They Said There'd Be Snow This Christmas...They Said There'd Be Peace on Earth

 So Little Man and I were at House of Bagels as they opened yesterday -- 6 am! The day rolled on -- boy can that boy talk and ask millions of questions! Wifey and I wondered what would happen if he were born into a community of silence -- he would literally burst.

I had a few errands to run, and Wifey hung with him. He found a walking stick I bought in Monte Cassino Italy, and we told him it was Moses' staff, and he wanted to learn all about the Passover story, even though it's Chanukah. 

In the afternoon I texted next door neighbor Mariela, whose girl Amelie is a few weeks older. She was preparing for her Noche Buena dinner, and invited Little Man over. I convinced Wifey it was her turn, and she went over and the two talkative, clearly future leader kids, played happily -- Wifey got a tour of the amazing work Mariela did on the house -- which was already beautiful. He husband Jesus owns seveal crypto companies, and seems to print money -- great for them. We joked we were ashamed to have them over to our dump, but we will, after they return from Aruba post X mas.

Mariela returned Little Man after an hour or so -- he and Amelie really like each other, and he came in. The plan was to visit Anthony's Coal Fired, but then Wifey invited Lili and Alana, first year Northwestern Law student, inside. Lili's Cuban, and I asked about Nochebuena, which was also Erev Wifey's birthday. No plans. I asked if they would give me the privilege of sharing a holiday cocktail, and they would, so I poured some cosmos and myself a regular martini -- or two. I was then inspired to make an impromptu party -- and Jeff walked over -- and we Uber-eated in Anthony's. We ate and laughed, and Little Man played on his IPad while the grownups talked.

We played a game -- were Jeff and Lili's daughter and son in law in New Haven more, or less, quirky as parents to their child than D1 and Joey. I admitted I lost -- they had to buy a $3/4M townhouse rather than stay in their girl's big house during visits. But we adore all of them and know that we were NOT terrible parents in the 80s and 90s, despite the lens of these Millennial helicopters...

The martinis and pizza led to a firepit outside -- it was truly a lovely evening. We had our Jewish Nochebuena after all!

The guests left, and Little Man got another bath in our comically huge tub. He slept pretty well, although when I got up to pee, he slid into my spot, and I decamped to the couch in the next bedroom -- too lazy to open up the bed it has, and learning that hard couches from Ikea are NOT old man hip friendly.

Little Man tried to get me up several times pre dawn since he was "Starving," but I put him off until the the sun was actually out. As I type, he's watching cartoons -- I already completed Wifey's birthday email.

She told me her birthdays are no longer important to her. Yeah -- let the Ds and I forget to send her a heartfelt email -- the consequences will be dire.

Later we'll head to Shorecrest -- Joey and I and Jonathan have a few adult beverages to share, in honor of my wife and their loving, quirky suegra. 

It's the first night of Chanukah, and we'll light the menorah, and sing the songs, and then head over to The Citadel, a great food hall where D2 secured us a nice rooftop table. I assured Little Man there WOULD be cake -- and he would get the first slice after his Ippi.

Tomorrow is my nephew of another mister Scott's birthday, and he and fiancee Sam are flying to town from D.C. -- Barry is hosting dinner at their go-to place on Miracle Mile. I may try to influence them to cross the street for a few pops at JohnMartins -- still there but now owned by Cubans instead of friends from County Cavan.

D1 and Joey secured babysitters for NYE, and so Wifey and I can head to Joelle and Kenny's for dinner. My broker and friend Pat sent a very nice bottle of Napa Cab, and I will bring that for all to enjoy.

So for tonight, may the lights of Chanukah illuminate the beginning of Wifey's (   ) year. I am prohibited by marital law from mentioning the number. But we all know it and love her...

So Much For Avoiding "Advice"

 Classic NY Jewish lingo often involves one person telling another "Don't ask" in response to an inquiry of how someone is doing. Our funniest, but not really, example happened years ago, in front of the Grammercy Park Hotel, when we traveled to the City for Jonathan's surprise proposal to D2.

The plan had been for Jonathan to use my access to private Grammercy Park to pop the question, after which he would bring D2 to the hotel for a surprise cocktail party. Alas, it had rained, and the snowflake part Board outlawed park visits when the ground was wet -- so Jonathan was in a pickle. Barry, Jonathan and I stood in front of the hotel, figuring out alternatives.

A nice older fellow in an orange snow vest, walking a little dog, happened to overhear. He suggested using the Park Museum, which was right across from the park, and had a classic, gorgeous lobby. Turned out they were closed, and Jonathan called an audible and picked Washington Square, where his photographer friend awaited to capture the moment. It was exquisite.

But now we were friends with the nice fellow, whose name was Alan, and Wifey and Donna joined Barry and me in a chat with him -- he told us he lived Winters in Longboat Key, and had an apartment in Grammercy, too. Why, we asked, would he be in dreary NYC during December? "Oy vey," he answered, "Don't ask." Well, Barry and I looked at each other, and we DID ask, and learned that his beloved wife Barbara was terminally ill at Sloan Kettering -- that was why he was there.

Barry told him he did palliative care -- was Barbara getting what she needed? Yes, Alan answered, his daughter was a doctor at Sloan. Of course she was, Barry and I coincidentally thought. Anyway, we wished him well, and then Wifey, at a diner at breakfast, declared: "Wow -- what a sweet man. I want to fix him up with my friend Diane."

But, Donna noted -- what about Barbara???? She wasn't even dead yet! Wifey, often the practical one, noted she WAS terminal, and widowers like Alan got scooped up right away! The arrangement never happened, but Wifey DID learn that Barbara passed -- there was a big funeral at their shul in Longboat Key -- Alan and his wife were big machers there. Ah Wifey. She's funny and quirky...

Anyway, I got one of those texts from a cousin last week -- he reached out to say he was in a bad way, and thought about asking my advice -- but no -- I wasn't the person for it. New Dave took the opportunity to NOT ask when told "Don't ask," and I didn't -- wished the fellow happy holidays and all the best.

We're first cousins and I always liked him, but we speak MAYBE once or twice a year -- typically when he asks my advice about some legal matter. I think we were last together physically at my sister and brother in law's house in Hypoluxo probably a decade ago.

Well -- there came another text -- maybe I COULD help -- could I call when free. Wifey and I were spending a lovely day with Little Man -- lunch at Carrot Express delivered by a robot, which tickled all of us, hours at Greer Park and their terrific tot lot, and finally a trip to Pinecrest Gardens "Night Garden," where they decorate for the holidays and you walk through the gorgeous plantings all lit up majestically. 

We arrived home and I called the cousin -- quite the raconteur -- and he told me his last 2 decade history of boom and bust -- currently in a BIG bust. He wanted to borrow money to deal with a VERY pressing matter involving a certain US agency not known for compassion.

I didn't even listen as he tried to share details, and plans for repayment. No -- I do NOT loan money to family or friends -- after a few bad experiences in that regard. I either give a gift or not -- no business dealings anymore.

So I told him I would help him -- I was mailing a check. He said the amount was more than he needed -- and he WOULD repay me! He asked why I was the only cousin who didn't tell him get lost -- including another cousin Jeff with whom he WAS very close -- they grew up together and were a year apart and had had prior dealings. Why was I, he asked, the true king of the family?

I brushed that aside, but told him the following. Some long forgotten relative, in the early 1900s, must have sponsored our grandparents to come over from Bialystok, their home, famous for bialys and pogroms. I still love the bialys -- can do without the pogroms.  And that act of generosity, whatever it was, allowed our family to be -- in the then land of endless opportunity: America.

I asked my cousin -- he had no idea who these uncles or aunts or grandparents or cousins might have been -- these Kesslers and Goldsmiths. But they did it, and here we are -- 3 generations and a century and a quarter later.

The way I figure it, I can pay it forward -- and help a cousin I'm not at all close with -- but he needs help and I can give it.

My cousin is a big, tough fellow -- he used to hang with bent nose types in the Bronx. And he was crying on the phone -- until I told him to stop.

I made clear this was a one time act -- hopefully it let him get back on his feet and maybe join the grandfather club. His son and wife are doing IVF -- we got a funny Christmas card from them last week -- real evangelical stuff -- about letting Jesus's love flow upon us this season. I guess Jesus's love didn't include some shekels for Dad -- but that's ok.

I wish him well -- he went on and on about "needing" to meet my girls and Wifey -- he hasn't seen them in years. That's ok -- I socialize less and less -- but somehow I felt I WAS moved my the holiday season. We fortunately don't get involved in the silliness of spending thousands on gifts -- and this one made me feel much better.

Hopefully he gets back in the chips. But regardless, I figure I reached back many years and simply did what forgotten ancestors had done. I'm sure glad they did!

The Lessons of Joseph

 Each Friday I enjoy the weekly emails I get from Rabbi Yossi and Chabad. They have the day's Torah portion, and well as a topical message, and they end with a joke, most of which were first told during the period between the World Wars -- so I know them at word 5.

It's funny -- when my California sister was at her life's low point -- with her son in jail during Covid, and dwindling friends who had tired of hearing her tales of woe,  I suggested maybe she do some learning with Chabad. It went over like a lead balloon, as she reminded me yesterday, as she has interest in the Bible like I have interest in the latest European fashions coming next Fall. And that's ok -- but the wisdom and messages totally resonate with me.

And yesterday's portion was about Joseph, who endured an absolutely terrible life -- mother died when he was a child, and he was his father's favorite (Dad made him the famous many colored coat) which caused jealousy among his brothers, who sold him into slavery, which led to prison in Egypt. Of course, G-d noted that he was "successful in prison," and Joseph, through his gift of seeing the future, rose up to become a major leader, and had the opportunity to avenge his brothers' selling him into slavery. Instead, Joseph chose to believe that even his suffering was part of the Big Man's plan, and actually thanked all those who had hurt and tortured him -- these great valleys had led him to the top of a mountain.

It caused me to look back on my life, as I slog towards my, hopefully, 64th birthday next July. 1982 was the worst year of my then young life. At the beginning of the year, I felt heartbreak, real heartbreak, for the first time -- my girlfriend, who I thought might be "the one," dropped me when I was no longer headed to med school, and instead chose to study English, with no solid plans intact. She was from a richer background than I -- her mother married to a much older, established man, and her parents encouraged her to drop the boy with the uncertain financial future.

By the next Summer, I was over her, and came off my first 4.0 GPA and President's Honor Roll, since I had found myself academically and intellectually. And then my beloved Dad -- grandfather, father, and best friend all rolled into one, died in my arms -- 4 days before I turned 21. Yeah -- that was a lot worse than being ditched by a girlfriend -- I can now say empirically.

I somehow slept walked through that next semester of college -- applied to UF and UM law schools, and realized it was going to be Coral Gables, as Mom needed the help and support and Gainesville was too far away. I reflect back sometimes about what might have been had I had those 3 years in Hogtown -- how might my career and personal path have been different?

