The Final Greeting

 A few years after Wifey and I moved into our 'hood, the HOA President asked me to take over a position: Welcoming Chair. My duties would be to greet newly moved in neighbors, give them a welcome packet of helpful information, a gift, and tell them about the HOA.

Our HOA is a voluntary one. We have a Special Tax District, which collects a few K each year to pay for an off duty FHP trooper, even though crime is nearly non existent here (The STD was created in the 80s when crime was soaring, and the Metro Police were not too great in responding to far east Kendall, as it was then called).

I agreed, but told the previous Welcome Chair that I would not be giving an orchid as a gift. I explained there may well be straight men secure enough in their masculinity to give an orchid as a gift, but I was not one of them, and would instead give a bottle of wine. And so it went, and all was well for years, until...

I got a call from one of the HOA members -- there had been a complaint. Oh crap! Did I say something politically incorrect? Make an inappropriate joke? Leer creepily at a new young housewife? I didn't think I did. No -- the complaint was my gift -- maybe alcohol was not appropriate.

What if the new neighbor was in "Recovery," or had religious contraindications? It might offend...I answered that I was Jewish, thought not kosher, and if I WAS kosher and someone brought me a canned ham as a welcome gift, I would thank them, and then re-gift or toss out the non kosher offering.

Since I was doing the gig for free and even then was in the process of becoming crochety, I quit. A new neighbor Ann happily took over -- she was a realtor and saw the gig as a way to meet potential new clients. I think she reverted to giving orchids.

And then, before Covid, Ann and her man Mark moved -- for still one of the funniest reasons I ever heard: Miami had too many gorgeous women! Mark told me that after a breakfast in the Grove, where they were surrounded by scantily clad, smoke show women, Ann had it. She had apparently been an "It girl" back in the day, and no longer wanted to be surrounded by that. And so they decamped for Raleigh, and presumably more frumpy cohorts.

Anyway, I was asked to resume my old spot, and I did. And sure enough, stuff got busy. I think in the first Pandemic years, of 81 houses, 20 new folks moved in. Many long time residents took advantage of the absurd price increases and bolted for cheaper places. A house that was worth $750K in 2018 sold for just under $2M. You can buy a lot of house for $2M in North Florida, or most of Georgia.

So I kept busy, and greeted away. Interestingly, the demographics changed -- we got mostly an influx from the US instead of the typical newcomers from South America. Several moved from California, or D.C., or NY -- fleeing taxes, and no longer tied to offices in those places.

Well, all was ok, until the latest kerfuffle. Even though I'm just the Welcome Chair, I'm still on the HOA Exec Committee, and, like many rich 'hoods with plenty of free time among the residents, there needs to be an issue. Ours is the aforementioned Special Tax District.

Turns out, if we want to keep FHP, the $2K per year is going up -- a lot -- probably to $6K within 4 or 5 years. We had a vote, and Zoom meetings, and a special committee formed, and I foresee great tensosity coming in the months ahead.

I told Wifey I want ZERO part of that. Plus, I'm livid that our next US President race will be between 2 men FAR too old for the job -- and so on principle, I think even silly little positions like mine ought to be taken by new blood. And so I wrote the HOA today, so explaining.

But, I remain OCD, and there were 2 houses I hadn't visited, so today I stopped at Total Wine, bought 2 bottles of cheap Malbec, and walked the route.

The first house is an old job owned for decades by a Japanese woman who was a top bonsai maven. She lived there for decades with her son, the product of an American husband -- nice guy , about my age -- always seemed on his way to go fishing with a trailered boat.

The Mom drove until she backed her Toyota (really) into the across the street neighbor's house. No one was hurt, and it was therefore comical. My neighbor Bob had a sense of humor about it, luckily.

Anyway, some folks bought 2 years ago with plans for a MAJOR renovation, and instead kept the changes modest. I was told they moved in a few months ago. I went over, no one was home, and so left the packet and wine. I long ago learned that my "clients" get one attempt at a personal visit -- otherwise I keep going in vain, and the packet and bottle sit out for weeks.

I then walked to the newest YUUUUUGE house -- a high end contractor built something that he could probably sell for north of $8M in this market. The wife was outside as I arrived, having just opened the gate for an InstaCart delivery. I had met her before, during the 2.5 years of construction, and handed her the packet, and wine, and was off. My job was done.

The annual meeting is in a few weeks, and assuming we return safely from our cruise, will drop off the box of welcome packages, and wish the Exec Committee the best. Hopefully the coming tensosity about those appalled at paying a few extra K from their multi million dollar houses won't get too ugly.

And if it does, it'll get ugly without me!

All My Bags Aren't Yet Packed...

 So we're due to leave early Wednesday am, and Wifey is none too pleased. She doesn't "do mornings" if at all possible, but the only flight that made sense to Bridgetown, Barbados leaves MIA at 8:30, and so we're out of the house before 6. The good news is she sleeps VERY well on airplanes, and so will likely snooze as we fly southeast over the Caribbean.

Kenny and I agreed -- just one sports jacket -- so packing for me is my usual easy task -- enough underwear and socks, a few pairs of pants and shorts, and enough shirts for 10 days. I'll easily cram that into my half of the one spinner bag we'll check, and, like all of us old as fuh, will take all my medicines on the carry on with me. Cholesterol statin, aspirin, finasteride to keep my prostate from becoming basketball-sized, and the daily fiber pills. Oh year -- the eye drops I take nightly to hopefully keep glaucoma at bay. As I said... old as fuh...

The itinerary is two nights in Barbados, and Joelle has a bunch of fun stuff planned -- including a private tour of the island that ends by the old synagogue, which she knows Wifey and I want to visit while they check out a market. They're Jewish, but not at all into the culture like we are, which is fine. Joelle plans so well there's stuff to keep us all happy.

