Who By Fire? Who By Water?

 So the dark side of my soul, often overpowered by the lighter side, was inspired today to prepare for the coming New Year by listening to Leonard Cohen's "Who By Fire?" Of course, his masterpiece is written based on the Rosh Hashonah prayers, where Jews are asked to ponder who shall live in the coming year, and who shall not be included in the Book of Life. And the prayer is kind enough to further question the method of death for those whose destiny will be to no longer join us on this mortal coil.

The song is terrific, but very different in tone from the typical Anglo Saxon Auld Lang Syne we sing on New Year's Day. But both are, of course, reflective -- questioning loss as well as gain.

I've been dealing with a night cough, courtesy of Little Man, who we slept with last Monday and Tuesday nights. Friday night I had it, too, but luckily it's one of those "sounds worse than it is" viruses -- I did a Covid test yesterday just to insure I can be around people -- it was clearly negative. It's definitely going around, my trainer Jonathan told me he's been battling it for nearly 2 weeks, and son in law Jonathan had it for awhile before he finally called his doc and got a Z pack -- it cleared up. Of course, Dr. Barry, detester of un-needed antibiotics, would opine that Jonathan's recovery was coincidental to the Z pack. He's probably correct -- but if the cough is still around Friday, I'll probably call Dr. Rigo for one as well -- no fun waking up from a sleep for this stuff.

So as I'm typing, a hard rain's a-fallin outside -- hopefully bringing another cold front to give us some firepit weather early in 2025. I so enjoy sitting outside at night -- martini or hot herbal tea in hand, looking skyward and letting the Big Man's gloried existence fall down upon me.

There was a great photo that came up on FaceBook (tm) memories of last year -- a group of us together. Since then, one of those included is in a nursing home fighting to walk again, a few others have aged past wanting to travel anymore, and others have had major life changes, too. Yep -- life moves pretty darned fast.

Our plan is to leave here early for Wifey to pick up some prescriptions she "as always left for the last minute." She is SO quirky -- when I have a scrip due, I order at least a month in advance -- but that's not the way Wifey rolls. I have a feeling the pharmacies may close early, and she'll have to survive until January 2.

From there, we're headed to the Gables to meet Barry, Scott, Donna, and Sam -- for a cocktail before dinner. Their younguns are headed to a get together in Broward, and the old-uns are having dinner at the Gables Motek. Wifey and I are off to Joelle and Kenny for dinner -- and likely home well before 2025 is upon the Eastern US time zone.

I think we have tentative plans to see the grandkids and their parents and tia and tio on Friday -- also Wifey and my 38th anniversary. I can't think of a better way to celebrate what the plan was back in January of 1987 -- build a life together with kids and grandkids.

Wifey and I are both orphans for quite awhile now, so thankfully the efforts are to the young. I joke all the time that I am openly anti-old people. It's wrong, I know, especially since we're nearly there.

We got a call from Wifey's friend Sheryl from Boston -- Wifey's friends, with one exception, all call ME, since Wifey rarely answers her calls or texts. Sheryl suggested we meet for dinner Thursday -- were we up for it? Of course. And then she strategically mentioned that her 90 year old mother was coming along!

Now, the lady is nice enough, but I kind of feel like I served my time in the caring for oldsters army -- Sheryl knew if she proposed dinner with the nonogenarian, we might have had a conflict. Classic Sheryl -- backed us into a corner. I'm sure it will be a lovely evening -- but I much prefer the young to the old.

So I'm already preparing crankiness for the new year. That's a bad sign -- but maybe good. 5 years ago, using my English 101 level skills for symbolism, I thought that 2020 was going to be the "year of perfect vision." And then came Covid! So maybe planning for less than stellar can be a positive thing.

Regardless -- here's to a 2025 of great health and laughter. And may the answer be NONE BY Fire, and NONE by water...

Slouching Towards 2025

 So Friday night we met Dr. Barry and family in Doral -- to celebrate Scott's 28th birthday, at Basilico, which is precisely halfway between our 2 houses. It was a lovely night -- all aglow with excitement about the upcoming March Big, Fat, D.C. Media Wedding, as I have labeled their nuptials. Scott and Sam were leaving early Saturday to watch the Canes in the silly Pop Tarts Bowl in Orlando, which they lost in a very silly way...

