Erev Halloween

 So I was in a gang, from probably 4th grade through junior high school. We were a mosaic of White Ethnic New York: Eric and I were Ashkenazi Jews, Gerry and John fully Irish, Mark of a Swedish Dad and Italian Mom, and Mike of an Italian Mom and Irish Dad. What diversity! When you grow up on Blue Collar Long Island, there is no Black or Brown. I think there was one Asian kid. Protestants were even in short supply: when you met a kid in grade school, the question was "Are you Catholic or Jewish?" The majority were Catholic.

Our gang's purpose was to have fun, with only small lapses into criminality, like the time Eric needed a part from Radio Shack and we were short the money, so several of us us distracted the nerdy clerk while Eric and Gerry pocketed the part. We thought we had gotten away with it, too, until the clerk, who my poetically licensed memory recalls actually had taped up glasses, came after us and shouted to bring the part back.

We knew there would be a dragnet looking for 5 14 year olds, so we broke up into two groups. Mark and I met 2 girls on the way home, Irish Diane and Italian Diane, and ended up dating them in a Bob Seger-esque way, though we were too young for cars.

Anyway, it seemed to us there were two holidays where bad behavior was allowed and even encouraged: July 4th and Halloween. For the former, it was pyrotechnics. We would begin gathering firecrackers by the gross (144 packs) and carefully remove each one's gunpowder to make a pile for bigger bombs. Amazingly, no one was seriously hurt, except for Eric, who I think still has some hearing loss from being too close to one of our absurd creations. Eric, who went on to become an engineer, estimated our greatest creation was as powerful as 1/4 stick of dynamite. Again -- it was dumb luck that we all made it past the stupid adolescence of boys.

And then Halloween. We would start buying eggs and shaving cream in early October. The stores got wise and stopped selling those products to young kids in late October, and month old eggs, kept outside, were properly rotten, so the egg-ee would stink as well as be sticky. It was Long Island late Fall -- cool nights, with that exquisite scent of fireplaces.

We would visit houses of "mean" neighbors, or kids who we had decided needed to have their houses egged. When I moved to Miami, I learned that "papering" was a thing -- where you would toss rolls of toilet paper into the trees -- but we never did that. The shaving cream was for girls we would run into -- teen and tween girls were NOT happy having it sprayed into their hair.

And one year, I think maybe when I was 12 or 13, I came close to death as a result of these hijinks. The cops would patrol on Halloween, and when they came upon older kids or teens, would stop and line us up. I guess it never occurred to us Nassau Countians that "profiling" or "stop and frisk" was a constitutional insult.

The cops would say in their great LI accents "Youse carrying any eggs?" and before you could answer, they'd smack all of your pockets, so that if you were a would be egger, you became an egg-ee. We were wise to this.

So on the night of near Fate for me, one of us saw a Nassau County patrol car coming up the streets, and Mark yelled "Hide your eggs!" I was standing next to a street lamp, and noticed the service panel on the base was missing -- so I put my 7 or 8 eggs inside before The Law came. Sure enough, they lines us up (in my memory the cop was named Sweeney) and we passed the egg smacking test. They drove away saying "Be good, fellas."

I went to retrieve my eggs by reaching into the lamp base, and got the literal shock of my life -- it threw me back a good 5 feet. I guess the fact that I was wearing sneakers, and it was dry, saved my life, but it was a feeling I never forgot. Years later I cringed at the thought of my loving parents getting the call about their supposedly smart son dying in such a stupid way. But I guess the Big Man had other plans.

So years later, the gang all survive. Eric became a computer engineer, married wrong and then married right, and is now mostly retired on the Florida Gulf Coast. He and his wife Jackie travel a lot -- never wanted or had kids. John is married and a retired CIA man, with a big TV show coming out next Fall about his experiences with Saddam Hussein. We've kept in pretty close touch. Mike never married, as far as I know, and lives somewhere in North Florida, a retired printer. Mark and his high school girlfriend/now wife Rita and I remain closest -- they live on Long Island and never planned to have kids, but were blessed with Joseph, who is now a young patent attorney living in D.C. and newly engaged. Gerry is the mystery, mostly. Mark keeps in touch with him -- he lives, we think in his parents' house in Seaford. He worked for TV shows in the City for awhile, but is always cagey about what he does now. I made the reference to "Spinal Tap" that Mark agrees with: some things are best left unexplained.

Tomorrow is Halloween. Wifey and I ordered candy, and will greet any trick or treaters that come our way. Our grandsons are off to an Aventura party. We meet D2 and Jonathan early Friday for our LA trip.

But the memories live on of cool nights and nearly dying ...

A Loverly Afternoon

 So I was a couch slug yesterday, watching the Dolphins lose again, although looking better while doing it than they had over the past weeks. The talented but fragile QB Tua was back -- but the team still blew the game on a last second FG. Eh. No big whoop.

D1 texted. Baby Man and Joey were going to visit Joey's parents -- would Wifey and I like to meet her and Little Man at a local park? She chose Dante Fascell Park, on Red Road -- a mere 10 minutes from us, and 30 minute driver for her, Little Man, and skittish Spaniel Lemon.

It was a gorgeous October day! I look forward to a temperature day that begins with a 6 -- probably that's not until mid November -- but it was still delightful. Little Man made friends as he always does -- a brother and sister near his age, and later a little girl also 4 who kissed him on the cheek after a game of tag. Boy got game.

We sat on a bench and happily watched. D2 and Jonathan were nearby -- visiting friends Max and his boy at Four Fillies Farm, a UM senior faculty development. It's gorgeous -- Wifey and I were there once when Shalala was president -- Four Fillies contains the UM Presidential mansion. They had Betsy. Would we care to meet? We would -- I chose Deli Lane in South Miami -- very dog friendly.