As it was, within the same week I met Mike, Jeff, and pre-Wifey -- 3 people who have had a profound impact on me -- most of whom Wifey, since we built a life together.

I was lucky. Even in the depths of my despair of 1982, something deep inside told me to play the long game -- things would get better. I now realize I had some dissociative disorder -- I would sit in class and feel I was looking down on myself -- I wasn't really there. But it passed.

Well, although 10 years seemed an eternity to a 20 something, 10 years later, in 1992, I had one of the best years of my life. And it's funny -- a major event was the total destruction of our house in a tropical cyclone commonly known as Hurricane Andrew -- a literal typhoon of deadly force that reduced all our possessions to rubble.

On the other hand, I brought in my first huge case, and the free flowing money from the insurance company turned a lot of our crap into shinola, in the form of stocks and bonds and better real estate. I was 31 and feeling like the king of the world, without the bow of the Titanic and Kate Winslett behind me. Most importantly, our band found its 4th member -- D2 -- and life was grand.

And now, I truly have the time to gather wisdom -- what to leave in, as Bob Seger sang, and what to leave out. The other day I got a text from a cousin who always reaches out with problems, and I dutifully answer. I called him -- no answer. So I texted yesterday to tell  him I called, and he responded that he wished my advise, but thought maybe better he not.

Younger Dave would have taken the bait. The classic NY Jewish "OMG -- DON'T Ask what happened," is, of course, the invitation to ask what happened.

But this time I took a step back. The fellow was giving me the opportunity to NOT get involved -- and I took it! It was so freeing. From now on, when I hear "Don't ask!" I plan to take that as a true bit of good advice -- I won't!

But Joseph triumphed, biblically, by knowing control is with the Big Man. Yep -- that resonates with me, and I needn't proselytize to others. They can find it or not -- last time I checked, it wasn't in the Jewish playbook to gain converts.

Another Pleasant Valley Weekend

 So Wednesday went as planned -- I fetched Little Man, brought him home to his happy parents, and we all had a blast with Baby Man, too. From there I drove the 10 minutes to Sunny's Steakhouse, in the hip Little River 'hood, to meet Dr. Barry.

We were the oldest patrons by a good 20 years. The food was delicious, and not inexpensive, but as Barry pointed out -- not yuuuuge portions, like the Palm. Still, we had a terrific time, and I hopefully convinced Barry that his career has not all been in vanity since he's saved several kids' lives and taught hundreds of future docs how to do the same. 

From there, I went to the Shores and grabbed the enormous puppy Betsy -- she loves staying with us. She woke Wifey yesterday at 8 am and me at 7 today. I took her for a walk, and she decided about halfway in that she wanted to go home -- letting me know by plopping her 95 lbs down and refusing to move until I took the route she wanted.

I ran into neighbor Lily, home from Tally with her nice fiance, and they asked me to officiate at their wedding next January. I was honored -- I don't know the young couple well, but apparently they really like me and want someone not a rabbi but Jew-ish, since the groom to be is Christian -- and I agreed, with one caveat. I explained that I needed to still be alive in January of 2026. They laughed, and I laughed along with them -- a little.

Paul called -- was I up for breakfast following an appointment he had Downtown? I was, and we met at Coral Bagels -- it was packed. We waited about 20 minutes but then had fine breakfasts -- and I brought Wifey home half a bagel, some latkes, and a rugelah -- so she was happy. 

Absolutely nothing is planned for this weekend -- just like I prefer it. Joey is taking Little Man camping with some dear friends and their kids, D1 had some birthday parties with Baby Man, and D2 and Jonathan are at their friends' wedding in Cabo. They sent us some pix from the luxe resort -- The Cove. As D2 noted, the place does NOT suck...

Wifey begins he birthday celebration on Sunday -- going to see the "Wicked" movie with friends Jeannette and Maureen. I plan to hang with Betsy and Bo, the Special Needs Spaniel.

Monday the plan is to trade Betsy for Little Man, and keep Little Man for a few nights. I bought us tickets for the Night Garden at Pinecrest Gardens -- we took him when he was just a year old - and now he is 5! I plan to tell him tales of the Night Bird, and we will check for other nocturnal creatures as well.

D1 and Joey had asked us to babysit on NYE, and we agreed, but it appears they have found a nice teen girl instead, "unless we really want to." I begged off - want to keep NYE options open, although staying up until midnight is no longer required. 

I think some friends with visiting adult sons have invited us --maybe Wifey and I will just bring in some nice dinner, eat by the fire pit, and watch the concerts on TV.

Wow -- 2025 is just beckoning...

But for this penultimate weekend of the year -- not much works just fine...

The Big Oh-5!

 So 5 years ago today, I got the call VERY early in the am -- D1 and Joey were on the way to Holtz Children's Hospital. We were going to, Big Man Willing, become grandparents.

We arrived, along with Joey's parents, and mercifully the wait wasn't too long. The Holtz Chief Medical Officer, a/k/a Tio Barry, scared all the staff and young doctors with his presence -- this was NOT the birth to mess up. Ha. And soon we met D1 in recovery, holding our beautiful and not undersized grandson!

Like her Mom, D1 had him by Section, and, like her Mom, the recovery was tough. But we all decided the painful recovery from the baby-ectomy was more than worth it -- now we have a VERY smart, very mischievous (the Latins call him picaro), very adorable (his Mom's eyes and nose) boy. He's gone from Baby Man to Little Man -- his brother is now Baby Man, even though he's nearly 2.5.

D1 and Joey are in Naples, enjoying a great hotel rate courtesy of Joey's brother Bob, whose new soccer team gets him sick rates, to use the Millennium word. We celebrated his birthday Friday, and D1 left him a big HBD poster. Today, Joey's Mom, who he calls Tita, is taking him to Publix with Wifey, who he calls Ippi. 

Hillary Clinton oft quoted the African proverb that it takes a village to raise a child. My grandsons have medium sized cities...

Meanwhile, I saw another classic Miami small world story. A guilty verdict came in today in SF -- a tech rich guy named Bob Lee was knifed to death last year by the angry brother of his ex girlfriend. Turns out Wifey's BFF friend's daughter was close friends with the guy -- he was living in Miami at the time of his murder and had gone back to SF for a meeting. Wifey told me Lauren testified in the trial for the prosecution -- the defense said that when Bob did drugs, he got violent, and the Persian bro was merely defending himself. As Wifey relays it, Lauren testified that when Bob did drugs, he did NOT get violent.

So I decided to read about the case, and learned that Sa'am Zangeneh, my former office roommate, was lead counsel! Sa'am become high profile since he left the office suite -- handled some hip hop artist's cases, and, I'm guessing, got involved via his Persian background, which he shared with the killer.

Classic. A tech billionaire's murder trial a country away had a family friend being crossed examined by a guy I know pretty well. How about that?!

Anyway, I guess Sa'am won a small victory -- Second degree murder versus first. Either way, his client is going to San Quentin or Folsum for a good, long while...

My job as a member of Little Man's City is tomorrow. I'm fetching him at school and taking him to his Lego class. I'll kill an hour and then take him home -- D1 and Joey will likely be arriving.

After that, I'm meeting the aforementioned CMO for dinner. I wanted to try Sunny's Steakhouse, a new place in Little River profiled recently in the snooty Times, partly since D2 and Jonathan rave about it, and partly since I HAVE to go anywhere with a name shared with my late Mom.

I went on the APP -- only openings were too early (5 PM) or too late (9 PM). So we were going to my favorite local place, Pinch Kitchen, but then D2 flew to the rescue -- she was on some list that allowed reservations in a way not open to schleppers like Barry and me. And so we're in -- at 7 pm -- plenty of time for Barry to make it from work.

After dinner, I head North to the Shores, to fetch Betsy, for a weekend of dog sitting. She loves her time here -- chasing peafowl off the driveway, which Wifey and I heavily endorse.

Ah -- invasives. We also have huge iguanas, and I realized one or more had dug a HUGE hole at the base of my stone bridge across the pond. I filled it with coral rock boulders, and bought 2 60 lb bags of concrete -- to seal them off. SOBs!

But the big news is looking back half a decade. We adore and love Little Man, and ask The Big Man to keep him healthy and happy. Man, I love to dream about what his life will be...

Big Brunch

 Thirty years ago, Eric had a surprise 30th birthday party for Dana, at 94th Aero Squadron right by the South runway of MIA. I recalled that party the other night, as I drove past on the Dolphin Expressway, named after the NFL team that used to play in the Orange Bowl and has been a disappointment for decades now. Just yesterday they were eliminated from the playoffs. Oy.

Anyway, time marched on since 1994, as time will do, and yesterday it was time for Dana to officially join the 60 Club. She was a freshman when Eric and I were seniors at UM, and so she's always sort of trailed a bit age-wise. Of our group, Paul is the oldest, nearing 75, and of the wives, well I can't say, especially about the one who just told me last night she is "not at all excited" about her upcoming birthday, as it places her perilously close to 70.

Still, the party was called for West Boca, at an Italian place that used to have locations in the Falls and Aventura, and I thought those of us living south of Flagler Street might carpool. So at the crack of 9, Wifey the trooper was ready, although she tries to "not do mornings," and Mike and Loni came over and got into the back row of my big man Caddy SUV -- the first passengers ever there. We made our way to the Grove, and fetched Joelle and Kenny, and the happy sextet were off -- thinking the drive would take 1.5 hours.

For mysterious but happy reasons, traffic was 90s-like, and we pulled into the strip center in less than 50 minutes -- literally zero traffic. So we wandered around, and into a Fresh Market, where we got coffee and Mike saw some on sale rib roast he planned to buy for Christmas dinner. We camped outside of Prezzo, and walked in.

Wow -- Eric had the entire main dining room, and it was packed with 65 people from all stages of Dana's life. I greeted Ron, her affable, retired engineer Dad, who asked if I had gotten taller. It was great to see him -- friends' parents are a dying generation, literally, and Ron was doing well.

Dana and Eric's 4 grandkids were there, and the oldest girl sang a song. Eric told us all to sit, and we did -- the other south of Flagler Street guest, Norman, was along stag, on account of a wifely migraine, and I suggested maybe he take the head of the table, though he risked being handed the check. Ha. There were no checks to be handed.

I caught up with my friend Peter, who along with Eric, were two of the first friends I made at UM in 1979. Of course, as Miami is the smallest town, big city there is, it turned out that one of Peter's close friends was Norman's nephew Max -- so we all had lots in common, led, of course, by our love of the Canes.

The price fix menu was nice -- you could go Italian or brunch, and since chicken parm was offered, I went Italian. I almost always order it in memory of Paul's late law school friend Alan -- it was the only thing he ever ate at Italian places. Alan was a loveable scoundrel -- disbarred years before he died fairly young of a rare intestinal cancer -- and I smile to myself thinking of him.

