What Did I Do to Deserve?

 So Friday night we hosted Diane and her little dog, a Havanese. Great to see Diane, and I dig dogs, but this little one only pees and poops on a pad. So I was a bit taken aback to have a strange dog relieving itself in my house -- usually on the pad, but with a few small errant droppings. Yeah -- even Wifey who LOVES dogs agreed -- maybe that will be the last visit from the little pooch.

But there were no human accidents, and the three of us had a lovely dinner at a local steakhouse. Saturday am my nephew from another mister called -- he was in the Grove, and did we feel like company? I did, and had him fetch some bagels and nova from Roasters on his way over, which he did.

We were joined by Wifey and Diane and had a lovely brunch, as I kept the coffee coming. Diane left around noon for some errands on her way back to Delray, and Josh stayed -- we took a stroller walk with the Special Needs Spaniel, and talked of life.

I told him we had dinner plans with Paul and Patrticia, and Paul asked me to include Josh's parents, but I knew no way Barry wanted to drive back to Miami on a weekend for that -- he has come to really despise his commutes. Josh suggested I ask anyway, and Donna immediately agreed -- we would meet in Doral at a place called Basilico, owned by Argentines.

Barry and Donna's presence was kept a surprise, and Paul and Patrica loved it when they saw them there -- we got a lovely round table and had a great dinner.

Of course, we talked of human nature, and the nature of marriages, and when it was my turn to contribute, asked rhetorically what it was I did to deserve Wifey?

She wondered if I meant it sardonically, like Peter Boyle's character used to speak in "Everybody Loves Raymond,"or if I was truly awed at how lucky I was to have her.

Ha. I left it for her to decide...

Meanwhile, the weekend fun continues. Today is Jonathan's 32nd, and he and D2 are hosting his family later for cake. D1 and Joey were there last night with some friends for another great get together.

Our plan is to spend a bit of grandson time, and then pop into Miami Shores to sing Happy Birthday, and then retreat to the quiet of Pinecrest.

We already have a birthday dinner planned NEXT Saturday -- smack between Jonathan's and my birthday.

Wifey and I were discussing our Ds' life partners, and how much we appreciate them. Joey is the most amazing father to our grandsons I could have imagined -- he makes my over-protectiveness seem minor league.

Barry noticed that in each video, Little Man, now 4.5, is always wearing long PJs - I told him it was Joey's doing. Barry figures at college the Little Man can finally shed the warm clothing...

So it was a great weekend, and more to come.

And the truth is, Wifey knows that, despite the ball and chain jokes, I AM fortunate and blessed to have her, and together build a life far grander than either of us could have dreamed for.

Age creeps in, as I am reminded as tomorrow I need to schedule my PT to deal with my "Old Man's Neck," as Barry calls it.

And that's ok -- just part of the human process.

I guess I could ask the Big Man why I have pain and decrepitude? Nah -- He knows I ask why indeed I am so fortunate and blessed.

The Debates

 Wifey returned from 2 days and one night with the Ds and their men -- an early appointment yesterday caused them to "foist" her on D2 and Jonathan, to use the great Larry David term. She spent the night and reported it was a fine B and B -- greeted in the am by enormous Betsy and coffee in bed.

She then had a great day with D1, and later her boys -- when I called to check in, she was enthralled with a puzzle with Little Man.

Wifey arrived home as I was coming off my Stoli buzz, and we watched the debate. Oh boy. All the memes are pouring in today, but it was two old geezers going at each other with canes.

Biden came off like a doddering fool you wouldn't drive with. Trump told lies like a frat boy after a Spring Break in Cancun, but came across far more smooth. Dude can read a room -- when he speaks to the MAGA nuts, he's unhinged -- he realized last night he had to tone it down.

Looks like Biden will perform as well as Dukakis in the election. The Dems only hope, to me, a non political scientist, is a hail Mary: Biden steps down, and someone wildly popular like Oprah or The Rock runs -- Hollywood movie-like. Both have the same qualifications Trump did when he beat arguably the most qualified candidate in history: HRC. But HRC brought truth to the thing we all learned in Junior High: we admire the smartest girl in the class, but don't like her. And when it comes time to vote -- well -- not so fast -- at least in the red states where HRC lost.

I'm hoping things don't deteriorate terribly under Trump. Instead, as Eric Idle wrote, we always have to look on the bright side of life. I'll save money on an Estate Lawyer -- Trump and his minions will extend the Estate Tax limits, so we won't have to worry about that. Hopefully we're stronger in support of Israel, against the terrorists who have become the darling of our current radical chic.

Maybe Trump picks a reasonable running mate -- as next president, assuming Trump ever steps down. I wouldn't be surprised if the party of my grandparents, parents, and me fades into the dustbin of history -- pulled apart by the extreme Left, who to me is much worst the the GOP.

Crazy times.

Meanwhile, our handyman Nestor is here today putting together some patio furniture Wifey has had in the garage awhile. Our design and build friend has several more things for him -- installing new bathroom lights and new faucets.

Luis is due here, too, to hopefully FINALLY finish the two redone bathrooms. Luis is good, and cheap, but takes FOREVER. He has owed D2 and Jonathan a bar for 6 months now -- he says he will go to their house tomorrow to finally finish. We'll see.

So we have wonderful First World problems. Hopefully things stay that way.

My sons in law know first hand the need to flee bad countries -- their families left Venezuela and Colombia when each was about 10. Wifey's parents survived the Holocaust, and lost their Polish homeland. They left Israel for better opportunities when Wifey was 4.

My grandparents high tailed it out of Rumania -- now Ukraine -- rather than serve in the Czar's army.

So if we have to leave, we will. I hope not -- I truly love this country, as a third generation American who has 4th generation American daughters, and now 5th generation American grandkids.

But no guarantees. And our political parties may have put us in untenable peril. I guess the coming months will show.

Our old neighbor and friend Diane is coming tonight. She moved to Western Delray, but her docs are still here. We'll pre-game, and then dinner at Platea. We spoke a few weeks ago -- she's bored out of her mind in west Delray. We asked why she didn't move to one of the new condos on Atlantic Avenue -- where stuff goes on. Her son told her not to because of sea rise.

Hmm...taking life advice from someone who maybe doesn't have any real idea. Kind of like our political parties...

My Shit's Fucked Up

 Ah -- that great Warren Zevon song, covered by the great Kinky Friedman -- dead today at 79. It's about the ravages of aging -- ain't nothing you can do.

Sure -- eat better, lose weight, try Botox. But Mother Nature wins. One of my life's mentors, Vince Senior, used to proclaim that Mother Nature is a vicious bitch.

So I got my CT scan results today, and as my brilliant doc friend Barry said, the diagnosis is "Neck of an Old Man." 

And so it is -- "severe" stenosis of a few of the nerve outlets of my spine, which is what is clearly causing the shoulder pain and pins and needles down my arm. The good news is the spinal cord itself is largely intact, so the aging process doesn't mean I'm at risk of paralysis if someone rear ends me driving, or someone gives me a hearty "atta boy" pat. The risk is, over time, more pain and pins and needles.

