You Can't Fix Stupid (Evangelical Version)

 Years ago, our friend Diane had some plastic surgery, and Wifey offered to have her stay with us for the recovery. Her surgeon, Mike Kelley, had a protocol: he'd let you avoid an overnight hospital stay if you paid for a private duty nurse to watch over you, I guess to insure you didn't bleed to death or stop breathing post procedure.

So Diane moved in, and a nice nurse named Grace came over -- also to spend the night. Wifey decamped to the TV, Diane mostly slept, and Grace and I struck up a long and pleasant conversation. She was Cuban, but had left the Catholic Church to follow one of these TV type pastors, with a big ass church in South Dade. She asked all about Judaism, as many Evangelicals truly believe we are their "older brothers," and when my peeps re-take Israel -- ALL of the historical Israel -- their boy Jesus will finally return, the rapture will happen, and heaven on earth will be the new sensation.

We Jews know that to the Evangelicals we're just necessary pawns, but being Jews, we figured out they are, too. During the two Intifadehs, when American Jews were afraid to visit Israel, Evangelicals visited in droves -- essentially keeping tourism alive. Also, their politicians are vehemently pro Zionist -- far more than my LEAST favorite politician -- anti Zionist Liberals -- especially Jewish ones.

Of course, when presented with the fact that, ultimately, when Jesus comes, we Jews who refuse to convert will be "LEFT BELOW," and how does that make us feel -- most pragmatic Zionist types say, essentially "Well -- we'll worry about that when the Son-god indeed returns -- in the mean time, Israel needs all the friends it can get."

So Grace left the next am, and she tried to refer me a case or two, which never panned out -- botched plastic surgery cases are typically NOT cases -- one woman's opinions about not receiving Sofia Vergara-type breasts aren't necessarily standard of care stuff. And Grace FaceBook (tm) friended me, and we like each other's posts, and that was that. Until it wasn't.

Over the last few months, she'd message me stuff about how I really ought to consider joining her pastor's team -- she was so impressed with me and my family, could tell I had a "Christian soul," and why didn't I just try it out. I tried to fend her off with politically incorrect responses -- like instead of a Christian soul, I wished I had a Black man's singing voice -- but she persisted.

I didn't really mind. I kind of always see Evangelical stuff the way I see restaurant recommendations -- I may eat somewhere really good, and wish to share the place with friends. If they say they don't like sushi, for example -- well ok -- I tried.

So Grace and I were cool -- until last night. She sent me a video of her pastor, some asshole named Hibbs, and he was calling on everyone to celebrate the death of Senator Diane Feinstein -- as she was a leading "killer of babies."

I watched long enough to get the clear feeling the dude was ought of central casting for either a closeted gay guy, or maybe a pedophile, or both -- that slight Southern twang -- seeming nice but clearly being evil.

I responded to Grace that her message was offensive -- I was a big fan of the Lioness of the Senate. And then Grace got nasty -- "David -- abortion is MURDER. Read these portions from your own Torah!"

Ok -- basta. I deleted her as a friend, gathered up her deleted messages, and prayed for HER -- that she might use the brains that G-d gave her to see reality.

Ireland did. After an entire history of banned abortions, two deaths of young pregnant women changed the country. The electorate finally said, in essence, "Hey -- we've been following the dogma of a bunch of pedophiles who claim to know what Jesus wants -- enough of this bullshit!" Many South American nations have done the same.

Meanwhile, we have allowed a minority to take over,  via Trump and his SCOTUS, and we've reverted to darker thinking about women's rights.

Maybe there's hope. Ohio voters just passed a constitutional amendment that hopefully trumps (Ha!) the bills of the idiot legislators, and guarantees women's rights. There's a petition here in Florida to do the same -- might it pass as well -- and normal thinking people find a work around for the clowns currently in office -- DeSantic and his witch doctor Surgeon General, for example, the dangerous quack who is anti vax?

I guess we'll see. But for now, I truly do wish the best for Grace. I will pray for HER. But I have learned you can't, as the comedian Ron White noted, fix stupid. Especially the Evangelical kind.

House Construction Upheaval And A Happy Surprise At The Urologist

 So Wifey badly wants to move, or at least get some kind of change, and I am STAUNCHLY opposed to leaving my oasis in Pinecrest. So we compromised: she gets to spend lots of money on stuff for the house. The latest is a custom closet.

I don't know -- our closet has worked fine for me over the past 22 years, but it IS a cheap, wire shelved, Home Depot job. So with our friend Allison, they picked out a custom closet that has been in the process of being installed this week. It cost about half my first year's salary as a lawyer.

Allison has been overseeing the work. After my side was done, on Monday, I checked. I was glad I did -- they were going to install doors over the many cubbies I got that replaced clothes racks. I didn't want doors covering anything -- I like to glance at my clothes without hindrance. Also, they were going to build a hamper -- and I wanted the space to store overnight bags. So it was good I took the time to see these things -- or I would have had to pay another $1K or so to have them removed.

I started putting back my clothes, and quickly realized I now had LESS space than I had before. But I'm told the new closet looks much nicer -- and that's what's important. Whatever. I need to just stay in my lane as the mule -- things work better that way.