So people from back in the day mixed happily from people very much in the day, and Dana was glowing, holding a granddaughter or two, and being snapped by Eric, who will someday give up his cardiologist gig and be a full time shutterbug. I hope that day comes for him sooner than later -- you can only take so much stupid health care silliness, and Eric's patient population -- aging Palm Beachers -- hell--AGED Palm Beachers, don't tend to be a happy lot.

Wifey and I have a trip planned with Eric and Dana -- the Blue Danube, from Budapest to Prague, in late May. We're going on the ultra luxury Tauk line -- they fetch you at the airport and whisk you to a 5 star hotel for a few days before and after the riverboat -- they're famous for their amazing service. Indeed, each time we call their office, the service people are Ritz Carlton quality -- know their stuff and are happy to help. I look forward to tossing back a few, and maybe winning a Trivia contest or two among what tends to be a highly educated clientele. We're also seeing a lot of Jewish history sights with some private guides -- that's in my wheelhouse.

We piled back into the SUV, and reversed the trip -- dropping Joelle and Kenny back in the Grove. Their first born Adam was due in last night, joining his younger brother Nathan, and they're going to have a wonderful Winter break together. Joelle and Kenny are off to Europe again in February, and Wifey whined about not being invited, but Joelle recalled my instructions to please refrain from inviting us until the Summer -- expensive trips to D.C. in March and the aforementioned Central Europe are a good deal of shekels -- even though Wifey is used to not thinking much about money. Plus, I reminded her, Europe in February is COLD, and she hates cold. Wouldn't matter, she said, she so wants to travel. And that's ok -- that's what friends' trips are for!

We got back to Villa Wifey and I invited Loni and Mike in to watch the end of the Dolphins game and maybe have an adult beverage, but they had errands and begged off. I indeed watched the expensive team blow another season, and then Wifey and I watched the new episode of "Landman," which we both really dig.

Today, D1` and Joey are headed to Naples for a quick staycation -- Joey's brother Bob's new gig as soccer team owner gets him crazy discounts at area hotels - and on Wednesday I will fetch Little Man at school and take him to Legos before dropping him at home. I also will fetch the enormous puppy Betsy, as D2 and Jonathan are headed to Cabo for yet another friends' wedding, so Betsy will camp with us for a few days.

The week after that, we'll host Little Man for a few nights, as school's out, and get the whole band together for the birthday of our Lord and Savior Wifey on 12/25. Even though she has ennui about the day, the Ds suggested a great activity -- dinner at the Citadel Food Court roof, and then the lighting of the menorah back at D 1's house for the first night of Chanukah, which begins this year on the first night of Wifey's birthday, as well as the birthday maybe a few more people worldwide celebrate as well, for another Jew born in Bethlehem...

After Parties

 So yesterday we celebrated Little Man's 5th birthday, at Ultra Padel in Little Haiti. Padel is sort of a combination of tennis and racquet ball, which originated in, I think, Spain. It's a mostly young person's sport, as opposed to Pickle Ball, which is for the oldsters.

There are several Padel places in Miami, but I guess not too many outside of Miami-Dade, as few people have any idea what it is when I tell them. But Little Man loves it -- he's taking lessons from an affable Colombian born coach, and in the way we used to have kids' parties at bowling alleys, now it's Padel.

Wifey and I arrived as D1 was awaiting a delivery from Steve's Pizza, owned by school friends she's made. She handed me her phone and asked me to direct in the driver, who was comically grouchy -- American guy who was completely turned around. In fairness, Ultra Padel is in a warehouse district, backed up to the Brightline Tracks -- and so I air traffic controlled the fellow in.

He arrived -- a guy maybe my age, and immediately asked where the rest of the helpers were -- he did NOT want to walk the 100 feet or so to where the party was set up. I had already signed the credit card form, and said "My friend, I gave you a $30 tip for delivery -- is it really so much to ask you to actually deliver?" Joey arrived and the two of us carried in the far too many pizzas D1 had ordered. But I thought someone ought to write a comedy skit about the Basil Fawlty of delivery guys.

The kids had a blast -- playing on the tot lot and playing Padel. Indeed, I made sure to give away 10 large pizzas -- and luckily the Moms and Dads were happy to comply. Steve's has some good pizza, I kept telling them if it was Dominos, we could just trash it, but every time a pizza is wasted, an angel loses his wings.

D2 had brought enormous puppy Betsy, and she wore reindeer garb, not happily, but I made her happy with plenty of pizza crusts. D2 had to leave early to get ready -- last night was Jonathan's work holiday party on Brickell -- this am she said it was a lot of fun, but the after party lasted until 2.

Funny -- we ALSO had an after party -- I helped schlep the party loot back to D1 and Joey's house -- but we got home at 9. By 2 am, I had already been sleeping for 4 hours, in time to wake up for 1, and resume my sleep shift. I miss being able to sleep a solid 8 hours straight...

But Little Man loved his gifts, especially the Transformer toys, which Joey spent a LOT of time assembling. I told him he was a better Dad than I -- if my kid got toys requiring that much work, they would have mysteriously disappeared overnight.

D1 lit the shabbos candles, and we said the prayers. It was exquisite.

Tomorrow the birthday fun continues. Dana turned the big 6-oh, and Eric is hosting 65 people at Prezzo's in Boca tomorrow at 11. We're fetching Joelle and Kenny, and now may have another 2 carpoolers as well -- Mike and Loni are attending as well. Mike will let me know if our SUV will be 2 or 3 couples up to the westauwant, as Little Man calls eateries.

5 years. It's really true that time flies when you have grandkids. Just yesterday we were gathered at Holtz Children's, under Uncle Barry's watchful CMO eye, when D1 made us grandparents.

5 years now seems like 1 year to my younger self. My younger self may have enjoyed an after party until 2 am. Now I like the earlier type.

First Set Of Law School Finals, January of 1984

 So two of my friends, Norman and Jeff, have kids just beginning their law school careers. Alana is at Northwestern in Chicago, and Michael at New York Law in The City. New York Law is not to be confused with NYU Law, though my friend Joel, a graduate, never corrects anyone when they assume he went to NYU.

Michael just texted that he had one final left, and it triggered my memory to my time with that tensosity, in January of 1984. Of course, the question is why the first set of finals was in January and NOT December. The answer was UM Law's transformative Dean, Soia Mentschikoff, who retired the year before we started. She had come from U Chicago and brought with her 7 young professors -- so soon became known as "Soia and the 7 Dwarves." She had a mandate to bump up the academic cred of UM, which at the time still had a lingering SunTan U reputation.

So Soia set about to separate the law school from the rest of the U -- even the schedule. UM Law kids got T shirts that said "The Pale Few At SunTan U." As a result, we had the absurd task of finishing classes before XMas, getting time off, and then returning for exams, and THEN getting another week off. It was absurd -- one of the greatest non-Wifey or Ds nights of my life, the Canes first championship victory, was sullied by the fact that I had a stupid final early the following morning. I'm pretty sure they got rid of Soia's schedule, and the U is now a real U again.

Anyway, I had already been dating Wifey, but we were on different pages in our relationship. She was 26 and working and supporting herself; I was 22 and not ready to be "exclusive," as she says with a trace of her Brooklyn accent that never fails to make the Ds crack up. I liked her fine  enough, but I liked other ladies, too, and this was somehow a source of annoyance to her. Go figure.

Another complaint was how little free time I had because of studying for law school, especially that first semester when I still thought I might make Law Review, which my mediocre grades somehow impeded. We went to a nice dinner out in December, at the Chart House in the Grove, and Wifey said how much she looked forward to us finally having some quality time, after my January Finals. Wait, I said -- not so fast! Mike had invited me and our classmate Dave to go snowmobiling at Mike's family house in Three Lakes, Wisconsin. I told Wifey THAT was my plan.

Somehow the dinner temperature lowered. It caused the first of two breakups with me by Wifey -- the second near the end of our second semester. But, to use Shakespeare, all's well that ends well -- I weaseled my way back in both times -- the second time for good which led to a romantic trip to Cancun, when it was STILL Cancun and not Ft. Lauderdale, and the rest is our family history.

So we finished our last test, and got into Mike's conversion van -- and drove North. Since we had 3 drivers, the plan was to go straight through. Mike warned me about the cold, and I laughed. HE was the Miami native -- I was a tough LI guy who knew winter. Well, it wasn't so funny when we stopped for gas in Illinois and the temp was 20 below and my hand stuck to the gas pump. I truly did NOT know Midwestern cold.

As we drove the final leg, the heater sort of stopped working, and Dave thought his feet were getting frostbitten. My warmed them with a kel-light as I drove the lonely Wisconsin Highways -- and we made it in mostly one piece.

We had a blast! Mike's Uncle Marv, already well into his 70s, took us though the paths at night, stopping at taverns for Old Style beer and chili. We rode over the frozen lakes all day -- I had never snowmobiled before, or since, and it was the perfect blow off for the pressures of the very tough first semester of law school.

On our way home, we stopped in Madison -- I knew a girl named Kay who I had met in Florida the Summer my Dad died, and she and her friends met us in the frozen college town, and then invited us to spend the night with her family in Darlington "pretty close to Madison." I learned that "pretty close to a rural Wisconsinite is a 3 hour drive," but the next am Mike was thrilled to find a Nuesky's Outlet store to visit -- for their famous smoked meats and sausage.

We also spent a night at a La Crosse Hotel, where the temperature in the room never rose above 50, and the sweat in the foam van seats actually froze -- it was 50 below with the wind chill. I'm talking COLD.

I had sent a postcard to our favorite professor, signed by the fictitious name Dan Driver, from his Torts exam. The first day back in class he gleefully read it to us -- Mike, Dave, and I smiled.

The second semester was easier, once I got my grades and knew my C plus average wasn't Law Review material (my highest grade was indeed Torts, which I ended up practicing all these years. I guess I dug people getting hurt and making money from it).

Things with Wifey resumed, only until I had another girl named Pam come stay for 2 weeks -- I had met her at an Honors Conference her school, University of New Mexico hosted, and Pam was in grad school at Rice. Turned out Wifey was none too pleased about HER visit, and that led to the "final" ditching of her not ready to be exclusive boyfriend.

But, as the Spring drew to a close, I had another awesome vacation offer: Jeff and his girlfriend Cheryl were off to Cheryl's Mom's villa on the beach in Cancun. Airfare was only $150, and the stay was free. Ask Wifey, they suggested. Nah -- she said this breakup was for reals, as they say now, and I set about asking maybe 10 other girls, all of whom were busy. I really wanted to go. Cheryl INSISTED I aske Wifey, and I did. To my shock, she didn't hang up the phone, even though she had moved to North Miami to get away from me in Kendall. 

And, as Fate had it, she was off the same week. Her friend Linda, who was most skeptical of me, for good reasons, told her to just go. "You broke up with him twice -- go have a great time in Mexico and leave him for good a third time. Why not?" Somehow the pretzel logic made sense, and Wifey agreed to go.