Hey -- I can live with that, rather than face the prospect of cervical spine surgery. I would get it if the pain becomes debilitating, of course, but luckily now it reaches a 3, at most.

My doc agreed. He said if it was HIS cervical spine, he'd get PT, at most. A visit to the spine surgeon -- not, hopefully, for a long time.

Dr. Eric agreed: PT, PT, and PT, and maybe get the CD of the test, to have our friend Kenny take a look as well, to make sure the guy at the discount stand alone diagnostic center is correct. As usual -- great advice.

But for now, I enjoyed a couple of Stolis. Per my usual protocol, I didn't drink alone. I called my California sister and we spoke as I sipped -- using the nifty, insulated glasses D1 bought me for Father's Day. Indeed, it kept the big ice cube (last year's birthday gift) intact for a whole lot of time.

We caught up, and then I called my Wesley Chapel sister and brother in law, too -- to tell them of our plan for a 30th anniversary for our law firm, in November.

Wow. Three decades. How did that happen?

Tuesday night, Norman and Barry and I had dinner before our adult ed class, which is thankfully voluntary -- not a sentence by a judge.

Barry told us that Monday marks 30 years he has been at his job -- medical school professor, and attending doc at the leading medical center in Florida. What were they planning, we asked, to commemorate this milestone? Nothing, Barry replied.

And therein lies the lesson. If we seek fulfillment from our careers, no matter how august, we are sure to be disappointed.

I shared something I realized recently. My former boss, Ed, was a terrific lawyer -- kicked ass, took names, got great results and made a ton of money doing it. And yet his son, disbarred for acting the asshole several times, even after the Florida Supremes told him NOT to, is more famous. He's the subject of videos we all have to watch to keep our licenses current.

So have a great career -- within a few years, no one remembers. Be a dick -- become famous.

I just know I am MOST happy with my CT results. I never worry about my health until I get a vague symptom, and then I go all in. I figured Lou Gehrig's Disease this time, or maybe spinal cancer -- or at least a severely herniated disc requiring immediate surgery.

Nah. Just old man's disease. That -- I can live with --with the understanding that plenty of my shit is fucked up...

Crabs and Mangoes

 Ah, Summer in Miami. Flowering trees are a small consolation for the heat and humidity. This year the royals are just average -- some years the blazing orange grabs your attention as you drive down the street. I guess plants and animals are cyclic -- in fact, I know they are.

Last year was a bumper crop of mangoes. They were everywhere. Some neighbors, Melissa and David, even put out a notice in the local app, inviting everyone over a weekend to come take as many as they wished. Some of the snootier neighbors objected to inviting some "sketchy" cars and peoples into our enclave. I couldn't care less -- let them eat mangoes!

This year, they're scarce. D1 and Jonathan have a tree, and were looking forward to their first ones. Alas, there are just a few of the fruit, which Joey picked and took home. I haven't asked how they were.

I totally get the idea of the exquisiteness of eating something growing in your yard. We used to grow tomatoes and cucumbers and green peppers during LI Summers. My Dad and I agreed -- nothing like a freshly picked beefsteak tomato -- delicious.

When we moved into our first house, I planted a large garden -- too large. I spent a lot of time schlepping tomatoes and eggplants and cukes to the office -- I planted enough for 20 people, not just Wifey and me.

And then there are the land crabs. They used to be so plentiful, you could see hordes of them crossing Old Cutler Road -- puncturing tires, in fact. Lately their numbers are down -- some years we see few of them. A few years ago, Vienna and Bo cornered one in the back yard -- the little things can get very mean, especially if threatened. The dogs were perilously close to having some pinched noses, but I pulled them away in time, as the crab seemed to give us the middle claw.

This year there are a lot of them again. I've seen three around our house, and the neighborhood apps abound with photos of them. New transplants question what they are -- are they edible. I remember long ago learning they are -- but you have to keep them in a pen for awhile and feed them, lest you ingest the carrion and other nasty stuff they feed on naturally.

In other nature news, D1 thought she saw a turd from her new dog, but the turd started to peep. It was a baby cardinal, fallen from a nest. She and Joey looked for the nest -- nowhere in sight. Joey, bless his sweet heart, made a box for the little guy, that D1 named Cardi B. Joey gave it water through a syringe, and fed it some crushed dog food. Late at night, he placed the replacement nest into a hedge, high up, and the following day the little guy was gone -- hopefully reclaimed by its parents.

It recalled an episode we had years ago -- a nest appeared in a potted ficus on our loggio, and some unusual birds were in it. Mike, the polymath, of course had an Audobon guide to all birds of North America, and we identified our visitors as red eared bulbuls. They live in India and South Miami --nowhere else! Some importer must have released some, and since our monsoon client is sort of like India's, they thrived.

Several eggs hatched, and Wifey summoned her inner Marlon Perkins -- taping the birds each day. Finally, they all flew away, and the guide book said they tend to return yearly to the same location to nest again. Alas, ours did not -- we got gypsy, if you can use that word anymore, bulbuls.

So Summer is here, with its slightly slower vibe. Lots of people are away in their northern escapes, or off on long trips. We're here, and it's fine, at least until one of the crabs bites me.

How Hugh Hefner Must Have Felt

 So happily the morning wasn't too hot, and I set out about my constitutional. On days I don't work out a the gym, I try to get in at least 7000 steps, which I read gives a decent effect to my aging corpus. In my 'hood, that's about 2 full laps around the perimeter streets. 

Today I ran into Rod and Jagger, the most popular dog in the 'hood, and my grandog Betsy's dear dog friend. Rod got back the other day from his "trip of a lifetime." It really was.

He turned 60, and instead of a party, decided to take his whole family to Africa. There are 6 of them, and they flew from NYC to J-berg. His son and his wife live in NYC, and his daughter and son in law in LA, so Rod knew it was tough to get everyone together. But, he learned, dangling an all expense paid trip to Africa got the job done.

He said they stayed in Capetown -- no need for the tensosity of J-berg. They went to the wine country there, and then several nights at a resort near Kruger Park, where they got photos of the "Big 5" of African animals. He loved every moment of the trip -- I was thrilled for him. And Jagger was happy he was home -- no daily walks with his sitter, Rod's sister..

I walked with Rod and Jagger back to his house, and then my Hugh Hefner morning started. Berta, the affable Venezuelan who took over as Welcome Chair, was walking by. She and I did a lap together -- she filled me in on all the details about their vacation townhouse in Naples. And she has a trip planned -- Vienna and Croatia this Fall.

I told her I was in Vienna for a few nights, and loved it. Croatia was just a one day cruise stop, so I really barely know Dubrovnik, but Berta and her man Barry will be spending a few weeks.

As we rounded the block, Berta had to get home, and we met Gloria, our lovely widow friend. She and I then walked a few miles -- talking about our favorite shows. Gloria is a huge "Wire" fan. I told her to me, there was "The Sopranos" and then everything else. Gloria avoided my favorite show -- she's Sicilian, and avoids Mafia movies, or other shows that portray Italians in a bad light. 