Also, yesterday there was a handyman here doing I'm not sure what, and today a different handyman, Nestor, installing new outdoor lights. Alas -- he reported that several came with broken glass -- a hazard of ordering on Amazon. Allison told Wifey she needs to return then, as well as some outdoor fans that don't work. Wifey gave Allison a look I know well. "Yeah -- that's not gonna happen. The box will sit in the garage for months before I get around to going to UPS for the return, at which time too much time will have gone by and Amazon won't give the credit." Again -- the mule needs to just keep my mouth shut.

The sad truth is, as Wifey points out, I AM set in my ways and resist change of any type. I like stuff around here the way it is -- although I really would like if much of the clutter disappeared. As I age, I prefer neat and organized. Unfortunately Wifey has gone the opposite direction -- she nearly stopped talking to the Ds when they brought 5 bags of 1980s workout gear Wifey had accumulated to Goodwill.

But hey -- what are ya gonna do?

However, in the happy Department, I had a pleasant medical surprise this am. I went to see my urologist for my annual prostate exam. My urologist Bob could be a longshoreman -- he has huge, meaty fingers, making me dread the required exam.

But instead of Bob, his lithe Colombiana PA was there -- with the small fingers of an angel -- making the exam far less traumatic. 

For that I was most grateful.

And the copay was just $165. I will gladly pay more if the PA sees me yearly instead of Dr. Bob.

We must grab happy experiences wherever we can.

And So It's Yom Kippur. And What Have You Done?

 So doing my usual YK today -- watching some services online, not going out, thinking about stuff. We just returned from a weekend in Philly, and on the plane ride home, I reflected on how hard it is to rise above the silliness that is so much of life.

Allison is over helping to declutter, and supervise the installation of a new "closet system" she and Wifey ordered. The truth is, the builders of our house ran short of money at the end of the project, and our master closet had simple wire shelves -- like you might find in a starter condo. This new one has all kinds of shelves and compartments -- and is being custom built and installed. The work is being done today, which doesn't thrill me, but Allison explained if we missed this window, Wifey's stuff would stay piled up on a guest room bed into 2024, so I relented. I think the Big Man may forgive me.

We left and made it quickly to MIA. After breakfast at the Centurion, we started making our way to the gate, and ran into Paul. The trip was on. We travel infrequently, and I spoil us with First or Business Class tickets. Paul thinks it's a waste of money, and he travels far more frequently, so he sat in the back -- getting a huge kick out of this difference. But -- a friendly agent let him board with us at the beginning, so he was able to store his stuff in the overhead bin.

We taxied to Center City. Our rooms weren't ready so we walked to the Weitzman Jewish Museum. Josh was in the lobby -- watching over his family's luggage. We asked why he didn't simply check them, so he wasn't stuck waiting, and there was a reason that's still not clear to me. But he DID send the bags up to his room when it was ready, and then walked with us to the Weitzman Jewish Museum, where we had our first humorous event. 

The very nice docent took us on a tour. But she spoke comically softly. Wifey looked at me and we did all we could to keep from laughing -- we both thought of my late Mom Sunny, who would have said "Who the hell gave that woman a job where she speaks to groups of people?" We broke off from the group, and left for the Reading Market. Josh had joined his family.

We made it near to the Market, when Wifey faded -- so we ducked into a Hard Rock restaurant, lest we have a fainting Wifey. We got some apps and drinks, and then headed back to the hotel.

Second humorous thing: the desk woman was large and in charge with TUDE! It was 4:30, and I asked to check in. Nope -- room not ready. I was nice but firm -- we were hosting a party at 6, and I really needed the room. She said "Well yo FRIEND asked for a special line -- and the maid still cleaning it!" Luckily, a manager saw what was happening, and intervened, lest this escalate into a "Living Color" type of comedy skit -- tough inner city clerk and the entitled white man. He got us a room.

At 6, Barry's people met us, and we ate and drank. Donna joined a few hours later, and the crew was all there. We toasted under the beautiful dome, which had light shows of Fall leaves, and had a delightful time. We toasted Paul's upcoming birthday. We toasted Paul's late friend Frank -- part of a foursome at Paul's daughter's wedding -- where the 2 60s era buddies talked for hours with the 2 70s era buddies at Battery Park. Rest in peace, Frank.

Saturday am Paul, Wifey, and I met for breakfast -- Barry's crew decamped to a local brunch place. At 230, the nasty weather had lightened a bit, and we Ubered to The Link. Josh had scored us Club seats, which were great -- when the rain would beat down hard, we'd retreat inside. :Luckily, it was a lopsided Canes win over Temple, and we watched the second half inside anyway -- talking happily around a nice table under a big screen.

We Ubered home, and fetched Wifey, before leaving for a MidEast place Samantha had found, where we ate family style. Paul demanded I pay the check, and when I went to with my Amex, it was missing. Crap. But I thought -- I used it at the Hard Rock the day before, and sure enough, my call there confirmed they had it.

Wifey, Donna, and I ubered there, and sure enough, they had the Amex. I tipped the happy cashier $20 -- she had saved me a LOT of annoyance by keeping it for me. We then walked home through nasty, windy rain and cool temps. It's easy to forget how bleak the weather can be in the NE.

Yesterday am, I saw Paul for a goodbye coffee -- he was headed to LI for YK, and then saw Barry and his crew, too, before they left for their earlier flight.

Wifey and I boarded, and to my delight, saw that AA had Red Zone on their WiFi, and so I followed the historically great Dolphins game as we flew home. Sure enough, our approach took us over the stadium, and I took a shot out of the window. It was neat to be flying over while they played -- especially a game where the Fins scored 70.