Well -- that'll be 4 decades plus a year ago come next May...

Michael is already married, so I guess he won't be visiting any other women following his Finals. Alana is single -- I'm guessing she'll just come home to Jeff and Lili after her tests are over.

But somehow my experience is seared into my memory --On, Wisconsin!

Our Lives Are Like Candles In The Wind

 So while Miami is comically traffic logged, on account of Art Basel, there have been a couple of huge stories out of NYC. Public reaction to both, at least in the minority, leaves me wondering about the world we're creating for my grandsons and, hopefully, future grandchildren. Things have really gone sideways.

The first tale is about a trial that just ended, involving a LI retired Marine named Daniel Penny. Last year, Daniel was on a subway train headed to school, and a maniac entered his car, terrifying everyone, shouting that someone was going to die that day and he didn't care about going back to prison. The maniac had been arrested 42 times before, but in bizarro world NYC was still a free man -- he had a  ton of drugs inside his sickle cell and schizophrenic body. Most of the fellow passengers on the car were terrified.

Penny sprang into action, hero-like, and tackled the menace. He held him, along with some help from others, afraid the nutcase was going to reach into his pants pocket for a knife or gun. The train stopped at the next station, and it took New York's Finest about 20 minutes to arrive -- Penny wasn't going to risk letting the creep go. Finally, the cops got there, and took Penny in for questioning.

Since the cops are often Mafia -like, no one told him the menace had died -- they questioned Penny without tipping him off that maybe he ought to keep quiet without a lawyer. Penny told the truth -- he was afraid for everyone in the car and himself -- he certainly didn't mean to hurt the guy. Well, the nut indeed died -- maybe from Penny's chokehold, or maybe from the drugs, or maybe from his bad sickle cell symptoms.

Next thing, Penny got charged! And his trial took place over the last month, until finally manslaughter was dropped with the jury hung. Monday, the jury acquitted Penny of the remaining negligent homicide charges. Riots were expected -- luckily none have sprung up. The creep's father and uncle, little involved in his pathetic life, have now sprung to the forefront, of course with Al Sharpton, decrying the racialist nature of NY's justice system, and many are saying it's best if Penny moved away.

Wow. I guess I'm just too old and practical, but for me, a person who jumps into action, at his own peril, to protect others, is a hero -- not a criminal. Again -- the minority are calling him a subway slaughterer, but still...

The other story is about the United Health CEO who was gunned down during the annual meeting in NYC. They caught HIS killer yesterday -- rich kid with 2 degrees from U Penn -- angry with nature of health insurance coverage. 

The scary part to me is the number of people lauding the maniac rich kid as a hero! Few people like health insurers, but to laud a cold blooded murder?

Apparently they even had a killer look alike contest in Central Park -- the winner got $50. I have little doubt many of these idiots are the same ones who support Hamas, and support defunding the police.

I appreciate black humor as much as anyone, but the CEO was by all accounts a nice guy with a separated wife and 2 kids -- and was apparently known for at least some attempts to change the "Denial culture" of United Health.

But to laud him as a hero?

I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  Ted Bundy got love letters in prison, and the loser Cruz, who shot up the school in Parkland, apparently always has a full prison account due to the money people send him.

Wifey read me an article last night claiming that the US is now the most divided nation -- we overtook the UK. I get the division -- but have we lost the ability to agree on what is truly acceptable (not threatening train passengers and not being gunned down for leading an unpopular company) and what is not (menacing subway passengers and killing a CEO in cold blood)?

I guess not. Rough times ahead, unfortunately...

The Picaro Grandson

 So Little Man is nearly 5, and so much of his personality is already visible. And the boy is, totally, picaro.

Picaro shares shades of meaning with picaresque, a literary term describing a novel with a lovable scoundrel main character -- think Robin Hood, or the Three Musketeers. In Spanish, the meaning is a mischievous yet charming person, particularly a child.

This boy LOVES to play, and loves to see how far he can push -- if too far, he disclaims with "I was only kidding!" He has a lot of me in him -- I come from a proud line of pranksters who do their best straight faced.

Just this am, D1 sent a video of  Little Man doing some preK homework, which he got right away, and when he gave his Mom a correct answer, he turned and gave her a smile I know so well -- not one of triumph so much  as "See? I told you I could do it!"

Baby Man is much less verbal, but also charming. He has learned at less than 2.5 that a smile goes a long way -- especially with the ladies in his life. It's too early to see if he is picaro as well.

With the Ds, D2 is much more picara. We used to call her big sister "the world's most earnest 3 year old," and she was. She was much more serious minded, and got her way with charm and confidence, but rarely joking. As she aged, she became VERY verbal, and loved puns and plays on words. She still does -- her excellent writing is RIFE with them. But her younger sister is much more likely to prank someone...

Ah -- the Big Man truly brings us joy with grandchildren. I always loved mine, but knew I would be FAR more involved as the boys grew. Maybe it's sexist, no, correction, it IS sexist to note, but often the grandmas are much more into the babies than the grandpas are.

Now that I can truly relate to Little Man, it's been a sea change for me. There will be many more ballgames, and meals, and overnight visits where I arise with him before the sun does -- and head to the House of Bagels (Grandpa Dave -- is that a store, or is a house ACTUALLY made of bagels?").

I met Norman this am at LOL, and I arrived (shockingly) early. The fellow at the next table was FaceTiming with his wife and grandkids -- I quickly gleaned the wife was visiting the family out of state. The grandkids, sounding around 10, asked if Grandpa was having his usual "nearly burned bagel and scrambled eggs." He ended the call and apologized if he was too loud. I assured him I was a grandpa, too, and it's NEVER too loud when it's about the grandkids.

So today is another of those gorgeous Miami December days. I have Bluesville playing on the Sonos. I brought Wifey her requested matzah brie from LOL. My plan for this fine day is my 3 mile walk, and then falling asleep to the Jets/Dolphins game at 1. Later tonight, we're hosting Kenny, Joelle, and their S2 Nathan. Not too shabby for a quiet Sunday.

Kenny and Joelle are nowhere NEAR grandkids -- their boys are very single. We long ago learned that you only bore fellow grandparents with tales and pix of your grandkids -- so I won't be sharing that stuff tonight.

But man -- that Little Man has grabbed my heart, and I know will never let go...

A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

 Today is, of course, Pearl Harbor Day, and fortunately for we blessed children of the Greatest Generation, all is well. Denny from ATT was here at the crack of noon, and replaced our museum ready modem. He told me our neighborhood would probably get fiber instead of copper in a year or so, and that would greatly increase our internet speed. I told him we were fine as we were -- tvs and a couple of desktops and my beloved Sonos. I need no more speed.

He left me his phone number, explaining we are "his ticket" for 30 days. ATT gets a lot of bad press, but this service was first rate. I shall so tell any HR ATT people who reach out to ask me...

But my thoughts on this date always envision a 22 year old young man, pushing multiple dress carts through the streets of Lower Manhattan. Dad told me he had grown so adept, he could manage 4 at a time -- schlepping the carts to the various factories that would add buttons, collars, finery, etc...All of a sudden, he said, like a movie, life stopped.

Cars and busses pulled over, and everyone went to the storefronts where radios were playing: FDR's famous address explaining what had happened in Hawaii. After the speech, everyone went back to their business, but solemnly. Dad said he knew he would soon be drafted, and sure enough, 4 months later the letter came to his Bronx home -- report to Ft. Lee, NJ for induction into the US Army.

I asked if he had any idea how long was to be his service. "Absolutely," he told me, "same as everyone--for the duration!"

Wow, When I was 22, I had graduated college and embarked on a tough journey -- law school. First, I had little fear that grad school might kill me, and I knew no matter how hard it was, it would last 3 years.

For Dad, the service was near 4 years. And it was the birth of my modern family. Mom first visited him at Camp Lee, Virginia -- the base had a program where girlfriends and wives could visit and be put up by locals. It was Mom's first time away from the Tri-state region. Dad borrowed a Jeep and fetched his girlfriend, and they drove to a farmhouse couple hosting them. They were a nicer older couple, and they invited Mom and Dad to come to First Baptist for services the next day. Dad said thanks, but they were Jewish.

He recalled the room temperature seemed to lower, and the man finally said "Well where ARE they?" My Dad was perplexed, and the man explained their pastor had told them that Jews had little horns just below their hairlines. Mom and Dad laughed, and invited the nice couple to feel for themselves -- no horns! In fact, my Dad admitted later he was indeed VERY horny, as Mom wouldn't put out until after they married, but that's another story.

They had more American adventures during the War -- but the big one was Mom getting on ANOTHER few trains, this time to cross the entire US to California, where Dad was based in Pasadena. They were married at the Huntington Hotel by a base Rabbi, and began their lives together in a bungalow in the Pasadena Hills. Dad would report to the base, and Mom got a job as secretary to the Dean of CalTech -- oblivious to what was clearly Manhattan Project stuff going on.

She told me she DID recall a few times when a group of professors met and had Mom lock the door -- no visitors allowed. She also greatly admired her boss -- the first PhD she had ever met -- a true Southern Gentleman, she said -- from Vanderbilt. On the day before Yom Kippur, he told Mom to have an easy fast -- Mom laughed -- she wasn't religious and planned to come to work. The Baptist said "Oh no -- your people are our older sisters and brothers -- PLEASE honor the holiday and G-d --I'll see you in 2 days." I wonder if Jews are so welcome on the CalTech campus these days, or are labeled baby killers and colonialists...

In any event, Mom got pregnant in April of '44, and since the War was still raging, they decided she'd return to The Bronx to have the baby. My oldest sister was born in January of '45 -- she's about to turn 80! Dad had few regrets in life, but one was not staying in Southern California -- maybe he would have gotten a job as a writer or editor -- he loved it there.

Instead, the dying Winds of War blew him back to the Bronx and 3 jobs to support his wife and baby girl, who was followed by another baby girl in June of '48. As the years passed, he was able to shed jobs -- two, and then a single one -- salesman for a glass company called Pittman Dreitzer. And then, in 1960, after Mom had a miscarriage, they decided to try for one more child -- even though they were 40 and 41. Dad had taken a new job with a glassware company called Toscany, and I joined the band in July of '61 -- my sister and I essentially bookending the Boomer generation.

The two bedroom apartment in Queens Village was too small for the family, and Dad went to see his boss, Morris Katz -- a boss out of central casting. He asked for a $2000 loan to buy a house on Long Island -- Dad's childhood friend Bobby Danzig was already living on Charles Lane, and a house a few doors down was for sale for , I think, $12K. Mr. Katz said yes -- he had a feeling Dad would be an earner for Toscany (funny -- 3 of the owning partners were Jews, one was indeed Italian) and when I was one, we moved to Long Island.

My oldest sister had graduated high school, Martin Van Buren (Madeleine Kahn was a few years her senior) and the younger one transferred to Levittown Memorial. My sisters were none too pleased about moving "out to where the Indians live." Apparently I had no opinion.

