's up at her Canada house enjoying cooler weather, hopefully. It's my dear friend Mike's 62nd -- he's up in his rural NC house. I texted that hopefully his wife Loni is dressed like Daisy Dukes, playing out a rural Southern fantasy -- instead of a reprise from what happened in "Deliverance." My advice: if you hear a banjo in the woods -Run!

But for me, it's the 41st anniversary of the worst day in my life: when my beloved father died in my arms in a barber shop on Atlantic Avenue in Delray.

I was recalling the awful events of that day, as I do each year, like a religious Jew recalls the tales of old that led to sadness. I never cried that day. Mom did all of that -- she sort of collapsed into a pile of sadness. When we got home from Bethesday Hospital, where the clumsy social worker brought us into a room and used every euphemism until I finally said "Are you trying to say my Dad died,?" Mom went to bed and wept.

I got to work, as the newly minted man of the family, 4 days before I turned 21 -- calling my sisters in NY and Cali, and helping to arrange travel plans. I shooed away my Mom's annoying aunts, all of whom had strong opinions and provided as much comfort as a bed of nails.

Eric and Barry met me at a fern bar in Plantation, and we drank beer -- too much. When I fetched my NY sister and her family at FLL late that night, I was over the limit and should NOT have driven home -- but I made it. I guess the Big Man figured my Mom had enough grief for one day, and didn't take her grandkids, 2/3 of her kids, and beloved son in law on I-95 in Broward or Palm Beach Counties.

A few days later, my Cali sister and 4 month son came in -- and the 2 bedroom condo was too packed -- until the New Yorkers went home. Comical events ensued -- I got something in my eye, and my sister had to drive me to the ER. Mom stayed home with the crying grandson, and tried everything to console him -- even offering him her 62 year old nipple! It didn't work -- until my sister gave him her working nipple, and soothed the little baby -- 41 years later a very troubled, ill man, currently in the LA County jail getting psych treatment. But that's another story.

Looking back, July 14, 1982 was certainly my life's inflection point. There were others, of course -- Hurricane Andrew, the recent plague of Covid -- but that one was my personal grow up time. One day I was a happy college kid, finding myself intellectually, and the next I was man of the house. It sucked. It was empowering.

I read years ago that no man truly becomes a man until his father dies. Bullshit. I would have happily transitioned to manhood with my best friend there offering counsel and advice. But that wasn't in the cards.

Dad was cremated, and his cremains (still a favorite word to me) were put into the ocean off Pompano Beach. I talk to him whenever I'm at the beach -- I have lunch across from UM with Kenny later -- maybe I'll divert to Matheson Hammock, where we interred Dad's widow's ashes 31 years later.

I'll tell Dad how much I miss him, and the legacy he left. I have two grandsons myself now -- a fact that struck me last night.

The poetry festival was at the new student union, where the old UM Rathskellar was. I bought a book from a seller, telling him it was for "my grandsons." The spot was the same where I stood as a freshman 44 years before. In 1979 I was drinking beer as a freshman, checking out the co-eds. In 2023 I drank white wine, listening to poets and realizing I was a grandfather. How about that?

But one of those grandkids, a hilarious 3.5 year old who is a bundle of energy, laughter, and love, bears Dad's name as his middle name. I will tell him all about his great grandfather as he grows. Ha -- as I write, WDNA is playing jazz, and the bassist is Jaco Pastorius. Funny how coincidences happen.

So four decades and a year later, Dad is in my heart and head. I miss him so. But life goes on, and tomorrow I gather my Ds and their men for an early birthday dinner for myself -- at the Palm. Ah. NY strips and martinis. I'll toast to the past, and the present, and future -- as we hurtle through space, like all the words ever spoken and still to be spoke.

I guess that's what poetry, and life, are about.

And The Little Man Joined The Band

 So last year the band voted to admit an additional member, and our youngest grandson was born -- on 7-11, the Free Slurpee birthday! Today he turned one, and what joy he has brought to all of us.

His older brother, who we of course adore, has not been a "background child," as Wifey says. He's a lot. Big, full of energy, and hilarious.

The little guy has been the classic second child -- amazingly easy and requiring of so much less attention. D1 says he has largely been a prop to his big brother's life. She nurses him, and loves him, and plays with him, but sometimes kind of forgets he's there.

Big brother cried, and was sometimes inconsolable. The little guy meeps, gets picked up, and smiles. He is a true treasure.