But I think I convinced her to give Tony and co another try -- EVERY group in the Sopranos takes a hit -- from greedy Hesh, the Jewish shylock, to criminal Cuban burglars in Miami, to Black street thugs. Hell -- they even make fun of Lauren Bacall, who gets mugged carrying Oscar swag to her car.

Wow. These ladies handing me off to each other. It must have been how Hugh Hefner felt -- if Hugh was passed among overweight post menopausal ladies, instead of Playmates.

Ha. I MUCH prefer these neighbors of substance and wisdom. What would I talk about with a 25 year old Victoria's Secret model anyway?

OK -- I would find SOMETHING to talk about.

In any event, today is the first day of Summer, and the heat is not too oppressive. Hopefully it will stay this way all weekend.

Next week is a busy for a not busy guy week -- beginning with my CT scan Monday, to hopefully rule out dread conditions causing my arm parasthesia. Then there is Dadber duty, fetching Little Man one day while D1 and Wifey do a Broward errand together, and, of course, my second JLI class.

My old friend Bob retired years ago, after a career as a NYC cop, FHP trooper, and, finally, private investigator. He lives in Manilla now with his Filipina wife, Edna.

Paul used to ask what he did all day, retired. And he responded: "Not a damn thing, and somehow it takes me all day to do it."

He had it correct.

Sneaking Away For Dim Sum

 I am so amazingly blessed in life that one of my annoyances is being home when our longtime housekeeper comes over. Miriam is 70 and ought to have retired long ago -- her family has business owners and CPAs, and she really no longer needs the money, but Miriam keeps on keeping on.

We paid her weekly during Covid, even though I wasn't the US government payroll assistance plan, but since she's resumed her visits, I would typically find somewhere to go when she's here, usually Wednesdays, to stay out of her way.

Alas, she also cleans Lili and Jeff's house -- in fact -- we met her through Lili, as Miriam was her family's housekeeper since the 80s -- and Lili asked for a Wednesday instead of Thursday this week, since they were leaving for their townhouse in New Haven, and so Miriam came today.

She arrived late -- typically she comes around 11 -- today 1230, and we had already hosted a cabinet maker to install a vanity in the powder room. So I knew I needed  a break, and decided I would treat myself -- dim sum at Kon Chau.

Kon Chau is our go-to dim sum place. They last decorated in the early 90s, but in my opinion, the dumplings are superior to the more expensive and better known Tropical Chinese -- blocks to the East on Bird Road.

Off I drove in the man sized SUV, and got my table in the corner, and had a great won ton soup, and a few plates of those great dumplings. Wifey didn't even know I left -- she was on a marathon phone call -- and she doesn't care much for dim sum, so I figured there would be no to go order.

Well, she called to check on my whereabouts, and I told her I was at Kon Chau, and she doesn't like it, right? Well, the chances of Wifey NOT wanting food or coffee brought to her approach absolute zero -- so she asked for something NOT dim sum. I got her some chicken and broccoli. She has explained to me that having coffee and food brought to her is her "language of love." So I really brought her love and broccoli, I guess.

So I put away the food, and decamped to our "bonus room" where Miriam rarely visits. I got a short but great nap, to some old "Law and Order" re-runs. and then awoke to watch a few. 

And I learned a new Spanish word: polvo. When I came downstairs, Miriam told me the house had "mucho polvo" -- polvo meaning "dust." Indeed, it did, from the tile cutting and drywall cutting that has taken place over the past 3 weeks for the 2 bathroom renovations that approach completion.

It makes sense -- pulverize is to turn something to dust. Ah, language.

Anyway, it approaches 6 pm, and Miriam is still here. Anytime we think about maybe asking her to come earlier so her cleaning doesn't leach into dinner hour, Jeff reminds me: we kind of more work for her than the other way around. She tells us when she comes and when she goes. 

Hey -- she's worked for us for nearly 30 years now -- probably best to leave sleeping dogs lie.

Our friend who is leading the renovation project thinks it's absurd that a 70 year old still does this work. She would let her go, she tells me. Nah. I'll just keep finding ways to bolt, weekly.

And again -- these should be my biggest problems.

One final note -- about how Miami is indeed the biggest city/small town there is. This am I told my trainer the tale of the classmate in the adult ed course -- the woman who told us about the cancer missed diagnosis. Well -- turns out she's his father's ex fiancee! They were to marry, but something happened in the late 80s, and his dad, the retired doc, went another way.

Man -- I never get past one degree of separation in the is town of ours.

I'm sure I'll find out later a friend was also at Kon Chau today. My dumplings were excellent.

Each Deli's Death Diminishes Me

 So a relatively busy week here in the Tropics. First the bad news: D1 has it on good authority that one of my favorite delis, Bagel Emporium, will be soon homeless. The strip center where it's been for probably 40 years is being torn down to build luxury high rise apartments for "UM Nepo babies."

We're headed there for lunch today, before a trip to the cemetery to honor my suegra -- today is her yahrtzeit -- 2 years gone. I guess I'll get more of the scoop about how much time the Emporium has left.

In old man medical news, I've had shoulder pain for a few weeks, and for the past week a parasthesia (pins and needles) down my right arm for a week. I figure it's probably a pinched cervical nerve, but wanted to rule out worse things like ALS and sarcoma, so went to my affable doc yesterday.

He ruled out ALS, since those symptoms start in toes and fingers and work up or down, and so I won't, happily get to give a "I am the luckiest man alive" speech. Gary Cooper killed that, anyway.

But he wants to be sure it's not a herniation, which would need follow up, and so prescribed 2 CT scans for me -- shoulder and cervical spine. Karen, the affable manager, set me up at a new Baptist Diagnostic Center that opened across from the Falls.

Within an hour, Baptist called to confirm and tell me my "patient responsibility" was $3100!!! For 50 year old technology!!!! I told them to hold off, and went online on Florida Blue -- they suggested a provider in West Kendall, and I called them. The nice, heavily accented clerk told me they would charge $400 for the two tests, and I could come in July 5. Fine -- I took the appointment.

But Karen persisted -- she called another free standing Center, literally in the shadow of Baptist's main campus, and said self pay they charge $200 for the 2 scans! Wow. I can under stand something costing half of Baptist -- but 5% for the same thing???? They're taking me Monday, so hopefully nothing exotic turns up, and the radiation from the test gives me a nice glow. At nearly 63, I don't plan on having any more kids, and figure I'll probably leave the earth because of something not related to radiation. Hell no. I won't glow.

And last night was a most memorable one. Barry and I met for dinner, and then met Norman over at the temporary Chabad Center for an adult ed class. Barry agreed since it was given by Rabbi Yossi's son, who Barry had met telephonically.

Moishe is, as I texted Yossi right after class, a taller and smarter version of my dear friend. He was great. The discussions, centered around a real case study of a girl dying from a genetic disease who sought compassionate care exception from the FDA for a possible life saving treatment, was fascinating.