My older sister became close friends with Maureen, a fellow daily commuter on the LIRR to NYC, and Maureen invited her to a welcome home party for her brother -- returning from a Vietnam War stint in the USAF. My sister attended, and, again like in a movie, knew she was marrying the skinny handsome Irish boy. And she did.

The younger sister met HER first at Southhampton College, and the two hippie types moved to the Upper West Side, but alas, the marriage didn't last, and the younger sister moved out west to California, and has been there now well over half a century.

I had a classic "Wonder Years" childhood in blue collar Long Island -- making some friends I keep to this day. The smartest of the lot, Kenny, who I met in Junior High, is coming over with his amazing wife Joelle tomorrow night for some take in and maybe a viewing of the movie about our generation's music, "Yacht Rock." Their boy Nathan will come, too, and Kenny and I will NOT bore our wives and his son about our days in Wantagh/Levittown/Seaford -- not exactly the triumvirate of culture.

But in my mind, Pearl Harbor Day's tragedy got the whole ball rolling. And Japan has long been one of our closest allies -- hell -- our best family cars have been Mazdas and Lexuses!

So stuff changes from a date of infamy. But I always smile thinking of that handsome young Bronx born guy stopping the dress carts for the radio broadcast...

Low Tech/No Tech

 So the Brands Mart fellows showed up early today, and installed the new garage fridge -- the most low tech model Whirlpool sells. It's black and the old style freezer on top/fridge on bottom. They took out the electronic heavy free Kitchenaid, which cost 3 times the replacement, although I got it for free. The installer smiled and said, in accented English: "This one better -- last 10-20 years. No Chinese electronics -- just American machinery."

Of course, as he drove away, I realized that with Wifey's new decree of no more large parties, we really don't NEED a garage fridge/freezer, but I still like having one. You never know. The last one served well during my Leche Dave days, when my thin but prodigious milk producing daughter would freeze her "human milk," as DEI insisted it be called, and I would store it for grateful recipients. I still have a ticket fixed for free offer in Doral if the need arises...thanks to the happy Dad of one of D1's "clients." 

On the other end of our domestic tech spectrum, our UVerse has been dodgy for the last few days -- goes off for most of the day, and comes back on in the evening. I figured it was due to all the construction we're having -- including the new road and roundabout behind our house, and the "conversion" from FPL -- the religious sounding term for the fact they're burying the electric lines.

But after a comically long hold, Wifey got through and the tech ran some tests -- and they're sending a tech tomorrow -- our gateway is indeed "ancient" and there are probably cable issues outside. Hopefully we get back our usual service -- I DO use my desktops a lot, and I really dig my Sonos, which relies on our internet to work. Everything relies on the internet.

I got an invite to attend the jersey unveiling of the FC Naples jersey in a few weeks. D1 and Joey are going -- turning the trip into a nice staycation. We're not going, but I requested an XXL jersey, and then realized if you  would have told me I would EVER wear a soccer jersey, I'd have said you were daft. Hmmm...dodgy and daft -- must be some England in the air tonight.

So tomorrow all we have to do is host our ATT tech, and I plan to get in more walking in the beautiful late Fall weather. Sunday we're hosting Kenny and Joelle and their boy Nathan, who's on sabbatical from the working world for a bit. Smart young man.

It occurred to me that from the time I was in junior high school, I NEVER went more than a few weeks without school and/or working, until recently, when age and the stock market has given me freedom of time.

I wish I had taken a "gap year," but it wasn't in the deck I was dealt. I went from college to law school and by law school was with Wifey, and we bought a house together BEFORE we married, and it had something called a mortgage and insurance, and then came the Ds, and there was really never a time to take a lengthy time off.

I SO appreciate that now, but imagine if I could do it when I was younger and dumber. That's well passed by now.

So I'll be satisfied with working internet and TV tomorrow. And maybe chilling some beer in the new garage fridge...

Ya Gotta Have Friends -- Especially Medical Ones As You Age

 So Old Man goes to doctors week continued for me yesterday -- my annual visit to Dr. Green, the charming and affable Dermatologist who my family insisted I switch to after my aging Dermatologist missed a lesion, and because he's terrific. We immediately bonded several years back -- most of his patients are women going for cosmetic stuff, and I know he enjoys my knowledge of Canes football and lack of care about Botox for myself. I referred him Mike and Loni, and they love him, too. Awesome guy.

Anyway, he found one spot on my ample belly to biopsy -- hopefully negative, or at worst a squamous or basal that can be MOHsed off. He found two over the years -- one of each, as I joke, since I'm a Diversity Guy, and referred me to attractive blonde MOHs surgeon Dr. Herman, born in the Bahamas, and also a delight. She zapped one lesion off my nose and one off my forehead in a single pass, Hopefully I don't need to see her this time around.

I also showed him a lump on my right index finger that's been there a few weeks -- above the joint. He examined it and said it wasn't really dermatological -- it went deeper. I ought to see a hand surgeon about it, to rule out it "being anything funky." Yes, I agreed, although I'm a huge fan of Soul Music, especially from the 70s, when it comes to my health, funky is bad.

I left his office and immediately called old friend Dr. Lew. Lew and I met when I was starting law school and he was finishing med school -- he lived a few apartments from Wifey, and her old roomie Mimi was good friends with him. Lew graduated UM and left for a surgery residency in Brooklyn, and we lost touch, until we reunited at Mimi's son's bris years later. Lew had married a Venezuelan born lady, and finished a Hand Surgery Fellowship at UM.

The reuniting was good professionally as well as personally. Our first born daughters were close in age, and we enjoyed taking the kids to the zoo and other events. And I got to refer Lew clients with hand injuries, and he referred me patients with injuries who needed a lawyer, and one of the biggest cases I got was because of him, indirectly.

A woman called me one day -- years before I had helped out her cousin in a small matter against a sleazy used car dealer. She wanted to sue her ortho surgeon -- he had operated on her hand, and done a less than stellar job. I knew right away her damages were too small for my firm to consider, but I had her make an appointment to see me anyway, thinking I could refer her to Lew, whose practice was still young, and maybe he could help her. She came in, and we ended up representing her and her family, but not for the hand. Her son was gruesomely burned in a lighter accident -- it never occurred to her or her husband that THAT might be the lawsuit. The case ended up being life changing -- most importantly for insuring lifetime care for the boy, but for me personally, the share of the fee from my old firm was life changing. Wow -- that was 1992 -- long time ago.

Anyway, I called Lew from my car, and he answered right away. Wifey and I meet him and Maria for dinner a few times per year, and it was time to plan that, anyway, but I told him about my issue. He had me send some photos I took in the daylight. He texted back -- telling me to Google "Finger Mucus Cyst" when I got home, and then to call him.

Voila! I was on the phone with Mirta, and she taught me how to get Google Images. Sure enough, the photos of finger mucus cysts were exactly the same as what I have on my pointer!

Lew called back, explaining to me that he used to remove those on patients, but they grew back, and if they don't  bother patients (mine is painless and only visible -- zero functional issues) he advised leaving them be -- they often disappear in a few months, and if they become troublesome, we can always whack it off then.

I joked that all of his years of college, med school, residency, and fellowship were a waste -- he could simply use Google. Yes, he said -- medicine is heading to AI anyway, and given the poor quality of many young residents he encounters these days -- it's probably for the best.

So -- finger issue solved -- we moved onto the matter of dinner, which we planned for January -- December is pretty hectic, as he pointed out, with both Christmas AND his oldest daughter's birthday, who makes a big deal out of it like my Ds do. They got that from Wifey -- Lord forbid we don't celebrate her birthday -- the skies cry.

Anyway, I was thankful, and now await my mole results. Tomorrow I see my urologist, and then Monday one of my TWO eye docs.

Hopefully all preventative stuff, but when it IS something, it sure is nice to have folks to turn to.

Time Passages

 Get me a ticket on the last train home tonight. Ah -- loved Al Stewart in those years.

And he merely observed the obvious, but wrote beautifully about it -- those passages of time.

I was speaking to Paul the other day -- about how many of our conversations center around doctors' appointments. He's 74 and I'm 63 -- but I have three scheduled over the next week. Tomorrow I see my skin man, Jeremy Green, to screen for skin lesions. Thursday I see Bob Puig, my urologist. Thankfully all is well, but I need to pay his $170 co-pay before he will renew my prescription for Finasteride, which has been keeping Mr. Prostate small, and probably my hair very thick, as a side effect. And Monday, I see one of my TWO eye docs -- the one watching my pressure. The other one yearly checks on a retinal tear he lasered shut several years back.

I recall my Dad as an old man, when I would return from UM for the weekends, saying the only conversations at the condo pool were about doctors and who offered the highest CD rates (back then they flirted with 20%). Of course, my Dad was younger than I am now -- I lived longer than he ever did last September, so why shouldn't I talk about doctors and finance?

I had a nice chat yesterday with Lou, Paul's long time Philly friend, and up until this year, snowbird. I enjoyed each December with Lou -- we would spend a day at Gulfstream -- sometimes Kenny, sometimes Norman, and sometimes Barry and his boy Josh would join us -- along with my bro in law Dennis.

Lou LOVES the ponies, and the running joke is we lost money much more slowly using his expertise. But this year, he's not making the trek -- the drive is just too long, as he nears 80, and the thought of dealing with airport crowds is simply too daunting for him.  Paul tried to convince him -- just use a wheelchair, and be whisked along, but he's content to stay home and fight the Philly weather.

We agreed it would sure be fine if we had the physicality of a 40 year old -- let alone a younger man. But, alas, that's not how this Mother Nature thing works. One of my life's mentors, Vince Senior, used to love to note that Mother Nature is a vicious bitch.

Still, on a day like today in Miami, everyone feels young. I walked my 3 miles in the most gorgeous weather. We're still dog sitting the skittish Spaniel, and Lemon was a worthy companion. We crossed paths with our Colombian neighbor, who has a Shiba Inu, and the dog growled at sweet Lemon, who wanted no part of that tensosity. I told D1 that she needs to watch out for Colombian Shiba Inus, and she loved the synthesis of cultures inherent in such a pooch.

So not much else is scheduled for this week, except a visit from my FA Pat, down from chilly Bucks County, to see clients. We will have our investment meeting at Fox's, per usual. He had me double down on two investments over our 20 year relationship: Apple and Eli Lilly. Our family and our charities have benefitted handsomely from that advice. Everyone is always on an Apple product, and the endless supply of skinny people trying to burst out of fat bodies has Lilly soaring.

Ah -- doctors and finances. Nothing much changes with the generation of old men.

Stupid A-F-Ing Game

 I've seen The Sopranos at least 4 times, and one of my favorite scenes is when Tony takes hitman Furio to see the snooty doctor who has been caring for his Uncle Junior. They approach the surgeon on the golf course, with Tony giving him a new driver, and the doctor refusing the gift. Tony says "Well I already got one, and Mr. Smith over here doesn't golf." Furio replies, with his death stare: "Stupida fucking game." Ultimately the surgeon gets the message and returns Uncle Junior's calls.