Yesterday I read about the ship for the first time, the Explora I. It's the first of 3 planned for the Explora line, owned by the much larger MSC Cruises. The reviews were all great -- the ship only started sailing last Fall, and is known for fine cuisine and amazing service -- sort of a Ritz Carlton of the seas.

I think the capacity is 900 passengers, which I like. We've been aboard the huge ships and had fun, but really prefer the smaller experience.

The only clunker was Crystal, which we took for Wifey's 60th birthday. The week in the Maritimes was three times the cost of the same itinerary on Royal Caribbean -- our ship and the Royal one were docked side by side the entire journey -- and we felt really ripped off. There was a highlight, though. Norman and I befriended a young pianist, not a nine inch one, and each night he would play great music for us -- including Alan Parson's Project's "Time." It became Norman and my song, for all time...

Anyway, this cruise stops at places I've never been: St. Kitts/Nevis, Martinique, Samana at the DR, and one place I HAVE been, many times, the Bahamas.

I have a feeling the service will be like the last cruise we took with Joelle and Kenny -- down the Rhone River from Lyon to Avignon. The second time I visited the bar, the Russian waitress immediately brought over my Ketel martini, sparkling water for Wifey, a Manhattan for Kenny, and a lovely wine for Joelle.

I don't buy stuff -- but when we travel -- I happily go first class. 

So I guess tomorrow I'll have my last workout for a few weeks, and then pack, and then get ready to leave on a jet plane. We'll miss Baby Man and Little Man -- but the reunion in hopefully a few weeks ought to be just grand. Ahoy!

Tales To Be Told

 So Allison returned Thursday, to continue the Wifey declutter project. Unfortunately, she learned that in the months since she was last here, Wifey RE- cluttered. But the good news is that Allison got done what I had requested: a bench in our newly done closet is open, so I can sit there each am and put on my shoes, the guest room bed is no longer a large shelf filled with stuff, and the newly created laundry room lets me walk in without tripping over stuff.

Allison's visits include martinis each evening, and last night we had a blast. Wifey also invited her friend Ronnie, and we drank and ate Di Napoli and laughed -- a lot. I reminded Allison of the conclusion of a large case we handled in 1996, and she asked that I write down the memory. I told her I would.

Meanwhile, today, my new contact or handler at FIU came through. Joelle and Kenny met Wifey and me at Eating House, a restaurant in the Gables, and enjoyed a sumptuous repast cooked by three local chefs. We had a terrific time, and plan to next meet early Wednesday at MIA for our flight to Barbados -- two nights there and then a cruise to the northwest back to PortMiami. It promises to be, as Jimmy Buffet sang, a lovely cruise.

But back to the tale... We were hired by a young woman from the Bahamas, who broke her nose as a rear seat passenger in a rental car, in Naples, Fl. Could we possibly also represent her boyfriend, who was in a coma with a major TBI? We could, and jumped right on the case and had it set for trial within a few months.

Back then, rental car cases were very good for claimants. The rental company had to pay damages caused by the rental driver. The party ended via something called the Graves Amendment -- aptly named since it was the death of most of those cases.

But ours was a great one -- the driver fell asleep, the car rolled, and our client Chris was really messed up.

The defense lawyers were a pair of fellows I'll call Mike and Dale, as that is their names, and they had left a large firm to ply their own shop. They became famous for wining and dining and other-ing the claim managers from all around the US, and got terrific business.

So fast forward -- we were at a mediation, and their client offered $4M to us -- the number we had targeted for settlement, but there was more to come.

The mediator was our old friend Murray, and he was handling the process very professionally.

Mike and Dale came into the room with great urgency -- the mediation needed to end NOW -- they had a flight to make.

Paul asked what matter could possibly be more important than a case worth at least $4M. Mike opened up a briefcase and showed us: it was filled with boxes of condoms and vials of Viagra. These two were headed to Costa Rica for a very different kind of Costa Rican vacation than I took with my family -- cloud forest, Arenal volcano, Jaco Beach, Howler monkey and sloths...

Paul and I appreciated their candor, and we got the case settled soon after. But I'll never forget the sex tour trip mediation...

Allison, who was my law school classmate, joined us soon after we started the firm, and saw the salad days. 

As we sat outside by the firepit last night, sipping our Stolis and olives, we looked back on some of them.

I toasted her -- telling her that some people seem to be able to get through this life without friends, but I was never one of those people, and she has been a terrific one.

We cried a bit, and then laughed a lot -- oh -- those memories are precious.

45 Years!

So the Ds had a very nice guidance counselor in Palmetto High named Harry. Luckily, they didn't need TOO much guidance, but got to know that very sweet and competent man. When we considered transferring D2 to Ransom, after what I misunderstood was a bout of racial violence at the school (turned out 2 friends on a sports team were horseplaying and one got hurt), Harry was very helpful. He tried to talk us out of the transfer, and we ultimately took his and the principal's advice (a man named Howard who you NEVER saw at the same time as droll actor Ben Stein) and we saved probably close to $100K in tuition and D2 did just fine.

Anyway, Harry and I are FaceBook (tm) friends, and he had a lovely post today talking about how he and his wife, a nurse, first moved to Miami in 1979, and have lived for years in what is now Palmetto Bay, in a neighborhood called Mangowood. I know it -- after Hurricane Andrew they called it, smarmily, Mangle-wood. Harry's final post was nostalgic as he said goodbye -- he and his wife are moving an hour or so's north.

They got the letter the US government sends to many Jews older than 65: "Our records indicate you are currently residing someplace OTHER than Palm Beach County, and you are to report immediately to that locale, lest the Early Bird Specials and other benefits we have for your people become underutilized."

I wish Harry and his wife well, and then it occurred to me: 1979 was the year I moved here, too! I enjoy recalling the events that lead to this Southern migration.