Allison greeted us, and there was pizza ordered and martinis to drink as we compared weekends. I watched some Kol Nidre service from a DC Conservative shul, and then cleared out my side of the closet ahead of the workers coming today. As I type, the new closet is being installed.

So back to the holiday. So much of our time and mind is taken up with so much chisme and silliness. Things that are truly without importance or meaning become big deals. I had an encounter with one of our friends about whether news about a purchase was made "prematurely." Really?

So much sadness and misery comes our way. I really hope to make this a new year where I refuse to give significance to things that don't amount to a hill of beans.

When I am given the chance to celebrate -- I intend to do so fully, with all passion, and enthusiasm.

I plan to give far more than I get -- materially, and emotionally.

Hopefully the Big Man smiles upon this.  Years ago, Wifey's friend Rosie asked about this blog. She ended up unfriending me on FaceBook and basically canceling me -- for making fun of her ultra liberal ways. But the funny thing was -- she asked: "What's your blog called? Dave's Crappy Blog?" If the Big Man doesn't approve --  maybe next year's Crappy blog post will be missing. I sure hope not!

A Teachable Moment

So sparing the silly details, Wifey and I had quite a spat yesterday. And she apologized, correctly, for her behavior in front of a visitor to our house. And I accepted her apology.

But therein arose a teachable moment. I asked Wifey what she wished my response to her apology ought to be. And she said "Well -- I hope you would accept it, and we would move on."

And I asked her -- what if I did NOT accept the apology? What if I said her apology wasn't sincere? What if I said that I had thought about it, and her behavior was SO abhorrent -- an apology wasn't enough -- she had to pay in some other way?

Well, she understood, that would cause months of grief and misery.

Bingo! A teachable moment.

The point is, we ALL screw up. And people who communicate a LOT with each other do it the most -- the sheer amount of words shared by definition mean that some will be offensive and hurtful.

But he have to accept apologies and move on, lest months pass of awful tensosity.

I know I will keep this lesson inside. I hope Wifey does as well -- the "Your apology wasn't heartfelt. Your tears were faked" does nothing but cause months of misery.

The day got better. We left to fetch the happy toddler at his preschool. They have good security -- you have to show the child's special number to be given the child. 

A Black grandpa, about my age, asked for his granddaughter. The staffer, a tough young woman I had met before, asked for the number. He didn't have it, but protested he was "authorized." The staffer said she was sure he was -- but no number, no child. "Oh --so you just keep her here overnight??? That makes ZERO sense."

I tried to intervene, in my charming way. "Hey -- just call your son or daughter and get the number." He replied that his daughter was a nurse manager at a major local hospital, in a meeting, and not to be disturbed. I nodded and wished him luck. Privately, I nearly peed myself, since my dear friend is an exec at the very same hospital, and I know well how most of the meetings are total bullshit -- a participant can well be called in order to get info allowing a grandparent to retrieve a grandchild.

We went back to D1 and Joey's house, and Wifey played with the baby. I took the older guy out front -- a construction crew was digging up the streets, in order to install new sewers. He watched, fascinated, at the steam shovels and excavators, peppering me with questions.

On the way home, he picked 3 yellow flowers, "to give to mommy." Yeah -- like I'll ever be able to refuse any requests this boy makes of me.

There was more play, and eventually Joey came home. The definition of pure joy is when my grandson sees his Dad. And vice versa, too. There were baths, and dinner, and the baby got a bottle of D1's milk comfortably reclined on Grandpa Dev's ample belly. And then D1 came home from HER work meeting, and we watched their nightly ritual -- playing like bear cubs on the bed -- but with added safety precautions lest there be another broken foot.

Wifey and I left, and drove to Mr. Mandolin, for some good Greek dinner. We missed the happy hour, but I still treated myself to a Sky vodka.

On the drive home, I spoke to a dear friend's son and his girlfriend about a car crash recently -- thankfully the young lady isn't hurt badly, but more importantly secretly vetted the young lady -- my friends haven't met her yet. I got very good energy, as my Cali friend Vince often says.

We picked up a prescription for Wifey, I filled her SUV with gas, and we drove home through quite a storm.

I went upstairs and slept well -- I was called to duty this am by Rabbi Yossi for a minyan. They need 10 men for the prayers to work, apparently. I don't believe in that hocus pocus, but figure it can't hurt helping a friend who does believe, and with all of his being.

And as usually happens when I attend, I learn something, from one of the other participants.

Teachable moments are everywhere.

A Banner Dinner

 So to cure D2's FOMO about missing her family for RH, we made reservations for the "Full Squad," as Joey's text group names the 3 couples, to meet at The Palm. We made the reservations later than usual for Wifey and me, 8:15, to let D1 and Joey get the boys situated. We arrived to find D1 and Joey at the bar -- D1 sipping a chardonnay.

We went to our table,and D2 and Jonathan were close behind. The place was buzzing. We all felt so lucky to be together at this legendary steakhouse. The ladies let we men do the ordering -- though D1, the dietitian, got salads for the ladies as well. We men knew we didn't need no stinkin' salads.

We got a huge porterhouse and NY Strip, and some classic sides -- spinach, mushrooms, potatoes. The three men each had 2 martinis -- the young guys went with gin, and I with Ketel.