We joke that D1 and Joey had baby personalities opposite of the Ds. D1 was the easiest baby in the world. D2 was the terror toddler -- with tantrums, and behaviors so tough we didn't take her to a restaurant until she was about 4 -- for fear the evening would turn out bad. Well -- she turned out just wonderfully, of course -- and her husband Jonathan takes her to restaurants all the time!

When D2 was born, back in the ancient times when hospitals still had nurseries, my in-laws and I stood at the window and watched her sleeping in the basinet. I waxed philosophic. "Who knows how her life will be? Maybe she'll find the cure for cancer." My suegra seized on this -- and repeated it often.

But it is, of course, the wonder of life. Babies are adorable, and fully dependent, and who knows how their lives will play out? As their loving families, we support and adore them no matter what. And then we watch the great mystery of a life story unfold before our very eyes.

Wifey and I are headed up to NE Miami later -- tasked with picking up big brother at Summer camp. We'll take him for eye cream, as he calls it, and then back to the house to hug the birthday baby. He is taciturn, the little guy -- I have a feeling that years later he will explain that his big brother talked SO much, narrating each aspect of his life, that the hermanito became a skilled listener. We'll see.

Last night, our long time friend Maureen came by -- to take a long evening walk with Wifey. After they returned, we caught up -- we met when her youngest and D1 were in pre school. Her oldest is just now finishing her education -- she has a BS, MS, Doctor of Vet Science from Penn, and now a PhD from Michigan State. She is a scientist in animal-human infection transmission -- a most timely topic, and has taken her first real job at U Washington in Seattle. She's moving there with her partner next month.

The younger girl is a water engineer who married her Palmetto High boyfriend, and the two live in Atlanta. Grandkids are a possibility for Maureen and Dave, but nothing yet.

As I walked Maureen out, she told me how lucky I am -- both Ds and their families right here in the 305, with grandkids to boot! I agreed, of course. She asked me how D2 and Jonathan returned -- lots of Finance people stay in NYC where they were living. I told her the tale of how Jonathan was recruited by a Coral Gables firm, and they purposely didn't tell me until it was a done deal.

D2 was home, and we were getting Dad/daughter pedicures. She was in the next chair, and I overheard her conversation with Jonathan -- confirming it was a "Done deal -- and I can tell him, right?" I had a sense she meant a return home, and I looked at her and got teary eyed.

Anyone who knows me knows I do NOT cry easily. It has to come from my heart -- though absurdly, recently someone said during a heartfelt apology I showed "fake tears." I can't fake tears. Estupida, as a friend always says.

Anyway, I recounted that tale to Maureen, and she got a bit misty, too. I AM the luckiest SOB I know.

And today, a little guy at the top of the list of my manifold blessings reaches a milestone! Happy birthday, Little Man -- here's to many, many, many more, and getting to watch your life's journey go on.

Little Guy Is Nearly One

 So yesterday D1 and Joey invited the fam over to celebrate the one year birthday of the guy D1 has named "The best baby in the world." Indeed he is -- amazingly chill and delightful to be around.

We drove up, and Joey and D1 presented ME with a gift: an arm of Stoli Elit, my favorite. They were thanking me for giving them my AMEX points for their use this Fall. Would I like to open it? I figured the more we drank, the lighter the bottle would be to schlep home, so Joey and I poured a few glasses. Later I got Jonathan and mi consuegro Jacqui to join the club, too.

Claudia, the lovely nanny across the street, is a photographer, and D1 had her take some family shots. Joey's brothers and parents were there, as well as his delightful niece, who the big brother of the birthday boy played with happily. 

We had a terrific time -- catching up on job and life changes. It was repeated to me several times that with D2 and Jonathan's new Shores house purchase, Wifey and I are the only ones living South of Flagler Street. That's ok -- distance makes the heart grow fonder, I answered, and the distance is a 30-45 minute drive.

Everyone left, save Wifey and me, and we Ubereated in some dinner. The birthday boy went to sleep happily, and the toddler joined us for dinner, and then some book reading before his bedtime. He was delicious -- his voice is like that of Adam Sandler when he mimics the voice of a little boy -- and switches from English to Spanish in a seamless manner.

Today I got in my 3 miles in weather you could almost cut the humidity with a knife, or spoon it into a bowl. The last mile was only possible by invisioning my journey's end -- stripping naked and plunging into my pool, followed by cool floating around. I did just that, and it was like the old Nestea Iced Tea commercial -- ahhhhhh.

It occurred to me that it is most fortunate we don't live somewhere with a community pool -- my post summer walk habit might lead to arrest -- or at least raucous laughter.