We had visited Miami many times, each Winter and Spring Break from probably 1974 through 1978. My Grandpa Goldsmith wintered at the Edward Hotel on 10th and Collins (she called it the EdVARD." We would fly down, check into either the Ocean Haven and later the SeaCrest on what is know called SoFi (South of Fifth Street) and have an awesome vacation.

One year I was allowed to bring my friend Mike Monahan, who promptly climbed a coconut palm and got us coconuts. Another year, when I was 15, I met a girl from Columbus Ohio, and ended up flying there to visit her when I was 16, with my lawn mowing business money. Alas, there were no chemicals, as my late suegra said, but years later in an amazing small world story, I had an apartment mate at UM named Tom Phillips who in fact knew Gina's family well -- I thought Columbus was a bigger city!

I'm pretty sure I fell in love with Miami those years, and maybe it set my Fate as to where I would settle. The Great Blizzard of '77 then moved things along.

My Mom hated snow and cold weather, and the Blizzard of '77 was the last straw. As I recall, she barely left the house that entire winter. The next year, 1978, the time came to move Grandma from her efficiency to a nursing home in West Palm. My Mom flew to Miami with her sister Lorraine, from Spring Valley, NY, and the two of them did just that. I remember being a happy pair of bachelors with my Dad -- eating at local delis and diners, and one night enjoying a huge tub of delicious chicken and matzah ball soup carried over by Bernice Horowitz, my Mom's good friend, since "Boys have to eat right while Mom is away." She was a large woman with a huge heart -- I always think of her with warmth.

So we fetched Mom at JFK, and she said "Guess what? I bought a condo in Delray Beach!" Now -- we were a 50s style family -- Dad made all the big financial decisions, but Mom was adamant. The place would be ready Summer of '79, her brother Marty and wife Murial bought, as did sister Dorothy and husband Arthur, and Lorraine and Abe. The 5th sibling, Florence, was kind of broke and would follow to South Florida years later.

The Goldsmith siblings had it all figured out: back to the future to the time, like their Bronx childhoods, where they would all live close by, except in warmer climes with Early Bird Specials. My Dad was to retire at 59, in June of '79, and I was free to stay up North for college, where all the serious colleges were, as a Regents Scholarship winner like myself was not cut out for SunTan U, as they called UM back in the day.

So Dad wisely went along with the first major life choice Sunny made. But he really wanted me, his youngest and the only son, to come along, and he applied to UM for me! I had never visited the campus, but got a letter saying I had won a half tuition scholarship, with back then was worth $1250.00!

I figured -- well -- why not? And I accepted, and the day after I graduated high school in June of '79, after selling the house on Charles Lane for $49K, we caravanned my Dad's huge Oldsmobile '98 and my Pontiac Firebird (I was a lucky kid) to Virginia, where we took the AutoTrain to Sanford, Florida, and then drove to Delray, and a beachfront motel called Bermuda Inn, as the condo was 3 weeks from completion.

I had my first legal beer at Boston's midnight of July 18, and we got driver's licenses, and we were Floridians.

The following week, I drove to the UM campus, pretty deserted in July, and something grabbed me. Once I moved in, that August, other than breaks in Delray for Summers and Winter and Spring, I've lived in the 305. And it will be 45 years!!!! this Summer.

The place has been magical for me. I met friends who decades later are still by brothers and sisters. When Eric and I moved to a Dadeland apartment to room together during his med and my law school, I met a 4.5 year older chick and we got close. She kinda dug me after a few months, but was looking to settle down, and I was barely legal. So we were friends, and I used to tell her that I would probably be married when I was 40, retired from Law, and she would be a guest at my wedding.

Well, she WAS at my wedding, which happened when I was 25, and she was the guest of honor. And that was the start of our a (pause) mazing family, with the Ds, their wonderful husband, and 2 grandsons who we kinda dig, too.

In fact, today Wifey and I are fetching Baby Man at his preschool up in North Miami, and then hanging with Little Man, too. We savor this grandparent gig.

Four and a half decades have a way of flying by, and these have. So I wish Harry and his wife all the best up in Boca. I was happy my life's direction followed his from NY -- I have zero desire to have it follow his newest move.

If I need to be moved to a nursing home, like Grandma, the Ds are both in Miami, and I would think it would be here in the 305. Ah -- the next 45 years... 

Rememba -- Dis is How You Make Your Money Tonight!

 In January of 1987 Wifey and I were married. It was a lovely affair, which neither of us really wanted. We were "cool" then, and wanted an afternoon party, maybe outside. My late suegros would hear NONE of that! Wifey was an only child, and Survivors were known to give major wedding gifts, even if they weren't well off, as my suegros were NOT. We caved, and learned later my suegros took out a home equity loan to pay the $10K or so the wedding cost.

This proved a good guilt investment, as years later when we had some financial tensosity -- they felt we owed them a condo "on da vater," my suegra could say "Nice. After ve MORTGAGED the house for your wedding!" Reminding her it was THEIR choice was fruitless, as was the fact that my mom paid for the music.

Anyway, at said wedding, Wifey and I walked to all the tables (there were 165 guests) and greeted them. My aunts and cousins gave checks that were comically small. One entire family, my Aunt Florence, brought like 10 people and gave a total gift less than $50. The Survivors, though, as I mentioned, were VERY generous -- their checks were more like $500 or so. This was a big deal to us -- we used some of the gift money to pay off my one high interest loan from UM Law -- I think for $3K that was charging 12% per year. But I'm slowly getting to the point...

As were were chatting with one couple, Eric came running over to me. "Pat Travers just took the stage!" Pat was our friend who had 3 gold records, and NEVER did hokey things like playing with Borscht Belt type wedding players. But he did, and we turned to run to the stage. The fellow I was with grabbed my arm and stopped me, saying "Ya better come back! Dis is how you make your money tonight!"