And feasted, and toasted the new year, and laughed. It was a classic "you had to be there night," with exactly the right mix of stories and alcohol and food. We were reminiscing about the birthday parties we threw for the Ds when they were little -- the oldest grandson turns 4 in December. D1 recalled a time we rented out a movie theater, and they put her name on the marquee outside, and the movie was the updated cartoon "Flubber." Jonathan got excited: "That was my FAVORITE movie! Robin Williams' voice. The dancing flubber creatures!" We realized he had seen it as a boy in Caracas, and Jonathan admitted it was called "Flewbuber." We all found this hilarious. Flewber.

We had some family business to discuss. D1 and Joey say the older boy is asking for Disney. We grown ups kind of despise Disney. A major coup for me as a Florida Dad was the fact that the last Disney trip was when D2 was 8 -- for her birthday.

We had a cruise set, but illness canceled it. D1 brings it up. Joey had an alternative -- there are apparently big, lovely houses one can rent near the parks now. And -- we could take the Brightline train, which the big boy would love.

My criterion was that D2 and Jonathan come along -- the 6 of us have too good of a time together. Wifey points out that the little guy won't remember any of this anyway -- maybe we put off the Disney thing until he's older.

Let this be the main thing we have to decide in the near future. I'll go along with the majority, of course.

The waiter returned with news sad to D1: no carrot cake! Oh well -- they made due with key lime pie and chocolate cake, which came with fresh cream in mini old fashioned milk bottle.

The three cars were brought up -- and we all left for our houses. Joey reminded how awesome it will be when D2 and Jonathan move into their house -- 5 minutes from D1 and Joey. Wifey smirked -- WE should move closer, too. Nah. I love where I live, and don't mind the 30-40 minute drive.

But we also talked about our blessings -- we adore our sons in law, and the lives they give to our precious Ds. So many of our friends barely abide their in laws -- and in some cases openly abhor them.

Our dynamic --two Latin Jewish boys with a couple of gringa Jewesses seems to work out very well.

I next see them Thursday night. Jonathan is involved in FIU's Hillel -- his company asks all of their employees to pick a charity, and this one, close to college age, appealed to Jonathan. They're hosting Rosh Ha Ha Ha -- a comedy night fundraiser, at a local pub on Brickell called Blackbird Ordinary.

I bought tickets thinking D1 and Joey wouldn't, but they bought their own, so now I have 4. Wifey is begging off -- we leave the next am for Philly, and she doesn't like to go out the night before a trip.

But the show is a mix of pro and amatueur comedy -- Chris Farley's brother is one of the comedians.

So I'll probably drive up and give it a go.

And then Friday am it's off to the City of Brotherly Shove, as the late Herald sports editor Ed Pope called it.

But if there's a better to ring in 5784 than we had Friday and last night -- I don't know what it is. I remain one extremely blessed grandpa and Daddy in the USA.

Celebration Versus Reflection

 So the Jewish New Year is upon us -- 5784. It'll probably be Passover, and I'll still be writing "5783" on my checks. Ah -- the Borscht Belt humor birthright in me never leaves.

Thursday night Mirta came by at 4, and we drove up to JMH and fetched Dr. Barry. Upon arriving at the stadium, I poured Barry and myself some Tito's, and we found Paul and Patricia and their group, and sort of crashed Pau's bro in law's friend Steve's tailgate. I titrated the precise amount of Tito's, and entered the stadium quite happy. I came to the sad conclusion that alcohol really makes the experience better -- the game the prior Saturday was more competitive and important than the Canes's thrashing of Bethune Cookman, but the alcohol made Thursday far more fun. Plus, Mirta was kind enough to drive us home.

Last night we drove up to D1's house, and played with the Best Baby in the World, as we have named our younger grandson, because he is. A total delight. His parents put him to bed, and left him with the nanny, and we drove the 3 minutes to Joey's parents' house, for their wonderful Rosh Hashonah dinner.

They're Sephardic, and our cousins of that stripe actually do a seder, or ordered dinner, for RH. And it was delightful, as we all took turns reading about praise for the Big Man, and how we hope to become better people this year.

Our older grandson played with his cousin, who is in kindergarten and loves him but is amusedly annoyed by him, too. Wifey spent a LOT of time with them -- talking to the little girl as our grandson interrupted. 

On the drive up, Wifey fielded a call from her orthodox cousins -- from Baltimore. They keep in touch -- Wifey never calls them -- largely because of the family connection to my late suegra and her closeness with her brother -- the cousin's Dad.

The talk was nice, but also scolding, as Wifey said how much we were looking forward to "celebrating" the New Year. Not really, her cousin corrected -- other Jewish holidays are for celebrating -- Rosh Hashanah is a time more for reflection, and taking stock, and preparing for the coming Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

Yeah -- that's why I could never join their club. Our Chabad friends, orthodox as well, emphasize the joy in every holiday -- that resonates much more with me.

Of course, this is a time for taking stock. Where are we going/ where have we been, as Joyce Carol Oates asked in her wonderful short story. But it's fine to celebrate, too, in my humble, non learned opinion.

D2 had some FOMO about last night. She went to Jonathan's family RH dinner, but missed us, too. So she asked if maybe we couldn't meet tonight for RH as well. Of course we could, and now have reservations at The Palm, for the 6 of us. As Joey and I agreed last night, the Palm is NEVER a bad idea.