The class had a retired JMH administrator, who was Black and Jamaican and Jewish. I loved his accent. I decided it's the best accent there is -- everything a Jamaican says sounds like a party involving ganja and reggae music is about to start.

And things got real at the end. Lois, a Peds occupational therapist who I worked with on a case decades ago, shared a crisis she is going through -- she has lymphoma. But the issue is that her trusted doc blew off her complaints and a positive CT scan, saying "I treat PATIENTS, not SCANS."

Well, his hubris may have killed her -- she went for a second opinion and is soon starting treatment at UM's Sylvester Center -- and the issues we discussed hit, literally, close to home for her.

So now we have a rooting interest in one of our classmates over the following 3 Tuesdays. As Norman and Barry and I debriefed following class, in the parking lot, I brought up a critical issue: where to meet for dinner next Tuesday before class?

It will be one of the many restaurants in the center across the street, which contains Roasters and Toasters. As far as I know, there are no plans to raze that place any time soon.

Everything's Quiet on Father's Day

 So FD is here, and Jeff prevailed upon me to begin the day in religious observance. I fetched him at 815 and we headed to the temporary Chabad HQ, and we put on tefillin and observed the weekday prayers, led by His Holines Rabbi Yossi. Afterwards, we decamped to our local Starbucks for some coffee and egg white bites which were not very good. But the catching up and conversation was.

Jeff is leaving this week for the entire Summer in New Haven. He and Lili bought a townhouse there, to be close to their eldest and her husband and baby girl. Their middle girl Sam, who lives at home, is going as well, so there'll be a quiet house down the street until after Labor Day.

And my thoughts go to the final FD I spent with my Dad. It would have been June of 1982, and I wish terribly I recalled it, but I don't.

I was working that Summer as a sales clerk at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall -- full time -- minimum wage. Dad and Mom lived in Kings Point in Delray, arguably the ugliest condo complex in history -- essentially concrete blocks of two story buildings surrounded by parking lots. Dad used to meet neighbors and ask "What cell block do you live in?" Mom made him stop -- for many Unit ownas, as they were called in New Yorkese, it was the first home they ever owned, after a lifetime of renting in Brooklyn or Queens or The Bronx. 

If I had to speculate, we probably went out for lunch, or dinner if I was working -- probably one of the go-to delis, like Three Gs. If it was fancier, we might have gone to Gentleman Jim's in Boynton, with its salad bar that Mom loved.

Probably my sisters called, from Long Island and California. But I had zero idea it would be our final FD, and paid little attention. Honestly, I was more interested in my female co-workers that Summer.

South Palm Beach County in the early 80s was still a very seasonal place, and there were many more girls my age than boys. The dating pool was deep for a rising college senior like me.

Shortly after FD, Dad had a serious heart attack. They called me at work, and I raced home and then to Bethesda Hospital in Boynton. We weren't sure he would survive, but he did, and seemed on the road to recovery.

A week after his discharge, he had an appointment with his GP, a portly fellow named Dr. Heller, on Atlantic Avenue. I had plans that day, July 14, to attend a beach party with some of my Jordan Marsh co-workers, as I was off from work. Dad asked me to please go with him and Mom to the doctor's visit -- and I was annoyed. He was fine, after all, and I had devoted the past weeks to him -- couldn't I have this day for some young people stuff after weeks in the hospital with him?

He must have had an ominous sense, since he said "Well, if the doc says I'm not ok, he may put me back in the hospital, and I'd rather Mom not have to deal with that alone."

I never refused him, and so called my friends to cancel, and then off to Dr. Heller's office.

Heller listened to his heart, said all sounded fine, and said maybe it was time my Dad eat more fish and less of his beloved meat and potatoes. I probably rolled my eyes -- I KNEW I wasn't needed, and I imagined all the drinking and carousing going on without me on the beach.

We went for lunch at Morrison's Cafeteria. Sure enough, Dad got the fish -- I'm sure I got the roast beef. With sodas, we toasted his recovery. And then we left, but Dad asked if we could stop for a haircut -- he was feeling shaggy after his time in the hospital

I drove his '75 forest green Olds '98 Regency to the Oriole Plaza, where there was a barber shop, as well as a Publix. Mom ran into the Publix for a few things. There was a young haircutter, a girl about my age, with purple hair and piercings. As she cut Dad's hair, I sat behind and read a magazine, until I heard her say in a scream "Sir? Sir?" Dad had slumped over in the chair. 

I told her to call 911 and started CPR, but I knew he was gone. She helped me, and the Delray paramedics were there in minutes. They took over, and put Dad in a "thumper," which did the chest compressions. Mom walked in to the worst scene of her life. I hugged her and lied that all was fine.

We followed the rescue truck back to Bethesda -- these were the days before Delray Community was built. Mom was crying in shock. I had the awful immediate sense that my immature college boy self was dead along with my Dad in the vehicle in front of us -- it was time to become the man of the family. Strange I recall that detail so clearly.

At the hospital, we went to a waiting room. A few minutes later, a young ER doc came out. He wouldn't answer my question about Dad -- the protocol was, I inferred, a social worker had to be present when news of death was to be shared. We patiently waited, and finally I had enough. I stood up, approached the fellow, and said "My Dad's dead, right?" He nodded, as the late arriving social worker entered the room. 

Even in that saddest moment of my life, I was annoyed by the stupid protocols of health care. Neither Mom nor I wanted to see Dad's body -- he had made clear his wishes for cremation, and I signed papers authorizing that.

And that, as they say, was that.

So I learned my lesson, about NEVER taking a celebration for granted. In a few hours, we're leaving for D2 and Jonathan's house, to be joined by D1 and her men, which includes a new, furry one.

The other day, the Ds drove up to Loxahatchee and adopted a new dog for D1 and family -- a year old Cavalier Spaniel -- same color as departed, beloved Madeleine.

He's a very shy fellow, and D1 named him Lemon, as he probably has rescue dog stuff wrong with him. Little Man calls him the Spanish Limon, and the family is already in love. Lemon seems to favor enormous Betsy over humans so far -- that will change.

I plan to savor each moment of togetherness with my precious family. The Big Man taught me 42 years ago that no one here gets out alive. While we ARE here, we must treat the moments as more precious than diamonds. I do.

So I still miss Hy terribly. I would give all to have him meet Wifey and the family we have created together -- amazing daughters, wonderful sons in law, and precious grandsons, with, hopefully, more to come.

I guess the best I can do to honor my wonderful father is to be a wonderful father as well. And though I am often self deprecating about most of my life, when it comes to my identity as a father, well, I shout that from the rooftops. 

So today there ought to be a lot of shouting laughter -- dogs and all.

The Wallet After All

 So I, the grouchy old man who rarely drives North of the Miami Dade/Broward line, was supposed to do so for the second time in 6 days. Last Sunday we met Lew and Maria for dinner at Runway 84 -- a delicious meal and great catch up with friends who are leaving soon for Scotland, a place Wifey and I visited and loved.