Tomorrow afternoon we have more abuelo duty -- D1 has a call -- and Wifey and I will fetch the toddler at camp. Probably there will be "eye cream" afterwards.

And then we go home to the best baby's actual birthday! He will likely be taciturn about it.

Thursday night I'm doing something I haven't done since college -- going to a poetry reading! Family friend Marie became Development Director for O Miami, a community organization that seeks to bring poetry to everyone. She invited me to several events after Wifey and I become donators, but there were conflicts, and well, in truth, poetry to me is best enjoyed, if at all, by pulling one of my college books off the shelf and reading it.

But Marie knows me -- tomorrow's event is at the U -- and I kind of always like to visit. Also, two of the poets are a current and past poet laureate of the US -- so I guess it's sort of like the MLB of wordsmiths.

Wifey begged off -- but I look forward to it. Whose woods these are I think I know...

Restaurant Review: M is for Mediocre

 So after eating some warmed up chili on Friday night, I decided we should have a nice meal Saturday. Wifey suggested we invite her friend Diane, and I made reservations at Perry's Steakhouse in the Gables. I had a nice lunch there with Norman in the past, and thought we'd give dinner a try.

We went to Diane's Grove condo and met Tootsie, her new adorable Havanese -- which replaced Sherlock and Watson, now crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. We had some cocktails and admired the ever changing view -- 2 new condos developed by the billionaire Italian Cipriani family have topped off. I also shot a photo of Kenny and Joelle's building and texted it -- to let them know a creepy guy was watching them.

We drove to Merrick Park. Perry's was buzzing -- every table taken, and it's a big restaurant. We were led to ours, and then...nothing. No server awhile, until a friendly fellow came by, comically hurried, and said he would be back for our drink orders. That happened 15 minutes later, and Diane, who is particular about her cocktails, sort of got rushed through her questions. I got my usual Ketel martini.

The food was mediocre -- we had asked for rare -- the steaks were medium well. The "NY Strip Flight" had 3 small medallions, as did their "signature filet" medallions. The two steak dishes were about $120 -- and had it been three guys there, it would have been an appetizer. We also got 3 sides.

When the bus person brought the steaks and started to walk away, I said "Look -- I try not to be a Karen, but we DO need some plates to eat on." 10 minutes later, as the steaks got to cool down, she returned with the dishes.

We DID get another round of drinks (Diane switched to wine) and then the harried waiter returned -- dessert? The ladies said no, but I kind of wanted a coffee. Too late -- the fellow ran away -- and I comically asked the absent waiter, if "Please, Sir, may I have some coffee?" Yeah -- when you pay $120 per person for dinner, being like Oliver Twist isn't so funny.

I paid, and gave the waiter 15% instead of my usual 20%. I looked for a manager to speak with -- no on in sight.

So I just came home and wrote an accurate review on Open Table, and Yelp. There are just too many good steakhouses in Miami to put up with nonsense.

We NEVER had a poor experience at The Palm, or Capitol Grille, or Christy's. Ruths' Chris in the Gables is good, too -- though Flemings is long off my list -- 2 bad experiences there years ago.

Ah -- to have these First World problems! We never forget how lucky we are.

Today we're off soon to D1 -- to celebrate our younger grandson's FIRST BIRTHDAY. Wow -- that went fast! His older brother is most excited about the cake. The little guy is quite taciturn.

So, adios, Perry's. By the looks of the crowd last night, they won't miss us at all. A great steak dinner is my favorite restaurant experience -- and Perry's fell way short.

The Dog Days of July

 So they're back -- in their hot and humid languidness -- the Miami Summer days. Apparently the world has experienced its hottest days ever, but hard to tell the difference here -- Miami in July is ALWAYS hot.

We got a nice little respite Thursday night. We met Joelle and Kenny for an outdoor dinner at Whisk -- a South Miami gem -- and ate outside under a tent. During a dinner a squall came in, with jungle-type rain, as we sat dry under the tent. The breezes were delightful -- and the temp lovely,as we finished our after dinner coffees. The rain stopped in time for Wifey and I to get into our Uber home.

I'm fully in the Uber camp now. First, parking in South Miami is tough to find, and Wifey prefers not to drive home at night. I cannot drive home after a few adult beverages, and so...I make believe I am Thurston Howell III and call for my car and driver. It's SO the way to go.