I remember thinking: how crass! How transactional! Give a gift or don't, but don't make me obligated!

We ran and watched Pat lead the band in "Good Lovin" and "Gimme Me Some Lovin." Wifey's friend Eileen, fueled HEAVILY by alcohol, decided to play his Stevie Nicks, and joined him -- but sang the wrong lyrics. Pat, the professional, guided her back, and it was a MOST memorable moment -- existing somewhere on VHS tape and probably DVD -- players for neither which exist in my house anymore. Maybe someday the Ds can figure out a transfer to current tech and watch it -- or play it for us.

But the point is: yesterday I came to the realization that the demanding guest was RIGHT! Givers DO wish to be respected, and if they're not, will go elsewhere.

We've been blessed to have some extra shekels, and can do charity. When D1 started grad school, she could have gone to any private university, and getting her MS would have cost probably well over $250K -- tuition at a place like NYU, which she considered, was over $50K, plus living in NYC, which back then was FAR more pricey than Miami. Now Miami has caught up.

We had the savings, and I told her to go where she wished, but she opted instead for FIU -- her Mom's alma mater. Tuition was $7K per year, and even with expenses like a Brickell apartment, buying a MS was FAR cheaper.

I had the sense that I didn't want to be the rich guy who took advantage of that, and so I met with her program director, and said, in effect, I wanted to donate D1's total 3 year tuition -- $21K. This way, maybe one of her peers who didn't come from such a comfortable upbringing could attend without worry.

Helen, the longtime professor, who I dug right away as she was from a working class NY background like mine, though Italian, had a better idea. Turns out, for D1's degree, you have to do a several month internship, with different types of places Dietitians work -- hospital, school, industrial kitchen. And you can't work outside while you do this, and the internships are unpaid.

For kids from poorer backgrounds, THIS stage of their training is tough. They get loans and grants for tuition, but not the internships.

So a Family Scholarship was formed, and each year would grant funds to a fledgling Dietitian doing her (usually they're women) internships. After D1 graduated, we gave appreciated stock to the Scholarship, and it's now a real sort of deal -- investment of the funds has the value well over $150K.

And I was given a handler -- technically a "contact with the Development Office," who I dealt with. She was lovely -- and Eastern European woman  who each year sent us tickets to FIU's big fundraiser -- the South Beach Wine and Food Festival. Some years D2 and Jonathan would attend, and often Wifey and I would -- last year we went to a dinner in the Gables and got a ride home from fellow donors -- my first time in a Bentley! I imagine those folks get SEVERAL handlers.

Anyway, I had mentioned the SBWFF to Kenny and Joelle -- would they like to attend this year? They would, and last weekend it came up. Hey! I usually hear from my contact by January -- this year, nothing. So I emailed -- no response. The festival starts this weekend.

I did some checking -- my contact had left in November, and FIU didn't contact me. So I reached out, and was given a new person, and I called her yesterday.

We spoke, and right away I sensed some haugtiness. I asked if she was an FIU alum. Nope -- "UM Business" she proudly said. Great -- I right away assumed she was a rich guy's daughter -- I wasn't getting my requested perk this year -- probably she figured I was just an annoying guy looking for  a freebie. Actually, I guess that's very accurate.

But she texted later -- would I like 4 tickets to an awesome event Saturday? It features 4 chefs Wifey, Joelle, and Kenny and I all know -- we've been to their restaurants Eating House, No Name Chinese, and Finka. The tickets show "Sold Out" and cost $175 each. 

I guess the new Development VP checked and learned I was at least deserving of this. I told her right away I WOULD love to go -- Joelle and Kenny are excited. And then she asked if I wanted ANOTHER event -- some burger thing on South Beach. No thanks, I said - one event was fine.

But I thought of the cranky old wedding guest from 1987. I am become him, to use stilted grammar.

Charity should be its own reward, but givers DO like to feel appreciated. And despite the little glitch-- mission accomplished.

I never for a moment forget this is a classic "Rich white man problem." And it is. A good one to have. 

And, it turns out, there IS still such a thing as a free lunch. We hope to have it this weekend.

Latest On Health

 Well, first of all, Valentines Day was lovely. I poured cosmos for Loni and Lili and Wifey, lit the firepit, and had to call an audible. Root and Bone wasn't taking Uber Eats orders for VD, and so I switched to Platea -- Peruvian steak and ceviche. They came late, which caused us all to drink more, but it was terrific. And Lili made a guava cheesecake which was amazing. Cheesecake -- the classic dessert from my Askhenazi youth, with guava, classic to Lili's Cuban heritage. A glorious mosaic!

Wifey quizzed Loni and Mike and Jeff and Lili about their new second houses. Lili and Jeff bought a townhouse in New Haven, to be close to their granddaughter, and the fact that their son in law is a little nuts and makes staying at the big house Jeff and Lili helped pay for untenable. They realize that the kids might well move out of New Haven, and then they'll have a new townhouse in a town not exactly in a place to visit, other than to attend Yale or visit family -- but figure real estate is a decent investment, and they can always sell at a profit.

Loni and Mike bought in far west North Carolina -- closest city, about 20 minutes away, is Chattanooga, TN. Wifey asked the attraction, and Loni explained it was just to get out of the tensosity that is Miami. But what do you DO there? Wifey persisted. Mike answered that they get together with fellow Florida ex -pats and meet for drinks and dinner. Oh, Wifey noted -- sort of like we're doing right now?

Hey -- I love when my friends buy other houses, and truly savor visiting them. But Wifey and I agree 100% -- it has zero appeal to us. We'd rather visit, be pampered by a hotel staff, and leave with only our memories and photos -- no worrying about maintainence or anything of that sort.