We missed Joey and Baby Man, but the rest of us had a delightful dinner -- Little Man plowed through his cheeseburger and fries, and most of Wifey and my fruit. Betsy was a serviceable foot rest, and little Lemon stayed near D1.

We all left in our 3 vehicles -- an unexpectedly nice Sunday afternoon.

This am I got in my nearly 3 mile constitutional, and poor Wifey's at the dentist. I inherited amazing teeth from my Dad's side -- his mother died in her late 90s with all her teeth. Wifey, not so much. She has been a continuous dental patient since we've met. 

This is travel week for us. Tomorrow I work out, and get my hair cut. No need for Dania to put in more gray -- plenty there already. On Wednesday I fetch Little Man at school and spend some time with him and Baby Man -- and maybe a days late birthday dinner with Joey.

Thursday I'll give out Halloween candy for the first time in years -- the past years we've been with D1 and her boys, but this year are sticking home as we leave early Friday.

And Friday -- to LAX, Big Man and AA permitting. We have dinner and drinks hosted by Mike and Loni Friday night, a 30 minute to one hour Uber ride from our West Hollywood hotel. Saturday am Canes play Duke at 9 am LA time -- I invited old law school friend Cheryl and her music maven husband Neal to watch some of the game.

Wedding is Saturday night at some old hall in a very rough part of town -- Mike has a LOT of security. I keep thinking of the great Sopranos scene where all the cars get stolen during an associate's wedding.

And Sunday afternoon -- back to the 305.

I have nostalgia for Southern California. It is where my family's modern history began -- a pretty Bronx girl took 3 cross country trains to meet her Bronx boyfriend during WW II, and my Dad was stationed in Pasadena. A base Rabbi married them, and they lived in a bungalow -- Mom worked as a secretary for the Dean of Cal Tech, and Dad kept a close watch out for Japanese invaders. He never faced any.

Mom got pregnant in April of '44, and since neither she nor my Dad had any idea when his service would end, went back to The Bronx to have my sister, in January of '45.

My Dad had few regrets in life, but one was NOT staying in LA -- he loved it there, and wondered if he maybe would have gotten a job as a writer or editor in Hollywood, instead of the salesman he became back in NYC. Who knows?

When my Mom turned 85, in 2005, I took our family to celebrate her birthday. Wifey found us a cool hotel called the Magic Castle, where magicians would stay -- right up the hill from Hollywood Blvd. We drove out to Pasadena to the Huntington Hotel, where they were married, and then found ourselves on Colorado Blvd, where we asked Mom her memories.

She said each morning she'd take a street car down from her bungalow in the hills, and have coffee at Owl Drug, a local known counter. Where was it? She wasn't sure. We were all standing in the entrance of a Gap Store, and we walked in to ask the manage if he knew where Owl Drugs was. He laughed, and walked outside to show us the tilework -- it said "Owl Drug Building." We were standing right where Mom spend many mornings 60 years before!

Mom was 85, and we knew that would be her final long trip -- she fell at Cheryl and Neal's house, and getting her on and off the plane was a mission.

But were were SO glad we had that final trip to the City of Lost Angels, as the great Jim Morrison calls the place.

And Friday -- I'm headed back for the first time in nearly 2 decades...

The Weekend At the College...

 So yesterday Canes hosted FSU, and it's a rivalry that goes back to the 50s. They play each year -- and a few times in bowl games, unlike the Gators, who dropped Canes years ago from yearly games on account of we were beating them all the time.

The nostalgia runs deep for my friends and I. In 1980, FSU was a Top 10 team, and we beat them in the OB on a tipped 2 point conversion. I recall the game nearly 4.5 decades ago like it was 2 weeks ago.

There were a series of "Wide Rights" and one "Wide Left" -- games decided by missed FSU field goals. I was at all of them -- the best was the first. I was working for Ed at the time, and he had a pilot named Tom. I handled a traffic ticket for Tom, Jr., and Tom wanted to thank me. No need, I reminded Tom -- I was on Ed's dime, but Tom insisted. Was there any place some friends and I wished to fly?

Well -- Canes game at Tally was coming up. I got tickets for Mike, Dennis, and myself, as well as for Tom and his wife. We flew up and saw the great game, and flew home the next day. It was a lovely trip.

Anyway, this game had lots of buzz. Noles are historically bad -- 1-6 after a season they were 12-0, but then lost their players to the NFL. Canes were favored big, but lots of folks wanted to go -- two guys at my gym asked for tix, as did other people. It was the first Canes sell out in awile, and Kenny was my date -- home just the day before from Maine. We realized the 65K people he was among exceeded by a LOT the number of folks he was with all Summer -- I think even Portland has fewer people. We drove up Joel, who had scored some tix with a friend.

At the stadium -- it was a cluster. They wouldn't let me turn left into my normal entrance -- a guy said to drive a mile to a light and make a U turn. Traffic was stopped. There were no cops around. I got out, moved 2 orange traffic barrels, and made my U turn. A fellow let me in, laughing. Turned out he was Eric's young cardiology partner -- we parked side by side and went to the same tailgate. It was probably good for him to know his senior partner has a scofflaw friend.

We walked and walked and finally made it to a smallish tailgate. Luckily I had brought vodka, and we tore through the fifth pretty fast.

A highlight was a visit from Jean, a friend from Building 22. She lives in Weston now -- her daughter is a UM student (Jean started having kids WAY late) and the girl came by and was delightful. We reminisced a bit -- Jean is divorced. I had met her husband years before. When the knocked down our old Honors Dorm, my friend Edee convinced me to host a party. Jean and her man, who was a federal agent of some secrecy, attended.  But alas, he is now into the ether.