Yesterday was a lazy Friday -- I took a lovely Bo nap -- so named because the Special Needs Spaniel is the perfect nap companion. I awoke for Zoom time -- Eric and Dana and their crew saying the Shabbos prayers, as the kids chatter away, and then a grown up only continuation with Barry, Donna, Eric and Dana. Wifey slipped outside for the duration.

This am I awoke in the best possible way: D1 on a FaceTime (tm) call with her adorable bear cubs -- the older one was getting ready for gymnastics, and he had a few stories read to him waiting to leave. His little brother turns 1 this week -- and tomorrow there's a smash cake party for him. His older brother, the most food philic kid I ever knew, is MOST excited about the cake.

D1, on the FT, told the 3.6 year old they needed to stop at the Dollar Store on the way to gym class, and there might be something for him."To eat?" he asked plaintitively. He cracks us up all day.

Later the Ds are coming to Pinecrest to celebrate their dear friend Alyssa's birthday at Alyssa's parents' house. Alyssa told Wifey and I to come by -- but we're taking a Pasadena -- no other Boomers will be there except for Alyssa's parents -- we prefer to let the young-uns enjoy themselves with minimal Boomer interference.

I sort of feel like a nice dinner tonight, though, since last night I just heated up a can of Hormel chili -- and am thinking about Perry's in Merrick Park. I last minute invited Paul -- he's on Pop-Pop duty all day, and MAY join -- but if I know my people -- the day will tire him so that a drive from Aventura to the Gables might not sound so great.

When Wifey arises, I will share the bad news -- she needs to shower and dress later for a nice dinner. All my women get annoyed when I try to "make everything so fun!"

Meanwhile, on the office front, it appears old friend Vince may be re-joining the band. Stuart's associate for the past 3 years left, and Stu needs someone to actually do the lawyer work -- and Vince has been in boring Deerfield Beach the past time -- looks like he's ready to return to the 305. I think this is a great move for them -- and I look forward to more time with the nearly 45 year old -- we had some times together back in the day.

So WDNA is playing Blues, which I love, and is telling me maybe that second Keurig cup makes more sense than my long walk in the heat and humidity -- I'll get to that sometime later -- maybe after a cooling, drenching rain.

A Nice 4th

 So Norman cruised on by and we got into the man-sized SUV I leased a few months ago, after realizing, when we drove together up to a Panthers game in Broward, that my Lexus sedan (really a fancy Camry) was too small for man-sized guys like Norman and me.

We drove to hallowed ground -- the site of the old Orange Bowl -- a place that holds so many amazing memories. Norman has more of them -- as a Miami native, he was here for the Dolphins dominance in the early 70s -- I joined the OB club in 1979 as a Canes fan, but also got to see some great Fins games as well.

Now the hallowed ground is a spiffy new baseball stadium, with a merciful retractable roof, which made watching yesterday's game a pleasure. We parked in the back of someone's duplex, after exchanging the traditional "no blockee? No -no blockee" words, ensuring that the spot would allow access throughout the game. Old OB goers have tons of stories about blocked in parking -- having to stay until the car or cars in front of them leave.

We made our way in, and I scored a double Tito's. Norman abstained -- taking Tramadol for some foot pain, and figured he wanted to see the game rather than become comatose. We scored some Nathan's dogs, and the 4th of July worship was complete. Barry and Josh were at the seats, and we had room to spread out. Josh and I retrieved some more beverages, and peanuts for Barry, and we 4 had an awesome time. Plus, the Fish are REALLY good this year, and put on a show -- scoring 15 runs! The crowd was big, and I was suffused with happiness -- baseball is truly my first love, and watching the slower than football paced game with friends -- well -- that's really terrific.

We drove home, amazed at all the building in Miami -- it seems whenever you turn your head, there are new highrises. I've lived here now 44 years -- it's a new city each decade.

Norman left to care for his Doodles -- one just had some surgery, and D2 and Jonathan and the enormous puppy were there! They had decided to decamp from Miami Beach, where there are massive fireworks displays for the 4th, on accound of Betsy hates the noise. Wifey was out running errands, and I of course turned on the martini spigot -- Jonathan and I enjoyed, figuring if we were at a July 4 barbecue, we'd be beers in already. D2 had some red wine.

I decided to splurge, and order from Platea, a prime steak and ceviche place in Pinecrest. They opened at 6, and we placed our order for 7 pm delivery. And then at 630 came the devastating news: they canceled our request for a tomahawk, and chicken, and corn, and ceviche! What? Don't do this to a man who has had 2 martinis already! Turns out they were closed for the 4th, and UberEats didn't catch it.