So the evening ended well, and yesterday I decided to call my doc -- to check on some VERY mild headaches I've had for a few weeks. I assumed right away it was glioblastoma, the always fatal brain cancer, just making its first presence felt in my noggin.

Yes -- it's one of my mental illnesses. I enjoy surprisingly good health for an overweight old guy, and am happy, until I get some subtle symptom, and then I'm checking my will and trust documents.

I had similar mild headaches 10 years ago, and my neighbor Jose, an eminent neurologist at UM, actually gave me a neuro exam at our house -- as D2, home from college, watched and rolled her eyes. Since my symptoms WERE vague and strange, he ordered an MRI, the first I ever had. I liked it -- of all things the music I selected was Lou Reed and Iggy Pop, and I mentally sang along to "The Passenger" as the machine clinged and clanged.

Fortunately, it was the classic "We examined your head and found nothing."

A few years after that, I had belching that wouldn't quit. I decided it was pancreatic cancer -- I think Mayo Clinic online listed belching as one of the symptoms. I saw Neil Rosenkrantz, now retired, and sure enought, I DID have something: H. Pylori! But unlike pancreatic cancer, which would have given me at most 4 or 5 years, the h. Pylori cleared up with a week of "triple therapy" - 3 drugs.

So yesterday I was convinced the brain cancer may have this time really come. I called Dr. Rigo, and spoke to Nurse Nancy, who has dealt with me for close to 30 years now. Could I come right in? I was at a workout, and told Jonathan I needed to leave early.

I arrived and joked that I expected good service with MDVIP. I called at 830 am and they were seeing me at 940 -- couldn't they have found a sooner appointment????

Dr. Rigo saw me and examined me. Sure enough, I have some slight sinus inflammation -- and although sinus headaches are to the front, it could be tension. My ears were pretty wax clogged, and Nurse Nancy cleaned me out.

Dr. R said brain lesions cause other symptoms -- was I speaking any gibberish? I told him that last week I had blurted out "Go Gators!" for no reason -- was that evidence of damage? He's a fellow Cane and doubled over in laughter.

So it appears I may have dodged another anxiety caused bullet. For now...

Meanwhile, with my new lease on life, we drove to fetch Little Man. We took him home and D2 came over with Betsy -- and we spend a delightful afternoon petting local cats (Milkshake was not too happy about Betsy's presence), and playing basketball with Mason, one of Little Man's friends. Mason's Dad Matt came home, and showed us the set up for his son -- a mini bench for weightlifting! Matt is very athletic, and D1 noted he was "building clones."

We came back home as the sun was setting, and played with Baby Man before his bath. It was so lovely.

Jonathan had worked at home, and D2 said we could get dinner together. Jonathan suggested a favorite: New Schnitzel House on 79th Street.

Joey came home, and I told him I had good news and great news to share with him. The good news was that his annoying suegros were leaving. The great news was that they were sending delicious food home with D2 and Jonathan after dinner.

He took the news well.

We had a great dinner, and Wifey drove us home. I fielded a call from Boston Sheryl -- her 92 year old Dad needs a hip replaced! We gave her the name of the guy at Baptist who has done 4 people we know, but her Dad lives in Aventura -- did we know anyone there? We did not.

Sheryl is worried her Dad may not be around much longer. He's 92!!!!! I would sign a contract this very moment to make it there, given reasonable health!

That would mean no pancreatic cancer or glioblastoma. My anxiety will be around, regardless.

El Dia De Amor

 So tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day, and in theory a Jewish guy with a Jewish wife shouldn't have any dealings with a Catholic holiday, right? Ha. As if. Other than the observant -- try ignoring Valentine's with a Jewish girlfriend or wife -- and see how that works out for ya.

Plus, I love it -- the holiday brings out the romantic in me. Over the years Wifey has said it wasn't directed really to her -- I would be romantic no matter WHO my wife was. Hmmm. Like many things she says, I found that inscrutable.

Anyway, two of my favorite VDs came here at Villa Wifey. The first was VD 2001 -- shortly after we moved in. I was totally in love with this house -- living here was beyond any dream I ever had as a kid in the sameness of Wantagh/Levittown split levels.

I set up a table in our front courtyard, and brought out the Ds' boom box, and put in a CD of romantic songs. I set a folding table up, brought in pizza and pasta from DiNapoli, and toasted Wifey and the Ds. I felt like a man who had arrived, surrounded by his beloved Wifey and daughters. It was delightful.

A few years later, our friends Susan and Pat had moved in across the street, and expanded the VD celebration to include couples. As I recall, it was Maureen and David, Susan and Pat, Mike and Loni, and us. The Ds were our happy servers -- bringing the takeout food and desserts out to us, as this time, I had installed speakers under one of the loggio.

Also, since I was in the chips, I had bought nice bracelets for each of the women guests, and hid them under their dishes. After a champagne toast, I had them lift the plates, and they beamed. Yeah -- I did dig romance.

Some years we've gone to Christy's. Other years to other romantic places, but the truth is I enjoy hosting at Villa Wifey most of all.

This year we invited Loni and Mike, and Lili and Jeff to join us. The weather promises to be perfect, and I plan to host out by the pool, with a roaring firepit. I'll bring in Southern food from Root and Bone -- I think they have the best fried chicken and ribs in town.

Today, after my workout, I stopped at Total Wine and bought 2 different bottles of champagne -- and sent all the guests photos of the bottles, to start the mood early.

It's funny. I met Wifey, Loni, Mike, and Jeff all in 1983. Lili came around later -- I think in 1985. So we've all been friends near or more than 4 decades -- in our early 20s (mid 20s in Wifey's case).

We all married around the same time, and began our careers. D1 was the first child of the group, and D2, Amanda, and Melinda following in 1992. Samantha and Chis followed, and Alana was the 7th of their generation.