When Little Man was with us Mon- Wed, I noticed he had a night cough, and, sure enough, now Grandpa Dev has the cough. No biggie -- one of those URIs where I sound worse than I feel -- but hopefully it clears up by the end of this year -- no fun coughing into martinis.

I spent yesterday dodging our cleaning lady Miriam, here on Saturday instead of Wednesday since she was visiting family in Nicaragua for the Navidad holiday. I watched the game alone up above the garage, and then Wifey and I ordered Publix Instacart with delicious Pub Subs for dinner -- but they did NOT bring them, and so Wifey and I were forced to tear apart a rotisserie chicken like hungry hyenas. 

Today it's raining, and the Ds and their men are busy, and so the day holds home errands for me -- changing AC filters and flushing out/chlorinating the drain lines, and then probably the last Dolphins game at 4. They're still technically alive for the playoffs, in the way Karen Ann Quinlan was alive -- but Tua the QB looks unable to play, and the Fins should go down in Cleveland.

I still check FaceBook, but no longer comment on it, on account of a scare with mentally ill former relative I mistakenly contacted, and the memories came up today --a bunch of fellows last year at Gulfstream drinking martinis as we lost at horses, and 2 years ago Barry, Norman, Donna, and Deb with Wifey and me at Joe's. It struck me how much changes in a mere 2 years.

Also, it's Eric's birthday, and one of our all time favorite pics popped up -- from December of 1986. Wifey's bridal shower was at packed Victoria's Station in Dadeland, a restaurant located in old railroad cars, an in attendance were 3 groups of ladies: Wifey's mother's friends, all Holocaust Survivors, my mother's friends, all American Jewesses out of "The Nanny,", and Wifey's friends, modern (ish)20 and 30 somethings.

For reasons still unexplored by therapy, I got the inspiration to crash said party with most of my groomsmen -- in drag. Dr. Barry was up at UF Med school and was spared, but Eric, Mike, Jeff, and Mark all took part. The event was the source of MANY funny anecdotes -- like Mike and I, in our new lawyer suits, walking into the McCrory's on Flagler Street and asking the middle aged Cuban clerk for bras and panty hose for ourselves, and the clerk saying, deadpan, "Oh -- you need Queen Sized," which we bought, realizing we were not the first men to buy this stuff.

Eric took the lead, wearing one of his mother's dresses from 50s Brooklyn, which kind of looked like drapes, and I had borrowed a T shirt from my moot court partner Donna, a Wellesley grad whose shirt said "A Wellesley Woman is MORE Than a Woman." We invaded the outside patio party, falsetto voiced, and the reaction was truly tri-partate. Wifey and my mother's friends fell over laughing -- my suegra's crew were shocked -- was Wifey marrying some kind of deviant? Of course, listening to the rapid Yiddish explanations added to the hilarity.

Anyway, today I sent Eric a pic of the two of us in drag, and he noted that DEI really DOES work --2 ugly transvestites from the 80s ended up successful fathers and grandpas.

I like to take stock at the turn of the year -- both Rosh Hashonah and the secular one. What to leave in, as Bob Seger sang, what to leave out.

As the decline and disease of people we care about rear their heads, I figure the only thing to reasonably do is double down on what I love: sharing great times with my sacred family and friends. Those not inner circle get courtesy, but nothing more -- not enough mental real estate, to use a new term, to let them exist there.

So the plan for NYE involves again the Big, Fat, D.C Media Wedding prep. Barry and Scott have a tux fitting on Miracle Mile, followed by dinner at 6 at Motek. I plan to Uber over and have a few cocktails with them, and then Wifey can fetch me there to head to Joelle and Kenny's, $150 gift bottle of wine from broker friend Pat in tow.

We'll toast, and hopefully laugh, and make it home to go to sleep on faith -- that 2025 indeed comes while we're out. Or maybe we'll watch the Big Orange raise -- the Miami  party at Bayfront Park tends to be cooler than the one in Times Square.

But the time grows short -- to another milestone. Hopefully I get to pass many more of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Much For Avoiding "Advice"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Lessons of Joseph

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Pleasant Valley Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow -- 2025 is just beckoning...

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

The Big Oh-5!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big Brunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After Parties

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Set Of Law School Finals, January of 1984

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Lives Are Like Candles In The Wind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But to laud him as a hero?

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

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

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

The Picaro Grandson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Low Tech/No Tech

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Passages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid A-F-Ing Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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