So we'll be driving again to North Dade -- a late reservation, 8:15, in order to give D1 and Joey time to get the boys situated and sleeping with a sitter. Wifey and I agreed such a late dinner requires an afternoon nap today, which I plan to take as college football plays on TV.

There was a great essay the other day in the Times about RH. Indeed, the prayers remind us that as much as we plan, and hope to have long lives, often the Big Man cuts things short. Who shall die by fire? Who by water? Those prayer questions are the basis for the best Leonard Cohen song.

As long as we're here, I plan to emphasize the celebratory part of RH. But it's somehow comforting to know plenty of my brethren are covering the solemn, too. It's what makes for the great Jewish horse race.

Irma Refugees

 So FaceBook (tm) brought up a memory from 6 years ago -- a photo of Wifey and our two dogs in front of the historic Langford Hotel in Downtown. We checked in after a LONG drive back from ATL as refugees from Hurricane Irma -- what an adventure.

Labor Day Sunday we hosted one of the two greatest parties we ever hosted -- D1 and Joey's wedding at the Scottish Rite Masonic Temple on the River. It was amazing -- a salsa band composed of pros who recorded with J Lo, Mark Anthony, etc... and dances led by the Zumba guy -- as a special favor to Joey, who worked for the company then.

But as the wedding wound down, we checked the National Hurricane Center's Cone of Death, and saw Irma was a-coming. Worse, unlike most storms, that come from the East, and let you flee to Orlando, Irma was coming up the entire Florida peninsula like a bowling ball down a lane. D2 and Jonathan flew back to NYC, and the newlyweds and Wifey and I decided to flee to Atlanta.

We packed Joey's Ford Explorer to the gills -- three dogs and 4 humans, with extra gas tanks just in case. Waze had just come out, and I navigated while Joey drove, and vice versa. Even though we left Midtown at 4 am, the traffic started building -- most of the whole damned state was fleeing -- not just typical coastal areas or South Florida.

Joey and I bonded over this navigation and driving, though as D1 pointed out, "Nothing says honeymoon more than 17 hours in a car with your new in laws." Worse -- Wifey was complaining the whole way about feeling ill -- and we sort of ignored her, thinking she was being dramatic, and there was nothing to do, anyway.

We all felt a bit guilty when we got to ATL, our host Marc bought a thermometer, and Wifey had a fever of 103. Yikes! Luckily, our concierge doc in Miami called in a Z pac prescription, and she was ok in a day or so. But the medical issues would continue.

Joey noticed a lump at the base of his neck. D1 took him to urgent care, and an alarmist doc told him to get it checked "immediately" upon returning home. Really, Big Man? We just had a beautiful wedding, and now the new groom had to deal with the Big C? Thankfully, despite the tensosity, it turned out to be a fatty cyst, which was removed after an aborted first try when a surgeon at Baptist said he was afraid to mess with it because of its location. Dr. Barry referred Joey to a great surgeon at UM who whacked it out like a big pimple. Baruch Hashem!

After several days, including visits from ATL friends and some nice meals, Joey and D1 learned their power was back on. Meanwhile, Irma came up and found us -- knocking out the power in NE Atlanta! We hit the road, again in the early morning hours.

We got to Gainesville, and stopped at a great coffee shop, but no one had gas. We drove through country roads through to Ocala -- no gas. Finally, we heard the Florida National Guard had taken over the Turnpike service plazas, and we jumped on the Turnpike, and topped off with military precision. They really DID know how to do stuff.

We dropped D1 and Joey off at their apartment, and checked into the Langford, an early 1900s bank building renovated into a cool hotel, with a rooftop bar. The manager said he could only keep us for 3 nights -- the US government had taken it over for National Guard and FEMA staff -- even though the real bad damage was in the Keys.

One night, I bought a round of drinks for a bunch of great guys from all over the Midwest -- and they asked me how far a drive the Middle Keys were. When I told them at least several hours, they laughed -- typical FUBAR call to put them up in Downtown Miami -- far from where they would work daily. Still -- I thanked them for their service, and we talked college football -- one was a HUGE Oklahoma fan.

After we got booted out, we decamped with our dogs to the Coral Gables Hyatt, which was lovely. We'd walk to dinner each night -- and one night had apps and I had a few martinis at a Mexican place when the power went out. The manager came out and said it was his treat -- so I handed a $20 bill to our server and we left.

A few days later, Jeff called to tell me our power was back on. He and Lili roughed it without AC for a bit. They are tougher than I.

So wow -- that was 6 years ago. But we got in the big, fat, Colombian wedding first -- and it was a milestone.

Then, 3 years later, we hosted the OTHER biggest party ever -- D2 and Jonathan's big, fat, Venezuelan wedding at the Betsy. That was January of '20 -- the week before the Super Bowl. And just weeks later, the Plague would hit -- shutting down the whole world.

So we have some kind of strange luck -- parties and then catastrophes. But luckily we survived them all.

We're at the height of hurricane season now -- hopefully no storms will head our way. But if they do -- we'll batten down for a Cat 2 or lower, or leave town for a Cat 3 or higher. After Andrew -- we learned our lesson.

And now -- we pay more attention to Wifey when she says she's sick...