And then we were supposed to go early today to Lester's Diner, blocks East of Runway 86 on SR 84. My Tampa sister and brother in law had asked us months ago to meet for breakfast before they left on a cruise out of PortEverglades. Hmmm. Breakfast an hour's drive away -- not something in Wifey's wheelhouse. But we settled on 10 am, which meant leaving here by 9, and surprisingly Wifey agreed -- we rarely get to see the Gulf Coast family -- last time was November, when we hosted a reunion. So we were set.

Ah -- not so fast. Dennis texted -- Trudy was nervous about getting onto the ship on time -- it left at 3 pm,and I knew they like to be among the first to get on ship. Could we meet at 930 instead? I called Dennis and said maybe it was better for them to simply have a leisurely morning and get to the Port without any prior appointments. One thing I avoid weekend mornings is tensosity -- having to rush around for scrambled eggs -- well -- not a critical thing. Plus, I know Wifey and I haven't gotten any prettier since last November -- seeing us in person was not something anyone needed to do. So we aborted the mission.

Wifey was up anyway, kind of early, and I asked if she wanted to go to our usual spot, Lots of Lox. She did, and so instead of an hour drive for breakfast, we had a 6 minute one. The place was happy and delicious as always -- we took a selfie of ourselves drinking coffee and sent it to the sailors -- wishing them a bon voyage. 

And then Wifey admitted an ulterior motive -- how about we head to Saks in Dadeland and get me that new wallet? The flood prevented its purchase last Wednesday -- and the Ds and Wifey seemingly will not rest until my tattered wallet is replaced.

We drove to Dadeland, and the memories came flooding back. We spent a LOT of time there when we were a-courtin,' as they used to say. The apartment complex we met was 1/4 mile North on SW 72 Avenue, and we would often walk over to the mall to hang around or eat and drink. When the Ds were little, they LOVE the simplest thing -- a carpeted circle of 3 steps where they would go up and down and do somersaults at the bottom. All the local kids loved it.

And Wifey and my first date was at Dadeland -- a fern bar called Raffles -- now a Cheesecake Factory.

The place was buzzing, as always. Nationally many malls are closing, but Dadeland has SO many South American tourists, there are always shoppers. We went to Saks, and asked a nice salesman for Cartier wallets. They had none -- and just a few small bill folds. But he suggested we try the Mont Blanc store near the food court. Alas, there was a reasonable facsimile of my wallet -- and it cost $400 -- half of that the Cartier one would have. I was happy, and chatted with the nice Colombian salesman about soccer, which I know little about, but when I told him one of my sons in law is Colombian, I had instant street cred.

In fact, said son in law and his oldest were in Naples for the soccer team Joey's brother Bob bought recently. There was a hilarious photo of our food loving grandson standing before a Dunkin Donuts counter, making a critical decision. He ended up with a jelly model...

Wifey stopped at one of the two Macy's stores for some on sale Winter clothes for Little Man, which will be handed down to Baby Man. I sat in one of the Husband Chairs sprinkled all around the store -- an excellent idea.

So the Ds and Wifey are happy -- my FD gift is done. Even though, as a comedian said: Dads are like clams. We're just THERE. You don't buy a shirt for a clam, do you?

And the plan is for us all to muster tomorrow afternoon at D2 and Jonathan's house -- for FD, such as it is. Now THAT is a trip I look forward to without hesitation...

The Bad Idea Bears

 Oh how the Ds and I love "Avenue Q," a grown up, sardonic take on "Sesame Street." Two characters are the "Bad Idea Bears," who appear and convince the other characters to drink more and take more drugs, and have unprotected sex. After we saw the show, we adopted the Bad Idea Bears as an excuse whenever one of the three of us did something stupid.

And yesterday, the Bears were in full control! The Ds and Wifey are on a futile path with me -- try to get me to dress better and have nice accessories. I am a schlub -- my chosen identification. Stuart bought me a Cartier wallet, probably in the late 90s, and I kept it a good 10 years -- until it was torn, somehow.

D1 took me to Saks in Dadeland probably on break from UF, and we found a replacement. It cost like$700, but as D1 reminded me, since I keep wallets so long, it was justifiable. And indeed, the thing is now approaching 1/4 century, and, to me, perfectly acceptable. But not to the Ds! They and Wifey are on a mission to replace my wallet. I told them NOT to get anything online -- I needed to actually see the thing that would live closest to my tuches for at least the next decade, and if indeed they ordered something online, I would open it and toss it into the pond. I am typically a nice guy, but CAN be a total asshole, when it is required.

Fine, the women said, then D2 would take me to Bal Harbor and we would visit the Cartier or Saks store there, I forget, and buy a new wallet. Bal Harbor. My true spirit animal mall. Ha. As if.

Anyway, Wifey said she would tag along, since she wanted to see the Boys and didn't want to drive herself, and so I dropped her at Casa D1 and went to D2's house. The rain was coming down, heavily. We vaguely heard something about a huge flood watch, but we ignored it. Bal Harbor was less than 10 miles away.

Well, as soon as we got to Biscayne Blvd, the water was everywhere. We should have immediately turned around, but those damn Bears were with us, and I pressed forward. Finally, in front of the Bagel Bar, on 125 Street, we decided to go home. Compounding the problem, I was also hangry -- we were going to have lunch at the Houston's in the mall, which I love. So I suggested we stop there; D2 said no -- she thought a salad from there made her sick a few weeks past. Ok -- where else to eat? Downtown Miami Shores, said D2.

We trudged through more flooding. Luckily, my man sized Caddy SUV is high up, and we didn't stall out. We got to the Shores -- all parking lots flooded, and D2 said she wasn't walking through polluted water -- we would lunch at home. We did -- she made me a fine chicken salad, and then we watched the rain.

D1 called. She had fetched Baby Man at an inter-session camp in Aventura, and was trudging through waist deep water in their lot. She fell over something -- both she and Baby Man went down -- luckily just a twisted ankle for D1. Could we fetch Little Man? We agreed, but then she got him early herself, which was smart. The conditions were deteriorating.

D2, enormous puppy Betsy, and I decamped to D1 and Joey's house -- through some more epic puddles. We were soaked -- dried our clothes in D1's dryer, and spent a lovely, inclement afternoon together. Before Joey came home, we ordered UberEats, and the question was whether it would make it. A bit late, it did, and I tipped the brave driver an extra $20 to thank him for driving through the monsoon so we could have our salads and wraps.

They put Baby Man to sleep, and Little Man got stories from D2, Wifey, and me. He is hilarious -- questioning everything we read to him, often with the mind of an engineer -- how does that fit? How does that work. I hope the Big Man gives me the years to see what his life's path is. D1 thinks either a wonderful president, or a dictator. We'll see...

Finally, near 9, there was a break in the rain, and we dropped off D2 and Betsy, and I went inside to check things out. Luckily only some water in the garage -- to be expected in an epic flood.

And our drive home was surprisingly easy -- most people had sense to be off the roads -- so it took us less time than usual.

So the only lasting damage: Jonathan had 2 flights canceled, and is still stuck in NYC. Hopefully he makes it back today, though the weather is supposed to deteriorate again later on.