So my beloved Canes -- once again set me up for a major let down. We got a generational QB talent, for one season, and an easy schedule where we were favored to win each game. We nearly did -- blew one to Ga Tech, but all we needed was to beat underdog Syracuse yesterday to make the ACC Championship for only the second time. The first time was 2017 -- we got creamed by Clemson. I traveled there with Mike and his sister Jeannine and Pete Bellas -- recalling Charlotte was maybe the most boring city there is. But that was 7 years ago.

Yesterday, I plumped onto the couch, Special Needs Spaniel Bo and skittish visiting Spaniel Lemon alongside. Canes went up 21-0 -- my predictions of a laugher seemed accurate. But the laugh was on me -- Canes choked in ways Dr. Heimlich couldn't have helped, and blew the game. Now -- no championship.

I keep saying I need to care so much about a group of 18-22 mostly inner city kids whose fleetness of foot, or not, determine the fate of the team I care so much about. And I keep caring.

Well, the glory years -- off and on from '83-2002 -- they can't take that away from me. We won 5, really 6 but for a TERRIBLE call by an Ohio State ref, championships. I fear I may have seen the last of the rings. And that's ok.

The game has changed so much anyway -- paying the players -- college football lost any semblance of "college athletes" to become essentially a minor league for the NFL.

I always said the tailgates were the most important parts for me, and they are, but often I struggle to find someone to make the drive to Miami Gardens -- and that trip alone for this aging dude is a schlep. Still, I'll renew my 2 season's tickets, and end up giving away several games to my consuegros, who love to go. This past season Kenny went to one game, Wifey another, and Mirta a third -- so I was pretty well covered. I actually had Joey come, too -- we had a blast. So I'm in for another year, at least.

For the grandsons, I prefer baseball, The atmosphere is more chill. Also, Norman was kind enough to give us his great seats for the Panthers, and we took Little Man to a game. The Panthers won their first Stanley Cup, so now Little Man is a Colombian good luck charm. I'm guessing he'll be asked back this season.

In the third quarter, it became clear the Canes were folding -- they couldn't stop Cuse at all. I treated myself to a few Stolis, and ordered Wu's Kitchen from Uber Eats. That softened the blow.

Now the team will play in a lower tier bowl -- maybe we'll host a less than stressful watch party. Because it REMAINS about the friend bonding. Can't t trust the players or coaches to bring joy...

So Much For The Free Fridge

 Ah, those tough days of Covid -- on a serious level, scared the hell out of me. D1 and Joey had Little Man in December of '19, and the Plague was upon us 3 months later. Would our grandson survive this scary virus? Would we get to hug him? Thankfully, it turned out the virus truly was "Boomer Remover," and we indeed only hugged through the patio glass for awhile. But I walked each day -- a lot! And I ate little. I dropped a good 50 lbs. Now that my health results are good despite my ample belly, I joke, darkly, that I need another world threatening pandemic to get me to lose weight.

Little Man clearly doesn't understand inheritance. He poked me several times during our stay, and asked "Grandpa Dev -- why do you have such a big belly?" I told him it was because I ate too much. "So your tummy hurts?" No, I explained, that is the result for young overeaters -- for old overeaters, you just get a big belly. He poked me again and we both laughed. We'll see if he thinks it's so funny when he's left out of the will...

On a silly, materialistic level, the Plague caused delays -- for us, it was getting the new absurdly expensive built in refrigerator. Our 7 year old one broke, and the estimation for a replacement was months and months -- so I bought a temporary one from Home Depot, for $2800, and it included install and removal of the old unit.

A series of ineptitude events followed -- like the crew showing up and saying in heavily accented English "Ay no -- to take built in -- we need BIG crew." We ended up hiring a crew from the kitchen company we used for the new appliances, and they put the new side by side into the kitchen -- it stayed for 3 months until the big unit (ha!) arrived.

Well, I was annoyed at Home Depot, and so called Amex to tell them I wanted a credit for the free install/removal. Instead, Amex must have told HD to give me a TOTAL credit, and HD was too busy to counter that -- so we got a FREE $2800 refrigerator, which was sent to the garage as our spare.

The damn thing lasted about 2 years and then I noticed the fridge part wasn't cooling -- so I called Glynn's Appliances. The tech "fixed" it by removing the barrier between the freezer and fridge, and it worked another several months. Now I noticed the fridge is again warm.

So today I went online and bought a simple, old school freezer above unit -- $600 including delivery and haul away. I actually prefer those -- more freezer space than the side by side for bags of ice for parties.

But the Fates of Refrigeration got me. Turn out there is no such thing as a free refrigerator (at least one that lasts).

As I spend today with zero plans except watching the Canes at Syracuse at 330, I realize how lucky I am to have as a problem a classic First World Problem. The new unit is due from Brands Mart on Friday. The simple ones tend to last longer -- we'll see.

On the subject of homeownership, yesterday I saw again why Pinecrest rocks. I awoke and turned on the faucet, and the pressure was low. I walked around the house to insure Wifey had turned off the outdoor spigots -- she left one running the other night. All were closed. I walked outside to the meter -- no water was running, so I knew it wasn't an issue unique to my house.

I tried to navigate Miami Dade Water and Sewer's web page, and then tried calling th emergency number -- it was Soviet in its efficiency -- I was repeatedly told too many people were trying to call for them to help.

I knew it wasn't a police matter, but still went on my Safer App and simply asked "Is anyone else in South Pinecrest having low water pressure issues?"

Maybe 3 minutes later, I got a call from "Pinecrest Police." The nice dispatcher told me she got my question, and indeed it was a system -wide problem -- and they were working on it. Turned out a main broke in West Kendall, which affected all of us. Within the hour, pressure was back to normal.

But I was impressed. Our mayor Joe lives in the 'hood -- I plan to tell him how Swiss-like our Village is. So despite broken free fridges, some First  World issues are positive...

Go Canes! Squeeze the Orangemen, or Orange, as I guess our politically correct world now gender neutrals their mascot...

The Only Two Possible US Presidents

 So yesterday, the first TDay hosted by D2 and Jonathan, was delightful, as expected. There were 25 of us, plus the 2 servers from Catering by Les -- and one of the servers was an old hand with us -- she did TDAy last year, at our house. She said she didn't mind coming a bit North.

Jonathan put me in charge of martinis, and I acquitted myself rather well, if I don't say so myself. It wasn't a heavy drinking crowd, and, to be an environmentalist, only drank the leftover vodka from the shaker, which resulted in the perfect buzz for me.

Joey and his parents repped the Colombia born guests -- Melanie and her Mom were the Mexican born, and Wifey and my consuegro David were the Sabras. David moved to Venezuela at age 4, and Wifey was brought to the good old US and A, as Borat calls us.

It was a terrific group, and it occurred to me -- only 2 of those in attendance could run for president: D1 and me! D2 and the other native born primos were all younger than 35! Of course, D1 and I would wish to be president as much as we'd wish for permanent sewage backups at our houses -- but still -- when you raise girls Miami, getting Latin in laws is a fine occupational hazard.

Had I stayed on LI, I'm guessing the families would be from Long Island or Westchester -- far less interesting and colorful to me. Jonathan's uncle Louie, for example, is an expert on the geopolitics of oil, and he taught me a LOT about the relationship between the Gulf Arab states, Venezuela, and why the US sort of stopped caring about the Marxist takeover of the previously richest nation in South America. As my consuegro David says -- it's not really even a country anymore.

Living in Miami, I always felt so garden variety -- grandson of Eastern European Ashkenazim -- parents born and raised in The Bronx, and followed the classic trajectory of doing better financially and moving to Queens, and, finally, Long Island. And then, following the cliche, retiring and moving to Delray Beach.

The family and guests last night all had more colorful origin stories -- the greatest of whom is the matriarch of Jonathan's family, Judy, who was hidden in a convent to survive WW II, and then spirited out of Europe to Caracas. Her tale, which she just wrote, truly ought to be a movie someday.

Like Wifey, my consuegro David is the child of Survivors, too. And Elana, Jonathan's aunt, has family who came from the same Romanian city as my paternal grandparents: Czernovitz. Elana happens to be a beauty, which tells me my late grandfather Simon must have REALLY thought it was a good idea to high tail it out of there to come to the US...Assuming the ladies all looked like Elana, anyway...

Wifey and I left around 8, and the "after party" continued another hour or so. Jonathan had Fania All Stars on the Sonos, and there was some dancing. Wifey, the most gringa woman in Miami, had ZERO idea who Willie Colon was. She didn't even know about Larry Harlow -- the Judio magnifico, or "Magnificent Jew," who was a major part of the salsa resurgence in 70s NYC and Miami. Wifey was "listening to Joni Mitchell" then.

This weekend, we're dog sitting for Lemon, D1's adorable but skittish Cavalier. D1 and her men are off for a night at Wolf Lodge in Naples, a sort of small Disney-type place -- just 1.5 drive across the Everglades.

Lemon has adopted well -- he may have even earned the right to nap with me, along with Bo, the aging, special needs Spaniel. For I ain't got no other plans today!

So, T Day 2024 is in the books. This week holds old man stuff for me -- annual visit to Dermatologist and Urologist -- to make sure nothing's growing that shouldn't be. Assuming that's the case -- it'll be truly cause for thanks!

Head Counselor Of Camp Wifey

 So we took Little Man home with us on Tuesday, and decided to call his stay Camp Wifey -- T Day Week Session. It's been wonderful.

We stopped at Anthony's Coal Fired, and he had some "pizza withOUT the sauce." Our server was a smart young fellow -- he made sure there was also nothing green on said pizza. Green when not expected, to a nearly 5 year old, can ruin a meal.

We headed home after that, and I supervised my first child shower and butt wipings in 3 decades. Somehow these tasks fell to me, though Wifey had said she would do them. And I realized something about us as grandparents.

Wifey has, by far, the MOST patience. She can read to and play with the boys for the longest. Unfortunately, she no longer has the energy or focus to do a lot of what they need -- and for some reason, despite my obesity and age, I still retain these. So both Wifey and I together are a GREAT grandparenting team -- though it's clear to us this parenting thing is truly a gig for the younger.

Little Man is endless energy, on little sleep. We had him sleep with us, and it took him awhile to fall asleep, and was up talking a few hours later. Luckily, some IPad time, despite the experts' warning against screen time and sleep, lulled him back to sleep. Wifey was able to sleep through a lot of it.

Finally, at 545, the sleeping thing was over. Little Man and I headed over to House of Bagels. He asked if it was a store, or a real house MADE of bagels. These observations and questions are priceless. We got bagels and nova and cream cheese, and brought them home -- I made it the way he likes it -- lots of fruit on the side (clearly the influence of his dietitian Mom).