Passing Down Cultural Legacy

 So D1 texted -- would Wifey and I like to come to their 'hood to meet at lovely Belle Mead Park? Although Wifey likes to sleep in, the chance to see the boys on a beautiful late Summer day overcame her schedule preferences, and I woke her at 930 to be ready to leave at 1030.

We drove up in the blissfully traffic free morning, and met at the little neighborhood spot. Belle Meade is another gentrified part of old Miami -- in what the realtors now call Miami's UpperEast Side. When I was at UM, it was rife with crime and hookers, but they gated the area, like Morningside, and now it is a MOST desirable place to live -- right on the Bay.

You have 1920s houses right next to modern boxes -- and it's safe and beautiful, and they have a kids' park that was just wonderful. We had it all to ourselves, and had a blast -- playing hide and seek with the nearly 4 year old, who adorably likes to announce where he hides, and asks where the "hider" is going to hide, too, and pushing the Best Baby in the World, as we call the little guy, on the swings.

It was one of those simple, easy mornings, with the sun tolerable under the big blue shade they have, that I have a sense will stay in my memory for a good long while.

They had a seesaw, and I explained to the big boy that if I got on it, he would go flying to the sky. He laughed. We saw a contrail of a very high flying jet, and I pointed it out to him, but he said "No, Grandpa Dev -- that's a rocket ship!" Indeed, it looked like it may well have been..

After an hour or so, we decided to meet at O Munaciello, a cool, funky pizza place right nearby. You could argue these Neapolitans make the best pizza in Miami -- every ingredient made fresh on premises. We shared a white crust and black crust pie, and some salads, and the big boy, though a prodigious eater, doesn't really like pizza that much. He wanted a "Sangwich." Alas, no "sangwiches."

But then I came up with a solution, and in the process passed on some cultural history. I explained that his Grandpa Dev was born and raised in a place called New York, and in New York, we eat our pizza folded.

He was interested. Once we picked off all traces of the green basil (I used to refuse to eat anything green when I was his age, too), we folded one of the delicious slices, and he ate it happily -- followed by two more.

So now this child, whose mother was born and raised in the 305, and father, who was born and spent his first decade in Bogota, before moving to Ohio and then Miami, will carry on an important NY tradition!

I felt pretty confident there will be no more eating pizza with a fork -- like the creep Donald Trump does.

After lunch, the big guy charmed the blonde Italian owner, and then we left -- to "hunt iguanas" on the way back to the car. There were none, but we did see a curly tailed lizard in the park. Ah -- to be a little boy -- the world is truly your oyster -- a place just calling out for you to learn about it, and destroy some of it at the same time -- usually with sticks you find along the way.

D1 and her 3 men left for naps at home, and Wifey and I drove back to Pinecrest happily. D2 and Jonathan were out appliance shopping -- thankfully their house renovation is coming along.

It's a good time to be a Daddy and grandpa in this family.

The couch called out to me for a nap while the 49ers played on TV -- they dominated, and I slept deeply.

I awoke to watch the Dolphins -- a great game that the Fins won out in LA. Mike was there, and texted us the updates -- like the fact that the stands were at least 30 percent Fins fans. I guess LA and parts near has a bunch of ex pat SoFla folks -- either that, or they made a vacation based on the Fins visit to the space ship like new stadium there.

As darkness fell, I took the strange rescue dog for a walk -- after her repeated attempts to get me off said couch finally worked. We walked in the gloaming -- it was lovely -- I got to look skyward and thank the Big Man for all his manifold blessings upon us.

Thursday night is another Canes game, and then Friday we see D1 and family again, for the Jewish New Year. It's a time to take stock and prepare to repent -- leave it to us Jews to celebrate a New Year and just 10 days later have the most solemn day on the calendar. 

But we figured out in biblical times that's life. You're up; you're down. The key is to keep moving forward -- like a little boy exploring an always fascinating world in front of him.

Sad News Tempering A Lovely Day

 So I drove up to Joe Robbie yesterday, alone, and in a great coincidence ended up entering the stadium right behind Norman. I recognized his white BMW, and confirmed it was him by seeing the license plate registration -- November birthday. I pulled in right alongside him, and then we waited out the rain -- his boy Benjamin and brother Martin -- 3 of the best men you can find.

I then wandered over to Jeannine's tailgate -- Mike was in LA with Chris and Loni and Amanda -- watching USC and then the Dolphins opener today. From there, it was up to the Club, where I met Barry and Josh, and Eric and family, featuring beautiful and charming grandson Brandon. Later -- at halftime -- Paul came up with his nephew Grant, and old friend Gil and his boy Michael. It was a terrific reunion -- and alcohol free!

This past week Allison was our Kato Kaelin -- staying since Tuesday to help Wifey declutter. And Al is my drinking buddy, so there was Happy Hour each evening. And after 4 nights -- I realized that I enjoy drinking, but am NOT a true alcoholic -- the thought of even a single vodka yesterday was off putting.

Luckily, the Canes won -- and so alcohol wasn't needed for a fun time. But I also ran into my old friend Peter, who shared some rough news.

Our mutual friend John was doing awful -- end stage Parkinson's -- unable to communicate and care for himself. John used to refer us cases -- we went to college together, with Peter, and then they went to Georgetown for law school. John is a terrific guy -- comes from some family money, and was able to practice law as a public interest guy -- lots of ACLU type stuff, despite a traditional Cuban Miami GOP upbringing.. I haven't spoken to him in a long while, and was saddened to hear this.