Wifey and I have 2 grandsons, Lili and Jeff a granddaughter, and Loni and Mike due to join the GILF club in June.

It's really something to consider -- 3 couples of young friends all grandparents, or nearly so.

That time really does keep flowing like a river...to the sea.

So I'll pour the champagne, with some ginger ale for the teetotaling Jeff, and we'll toast the years of our friendship -- and our love.

D1 and Joey celebrated last night -- at the New Schnitzel House near them -- a place romantic, despite its name. D2 and Jonathan have deemed this year's VD superfluous, as they are spending tons of money on their new house.

But here in Pinecrest, hopefully love will spring still, over and past the decades. El Dia de amor -- pretty, pretty, pretty nice.

Super Bowl Sunday

 Another year passes, and the Dolphins are home for the Big Game. They made it twice while I was in college -- losing both times -- but I sort of figured they'd be there more often. One theory is that their star QB Dan Marino was SO good, he kept them from being bad enough to get good draft picks in the ensuing years. Who knows? All I DO know is I have zero rooting interest today -- other than for good commercials.

I was remembering today how we hosted SB parties in college, and they were epic. One stands out -- SB of 1981 -- Raiders vs. Eagles. We filled our apartment bathtub with ice, and cases of Moosehead beer, and had 3 small black and white TVs set up around for watching.

We packed probably 50 people into that WW II era apartment -- many freshman "Co-eds" as Barry recalls. We're pretty sure that term no longer applies. "They/Them-eds" maybe?

D2 and Jonathan are hosting a SB party in their new house and invited all of us, but I know better than to bring down a millennial party with my old Boomer tuches. Funnily, Wifey is going to be very close to both Ds -- she is driving her friend Ronnie to meet fellow friend Cara at the Miami Shores CC -- a tolerable drive for the now Aventuran Cara.

And I have a single, gentleman caller: Norman. He's coming over to watch -- we'll bring in DiNapoli, and drink, if he wishes. I don't like drinking alone, and will let my man decide -- I told him I have plenty of rye -- his poison -- and beer -- the traditional SB poison.

Man -- those college years seem so in the distant past. Maybe that's because more than FOUR decades have gone by.

I recall another party, the night before the Fins played. There was a silly song out called "Hey Ricky," and we changed the words to "Hey Woodley," the Fins' so-so QB at the time. Then we switched the music to our usual Ramones and smacked the ceiling to "Sheena Is...A Punk Rocker."

Good times, as David Lee Roth sang. Damn good times.

I guess one of the tricks to this old age thing is pushing yourself, and those around you. For example, travel is something I can easily do without. I feel like Johnny Cash: "I've been everywhere, man." and truly no place has any great pull. Rather, I focus on the hassles of modern travel -- even when you fly Business or First.

Luckily, Wifey still has the bug, as do friends. Two weeks from Wednesday, we're to fly to Barbados with Joelle and Kenny, and spend two nights there. We then get on a cruise ship and sail back to Miami. I'm sure it'll be a fine time, but left to my own lazy devices, I'd probably have skipped.

Yesterday Jeff asked if I was going to our Rabbi's 8th of 9 kids Bar Mitzvah. Wifey and I go to weddings, brit milahs, and funerals, but avoid Bar Mitzvahs unless we're VERY close to the child.

Jeff asked why I didn't just go with him, and I told him honestly I don't have patience for that stuff. He asked what I DID have patience for. The answer is precious little.

The good news is that when I'm with my friends, they can feel confident I truly wish to share their company -- no more attending functions out of obligation -- unless there's a subpoena involved, and luckily I don't foresee many of those.

So as for this SB Sunday: go team! And go friendships!

Intimations of Mortality With My Oldest Close Friends

 So last week was a tough one up in Boca. Eric's colleague in Cardiology, who I'll call Jay, since that's his name, dropped of a heart attack. Jay had a "sister practice" to Eric's, was a fit 63 year old, and died suddenly -- after collapsing at home, was taken to Boca Hospital where one of his long time partners had him die in his arms.

Eric attended the funeral on Monday, and reported that his adult son and daughter were devastated, as would our kids, but spoke beautifully about how Jay was about his family and friends first, and THEN his successful career. His daughter has a toddler, and they live close, and spoke about how Jay would come by most evenings, as they were getting ready to put the little girl to bed, and would say: "It's not bed time. It's GRANDPA TIME!" and play and read to the toddler before she went to sleep. His son's wife had his first grandson just last week -- instead of a bris in NY, the son flew down for his Dad's funeral.

I could tell Eric was shocked and moved by this -- how could he NOT be? And then we talked long about the nature of our lives -- and reached the same conclusion. We LOVE our lives -- and want many more years. But we have truly served our purpose -- school, careers, financial security for our families -- hell -- even some "generational wealth" we weren't lucky to receive. Our kids are grown and married to great spouses -- we've met a combined FIVE beautiful grandkids.

Sure -- we hope to be around to watch those grandkids grow, and share more time with those near and dear, but if the Big Man takes us -- well -- we'd have zero regrets.

Last night I met Barry, who was on main campus all day for a quarterly C Suite retreat for his hospital. He learned vital lessons -- like middle management is important, and you have to treat patients like cruise lines treat passengers. 

Afterwards, we talked about Jay, who neither of us met, but feel a kinship with. Barry added to the discussion that if you feel you HAVEN'T fulfilled your dreams, you can't easily accept being taken from this planet.

I shared with him that his former boss and colleague, who I'll call Judy, since that's her real name, called me last week, which she does when she has a legal question. But this time, it was because Barry hadn't gotten back with her -- was he angry with her? I explained to Judy he was not -- just busy -- and I would encourage him to return her texts and emails.

Judy noted how lucky Eric, Barry, and I were -- it was rare for men to keep close friendships for over four decades like we had. I was 1.5 martinis in when I fielded Judy's call, and I told her deadpan that the secret was that we three were closeted gay men, attracted to each other, and the unrequited lust was was sustained our fraternity so long.