The game was plodding and boring. FSU was awful, as advertised, and our defense shut them down. By the 4th quarter, we met with Joel and left -- fearing another bad traffic deal upon exiting.

Next week Canes host Duke. I already gave my tix and pass to my consuegros Ricardo and Jacqui.

We're leaving Friday am for LA -- dear friend Amanda's wedding. Game is at noon -- 9 am LA time -- so I can watch during breakfast before the wedding.

We're just staying the 2 nights -- home Sunday night. 

Jean texted me - she had the best time. She said life's been moving so fast -- buzzed at a Canes game brought her back 4 decades. Sometimes the things that pass for knowledge I DO understand...

My Doctor Gave Me 2 Months to Live. I Couldn't Pay His Bill -- He Gave Me Another 2 Months.

 I wonder why my brain always works in movie lines, song lyrics, or old Borscht Belt jokes. But it does.

Yesterday I had scheduled my telehealth visit with the affable Dr. Shah, the GI who did my colonoscopy 15 days before. The appointment was set for 330, and the patient portal isn't user friendly, so I called. I was told he'd call around 4. At 430, I was hungry, and so ordered Carrot Express to be delivered. It arrived by 5, I ate my favorite, the Legal Wrap, and I finally got the text that Doc was ready for me at 515.

He thanked me for the Scotch I sent him -- Johnny Walker Blue. I appreciate when a fellow has to go where few men have gone before -- and I figured the premium alcohol was an appropriate gift. He said he had been enjoying it with his wife, who is a Cuban psychiatrist specializing in sleep disorders. I told him I need to see her, too.

Anyway, he told me he removed 4 small polyps, 3 of which were classic benign types, and the 4th, the tiniest, indeed was considered pre-cancerous. He said the past protocol was a follow up scope in 3 years, but since he had removed the whole thing, and the protocols had loosened -- I could see him again in 5 years.

Wow, I said -- will you guarantee I will be living at 68? He laughed and assured me I would be. That alone was worth the price of the delivered Johnnie Walker Blue!

Wifey was up with the Ds -- first pilates with D2 taught in D2's house by a friend, and then off to spend time with Little Man, who we now call the world's most interesting man. After school there was Reading Club, and then golf at Miami Shores CC. He got home and was still a bundle of energy -- his much more chill brother was already winding down from HIS long toddler day of pre school and play.

Wifey came into the house dog tired, reminding me how some kids are "background children," but not our grandson. We then gave the classic Yiddish prayer against the evil eye that comes from believing you are too lucky -- though we are.

I also completed the booking for our trip to D.C. in March, for the Big, Fat, Media Wedding. Joey started the process -- booking for himself, D1, the nanny Lizeth, and the boys. They chose Row 9. I then booked for Wifey and me -- choosing Row 10. Jonathan then booked for himself and D2 -- choosing Row 20. Ha. He knows now is the time to enjoy flights without tumult. Someday...

We're MOST looking forward to it -- hopefully the cherry trees will be in blossom. We'll probably take the boys to the Air and Space Museum, and maybe Natural History to see the dinosaurs.

Wifey and I took the Ds when they were 3 and 6 -- and we got a tour of the White House thanks to the one Republican I ever supported, Ileana Ros-Lehtinen. If the Woman of Color wins, the Ds' friend Shelley can probably score us some VIP passes. If not -- eh -- we'll see the White House another trip.

And speaking of weddings, another grows nigh -- our dear family friend Amanda's, in LA. We're off a week from Friday for 2 nights in the City of Lost Angels. Betsy will be bunking with her dog friend Bodhi and his parents, and the Special Needs Spaniel will be in the tumult of D1's house --keeping company with his fellow Cavalier, Lemon.

Bo mostly sleeps -- he'll sort of be like another stuffed animal there.

And this Saturday -- fun Canes game a-coming. FSU, historically bad, is visiting Joe Robbie. My dear friend Kenny is coming home from a long Maine Summer on Friday, and he is my date Saturday. Some big tailgates are planned -- and a fun night awaits us.

Hey -- Dr. Shah gave me at least another 5 years -- time to get on with living!

But We Need The Eggs

 Today's title is the punchline of a favorite Borscht Belt psychiatrist joke: about the man who visits the shrink because he thinks he's a chicken, and the doc says he can cure him...

So last week I had one of my occasional bouts of ennui, or the blues. I'm lucky -- I never get full on depression, unlike SOME members of my crew...but I still don't like it. In my case, it typically lasts a few days, and then lifts.

I first new I was somewhat nuts back in 1982. I had a clear trigger then -- the traumatic death of my father. I spent my senior year in a sort of separate state -- I knew I was in class, for example, but I felt I was looking down on myself in class. I also had my first of what would be lifelong psychosomatic incidents -- I got chest pains.

My friend and mentor Dr. Bob, a Neurology professor, sent me to his young internist, and then a Gables cardiologist. As expected, my 21 year old self was physically fine -- just feeling the same symptoms Dad had at the end. These pains or pressures are kind enough to visit me every few Julys -- near the time when Dad died. The last one was 2017, when I had pressure instead of pain, which my brother Dr. Eric found more concerning, and made me go immediately to his friend Harry in South Miami . Harry was out, but I saw Yale, the senior guy, and his ECG showed my usual variant -- a bundle branch block. It doesn't cause harm, but makes ECGs useless in ruling out major heart issues -- Yale wanted to admit me to South Miami.

I resisted -- it was my birthday -- and so we set up a stress test for the next day. Of course, my great Blue Cross ObamaCare plan said no dice -- they would only pay if I was hospitalized -- and so I paid out of pocket like $3K. Fortunately, as Wifey and I learned right after -- I was fine.