And then, this am, as I was getting ready to leave for my workout, I saw we had lost a single tree -- tipped over from the excess water, I'm sure. And it fell exactly across our driveway -- we was trapped!

Wifey called our landscape guy, and I went out with an old school tree saw. I got a lot of it cut away, and was stuck on a thick branch, when Pedro appeared, as if in a Hollywood movie. He saved me from poking my eye out, or maybe cutting off a finger or two. He and his crew had the thing all cut down in about 20 minutes.

Probably they'll charge a lot, and it will be worth every penny.

Today the Bad Idea Bears are at bay. We plan to stay home and hopefully dry. No time for flooded out cars, or worse...

Adios to Vienna, The Smartest Dog We Ever Had

 Once D2 was off in college, my preference was for no more dogs. I always thought I would follow the black humor bumper sticker: "Life Begins When The Kids Move Away and The Dog Dies." But Wifey has stated that having a dog or dogs here is non negotiable -- she loves them so much.

So it was 2010, D2 was at UF, and D1 was at grad school at FIU. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and D1 came over -- and she NEVER came over Tuesdays, as I recall. It was a set up.

Shortly afterwards, our friend Susan arrived, with a small funny looking dog in tow. She was brown and looked as if she was made up of parts from different dogs -- long body, stubby legs, and a Shepherd looking head. They called her "Brown Dog." Could we "foster her" until a forever home was found. Yeah -- like I was going to Foster Wifey back in 1984 when we moved in together -- that fostering turned out pretty permanent.

The dog had been running loose near the Falls, and some of D2's friends stopped the car, and opened the door. The dog hopped right in. Wifey took her to the vet -- no chip. She put up "Found Dog" signs on both sides of US 1 and 136 Street. No calls. I think D1 realized Brown Dog was sort of sausage shaped -- and so we named her Vienna, with the constantly used nickname of Sausage.

She was perfectly trained, and quickly fit in. She had the bark of a much larger dog. She was heavier than she looked -- sort of compact despite her lack of height. We grew, fast, to love her.

She was also an escape artist -- finding tiny holes under the fence, to embark on adventures through the 'hood. Probably 10 times she was returned by neighbors -- as recently as a few weeks ago when Monica across the street brought her back, which turned into a wild drinking party.

She was incredibly smart. When Wifey left her food on a tray next to her recliner, Vienna would feign needing to go out, to get Wifey up to open the door. She knew Wifey has ADHD, and would typically go do something else instead of returning to her food. Vienna pounced on the recliner -- Wifey would return to an empty plate.

She also kept some of the street in her. Woe to the dog who tried to take her food -- even if it was 95 lb Betsy. Vienna would growl and go for her rival.

But to humans -- never -- though it was funny that she ALWAYS barked angrily at Miriam, our weekly housekeeper. Miriam would say "Ay, Vienna -- la policia!"

Vienna loved her walks with me -- sniffing all the other dogs' activities. Just last year, she and Bo, the Special needs Spaniel, somehow killed a huge iguana that had gotten next to our pool. Dogs are dogs.

In March, Wifey and I took her for her annual vet visit, and she was in perfect health, but overweight. The vet admonished no more people food! She was nearing 15, and the extra weight was bad.So we complied, and she seemed very healthy, until just a few months later. 

She HAD lost weight, but stopped her morning ritual of wolfing down her dry food. She would only eat chicken now, and we decided to honor her requests. A few weeks ago, Wifey took her to the vet, who put her on steroids. I knew the end was coming -- I have too much experience with dying dogs and humans.

Indeed, the steroids perked her up for a fortnight. She was eating again, and would actually bark a bit when the home renovation workers would visit. 

But then 3 days ago, she stopped eating. Anything -- even fresh, hot chicken from Publix. And then she stopped drinking, and the labored breathing came back. Yesterday, Wifey and I knew it was time.

Wifey even left me a text to wake her at 8 to take Vienna early. Wifey being asked to be awakened at 8 means something VERY serious is afoot -- like others asking to be awakened at 4 am.

I called the office at 8. There's an older American woman who has worked there for decades who is comically not warm and fuzzy, as you might expect from a vet's staff. At first she said the doc had an opening at 430, but then said they "would accommodate us." Nice.

So I placed Wifey in the car, Vienna on her lap, and Wifey cried and cuddled her the whole way. They took us right in, and a nice tech started an IV, and then a young vet administered the fatal doses. Vienna quietly stopped breathing. That was it.

The American woman said she was sorry and handed me a bill for $200. The final charge for Vienna.

As I write, it's a rainy day, and Wifey is sobbing. I never cried over dogs, not even "Old Yeller" when I was a boy. I wish I did.

So now we're down to Bo, the crippled Spaniel, who Wifey takes for water PT and is doing great. I plan to enjoy the simplicity of having people over and not worrying where the dog ran to, or whether she is jumping on the chair to get to the table to steal our food. That was Vienna's signature move.

She was indeed a great dog, and brought us joy. But they just don't live long enough...

Why Can't They Be Suicide-Murders?

 So in the past week or so, Miami Dade had THREE separate murder-suicide incidents. The first one a husband shot his wife and then himself, the second, in a luxury building near Gables High, the boyfriend shot his lady AND her adult son -- the son survived -- and then himself. And the latest, in West Kendall, an ex boyfriend killed his girlfriend AND her 3 year old son.

As I read the news account of this latest one, I thought I must have SOME connection to at least one of the cases -- Miami is a very small town/big city. And sure enough, last night, as Dr. Barry was driving home, he told me -- the latest victim, 41 year old Odalys, was one of his former nurses. She left his Unit a few years ago for the adult part of the hospital. Barry said she was ALWAYS smiling -- a favorite of the staff.

The news this am is that she had a bad ex boyfriend -- even got a restraining order against him -- but I guess the violent piece of shit was not hindered by the justice system. Just tragic -- the news had videos of the adorable 3 year old. Apparently Odalys was at an ATM getting cash to give as gifts for her son's pre school teachers when the POS found her. He then went back into his own vehicle and offed himself.

A dear friend says she wishes these incidents would be suicide-then can't be murders. If the miserable loser wants off the mortal coil -- fine -- but does he (usually) have to ruin others, too?

Of course, we have a connection to a particularly awful one of these -- now, I guess close to 10 years ago. Our beloved house was built by a husband and wife team, Richard and Jennifer. They had 2 beautiful kids, and moved to West Palm after we bought, in 2000. Wifey kept in touch with Jennifer, and learned on FaceBook (tm) that she and Richard had divorced. They were no longer architects -- he was a realtor, and they had major financial issues -- Jennifer -- a former lady who lunched, was forced to live in a small townhouse with her kids. The kids had both grown to talented high school musicians, and attended the very competitive Dreyfos School.

One awful morning, Jennifer decided to, I guess, extract the ultimate revenge on Richard -- she shot and killed both kids, and then herself. When we heard the news, we were stunned. Jennifer was always a bit eccentric -- but capable of killing her own beautiful kids?