We got home, and there was a wagon ride all around the hood -- 1.6 miles. It was also a peacock hunt -- we heard the critters, but in contrast to normal -- saw zero. Wifey bought us tickets for the 130 showing of "Moana 2" at the Falls, which was a throwback for us -- a typical weekend with the Ds was a movie there followed by lunch at Johnny Rockets. Little Man lasted for about half the movie -- but kept asking questions loudly. We all realized it was better for him to watch at home -- truth is -- movie had some rather abstract themes about inter generational connections that I found hard to follow...

On the way home, we gave Little Man a choice: home or a stop at Greer Park, which has a great new tot lot. He said home, but in my inimitable way, asked him to just at least LOOK at the park, which he did, and changed his mind. What followed was a 2 hour highlight, in the golden light of the afternoon.

The park used to have a rocket ship slide, where we took the Ds, so the fact that we were in the same locale with our grandson was amazing to us. Little Man made friends with Dan, who asked me my name. When I told him, he had me meet HIS Dad, also a Dave, and a 4 year ago NYC private equity transplant. He didn't know there WAS a Greer after whom the park was named. Carpet bagger!

After the day, Little Man passed out relatively early, thankfully. The sleeping was better, but by 5 am, he was UP. Ippi had a tough night, apparently, and so I gave Little Man breakfast and put on his latest Disney cartoon, followed by a fish and turtle feeding. Our neighbor Mariela texted -- did Jaco want to play with her girl Amelie? He did indeed, and so we walked over, to be met by D1 who was in her old 'hood for some yoga. Mariela showed us her gorgeous home improvements, and the 5 year old Amelie and nearly 5 year old Little Man played, and then swam. They are both very smart and verbose, and listening to their banter was a delight.

At 1130 we left, and I gave Little Man his goodbye bath in our enormous, rarely used master tub. Wifey was to dress him -- she was nowhere to be found - so there was a naked Wifey hunt -- Little Man found her outside pulling weeds. She dressed our guy and is now getting ready -- the hope is to arrive early so we can set up the desserts we bought at Milam's Tuesday night -- and I may just make sure Jonathan's vodka is sufficiently cold.

TDay is my favorite holiday, by far -- all about great food and drink and being with those most near and dear . We asked Little Man what he was thankful for -- he said his toys, and his family. Anything else? "I'm thankful for G-d." So Joey's shabbos prayers and daily tefillin wrapping have an effect, and I couldn't be happier, even though I don't observe most of our religious laws.

I am MOST thankful to the Big Man his many blessings -- one of whom sits behind me on the couch as I type, waiting for his grandma so we can leave. Ah -- T Day...

The Most Wonderful Time Of the Year

 So as for us in this house, as the Catholic placques I've seen say, this week begins our family High Season. Today, Wifey and I are going to Miami Shores, for Wifey's pilates with D2 and her friends, and then we plan to fetch Little Man and take him home with us, for 2 nights.

D1 sent a VERY long list of suggested activities for the 48 hours or so we will have him. I kindly explained that is NOT how Wifey and I roll. We'll probably take him to a movie -- maybe to Pinecrest Gardens, and that'll probably be it. If he has excess energy, I will have him compete in a jumping jack contest, which he will win each time -- that should do the trick. 

We have a play date Thursday am with next door neighbor Amelie and her Mom -- Amelie just turned 5 and has her own playground on premises, making her, I guess, a VERY attractive young female for our Little Man. Early afternoon, we'll leave to re-home Little Man, so his parents can groom him for T Day.

His Mommy's birthday is tomorrow -- she turns 36. She had a party Saturday at an art gallery owned by a young man she used to babysit. I believe tonight she and some friends are going to see "Wicked" the movie -- D2 had been pulled into that, as well. And Thursday we'll sing happy birthday.

After TDay/D1's birthday, our season continues. First, Little Man turns 5 in mid December --- apparently a party at the Padel place awaits. Then comes December 25th, where the entire world puts up trees and lights, and gathers from far and near to celebrate the birth of a person in what is now known as Israel. I'm talking, of course, about WIFEY's birthday! We typically gather for lunch somewhere -- she'll pick the location this year.

After that comes NYE -- no plans yet, but something always pops up. Wifey and I were the long time hosts of blow out NYE parties, but the last one was around the turn of the century -- 1999-2000. For 2000-2001, we brought some family to the newly purchased Villa Wifey, where we opened some champagne before returning to the Kendall house for the final party.

My trainer Jonathan has invited us to an open house with his bandmates -- they're playing at a friend's 2 acre house in Palmetto Bay this NYE -- and Jonathan assures me Boomers connected to the band are welcome. Maybe we'll check that out.

A few days later, on January 3rd, is Wifey and my 38th !!! anniversary. Wow -- how the hell did THAT happen? Just earlier today a young woman was asking me how you stay married for so long -- especially these days. I thought about the simple answer: alcohol, but told her the truth: being willing to play the long game in life. When Wifey and I sailed over rough marital seas, as everyone does, whether they admit it or not, we always shared a vision: maybe we could get to the beautiful Bay of shared grandparenthood, and the enjoyment of our Ds as grown ups, with their wonderful partners. And alas, as this luckiest son of a bitch I know has found -- mostly that's been how it's worked out.

After January, comes the Day the Music Died, but also the Day D2 was born! We celebrate that, too, of course, though I'm guessing there won't be an art gallery involved.

So the heady days are upon our family, and I am most thankful, ahead of the national day of giving thanks. I am one grateful, rocking Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA.

A Young Person' Game

So Wifey and I just spent a lovely afternoon watching Baby Man -- D1 was off at a get together and left him with us. He's 2 years and 4 months, and a total delight. We fed him lunch, and he played, and then I took him on a wagon walk all through our 'hood -- the weather was perfect. We came across some peafowl -- and he counted to three. We found some small colorful lizards, and he repeated their names: "Agamas."

Wifey put on the Old School "Lady and the Tramp" and he watched parts of it -- while non stop playing with his dog Lemon, also left here, and Bo, the Special Needs Spaniel. Wifey started fading -- she was falling asleep on the couch, which she blamed more on lack of sleep than on the energy needed for the toddler.

We fed the fish and turtles, and then I offered a SECOND walk -- and as we headed back home, he was fading. I told him to lie down in the wagon -- he refused -- and we ran into D1 coming home. She changed him and they were off.

Indeed -- watching little one's is a young persons' game. I hope our friends who ARE destined to grandparenthood have it happen sooner than later -- I can imagine trying to run after little ones in my 70s -- probably won't be tenable.

Yesterday was the last Canes home game. Mirta arrived early, and we left for the stadium at 930. Mirta is far more tech savvy than I, and I reminded her to pull up the e ticket I had transferred to her. She said she had a photo of it. Oh no -- that doesn't work -- for obvious reasons (20 people claiming the same e ticket) you can only get scanned from the original transfer. I told Mirta to just put it into Apple Wallet. But she doesn't have an I phone, and apparently her phone updated a few days before. She spent the entire ride to the stadium trying to  find the working ticket. I told her not to stress -- we would tailgate, and if need be -- just leave and have lunch and watch the game on TV. Just as we arrived at the lot, she figured it out, and attended a great memorial tailgate thrown by Mike and Loni, in memory of Loni's Dad Don.

Loni called me to the car and gave me a hat with her Dad's number -- I wore it proudly, and some of the older guys in our section told me about early memories of the great player.

The Canes won in the second half, and we enjoyed catching up on the way home. 

And T Day week is here. We're planning to go to fetch Little Man Tuesday, and take him home with us for 2 days. D1 and Joey have that boy in non stop activities. I told her the pace would be different with us -- maybe we would do ONE thing, like the zoo, during our 48 hour stint. I expect it will be a fine time, and we'll bring him back to Miami Shores for the Big, Fat T Day party Thursday.

D1 turns 36 the day before, and we'll sing for her. The running joke is you DON'T want to be sung the Venezuelan Happy Birthday song -- it goes on for a solid 10 minutes. I think we'll stick to the tried and true gringo version..

Last night the temps dipped into the 50s -- I got some wood and was going to have my first firepit of the season, but I grew too tired. I think I may fire it up tonight, though the temps will be low 60s. I so enjoy sitting there, cup of herbal tea in hand, looking up at the evening trees, as Bruce sings, and giving thanks to the Big Man.

Tonight, the thanks will be about our grandsons, and the energy we still have to watch after them. Definitely a young persons' game.

Like A Breath Of...

 Finally -- some cool air has arrived! When we get lucky in Miami, the cool fronts start late October, but that's rare. In 2005, after Hurricane Wilma, we had one -- nights in the 60s and 50s. Wifey and the Ds decamped to Atlanta since the power would be out for awhile, and our across the street friends Susan and her kids left for Orlando. Pat and I stayed behind, and after dinner each night, we would sit outside, on his back patio or my front porch, sipping Middleton whiskey and feeling like cavemen. 

But again -- that's rare, and it took until the week before T Day this year for the temperature relief. As I type this, it's 53 degrees outside, and delightful. I'm thinking tonight might even call for my first fire pit of the year -- the last time our temperature had a 6 as its first number was last April...

So the news around here is all about T Day. D2 and Jonathan are hosting this year, and I can tell D2 is a bit on edge -- even though we're catering the affair for them. She still wants her house just so, and has been having Wifey bring over dessert trays, extra chairs, and things of that nature. I have zero doubt the 25 of us will have a banner day -- at one point it appeared it would be 40, but some of the siblings and their families begged off for other commitments.

Tomorrow is the final Canes home game, and I'm going with Mirta for the first time this year. It's a noon game -- my least favorite -- but we'll head up to tailgate to honor Loni's Dad Don, whose memorial and Mass were on Tuesday. 

Meanwhile, D1 is hosting a get together for her birthday, which falls the day before T Day. She's brought in Pura Vida to family friend Andrew's Wynwood Art Gallery -- all women, including Wifey and her suegra Jacqui. She used to baby sit Andrew, and he earned himself a Master's from an Ivy League school, like his parents, and after a stint in NYC returned to his roots. His Mom. an exec with Art Basel, is the one who told me Miami has emerged as a Top 5 city for modern art in the US -- largely because of Basel.

I have little interest in Modern Art, but it's nice to know it's around -- in case I ever graduate from my sense of the visual, which is basically velvet with dogs sitting around playing poker...

So I'm off soon to my somewhat sadistic dental hygienist, a dentist from Guyana who now does the cleanings. I miss Lucy, who I had for years -- she retired. This woman chides me each time about not flossing, and has less than a gentle hand. I think today will be my final visit with her -- the practice, which is a bit strange, has hired an additional person -- I'll give her a try.

I say it's strange, because my long time dentist, Larry, retired but hasn't retired. He's in his 70s, and never there -- a younger Cuban guy is -- but when I ask, they say he still comes around. I guess he just can't bring himself to write the standard "Thanks for the memories" letter. He's a nice guy -- always said he and his wife and Wifey and I should get together -- they live in Pinecrest and have twins a few years older then D1, but it never came to pass.