After the game, Barry and I decided to wait out the traffic, and talked for a solid hour -- mostly about how little we really knew about life in our 20s, now that our 60s are here. We thought we knew. We didn't know.

I left, and then called back Jeff -- and here came the tragic news. He has a younger cousin, just 40, who I know -- Noah. After Jeff and Lili got married, Noah, then 6 or so, was diagnosed with an aggressive leukemia. He got very aggressive treatment at UM -- Barry's colleague Stu was his doc -- and he was cured!

But the problem with aggressive treatment -- especially decades ago -- was that it often damaged a patient's heart, and Noah was left with a lot of cardiac issues. But still  -- he grew into a man -- went to college and married -- and became a  successful CPA in Broward. I would see him at Jeff's family functions -- such a terrific young man.

A few months ago, his heart problems became critical, and he was accepted into the Mayo Clinic's transplant program -- having to move to Minnesota to await a heart. His parents went with him, expecting to stay a whole year -- his young wife stayed in Broward to work.

Then good news -- a heart was available! They removed his, but then a rare complication arose -- they couldn't implant the donor heart, and left him on an artificial device awaiting another donor heart. His body deteriorated on ECMO, an artificial respiration, and he died.

The news shocked me, as I drove home on the Palmetto. His poor wife -- just early 30s, I believe -- and his poor parents. They're neighbors of Jonathan's parents in Aventura -- I'm sure the news will spread around the neighborhood. It's going to be a tragically sad Jewish High Holidays for this family.

40. Far, far, too damn young. When an older person dies, it's sad, but they've lived a full life, hopefully. But 40 -- hell -- that's barely real adulthood.

Wifey knows the family, too, and put things in perspective -- at least Noah DID survive his childhood scare and go on to live a life, albeit an abridged one. She's right -- but I can't get the image of his grieving family out of my mind.

It's of course a cliche, but the longer you live, the more sadness you see. But -- also the more exquisiteness. We have plans later this am to drive up to D1's part of town, and meet at Buena Vista Park, on the Bay -- to watch the grandkids play, and play with them. Maybe there'll be lunch afterwards.

Another Canes game comes early this week -- Thursday night -- and Mirta, my sister of another mister, is going with me. I probably WILL drink at that game -- Mirta can drive us home.

And I plan to savor the love and friendship of those dear to me. And then, Friday, we celebrate the Jewish New Year, with Joey's family. They're so warm and welcoming -- we will toast to a sweet new year.

And hope the Big Man continues to bless us -- all while I keep Noah's family in my thoughts.

Is a Dream Alive If It Don't Come True

 The other night I had such a strange dream -- one that transcended time and place. I guess dreams do that.

I was in my 20s, and was with a girl I didn't know, but somehow was in love with her. We were in a park on Long Island -- probably the Planting Fields in Upper Brookville, which I always savored.

It was late Fall, and I smelled the fireplaces' burning wood, but it was warm out. The girl, who had brown eyes and dark hair, said she loved me. I said I loved her, too.

But somehow I knew I was really married to someone else, and was in my 60s, with grown daughters and grandchildren. And yet it all made sense, somehow. 

When I told her I loved her, I said it with the deepest conviction I ever had about anything in my life.

The dream ended there, and I haven't tried to interpret it, but it stayed with me most of yesterday. Who knows?

It was me in the dream, and it wasn't. Maybe it was inspired by recent re-watching of "Sopranos" episodes -- particularly the one where he was shot by Uncle Junior, and became Kevin Finnerty, trapped in Arizona.

Meanwhile, we spent a lovely day yesterday with D1 and her family. We still had Betsy, and took her on a wagon walk around the 'hood with the boys. It was hot but overcast. Wifey stayed back home.

After some adorable games of hide and seek, where the toddler insists on telling us where he is hiding, and wants to know where the "hider" is, it was time for the young family to leave.

A few hours later, I tracked a flight from ATL to MIA, and was off to MIA to fetch D2 and Jonathan -- totally knackered , as the Brits say. They fetched the enormous puppy and took their Jeep back to the Beach.

And as I lay in bed last night, I thought again about the dream. What choices I made in my life would I have changed if I could go back? What paths were untaken? How did I get here?

It must be the season -- the Jewish New Year is a few weeks away, and we're taught it's a time to take stock. Where are we going --where have we been, as Joyce Carol Oates asks.

We've been invited to our wonderful consuegros, per usual. We love their Rosh Hashonah -- so warm, and kid friendly. D2 is headed to Jonathan's family for another great time.

Friday 9/22 we're headed to Philly. Canes are playing at Temple, and we decided to make a weekend of it -- Paul's birthday is close by, and so he and Patricia and Wifey and I are going to host a cocktail party at the Center City Ritz Carlton. Barry, Donna, and Josh are headed up, and Scott and Sam are meeting us from D.C. Scott's future in laws may come, too. Dear friend Lou is VERY excited -- he loves when we visit in Philly.

We're flying up early, and will probably hit a museum or two Friday, before the drinking begins. I'm guessing the game will be noon Saturday, and then probably some South Philly Italian. Sunday night is Kol Nidre, and hopefully we get home in time.

I attend online services anyway, and worst case can do it from the Philly Centurion Lounge -- minus the cocktails -- at least after sunset.

Who knows? In dream world -- maybe I'm already up North.