So no chest pains last week -- just ennui -- caused this time by absorbing, like a sponge, a lot of sadness from those closest to me -- ranging from chronic illness to failing elderly mothers, to a dear banker friend fighting Stage IV breast cancer. Oh yeah -- another dear friend's daughter is fighting with her Qanon husband over their child, and I get to be involved in that, too.

Wifey tells me I'm an Empath. I read about it, and I seem to fit the profile. I thought I was doing SO WELL giving much less of a crap about most people, but I guess it's hard for a leopard to change its spots, as the cliche goes.

Luckily, it passed, and I can go ahead with being mostly Mr. Happy go lucky. As the Chairman sang: That's life.

Meanwhile, Saturday we helped Jonathan's Dad and nephew celebrate their 75th and one year old birthdays. D2 and Jonathan hosted a lovely get together -- the counter piled high with Bagel Barn Ashkenazi deliciousness. We agreed it was a good practice run for T Day -- on account of Wifey not wanting to hurt her back again by hosting, even with full caterers and party supply folks -- D2 and Jonathan have the job this year -- I'm paying, of course.

T Day is my favorite, and this year promises to be one with adorable kids running around, Betsy the enormous puppy enjoying any scraps that fall, and of course some football (the REAL kind) on TV.

Before that, D2 and Jonathan and Wifey and I are off to the City of Lost Angels for dear family friend Amanda's wedding. Jonathan vetoed staying at the wedding hotel -- right next to Skid Row, since Amanda and Daniel are cutting edge and wanted a cool venue. But Jonathan knows LA, and feared his suegra might venture out to a street person mugging -- so we're staying in West Hollywood, a 20 minute Uber ride away.

Turns out Jonathan was correct -- the rehearsal party is two blocks from the hotel, and guests were told "But please don't walk it." We shall not.

We're only staying 2 nights, but I look most forward to it. Amanda found a terrific guy -- like 5th generation Angelino -- I get "really good energy" from him to use the Southern Cal lingo.

We return to D1's 36th birthday, near T Day! Oh my -- how is my daughter nearing middle age? Because I was a child groom! Then T Day, and then in December Little Man turns 5! And Xmas Day, Wifey turns...I am prohibited from ever again mentioning her age, or the fact that she was born during the first Eisenhower Administration. Ha. I was born months after the second one ended, so I'm old as fuh, too.

So may the blues stay away -- I got too much to do -- and I'm not musically talented enough to transfer my angst to music...

Kids Are For The Young

 As I am privileged to spend time with the grandsons, I am reminded how having kids is only for the young. I know guys my age with little ones -- power to them. As for me -- no thanks, no way.

Wednesday I fetched Little Man at school, and from there to D2's house. The plan was to take him to his Padel lesson, as we had the week before. Man -- just watching him during the breaks as he runs around -- it takes a lot out of this 63 year old fellow. There was a friendly Golden Retriever there, and the dog decided to chase Little Man to get some of the banana he was snacking on. It was absurdly adorable.

From there, D2 and I dropped him at his house and spent time with Baby Man, who was delightful. And then I drove D2 home -- she had some time before heading out to a surprise party for her suegro. D2 is a font of great ideas: she poured me some Stoli Elit and ice, and some white wine for herself, and we took a cocktail walk with enormous puppy Betsy. 

From there, I met Dr. Barry. The plan was for Crust, but apparently they closed, and so instead it was La Natural, a place in a hood hard by the railroad tracks that a decade ago was only a place to buy crack cocaine, but like a lot of old Miami, is gentrifying.

We shared a Sonoma red, and some pizza. D1 suggested we get the anchovies, and we complied. We talked of days past and to come.

A recurring theme for us is how we thought we knew so much in our early 20s, and how it turned out we knew so little. But the good news: we're still learning.

I got in my nearly 4 miles of walking today, and await the start of a Zoom shabbos -- a tradition Eric and Dana started during the pandemic, and have kept up. It's nice to watch the candles lit, and the families grow.

Typically there's an after party, too -- cocktails for Eric, Dana, Barry and I . Wifey and Donna sit by quietly --as I joke -- silently judging.

Tomorrow we're invited to D2 and Jonathan's. Hopefully we'll stop in either before or after for a grandson visit. Canes are at Louisville -- I cleared watching the game with D2 and Jonathan. I think the mostly Spanish speaking attendees will forgive me...

So the time marches on, and slips away. The other day a FaceBook (tm) memory appeared -- my late Mom and me at my wedding in January of '87. She was 66 -- younger than Wifey. I recall when the dancing got a bit wild, thanks to our friend Pat taking the stage, I feared for Mom. She was a fragile, older lady and I didn't want her to fall.

Somehow 66 doesn't seem so fragile and old anymore. It all depends on, as the great Dylan sang, your point of view.

As for this Friday evening -- the point of view is just fine...

A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood

 So I had an excellent Seinfeldian "pick" of Wifey Sunday night at MIA. I tracked her on FlightAware, and saw that this flight was seamless -- the opposite of her outbound journey which took 12 hours. I was hungry, and decided to visit Latin Cafe on Lejeune, which also has now a purple sign that says "Bored Cuban." I forgot to ask why.

I got a cup of caldo gallego, the great white bean soup, and a Cuban sandwich, and ordered a sandwich pollo and a Diet Coke para llevar for Wifey. As I finished the Cuban, Wifey texted -- she was at baggage claim and awaiting her carryon with the "Miss Colombia" sash we put on in Bogota. When she was ready for pickup, I drove to MIA in less time than an Uber takes, and , unlike the angry Rasta-looking Lyft driver in Atlanta, lifted the bag for her into the back seat. She munched away happily as we drove home, and I filled her in on all the details of our family over the past week.