I immediately regretted what I said -- Judy is the HEIGHT of wokeness -- she spearheaded many progressive programs when she was Chair. Had I gone too far? Her answer was silence -- followed by some of the loudest laughter I ever heard. Nah -- I cracked her up with my absurdity. If I WAS gay, I think I'd go for  a 20 something Brad Pitt type -- not 60 something Jewish doctors -- not that they're not attractive men for their age.

And that was a key component, too -- the need for laughter.

Yes -- laughter with friends is true manna from above -- and in our time together, Barry, Eric, and I have had more than our fair share.

Our server, who we agreed was a "Ricki type," our friend Mark's first wife, brought the check and we left. I drove Barry to the lot where he had parked -- right by our sacred Building 22 -- the apartment where we lived together nearly 3 years.

And what years those were -- truly coming of age together -- passing from teenager to young men bound for grad school.

We would sit around the formica dining room table there, we three, with other players on that early 80s college stage, and talk and philosophize. What kind of women should we marry. What did we hope to do in our careers? Should we sacrifice money for the good of society? Could we have both? Should we go to Thurmans or D'Pizza for dinner? These were very deep questions.

Paul, my brother and law partner and now a brother to Barry and Eric, too, is 11 years older. He lost his best college friend 2 years ago -- a vital, delightful podiatrist named Frank, who went from enjoying his grandkids, and the fruits of his very hard labor, to hearing he had glioblastoma which took him less than 2 years after that.

One of Paul's closest law school friends, Alan, died before -- of a rare small intestine cancer. Their friendship was more fraught, on account of the fact that Alan, though lovable, was a scoundrel, who lost his law license after his gambling addiction caused him to dip into his trust accounts to pay his debts. OK -- maybe MORE than dip -- he dove deep.

So Paul knows better the loss of these sacred friends. Of the four of us, only one parent survives: Barry's mother Beverly, and she struggles with Parkinson's, needing full time care.

George and Lillian, Hy and Sunny, Marvin and Norma, and Sy are all gone, quite many years now.

We miss them terribly, as I know our kids and grandkids will miss us -- and yet life goes on -- they all served their purposes, too.

D1 often quotes a profound thought, when she talks about the struggles of motherhood to her two gorgeous bear cubs: "The days are so long, and the years are so short."

And so they are -- and we all hope to have many more years.

But rest in peace, Jay the Boca Cardiologist. I never met you but feel you were one of us. May your memory be a blessing. It already is, to those near and dear to you.

Minyan Man

 Religious Jews require that 10 men be present for many important prayers, and my friend Rabbi Yossi is indeed a religious Jew.

Dating back to the early years of our friendship, now going on 30 years, he would call me if they were a fellow short, and if I was free, would drive over to his storefront shul, across from Miami Dade College South, to be the 10th. I called myself the Relief Jew, and it was a nice time for reflection and brotherhood, though the prayers in Hebrew were well beyond my ken.

For many years, my services weren't needed, but lately they are again. Last year, I asked my friend Jeff if he would become a relief prayer-er too, and he agreed. Though Jeff is VERY Reform (the Woody Allen joke is that the rabbi at his congregation is a Nazi), he came along -- mostly because he wanted to properly say kaddish, the prayer for the dead, for his very close cousin Noah, who died very young.

Well, Jeff, or Pinchas as the dudes there call him, on account that it's his Hebrew name, became a regular. In fact, though Yossi asked and received a sizeable pledge from us towards the completion of the new Center, he said bringing Jeff into the fold was more important. I don't know if I truly believe that.

Anyway, today as I was drinking coffee, I got the text -- could I make it? I had no just reason to refuse, and so agreed. I texted Jeff -- I usually drive him over -- but he was already busy with his own congregations "Mitzvah Day." In fact, D1 and her men are due to attend -- they're packing kids for inner city school children,  I believe.

So I drove over on my own.

I chatted with the nice assembled fellows -- a United Nations of Jewish dudes. I met a new guy, from France, along with the usual assortment of Latin Jews. Rabbi Yossi had a young visiting Yeshiva student help me with the tefillin -- his accent was clearly Midwestern US -- Chicago, I guessed correctly.

The prayers were recited, and I followed along as best I could in the English translation. But mostly I lost myself in the reflection of how many thousands of years my forefathers read the same stuff. It is truly powerful.

I said goodbye to Roy, an 80 something fellow I've known since I met Yossi. He's a retired carpenter, who donated a lot of his talents to the shul. He's an original "Miamuh" guy, too -- I always enjoy his courtliness. He remembers the Ds as little girls, and asks after them -- I showed him pictures of the now grown women and the 2 grandsons!

So I figure, like chicken soup for a cold, this going to minyan can't hurt. I asked the Big Man for continued good health for my nearest and dearest. May He grant my prayers.

The balance of Sunday holds little in the way of plans. Wifey is fast asleep. I'll try to get a long walk in before the coming rains. A nap may be in store, probably with a snoring Spaniel on the couch with me.

This week Wifey is headed up to D1's -- she and Joey are taking a stay-cation in Vero Beach, and Wifey and our consuegra Jacqui are taking turns with the grandsons. I'll hold down the dog-fort here -- probably get up to see the Little Man and Baby Man, too.

And, if called upon, will remain a Relief Jew -- Minyan Man...

Happy 32 D2!

 So we had plans -- pregame at D2 and Jonathan's, then to The Palm for dinner. I had to give some paperwork to Paul, and he had asked when I was coming up "north." I told him Friday -- he could meet me at D2's for the exchange, and share a cocktail for her birthday.