When we had D2's former bedroom, now a guest room, painted, there were crayon marks left by the then pre-schoolers. It was chilling.

My family is no stranger to mental illness. My mother was one of 5 siblings, and either the siblings, or the Baby Boomer kids of them, or grandkids, had serious mental illness -- requiring hospitalization. 

But luckily, nothing as tragic as last week in Miami Dade. Actually, one of my Mom's brother's grandkids died young a few years back -- and though we had mostly lost touch -- assumed it may have been a suicide by overdose.

There it was -- no murder! 

I try to limit my doom scrolling, but being a news junkie, it's hard to avoid. I read about another tragedy close to our friends' house in Maine. A vacationing family, on a lake, was enjoying a lovely badminton time. The aluminum racket broke, as it was held by a 10 year old, and struck his 6 year old sister -- she died in the hospital Kenny works part time. I hope he wasn't on duty then.

The article quoted one of the kids asking his parents if "we will ever be happy again."

Also on our Friday Zoom, Eric and Dana were back from Hawaii, and we were laughing about how, if our late parents knew how much we spent on luxury hotels -- they wouldn't have believed it.

They're renting some luxury bungalos in Marathon for July 4, and taking all their kids and grandkids.

I told him we were taking D2 and Jonathan to LA in November for a dear friends' daughters' wedding -- and then to D.C. in March for Barry and Donna's boy Scott's simcha. Hmm -- gonna cost a LOT of money. Can we afford it?

My late boss Ed, who always traveled first class and took his family along, sagely noted that he couldn't afford NOT to go first class -- coffins have no pockets -- as my late Mom Sunny noted.

But this am I'm thinking about the family of a lovely nurse I never even met. May her surviving family somehow find peace after their grief. 

80 Years Gone By Now

 So after a few years of dithering around, and thinking the Nazis weren't THAT serious about taking over the world, the US finally realized crap was getting real. And 80 years ago today they launched, with our Brit allies, the largest military invasion in history: the Normandy Landings, commonly known as D Day.

It was a bloody mess, of course, but marked the beginning of the end of WW II in Europe. In the Pacific, it took a couple of atom bombs, which the US were careful to make sure killed no more than the number killed in Pearl Harbor -- since any more deaths would have been genocide, per the idiots protesting Israel's war in Gaza now. Oh boy.

But back to Europe. My Dad, in the Army during the War, said "Dumb luck" kept him stateside and alive. He had orders to ship out to what was to become the Battle of the Bulge, and likely would NOT have come back, but The Big Man had other plans, and here I am, sitting at a computer decades later.

I always wanted to visit Normandy, and got the chance in 2018. We traveled to France with Loni and Mike, which was excellent, as Mike knows WW II history as well as most professors. It was a trip we will always remember.

We hired a tour guide, an affable Brit from Birmingham, who was living in Normandy like many of his countrymen, since you can buy old estates there cheaply, as long as you restore them. He was wonderful -- taking us to all the important sights, and giving us a true feel of the events of the battle.

Of course, we ended the day in the famous cemetery, with the many crosses and some Stars of David marking the graves of the fallen soldiers. When you hear "Taps" played, if you don't cry, you have no feeling for America.

After Normandy, the trip was less solemn, touring much of the central and northern parts of the country, and ending in Paris. We stayed at two different districts -- the second near the Folies, which we happily attended as the tourists we were. Our hotel was a high class brothel back in the day -- the manager said it was where gentlemen met "ladies of leisure." I asked if Mike and I got a discount -- we brought our own ladies of leisure. We did not.

But man -- that Greatest Generation. I used to ask my father if he thought of dodging the draft, when he was called up. It wasn't even a thought -- he was an American man, and it was his duty. Simple as that. And it was "for the duration, " which for him ended in mid-1945, when he got to meet my sister for the first time. In 1948 came my second sister, and I  bookended the Baby Boom of my family in 1961.

And it was all because of D Day, and the bravery of those soldiers.

I'll reflect on them today, but also with some guilt -- the mess we made of this great nation. We have 340 million people, and the best we can do for President is pit an elderly narcissist against a failing nicer guy? I fear the effects of the Administrations of both of them.

Hopefully it's just the bottom of a cycle, and things get better. I have grandkids and hope to have more. I pray our nation does better in the coming years.

But for today: thanks. I think of scaling those tall cliffs I stood upon, under a barrage of fire, and knowing you just had to push forward. And they did, and we prevailed. The beginning of the end of WW II.

Ubering Around

 So Saturday evening came around, and Wifey and I were invited to the great Israeli restaurant Motek, in the Gables. We were invited to celebrate Barry and Donna's anniversary, which falls the day before Donna's birthday, so I decided the celebration was a Donnaversary. Too bad I thought of that the following day.

Anyway, I didn't plan to have more than a few drinks, and if I did, Wifey could still drive home from the Gables. But I checked Uber. The fare was $7.85. Of course, that was because I get a monthly $15 credit from AMEX, and they were applying it. But I took it as a sign.

It's really the only way to go for us. The nice driver dropped us off despite the morass of traffic on Miracle Mile. The only parking was valet, which costs $12, plus tip. 

And I never get past the fantasy that I'm Thurston Howell III, off of the island, and the Uber is my private car and driver. I step out of the Toyota like I was stepping out of a Bentley.

We had a delightful evening. Scott had flown in Friday night, and Paul was invited. Patricia, too, but she is in Europe with her sisters. We drank and feasted, and they brought some bread pudding with a candle so we could sing for Donna. She had a fine time.

There was much to discuss about next early Spring -- Scott is getting married in D.C.  I asked him to do me a big favor: only invite Wifey and me -- not the Ds and their men. He wouldn't hear of it -- the Ds and their men are his family, he said -- why exclude them? Because, I explained, while buzzed a few weeks ago I told them it was a family trip and I would be paying for all of us to fly to D.C. and stay. 

Scott had little sympathy. And he was correct. What could possibly be better than being able to pay for a trip like that.

I'm thinking we might go early, to take Little Man to the Air and Space Museum. He'll LOVE it. He's still a bit young to get the meaning of Washington, and the Baby Man will just be happy running on the Mall.

We took the Ds when they were probably 4 and 7, and though D1 enjoyed the VIP tour of the White House, thanks to our Congresswoman Ileana Ros, the main attraction for the Ds was chasing squirrels on the Mall.

There's a running tale about the Holocaust Museum. Kenny and Joelle got married near D.C. We couldn't attend on account of D2 was a newborn. Some of Kenny's relatives told him they were going to visit the Holocaust Museum, since they rarely got to D.C. from NY. Kenny and Joelle implored them to make that another trip, but they didn't. There was a table of not very happy wedding guests at the wedding -- no surprise there.

So in my dark humor style, I keep telling Scott I plan to visit as well. He knows I won't really.

Anyway, after dinner, I summoned the return Uber, and the Camry pulled up one minute later. Valet returns take 20 minutes on a busy Saturday night. Yes -- Uber me, please.