Locally, we're still comically in the midst of FPL's "conversion" of our power lines, as I have learned the term they use. The project began in January, and was to be done by March. Ha. As if. These clowns have been at it most of the year -- I swear some of the marking lines showing where water and cable are have been repainted 10 times.

For grins, yesterday I texted the fellow I had spoke to in May, who told me the project would be done by August at the latest. He called right away, and said "Great news! Your address shows you're undergrounded!"

Wait -- I knew MY cable, from the overhead transformer to my house, was underground. My house was built in 1997, one of the newer ones in my 50s era 'hood, and both my house and the neighbor to the South have buried supply lines. When was the job of converting the overhead lines to underground to be completed, I asked. I mean, there are concrete platforms with cables jutting out, awaiting the ground based transformers. "Oh -- I can't give you a date for that."

So the poor Mas family, who owns Church and Tower, will be forced to keep earning money for months to come, it seems. Maybe they'll make the new soccer stadium being built near MIA nicer -- so it will look better from the air when I take off -- since I plan to never visit.

But the news led to comedy this am. Not laugh out loud comedy, but the shake your head, human nature kind.

As I was on my constitutional, I met Martha, a lovely and gracious lady married to Frank. The Ds think the names Frank and Martha are hilariously Boomer, and they're right. Frank is a retired Baptist Health exec -- I like them a lot. Frank and I always talk sports -- though he's a Nats fan being originally from D.C.

Martha asked me if I knew anything, and I proceeded to tell her the less than optimistic news. As we chatted, a neighbor who I'll call Kelli, since that's her name, walked by. She's one of the young-ish Temple Beth Am Moms who always smile and seem nice, but you get the sense that her smile belies the B word. I can't put my finger on it, but it's there.

I said good morning, and Martha said "David -- tell Kelli what you've learned." Kelli's face narrowed, and she took on the affect of the great Alka Seltzer mascot "Speedy Delivery." "I can't stop. I am SO busy today -- my schedule is packed and I CAN'T hear this!!!!" I don't think she realized how shrill she sounded.

Now I have some VERY busy friends. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama are probably the busiest -- parents of 9, grandparents, involved children to older parents, involved siblings, and running a huge Chabad Center with a special needs center opening by the end of the year. In fact, we just got a VIP invite for the special macher opening, on account of we've given a lot of money, set for November. Unfortunately it's on a Wednesday, and Wifey doesn't want to miss mah jong, so she isn't going. I may try to find another date -- there's an open bar. Wifey is busy, too.

Barry is Chief Medical Officer of the biggest kids hospital in the SouthEast. Eric is a medical director of a large heart practice. My friend Norman is still trying cases like a 40 year old lawyer in his prime. Hell -- even my friend Allison has taken on a job that requires 50 hours per week.

These people are BUSY. I'm not sure how a Mom of a high school and middle school kid can be THAT busy -- but apparently she is.

Even sweet and courtly Martha noticed -- "Wow -- does she have some kind of high level Cabinet meeting in D.C.?"

So we got our chuckles for the day. I don't know -- maybe people thinking they ARE busy makes them feel elevated.

I am openly, patently, and proudly NOT busy! I used to be -- at the earlier days of my career, I worked full days, and then the nights were for rain making. Free time was for Wifey and the Ds -- I got a LOT done -- I used to joke that I did before 10 am than even the soldiers in the old US Army recruitment commercial.

So I guess that Ransom High and Temple Beth Am can rely on their critical missions being taken care of today.

As for us -- hopefully this conversion gets done before NEXT storm season. That's be beautiful.

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

 The rain falls gently this morning from my roof to the concrete tiles by my pool -- one of my favorite sounds. The special needs Spaniel Bo, not fasting this YK, gently crunches on his kibble -- another favorite sound. I'm sitting in an otherwise quiet house -- Wifey still in Atlanta, and would be fast asleep now in any event. And the time is ripe for taking stock.

The sages and rabbis tell us that's the reason for the YK season -- to ask the Big Man forgiveness for all manner of sins, and to take stock. As to the latter, I always recall the Joyce Carole Oates story "Where are you going; where have you been?" Although it's a dark coming of age tale, about a young girl, the title is so profound to me -- in life's journey it's all about our pasts and future. Of course, it's great to live totally in the moment -- something I have always found very hard to do in the absence of alcohol.

I remain in many ways my father's son. He had no use for the hocus pocus of the holiday. He had bad memories of his orthodox childhood -- made to spend hours in the shul as a boy on YK -- remembering mostly the horrible breath of the old fasting men. So he raised me to be a proud Jew and Zionist -- but eating and avoiding shul on YK was not only ok -- it was his way.

Over the years, I dabbled. First when I came to UM, Eric's family took me in, and they attended the Reform synagogue Beth Am, where there was a box of kipot labeled "Optional," since the place, even in the late 70s was SO modern, you didn't have to wear a yamalka. That became an Eric family joke -- referring to yamalkas as "optionals." I went with them, and day dreamed during the services, but do recall some cool stuff, like it was ok to golf on shabbos as long as you "knew in your heart it was a special day."

Later, under Rabbi Yossi, I DID attend. A few times, I truly felt connected with the Big Man, for some reason on Kol Nidre, the eve of YK, even though that service came historically much later than the Torah. I think it was the spooky music from the cantor that resonated with me -- comedian Lewis Black says it is the inspiration for every Alfred Hitchcock movie score.

But over the last decade or so , I came to terms that services were, to quote another great Jew, Bob Dylan -- well "it ain't me, babe." I admire all who go, but within a few moments of attending, I was late for the door. A few times I was the class disruptor -- whispering jokes to my seatmates, drawing the rolling eyes of Rabbi Yossi. 