He didn't want to crash the party, but of course D2 and Jonathan welcomed him. Some people freak out when someone uninvited shows up -- it happened to Paul years ago. But thankfully not my family -- Paul and Patricia were invited for the whole evening.

They got a tour of the new casa, and loved it. Paul brought 2 bottles of red -- to see if anyone could tell the difference between the disparately priced bottles. Jonathan poured me a fine martini -- Wifey would drive to the restaurant.

D1 and Joey were running late on account of the boys -- but met us minutes after we sat down in the crowded Palm. D2 also suggested the Surf Club, but it was sold out. I was happy it was the Palm -- I love that place -- best steaks in Florida other than Bern's in Tampa, simple sides, well poured cocktails.

The place was buzzing, and Wifey asked if we could move to a quieter section. We could not -- and I was again glad -- the place was so festive. A large lawyer man, Lee came by to say hello. D1 knew his family and several other guests. I used to by the networker around town -- D1 had become me 3.0 -- she knew two other parties there, including the wife of a judge.

I asked Michele how long her husband had been on the bench, figuring he was a rookie I didn't know. "13 years." Yeah -- I'm passed prime -- no idea who the fellow was.

We feasted -- shared a prime rib, two steaks, and a fish -- as well as a multitude of sides. They had the Ds favorite for dessert -- carrot cake -- and the boys night out at the next table joined in the singing. It was that kind of night -- as I sat there, I tried to think of anywhere else in the world I wished to be, and then I saw beaming D2 and realized the answer was a resounding NO!

Today she actually turns 32. We FaceTimed (tm) after I sent her my usual email. She and Jonathan are having friends over tonight for Steve's Pizza -- a venerable North Miami spot just north of the Shores.

Wifey and I talked in bed after I brought her her am coffee, reminiscing about D2's life. She was a tough toddler -- a "hardship," as Wifey said, which has become family lore now.

Wifey said if she just knew how amazing her daughter would turn out, she would have felt less oppressed in those years from 1993-1996. Oh well -- no going back.

I always knew. I have snippets of memory about her when I knew she wasn't the average bear -- like when she took a call from a friend in grade school and said "It's ok -- tell me all about it -- we'll figure out a solution."

One of the FaceBook posts today was from an early friend's Mom. D2 hasn't seen her daughter in over a decade, and the Mom wrote "I was thinking about you, D2, and how I love you and always will."

Yeah -- D2 left and leaves a mark on people.

Our friend, handling her house's renovation, told me she wants to adopt her -- Jonathan, too. I told her Wifey may be open to negotiation -- but don't mess with Jonathan's Mom -- she's the sweetest -- but has a tough side, too...

I wish my precious second daughter many more years of good health and the wonder of life. If she gives us grandkids, in addition to the enormous puppy one -- well, I wouldn't complain about that, either.

Regardless, I love and adore this accomplished young woman. Happy birthday, D2!

Back In The Office

 Nice to make an appearance today, on Brickell, after a several week absence. I stopped on the way at Bagel Emporium and had breakfast, and brought a cinammon bun and black and white cookies for Amanda and Carla. I know what girls like...

I had some mail to go through, and hopefully Stuart will make it in to go over some files. Vince was leaving for lunch as I was coming in -- we can go over stuff, too.

Yesterday was Grandpa Dev Day, after my workout. I fetched the Little Man, and impressed him with a yogurt that had the fruit in a separate chamber in the tub. He found that way cool.

I wanted to take him to visit Tia D2, but she was hosting workers, and thought the Little Man would not help that situation, so we went home, instead, and played in the 'hood.

He is so smart. He uses the pretext of visiting a neighbor's cat to gain cute boy access to their house, where he knows they always keep a tower of chocolate kisses by the door, and he is offered one. Yes -- my grandson is a man after my own heart.

Well, Stu DID make it in, with some morbid news: a cardiologist in Boca, who his friend Steve knows well, dropped dead of a heart attack, at 63.

I texted my group of friends about it, as they already call me "obituary Dave," and sure enough Norman and Eric knew the fellow -- Eric pretty well. He had just become a grandfather the prior weekend -- he will NOT be attending his new grandson's bris.

The Big Man has a way of sending messages. Just last Friday, we were talking on our cocktail Zoom (except for Eric and Dana -- they're among a disturbing number of my friends doing this "Dry January" thing), about the concept of working less as we age.

I am the most fortunate. I was able to ratchet down my hours starting years ago, and miss almost nothing because of work obligations. But my doctor friends, especially, seem kind of stuck with commitments to their careers. For example, one told us any thoughts of planning a vacation with them needed "6 months notice," because of long planned work schedules.

Maybe the poignant loss of a cohort may change that. Poor fellow no longer has schedules months in advance.

Anyway, Wednesday is now typically mah jong day for Wifey. She has been taking lessons, along with our friend Lili, and enjoying it. Joelle and Kenny asked us to dinner, but Wifey was committed to her session, and so I agreed to make a throuple.

I Ubered to Whisk, in South Miami, and met them. Kenny and I had the meat loaf -- it was awesome. It just seemed like a cool, meatloaf kind of night.

I Ubered home, and thought about the doc who dropped who I never met. Eric said he was a truly nice guy. 

I sat outside in the cool, quiet evening, and asked the Big Man to bring peace to his family -- nothing else to do.

Tomorrow night, we're gearing up -- the one day early birthday celebration of D2 -- turning 32 on the Day the Music Died. There'll be a pre game at their new house in the Shores, and then a short drive to The Palm, where D1 and Joey will join us.

Wow. 32. My friend who is renovating D2 and Jonathan's house said she wants to adopt her -- D2 is so smart and charming. Too late -- she belongs to Wifey and me, and of course to Jonathan!

I truly look forward to watching this stage of our kids' lives -- early to mid 30s seems to be when a lot happens -- it did for Wifey and me.

The greatest of riches: time. I plan to savor all of it.