It's funny -- Wifey pointed out to me how many people say "We really should get together," but don't truly mean it. I have taken up the lesson -- with me, it's either "How about dinner, Saturday?" or I say nothing about plans. What are words for?

But for now, I plan on digging out my Canes hoodie from the back of my SUV -- I leave it there, with an auxiliary green sweater that invariably Wifey needs this time of year when she underestimates how cool it is when we go out at night.

And I savor that great inhalation of... freshness. The best time of the year in Miami is here.

Stupid Insurance

 So after 10 years with Frontline Insurance, they canceled me since my roof is over 20 years old. Of course, it's been over 20 years old for 7 years, but I guess that after collecting well over $100K in premiums from me, with zero claims, it was time to pull their chips off Dave's spot on the roulette table. Fine.

I called my agent Vilma, and told her just to get me a simple liability policy -- $300K. I have a huge umbrella policy, and just need the underlying policy to make it kosher. I explained to Vilma that house repair or replacement costs are huge, but I kind of know what they are -- worst case scenario, a fire comes or another Andrew -- we well the place for land value, which is already higher than we paid in 2000, and move on. What I CAN'T predict is a potentially catastrophic claim if someone trips while visiting. The unknown is what I need to insure against -- not the known.

Vilma said no -- there was a venerable company called Tower and they would give me a "fire policy" for about $5K -- might as well have THAT coverage for less than half of what I was paying Frontline. I agreed. Oh, Vilma said -- they require YOU to have an inspection and pay for it -- $175 from a local company Vilma uses. The inspector came, and was great, but said the roof was STILL a problem -- even though they were not going to insure it -- something about fire resistance after 20 years. I called my roofer, Andrew Palmer, and they gave me a report for free saying the roof had another 5 years of service -- that ought to pass muster.

Sure enough, Tower sent me a bill for $5800, and I was all set for the new insurance year, starting near Xmas. But then Tower called -- they wanted to send their own inspector, too -- it would take a few hours. A nice, not too bright young man came, and in fact he was here 2 full hours, "scanning" the house to show its size. I guess it made sense -- they need to know how much they'd have to pay if the place burned down or got hit by a falling meteor.

And then early this am, even though they had my money, came the email -- they were canceling my not yet in effect policy. Vilma read me the report -- my beloved house sounded like an Overtown crack den -- with leaks and bad roofing, and hot water heaters without emergency drains... even though one heater is in the garage, and the other on a marble floor which won't be damaged if it leaks.

Now I was annoyed. I had spent money AND hours for a waste of time. Vilma said she would now do as I originally asked -- get me a simple, liability policy for $300K coverage to protect against a claim that would cut into the Ds future inheritances. We'll see -- she has until December 24th.

So after annoyance, I turned to something to cheer my up -- MY form of Black Friday shopping. I NEVER shop on Black Friday, or really most any other day. I don't want stuff. I replace clothes when they tear -- sort of like a 10 year old shirt I almost wore to Fox's the other night before noticing a rip down the front.

But today is Give Miami Day! A bunch of non profits get together and try to raise funds -- I think it may be the biggest such event in the US, and it makes me proud. We've already given our substantial gifts -- FIU, Friendship Circle, UM, and Lotus House, but today is my version of retail therapy. I went on the site and donated to Paws4U Rescue -- Wifey's idea. She loves helping animals, particularly dogs. I gave some more to Lotus House, the leading shelter here for women and kids only.  Guys -- hell -- they can live ok under bridges -- it's camping out for them. But women and kids -- nah.

I dedicated the Lotus gift snarkily to Wifey - saying that but for the grace of the Big Woman (she prefers that reference to the Lord over Big Man) -- who knows where she would be living? The snark comes from the fact that she's agnostic and just kind of thinks she's lucky.

I have some more to Jackson Foundation, so I can have a rooting interest when Barry shares the tales of their administrative dysfunction.

So mission accomplished. No matter how annoyed the insurance industry made me -- I got to do my version of Black Friday -- and "bought"  all I wanted.

Now I just hope nothing untoward befalls Villa Wifey...

A Day To Remember A Wonderful Man

 So Loni's Dad, who died last week, was the subject of yesterday -- first a Mass at St. Louis, and then a Celebration of Life at the UM Sports Hall of Fame. Wifey was surprised I was attending both -- but I cared greatly for Don and his family is very close, so for me it wasn't an issue.

Actually, the memorial started Monday evening. I had come from my annual physical with unexpected news: according to my doc, and the absurdly detailed blood and urine analyses they do at MDVIP, I am "his healthiest patient of my age in his practice." Strangely, every value wasn't only normal, it was "optimal." For example, my cholesterol is 110. My lung capacity if 115% of expected for my age -- but that's attributable to my profession -- lawyers are FULL of hot air.

Dr. Rigo just kept shaking his head at each number -- keep on doing what I'm doing, he said. I pointed to my ample belly, and asked how that was consistent with these findings. He said of course weight loss is a good idea, but my daily walks and twice weekly training sessions are doing the trick, he said.

Now I know a neoplasm can sprout like a mushroom after a rainy night, and something like 40% of heart attacks have as a first symptom sudden death, but for now, the news was wonderful. Since my liver numbers were also optimal, I thought it appropriate that I celebrate the news with a cocktail, but it was Monday, and I don't drink alone. Chris texted -- meet at Fox's at 545 -- his aunt Jeannine was in for Don's services. It was kismet, and I ubered over -- to meet Mike, Loni, Chris, Rachel, Jeannine and old friend Chris. We sat in the back room telling Don tales -- Loni really appreciated being around those who loved him.

Chris and Loni drove me home,and I brought them in to say hello to Wifey -- camped out on her recliner as I expected , and we chatted awhile.

Tuesday am I headed over to St. Louis. I had been there 3 times before: Mike and Loni's wedding, where I was Mike's co- best man, Amanda's baptism, and Chris's baptism. The service was moving -- the young priest, with long hair and a beard and blue eyes, looks like every Euro depiction of Jesus ever seen hanging on my Catholic friends' walls. He was great -- if the dude wasn't a priest, he'd get plenty of dates...

I sat next to Norman and I dared him to go up and take the communion wafer: "You KNOW you wonder how it tastes!" He declined my offer of Hebraic apostasy.

I came home, napped, and summoned Wifey to tell her it was time to come in and get ready. We headed over to UM. I had never been to the sports Hall of Fame, and it was quite impressive. They had set up a bar, and some food platters, and moved Don's stuff to the center stage. His son Greg, widow Marcia, Loni, and 2 old friends spoke. And I mean OLD! Holmes Braddock is 99, and Ed Rubinoff is in his 90s, too. Both shared tales of when they all met, in the 50s.

Marcia pointed out how her husband played such a violent game, and played it violently -- enough to make the College Hall of Fame, and be a Pro Bowl player with the Redskins. And after his career was over, he was THAT gentle, and loving, and caring -- always with a grandchild baby in his arms.

Loni said he taught her humility and resiliency. When I met him, in '83, I already knew who he was -- and as a rabid Canes fan, was a bit taken aback. Nah -- he wanted to know all about ME and my life -- and I was a garden variety law student then. I saw how he took care of his family -- MY kind of man.

It was a privilege to be able to honor him.

After, Wifey and I stopped for a late dinner -- at Guadalejara, a local Mexican place. We left after 8 -- making fun of ourselves -- usually 8 for me is pre-bed time.

So a great man has passed, and was honored appropriately. His cremains are in a Catholic cemetery next to ever more famous Jackie Gleason and Don Shula. Talk about an august resting place...

Soccer Team Owner

 I am comically old school American when it comes to sports. I love baseball, football, basketball, and when the Panthers are winning, hockey. To me, those are the "Big 4," and other things that get huge followings, like motorsports, golf, tennis, and especially soccer -- well -- that ain't me, babe.

Well, Fate has a wicked, probably peri-menopausal sense of humor, and D1 married a Colombian born man -- to him and his family, there is ONLY golf and soccer -- especially the latter as spectators. Joey's brother Bob, and exec at Zumba, the exercise company, recently followed his childhood dream -- he BOUGHT a soccer team! He had put a LOT of his substantial money, and all of his efforts, into a new team in Naples, Fla -- FC Naples. I think I just learned a few years ago that FC stands for "football club," that's how ignorant I am about the game where nothing really happens for hours and then you think it's over but it's not because of "extra time" that seems to be at the sole discretion of refs who flash red or yellow cards for some reason...

Anyway, Joey got involved as an investor, and younger brother Alan is involved, too. Bob has heavy hitter investors, and Naples is thrilled. Years ago, they built a stadium with bond money called Paradise Sports Center, hoping to attract pro teams, and Bob's is the first. Naples is welcoming him like they welcome rich, Midwestern WASPs moving to the gated communities of that upscale city.

I watched and cheered from afar, and then at Rosh Hashanah Bob approached me -- would I like to be involved as an investor? Truth is -- not really -- but Bob called a few days later and said they were in the midst of another traunch of investments. The dollar levels were WAY above what I considered, but Bob said friends and family could get in for a much smaller amount -- and so I was lured in -- mostly to be able to make the 1.5 hour drive with my son in law and grandsons and feel I was a part of the excitement.

Sure enough, today the docs arrived online via DOCUSIGN, which I actually can navigate, and tomorrow I will be visiting the bank to wire the funds.

I texted Bob the confirmation, and said I looked forward to toasting with him when the team scores its first touchdown! I made sure he knew I would be Consultant in Charge of Non Soccer Jokes -- and he loves that. But the truth is, I AM excited -- mostly for him and his family, but now because I will have a financial as well as rooting interest.

Do I expect to make any money? Not really, though the demographics are solid. Turns out, from Naples, the closest pro sports team is the Panthers, in Sunrise. Florida is so long and narrow, Naples is closer to NW Broward than it is to Tampa. Who knew? Probably anyone with any real sense of geography.

And Naples is growing, and the locals must be looking for stuff to do other than golf and drinking and fishing, I would guess. And I also realize I am in the minority -- people LOVE soccer -- so much that a recent match between South American rivals caused major vandalism at Joe Robbie Stadium and many arrests. Even Canes/Notre Dame didn't cause that much passion.

So I say Dale FC Naples! Joey and Little Man are headed there next weekend, and the weekend AFTER T Day, D1 and Joey and both boys are going --there's some resort called Wolf Lodge nearby, which is supposed to be tons of fun for kids. 

My mind always goes back to college with my boys -- Eric, Barry, and I and a rotating cast of characters like Mike, Mark, Jorge, and Colin (really Wing Wong Wei -- his real name) sitting around the formica table in the WW II era apartment building, discussing life. We thought we knew SO much then -- and had clear paths set for our futures.

I guarantee that even the germ of an idea that I would invest in a soccer team with my Colombian consuegros didn't exist. So you just never know...