Nah -- better that I stay home, where some years I watch some online services.

Still, since 1987, I have heeded the admonition of a long lost acquaintance, Ronnie, a wealthy South American Jewish broker who was married to Wifey's co-worker Kathy. We were couple friends, and one year we were discussing the upcoming Days of Awe. I told Ronnie that I worked on RH and YK -- I wasn't at all observant, so why not?

Ronnie grew stern, and told me how wrong that was. I was a Jew, and these were the most important days. If I wanted to avoid shul, or eat -- that was my call -- but to go work in public -- well that disrespected our people. He was correct, at least for me -- I never worked a high holiday after that.

Ronnie and Kathy are long divorced, and years ago Kathy dated one of Paul's friends which led to a hilarious story totally inappropriate for YK, so I shall save it for another, maybe alcohol fueled, time...

Anyway, most Jews are what I call buffet Jews -- we walk along the line of the religion and take what we choose. One of my more holiday observant friends has a son off in Chicago today -- preparing for a marathon tomorrow. The young runner explained to me that he of course needed to eat before the big race, but planned "not to eat anything he enjoys." I applaud his creativity. 

I did my own Tashlich the other day -- the custom of casting off one's sins symbolically as bread crumbs, but tossing them into water. I went to my pond, and tossed some bread crisps Wifey had stored in the fridge for company, telling the Big Man what I was doing. The fish and turtles seemed to heartily enjoy this act of repentance.

So for today, I will say I'm sorry -- just not as thoroughly as the prayer books for YK. Those are creative about the different kinds of sins we commit -- ones we run to commit versus ones we commit sort of unintentionally, for example.

And I plan to do a LOT of taking stock, in the quiet of my blessed home. I still think each day how fortunate I am. I hear the lyrics of the newly deceased Kris Kristofferson and his "Why me?" I leave out the Jesus part when I play it in my head.

I'll leave early for Miami Shores, and spend a bit of time with D2 and Jonathan, and Betsy the enormous puppy. They'll be headed later to a break fast hosted by Judy, Jonathan's truly matriarchal grandmother. I was invited, but as my late mother Sunny noted, you only have ONE tuches and it can only be one place at a time, and I had already agreed to attend Joey's brother and sister in law's break fast.

I spoke to Bob yesterday. Though proudly Sephardic, he said there would be bagels and lox, the soul food of the Ashkenazim -- we agreed that though Sephardic food is often better, nothing like bagels and lox to break the fast...

I hope to spend some quality time with the grandsons -- at the very top of the Sugar Mountain of my absurd blessings -- the joy and energy those 2 boys have brought our family is really something else.

And so my wish for all this YK is discovering some meaning -- however small or large it is. Our time here is so short -- seems silly to NOT savor each moment, recalling where we've been, and where we hope to go.

Crying Wolf

 Somehow forecasting technology for hurricanes seems no better than it was in the early 90s. Milton was a storm that formed right in the Gulf, and the geniuses couldn't even pinpoint landfall, the time, or effects for the rest of the state.

Here in Miami, schools were closed yesterday and today. I went to workout this am -- my gym shuttered tight, on "concerns with the power." Meanwhile, the skies are blue and it's a beautiful day here!

At D1's yesterday, Joey asked if he needed to move the patio stuff inside, as we were under a "Tropical Storm Watch." I told him no, and luckily he didn't waste time on it. D2 and I had dinner plans with Dr. Barry -- he canceled thinking there would be torrential rains. It barely rained.

Luckily, D2 and I still had a fine dinner, at Pinch Kitchen, right after we dropped off Little Man from his Padel lesson. Leave it to D1 -- even when school's canceled, she keeps those boys totally busy.

Milton was supposed to hit near Tampa at midnight or after. When I got home from dinner with D2, I turned on the TV to learn it had made landfall around 830.  It also hit a good 75 miles South of where the storm junkies were saying -- "Tampa is about to get ruined!!!!!" Tampa didn't get ruined, fortunately.

I totally understand. It's about ratings, and when a storm stalks, ratings shoot through the roof. People watch the news when they're scared or anxious. Absurd.

So next time, I'll stick to our protocol. If we're in the cone of a Cat 3 or above -- we gone. Even if the storm misses, we'll miss out on all the tensosity of the waiting. As the late, great Tom Petty said -- that's the hardest part!

Instead of my workout, there'll be a long walk. Wifey's probably sleeping in at her undisclosed location -- she called me at 11, and I was long asleep by then.

Later this afternoon, I have my second visit to Fox's in 2 days -- meeting some friends for some adult beverages and food. We'll toast the lack of effects.

The media are something. Even today, with blue skies and no wind, the ginners up of anxiety were saying Miami may "still get strong winds." Not here. The skies are as calm as my sleeping Special Needs Spaniel.

I used to share space with a criminal defense lawyer named Mark. He was single, and had a condo on Brickell. At the first mention of storms, he was on a plane somewhere far -- like Chicago or NYC. He used to explain he wanted to avoid all the annoyance. Of course, he had no kids or grandkids to worry after -- not even a pet -- so fleeing for him was easy.

But I always thought his approach was the smartest.

Hopefully now the media can shift back to the election. I can ignore that, too -- I already sent in my mail in ballot -- so the die is cast from me.

It's always something...

Wifey's Big Adventure

 Well, for Wifey, getting to ATL became a new version of "The Out of Towners." I dropped her off at MIA at 145 -- plenty of time to check her bag and get on her 4 pm flight. Until...

They boarded, and then it occurred to someone at AA management that the captain was over hours. They had to wait for a replacement -- landing, apparently, from Qatar. I guess he was vacationing.