Today work continues on the 3 downstairs bathrooms. Actually on two of them -- the third will start after there's another working toilet that doesn't require a stair climb. We are so spoiled.

Wifey and I were discussing this -- many of our friends growing up on LI and Brooklyn had large families and only a single bathroom.

I remember having to pee at my friend Mark's house -- he was one of 4 kids -- plus two parents. His sister Sue, who I always liked, took VERY long showers -- I would typically pee when I got home.

On a sad note, Vienna, the strange rescue, is likely in her final days. At her last vet visit in April she was great -- in fact 5 lbs overweight. But since May she's been porpoising -- and barely eating for the past few days. Wifey's on hold with the vet -- going to take her in just to see if maybe the vet can give her something to make her more comfortable. I'm guessing steroids may help -- will increase her appetite and hopefully make her breathe more easily.

Vienna jumped into D2's friends' car near the Falls in 2010. Our friend Susan asked if we could "foster her." Wifey took her to look for a chip -- none -- and put up "Found Dog" signs all around the areal No one called. I knew this funny looking little brown dog was going to be a permanent adoptee, and indeed she is. The vet thinks she may be nearing 15, so her lifespan nears the end.

She has brought us much joy -- so we will keep her comfortable until it is time to go.

Again, my dark humor comes, in the form of the joke Cubans in Miami loved to tell as Castro got older and older. The president of Peru visited Havana, and gifted Castro a Galapagos tortoise, which live, famously, well past 100 years. Castro accepted the gift, and said to his brother Raul: "Ah --this is the problem with pets. You get close to them, and they die on you."

Hopefully Vienna sticks around, comfortably, for some more time.

Storm Season

 Today is the beginning of hurricane season, so of course memories of years past come flooding in. I moved here in 1979, and my namesake David threatened, but the only damage was hangovers from hurricane parties at UM that first semester.

But then in 1992, I learned that the crap is real. Andrew, a Cat 5, his us like a buzz saw in one of the scariest nights of our lives, with 3 year old D1, 6 month old D2, 72 year old Grandma Sunny, staying with us since it appeared the storm was going to hit farther North, and dogs Midnight, the 95 lb lab, and Alfred, the smaller cocker spaniel.

The house literally collapsed around us, with ceilings falling, and glass flying -- fortunately the garage on the NW corner of the house, farthest from the path of winds, was a refuge for us, crammed into my Mitsubishi Diamante, including, comically, the dogs. Midnight leapt in through the open window, as if to say "Ah hell nah, you ain't leaving me outside this car!" We brought Alfred in, too.

Our home was totally "mistroyed" as adorable D1 noted, and it caused us to move first to a 2 bedroom on Brickell Key, thanks to the quick thinking of our friend Linda who without asking ran to the office and secured us a unit, and later to my in laws house in  Kendale South. We didn't move back to our rebuilt house until March of 1994 -- more than 1.5 years after the typhoon.

But it was ok -- we replaced a lot of our crap with insurance money, which I turned into stock and bond holdings which we keep today, to be able to leave to the Ds when Wifey and I check out. And we ended up with a new, larger house, a rental house which caused us to meet and befriend our Rabbi and Rebetzin, and the clear knowledge that possessions are just so much flotsam and jetsam in your life.

After the Summer of Andrew, we were largely left alone until 2005, when we were living in a much more solidly built house. Near Labor Day, Katrina came through, and knocked out the power and knocked down lots of trees, and caused us to move to Mayfair Hotel in the Grove, which turned out to be a very fun stay cation until the power in our foliage heavy 'hood was restored. We partied with fellow exiles, and watched as Katrina strengthened over the Gulf, headed to New Orleans. Knowing the wrath of Andrew, I remember saying "Those poor sons of bitches," which Wifey found offensive and chided me about. Funny how marital slights remain in memory decades later...

Later that very same Fall, Wilma came, via a strange path circling back Northeast from the Western Caribbean. It loosened roof tiles and also knocked down trees, and once again the power stopped. But the after weather was gorgeous -- cool nights -- and I saw no need to go anywhere. Wifey and the Ds high tailed it to Atlanta, and our across the street neighbor Susan took her kids Marie and Patrick to Orlando. I got a room at a local hotel, just to have to take hot showers, but evenings Pat and I had a blast.

He took me to Riviera CC, his club, and when the Gables curfew hit, would relocate to Fox's, which I told him was MY CC. We sat on each of our porches drinking Middleton, and eventually singing old Eagles songs together. The sky was star filled without any lights. Good thing Pat and I had no inklings about switching teams, or it could have turned into Brokeback Mountain.

Yes -- we are both very straight, and his team is the Gators while mine is the Canes.

After that, things were pretty quiet until 2017. D1 and Joey were married in their Big, Fat, Colombian wedding on the Miami River, as Hurricane Irma was bearing down. Thankfully, she let us have the wedding, but 2 days later, with D2 and Jonathan safely back in NYC, we loaded up Joey's Ford Explorer with extra gas tanks, and 3 dogs, and left at 330 am for Atlanta.

Since Irma was on a path up the Florida peninsula like a bowling ball in a lane, it was the HUGEST exodus in history, and the typically 11 hour drive was closer to 20. Still, we made it, hosted by one friend while his wife was away on a "Special trip," and more drama was to come.

Wifey had been complaining about feeling sick, and since she often is, well, less than stoic about her infirmities, we sort of ignored her. But our host bought a thermometer and sure enough, she had a fever of 103. A called in Z pack cured her. And then Joey noticed a lump at the base of his neck, and a less than skilled Urgent Care doc was gravely concerned.

I remember thinking "REally? This wonderful young man gets married and then learns he has a life threatening disease???" Well, when the coast was kind of clear, we left for home, again in the middle of the night, for an even longer drive home under the threat of no gas, even with the supplies we had with us. 

I had sworn my trips to Gainesville were over, after 9 straight years of visits there for the Ds' combined 3 degrees, but sure enough, we stopped there for breakfast and in search of gas. Breakfast was good, but we found gas on the Turnpike near Ocala, at a station taken over by the National Guard and run VERY well.

We dropped the newlyweds home -- their power was restored -- and Wifey and I checked into a historic hotel in Downtown. After 3 nights we were evicted -- FEMA had taken it over for their crews. It made zero sense -- all their work was needed in the Keys -- quite a long way away, as I told some Guardsmen from Oklahoma who had zero idea about local directions. I bought them drinks.

Most luckily -- Joey was fine, as per Dr. Canning, our surgeon family friend -- just a fatty lipoma. Dr. Canning ended up, Richard Corey-like, killing himself the following year -- but that's another story.

Anyway, Wifey and I decamped to the Gables Hyatt, which was lovely, and spent a few nights there until our power was restored. Trees were blocking everything, but the house was fully intact.

And it's remarkable -- despite the huge tree loss, 7 years later you can't even tell, except for some bent palms above our pool. Nature abides.

So here's to a season where the cyclones leave us the hell alone. May the only Hurricanes to do damage be the ones who open the season August 31 in Gainesville -- against the Gators.

Pat and I will be watching.