So the young-uns called an audible and ordered Piolla instead -- decent pizza, and chicken parm, and gnochi. It was very good -- but no steak. We must abide.

The rest of the evening was lovely -- Jonathan is a huge John Wick fan, and we put it on at Wifey's request. It WAS pretty good, but the long day and vodka did their work, and I was falling asleep by 9. The trio stayed up to watch, though Wifey was on her phone the entire time, and only sort of half paid attention. That's how she rolls these days.

I was up earliest, of course, and made coffee and fed the dogs. Jonathan just left for the office -- they brought both vehicles -- and I plan to visit mine later as well. Stu's young lawyer left to open his own shop, and he and I may have dinner tonight to discuss his future moves. He just turned 63 and isn't ready to hang up his guns yet.

But the 4th was a fine one. For me, July brings back memories of years past -- like the cookies to Proust. And yesterday we made another nice one.

4th of July

 Today is erev July 4, long a favorite holiday, from when I was a little boy right up until today. As a kid, it meant Summer, which meant no school and Little League and hanging with my friends, and my birthday was 2 weeks after July 4, and as the late born of 3 siblings, my parents made it a big deal.

July 4 in my childhood was a picnic at Salisbury, later Eisenhower Park. Lord -- I'm so old I was born when they renamed the place to honor the WW II general and last President of the 50s.  My parents let me bring some friends, and we would sit on the great lawn eating (watermelon was always involved) and then the great fireworks show would happen.

When I got to my pre-teens, the celebration shifted to my friend Mark's house -- his parents allowed us to have fireworks, while my father was a definite NO on that front. By 13 or 14 we were making our own, up in Mark's room, by splitting hundreds of firecrackers open with razor blades to get the gunpowder to make even bigger bombs. We were lucky the only permanent injury was some hearing loss to my friend Eric, which came from an explosion too close to his left side. It seemed hilarious at the time. Today, ATF would probably charge us as domestic terrorists.

And then we turned 16, and made a startling discovery. We all had NY Learner's Permits, which allowed us to drive with parents, and they were paper documents. The typeface was exactly the same as a Smith Corona typewriter I had. After several attempts, like would be forgers, we took turns typing a 0 over the 1 in our birthdays -- making us all born in 1960 instead of 1961, and therefore 18 and of legal drinking age.

We tried out the fruits of our criminality at Rum Bottoms, a local bar that had wet t shirt contests. We couldn't have been prouder if we all got accepted to Harvard -- this was far more fun.

And then on July 4, we walked to Beefsteak Charlies, in the Nassau Mall, famous for all the beer, wine, or sangria you could drink with your dinner. And we did just that, followed by a walk the 4 miles to Eisenhower Park, in search of LI foxes. No foxes, but we all passed out from the alcohol watching the fireworks -- Mark and Gerry supplemented their buzzes with weed -- never really my thing -- and it was a fine July 4 for a bunch of bored 17 Long Island blue collar boys.

I recall only one sad July 4 -- 1982. Dad had suffered a big heart attack, and was at Bethesda Hospital in Boynton. He insisted I take Mom to see fireworks, and we went to a display at FAU. We felt awful. He got out of the hospital on July 7, seemingly recovered, but would die a week later right after his doctor's visit to Dr. Heller, a fellow whose ability I always doubted.

When the Ds got a bit older, July 4 was a parade down 107 Avenue organized by their JCC Summer Camp -- a lovely event that made us all feel we were in small town America instead of suburban Miami.

Later on, for several years, I booked us rooms and a cabana at the Biltmore -- the day was spent poolside, drinking pina coladas, and then a prime spot for their fireworks. We did that for years.

I thought about doing it this year, now that the grandsons would appreciate it, but we were supposed to be getting off a Disney cruise today, and I figured after 4 nights together, D1 and her family would have had enough of Wifey and me. Maybe next year...

Tomorrow I'm going full on 'Murican -- baseball! I bought 4 tickets to the 1 pm Marlins game, and Norman, Barry, and his boy Josh and I plan to attend. Norman has to rush home afterwards to care for a post surgical Doodle, but hopefully Barry and Josh and I can hit Cafe La Trova, the great Cuban place in Little Havana, minutes from Marlins Park, or whatever random corporate name the stadium has now.

If not -- just back home -- and D2 and Jonathan may be coming over. Their enormous puppy Betsy HATES fireworks, and where they live on Miami Beach, there are lots of them. So they may spend the night with her -- I hope they do. I'll make Jonathan have some patriotic martinis with me.