The relief pilot boarded, and they pushed back -- taxied to the runway. But wait -- they needed more fuel because of the inclement weather -- so back to the gate. And then, while their, they picked up a mechanical problem -- everyone off the plane for a replacement!

They got the new plane, and Wifey was boarding. She asked about her checked bag -- and was told probably they'd have to deliver it. No worries. But as Wifey got near the aircraft, an announcement came -- everyone make way! Paramedics and cops were coming -- a passenger had, apparently, a psychotic/medical episode -- had vomited, and was being combative about deplaning.

So there came the authorities and removed the probably drug addled passenger -- followed by a hazmat team to clean up the vomitus.

D1 chimed into the family chat this was her fear -- aerosolized vomit on a plane -- highly contagious -- or maybe containing fentanyl...

Finally Wifey took off near midnight, and arrived in ATL to begin the search for her bag.

Wifey is probably the least tolerant of my politically incorrect, maybe some would say racialist, jokes. But she encountered 5 people of color who were, she said, almost comically mean and angry towards white folks. She went to enter the room of lost baggage and was barked at: "One of y'all at a time!" The others slinked away, afraid, but Wifey said "Well I guess I'm the one." She said the employee scowled, and barked that "Your bag in Miami!" until "Your bag on carousel 8." Amazingly, Wifey found her bag -- the only one pathetically circling, alone.

Next came the Lyft driver -- surly the whole drive, and when he got to Wifey's destination, popped the trunk. Wifey asked if he would lift it out for her -- her bags tend to be heavy with too many winter clothes heaven forbid the temps drop below 60. He shook his head.

I fell asleep around 11 watching the death news about Milton. Wifey finally made it around 2 am. Hopefully her return on Sunday will be less eventful.

Meanwhile, local media is enjoying the Milton frenzy, even though the most we may see is some rain and a few gusts. I remember Hunter S Thompson used to call Neil Frank, the Hurricane Center Director, a "storm junkie."

He was dead on -- these weather nerds LOVE to try to scare anyone in the state.

Not me. My storm plans include my bachelor dinner move tonight -- sushi at Sea Siam at the bar, where the long time server knows me and greets me as "the second coolest Jewish guy from Levittown." I explained to her that Lou Reed was number one, I'm second, and Billy Joel is third. 

Tomorrow my plan is to drive to the Ds' hood -- school is canceled, and I will hang with Little Man and Baby Man. I'll bring the special needs Spaniel, just in case the weather indeed deteriorates and I need to spend the night in Miami Shores. I doubt that will happen.

As the great Bob Dylan sang: "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." And so it will be tomorrow -- it'll storm, or it won't. I guess we'll see...

The Charged Air Of A Monster Storm

 Any of us who hunkered down through Hurricane Andrew in 1992 have SOME form of PTSD -- I know I do. Helene was nasty, but strange -- did lots of damage up in the Carolinas, and was less powerful. I wish I was a better person about that, but my FaceBook (tm) is littered with folks asking for help who had damaged VACATION homes. I realize plenty of people are suffering, but I figure if you can afford a second expensive house in the mountains -- you can fix your own damned state.

Anyway...there's a CAT 5 brewing in the Gulf -- the comically named Milton. And the way that one seems on a straight line to Tampa, like Andrew was on a straight line to Miami, is, to use a word I despise, triggering me. I wish everyone in the path well.

Meanwhile, ahead of any outer bands we may see from Milton, there's another tropical system just off the Miami coast causing a LOT or rainfall. The thinking is that will saturate the ground, on top of heavy rains we already had all weekend, and cause flooding.

Also, we're at the edge of a Tropical Storm Watch, and so Miami and Broward and Palm Beach schools closed Wednesday. It just puts more tensosity in the air.

I figured one of our family was fleeing the nervousness: Wifey. I dropped her off at MIA at 145 for a 4 pm flight to visit a close friend. Alas -- that flight was not to be -- first a relief captain had to be called, and then there was a mechanical issue.

The weather is rainy, but nothing else, and as I write, Wifey is off the plane awaiting a replacement one. She checked her roller, on account of I am always the one to stow it above the seat for her, and she didn't want to have to ask a stranger to do it.

I'm guessing she DOES leave -- probably in a few hours -- and her bag will have to be delivered to her friend's house tomorrow or the next day.

Again -- tensosity. 

Compounding things more, a friend is upstate today for her daughter's divorce hearing. She is leaving a Qanon creep, and my friend had some worries about his possible violence. The hearing was set for 130, for 1.5 hours. When I didn't hear by 430, I started calling and texting. Nothing. I called her best friend. Message.

My paranoid brain started seeing scenes of domestic court carnage. Finally, the daughter texted -- my friend's phone was broken -- they would call me later on with a re-cap.

I chalk all this up to the charged ions ahead of Cat 5 Milton. I wish I drank alone -- tonight would be a good one for some Stolis. I'll wait for a few days -- hopefully dinner with one or both Ds Wednesday night, assuming Milton doesn't jog South and become more than a nuisance.

The latest reports show the opposite -- the Cone of Death, as we storm vets call it, has shifted Northward -- better for us -- catastrophic for Tampa proper.

Those poor souls.

On the way to the airport, Wifey and I were reminiscing about our Andrew days. D2 was just starting to walk, D1 was in preschool at Beth David thanks to a mercy exception by the registrar.

We learned we really didn't care about any possessions -- we bought new crap over the years, and it's so much crap.

But the thought of rebuilding a house at our age? No thank you -- if we got "mistroyed" again, as D1 adorably malapropped, we would sell and rent a condo or house somewhere.