Good Times and Riches and RSV Jabs and Canes Games

 Friday I set my alarm for 545 am, in order to awake to drive D2 to MIA for an early flight to ATL. Jonathan had flown home overnight from Buenos Aires, for business, and he was meeting his wife for a Labor Day reunion with the ladies of Yellow House -- D2 and her 3 besties, and husbands.

I awoke at 530, as I expected. I inherited a strange characteristic from my Dad -- he would almost always awaken right before a set alarm clock time, as if his internal clock knew. I do the same.

I dropped her off, and drove for breakfast, and then headed to Walgreens for my RSV vaccine -- newly approved for people like me who are old as fuh so we don't die from this virus. After that, it was a quick trip to the liquor store for the night's supplies, and at 315 I left for JMH, to fetch Dr. Barry for our drive to Joe Robbie for the first Canes game.

Despite the clownish stadium staff's attempts to mess up our tailgating, we found Maria and Norman, helped put up two tents, and the season was ON. I made Norman do an Absolut shot, and my date, Jim, arrived with a case of Heinekken he had to schlep all the way from the Yellow lot -- fortunately Jim's in great shape. The crew joined us -- Chris, Eric, Dana, and their friends, Norman's brother Martin and nephew Brandon, and of course Paul. I had my few drinks and started kissing my male friends on their cheeks -- yeah -- I am at that age where I share how I really feel when all is right in the world and happiness is upon me.

And that tends to always happen at Canes tailgate parties.

We made our way to our Club seats, and watched a yawner of a game, but in a good way -- the Canes looked terrific, and dominated Miami of Ohio. The game was essentially over in the 2nd quarter, so we could enjoy our time together without that pesky game to bother us. It was more like fishing with friends than football,and that was fine.

We stayed until the end, and Barry and I made a few bathroom stops, to the humor of 25 year old Josh, who properly makes fun of older, prostate challenged men. Ah -- youth. What we are now someday he shall be, too.

I drove home listening to the post game, and went to bed around midnight, after a hot shower, and then...

I was overcome with shivers and muscle aches. Sure enough, the RSV jab effects got me. I thought about alerting Wifey, but she is involved with her own issues -- the return of the bad back -- and so figured I would either get better or proceed to anaphylactic shock. Luckily, it was the second -- by am -- I felt right as rain. Sure enough, a Google search showed that chills and fever is a common side effect of the RSV jab. I guess it meant the damn thing really did jog my immune system.

Our lovely long time cleaning lady Miriam came to do the outside areas of the house, and started asking me questions in the Spanish she thinks I speak but I really don't. And so I knew I had to flee.

Earlier, at a 4 am pee trip, I saw that the great Jimmy Buffet had died. Wow. That wasn't expected.

I first dug his music in high school, and when I came to UM, well, you HAD to be into his stuff. I well recall parties at our apartment where we sang "Volcano" together, fueled by rum.

I saw him probably 5 times -- at the Orange Bowl for a UM pep rally, the Miami Marine Stadium, and the best show -- which was free.

Wifey and my sister Trudy and brother in law Dennis had decided to take a Key West weekend, and noticed hundreds of absurdly dressed people. It was a Parrot Head convention -- devotees of Buffet meeting to party and raise funds for charity. I asked two middle aged women with parrot hats if Buffet attended -- no, she answered, but he usually sends a telegram of best wishes.

Well, we were walking home to our hotel, La Concha, on Duval, and saw people running down the street, like in a disaster movie. Turns out, Jimmy DID come, and had set up a stage on the street adjoining Sloppy Joe's. Thousands crowded there to watch him and the Coral Reefers, and it was terrific -- one of those amazing, kismet driven life moments.

An older guy on a Harley stood with us, as Dennis and I were watching the show. He was trying to get my sister Trudy to leave with him -- get on the back and drive to the Middle Keys after the show. Wifey laughed so hard she nearly passed out -- since Trudy's demeanor did NOTHING to invite the come-on.

We ended up befriending the guy -- he had just retired in Pennsylvania, and just got on his Harley to ride -- seeing the country. Trudy was NOT going to become his biker chick, but the memory is precious to all of us.

I texted Norman -- would he care to meet for lunch, so I could flee the house? He would -- LOL at noon, but as I was pulling in, Norman called an audible -- too long a wait. We instead repaired to the Hole in the Wall where we got fine burgers and wings and watched some college ball, deconstructing the Canes' performance last night, and reminiscing about Jimmy Buffet. Indeed, the Hole had only his music playing and it seemed a most appropriate way to honor his passing -- though no alcohol was involved.

I came home, and a football nap awaited me. I dreamed of Key West, and the Chart Room, my favorite bar, and where Jimmy first played when he arrived there in 1971.

He was 76. Not very old, but that's a man who packed a LOT of living into his years. He cultivated the laid back lifestyle of rum and chilling, and became a billionaire doing it. Not too shabby.

I think D1 and her men are visiting Monday, and so we'll get to enjoy our time with them. D2 and Jonathan come in later, and I have to Dadber to MIA to return them here, to fetch their Jeep and enormous dog.

Next Saturday there's another tailgate and game -- Canes get a test with Texas A and M. And the Jewish New Year awaits -- we'll celebrate with Joey's wonderful family. Yes -- the Fall -- best time of the year -- approaches.

And at least RSV probably won't get me!