Boy is our beloved nation screwed up -- more divided than any time in my lifetime. Still -- Barry reminds us -- anyone doubting how great we are just need look at the stack of requests he gets for young med school grads DYING to come here for training. I think some guys even offered to wash his car! I thought those guys should get in -- that much enthusiasm for the program ought to trump high grades.

Hopefully the political pendulum swings back away from the Trumpers. At some point, the rank and file have to see through his fraud. The latest is that his SCOTUS justices just decided a case against LGBTQ rights based on a fantasy -- supposedly a gay guy sought web page help in Colorado, and Colorado had a law prohibiting discrimination. The Supremes ruled Colorado can't do that. Problem is -- it was a fake -- the guy supposed to be gay wasn't -- it was a fake case! And SCOTUS ruled on it!

I was in the bottom of my law school class, and even I know cases have to be based on real injuries or damage. You can't rule on what a law MAY do -- it has to have affected you. The SCOTUS might as well have ruled on a law that hurts unicorns.

So yeah -- we have a lot of undoing to undo the damage done. But I hope we can -- for my grandkids' and kids' sake.

But for tomorrow -- it's Happy Birthday, USA. I am so blessed my 4 grandparents fled Tsarist controlled Russia near the turn of the 20th Century and made it here, so my parents could be born in The Bronx, and I in Queens.

I'm thankful my late consuegros emigrated from Israel, on account of the economy in 1960, so Wifey could become American, and that the Ds suegros did the same from Colombia and Venezuela to they could start families with my Ds.

So here's to a Marlins win! And more importantly, to a great July 4th for this cool, rocking grandaddy in the USA.

Jabbing Away

 There are plenty of anti-vaxxers, and I am solidly PRO-vax. If the FDA and CDC tell me there's a new jab that prevents excessive flatulence -- I'll get it. Actually, Wifey would be very happy with that...

Best I could glean from the tons of information, since I'm older than 60 and less than svelte, I was a candidate for a bivalent booster. I got the first bivalent in May of '22 -- it was either my 5th or 6th Covid jab -- I honestly lost count, even with my vaxx card. I was "eligible" for the second bivalent in April of this year, but I strategized: since we were going to South America in early December, I would wait until September, so that I would still have strong immunity for the 9 hour flights, and whatever Covid carriers we might meet in Argentina and Chile.

Well, Fate intervened, and there will be no trip in December. Meanwhile, Wifey reported that her friend Cara has Covid currently, for the THIRD time, and I keep hearing anecdotal tales of some sort of late Spring/early Summer surge. So I figured why not -- and visited my local Walgreens this am.

I had a 10:30 appointment, and of course was there by 10. I checked in, and it was amazing -- I was clearly the only one there for a jab. Even as late as last May, there was a wait. No more -- I guess Covid fatigue has truly set in.

In fact, you hear of no cases of people hospitalized anymore because of it, and indeed my own Covid experience was more annoying than terrible -- sick as hell -- but for only 3 days. What was strange was how it came on -- sitting with Wifey and D2 and Jonathan watching a Heat game, feeling fine, and then getting up and shivering as if someone plopped me into a meat locker.

I realize this latest jab probably won't stop me from getting the bug again, but will hopefully minimize symptoms.

While I was waiting, I decided to look up the status of 23/24 flu shots, and, indeed, outgoing CDC Director and painfully obvious Jewess Rachel Wollensky just signed off on the new formula -- and recommends getting THAT jab in September or October. And I plan to.

Another reason to get the jab: I read that Walgreens was having major financial problems -- with decreased sales and vaxx income. So I thought I was doing my part for my pharmacy provider's corporate numbers, too.

On the illness front, hopefully D1 is finally on the mend from the nasty bug that kept us off the cruise. Joey is fine, as is the adorable toddler -- she got it last and worst, as I had feared. 

So today, Wifey and I will head up there, to take the little guy out for "eye cream" and maybe a visit to the local urban farm -- to give his parents a little break from his non stop energy.

This all reminded me of one of the fortunately few times Wifey got a nasty flu when the Ds were little. I recall coming home from work, and the Ds, probably 3 and 6, were crawling all over Wifey, who was barely conscious. I think I took them to Hopps -- an old favorite near the Falls, where they loved the honey coated rolls. No wonder D1 became a dietitian.

Meanwhile, my fears of Covid vaccine side effects came true: I sat at the piano when I got home, and could not play. Oh well...