Hopefully that doesn't happen -- one Cat 5 was more than enough. We have that strong protocol -- it we're ever in the Cone of Death for a Cat 3 or above -- we're out of Dodge -- a caravan of SUVs with Millennials and babies and dogs.

Meanwhile, for those being stalked by the monster -- may the Big Man lesson its impact.

And So This Is RH --- And What Have You Done?

 So Wifey and I were off around 1, so she could meet D2 and 2 friends for at home pilates -- while I sat in the lovely office, occasionally visited by enormous Betsy and tiny Lemon. The latest routine is that D1 drops off her skittish Spaniel, and he and Betsy spend the day together -- very happily.

At 330, D2 and I loaded the 2 dogs into the car, and it was off to fetch Little Man at school. We brought him to D2's house, and let him enjoy a few gummies and "Tia D2 coffee," which is steamed milk, as he watched "Nightmare Before Christmas," which he loves -- he sings along and dances to some of the songs.

I was suffused with such a peaceful, easy feeling -- the dogs napping, Wifey on her phone per usual, and D2 and her nephew on the couch.

Around 530 we left for D1's house, and the fun of Baby Man -- the two boys were gussied up for the RH dinner. We arrived at my consuegros, and Jackie, who only drinks when I'm there, asked if I wouldn't mix us some RH cocktails? I would, and we toasted the coming year as the guests arrived.

Sephardim do a small seder at RH, and we each read a bit of the symbolism -- much of which is the hope for a sweet new year. Joey's brothers and sister in law and her Mom and other kids were there, as well as Jackie's BFF since age 5, with her jovial, retired Marine officer husband. He's Cuban Catholic, but has become totally encased in the world of Colombian Jews -- we chatted about world affairs, and made sure neither of us were carrying pagers. He had experience with Mossad, he said, back in the 70s -- he said they were indeed a different breed.

We drank, and ate, and laughed. The kids ran around outside. Baby Man went home with nanny Claudia, for sleep. Around 10, we all dispersed -- a lovely way to ring in 5785 -- with the requisite jokes about it being Passover and still writing 5784 on our checks.

I drove us home, and discussed Wifey's upcoming trip to Atlanta -- she's making me a bachelor for a week. I told her Dr. Barry had brought up whether I might ever reconcile with her host -- I assured Wifey it was NEVER going to happen.

Indeed, as I age, I take a much harder look about who to leave in, and who to leave out, and there are far more of the latter. Each day is simply too precious.

Can I forgive peoples' actions based on their mental illness, Barry enquired? I can, but that doesn't mean I have to endure them -- other than truly inner circle members of my life.

Today I plan to tune into some online services -- at least hear the shofar blow virtually. I know I'm supposed to gather with my peeps on these days, and I did, for many years. But inside, I was always late for the shul door -- some parts of my Dad's issues with organized religion remain deep seated.

But I will also saunter over to the pond out front with some breadcrumbs, and toss my sins to the koi, cichlids, and turtles. Hopefully the water doesn't boil.

Debating The End Of The Year

 Ah -- the pleasure of living without an enormous neoplasm hanging over my head! I much prefer it to the opposite.

So yesterday I met my trainer J, who is dealing with a stubborn, failing father -- a retired surgeon. Poor guy is 74 (the Dad, not the trainer) and has had 2 strokes and an MI and is in a wheelchair. He checked himself out of the ritzy rehab at UM, and my poor man was going to meet all day with his mother and advisors about the fellow's future care. Since Wifey and I have experience with 3 of these declining before death parents, I was able to share some wisdom -- the bottom line of which it sucks and it gets worse. I told J to plan small future periods -- not long term. When an aging parent is in decline, parts move rapidly, even though the parent doesn't.

And it occurred to me, I HAVE arrived at old age. Last week: my retina guy. Monday: colonoscopy. And today, blood draws, ECG, breath tests, and all limb blood pressures ahead of my annual physical. And boy do I have white coat syndrome. The nurse Monday was threatening to cancel the procedure since my BP was 180/110. Luckily Dr. Shah overrulled her -- my heart and O2 were fine. 

Sure enough, in the calm of today, my BP was 130/80. It's always something.

Last night we had Ronni over to watch the boring VP debate. We brought in Wu's Kitchen, and I poured Ronni a few cosmos, and myself a few plain martinis. We spoke of politic and Israel. Ronni is a long time Republican, but will NOT vote for Trump. She's going to hold her nose and vote for Harris. That made Wifey happy. As for me, I'm over it -- have been for awhile.

I got a call from my California sister as I walked --upset about the Iranian missiles hitting Israel. Last time we spoke, it was clear her Israeli politics are aligned with The Squad -- I ended up livid. So this time I said "Turn the channel, don't worry about it, and unless and until you really take the time to learn the history of Zionism and Israel -- let's avoid the issue. She agreed.

It's funny -- from my parents' 3 kids, only I have a strong Jewish identity. I'm only somewhat observant, but as today starts Rosh Hashonah, I take it seriously.

We're supposed to take stock of our lives during these Days of Awe. I plan to -- I can't change the where have I been part, but I can affect the where are you going?

We're headed to D2's in the afternoon -- Wifey and D2 do pilates with a friend who teaches it at home. I'll fetch the Little Man at preschool, and then we head to Jackie and Ricardo's for RH dinner. D2 and Jonathan are celebrating with his family -- the pull between Venezuela and Colombia.

But the plan is we have our own post RH dinner Friday -- at the Palm. There'll be a NY strip awaiting, I'm sure. I'd rather eat there than a Michelin starred place any time.

So I wish all a sweet and healthy new year. May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year on this wonderful, crazy planet.

Nothing is guaranteed. So while the party is on -- I plan to savor each moment of it.