Switched At Birth

 So it was a lovely Sunday. D1 and the boys and Lemon the Spaniel and Betsy the enormous puppy and her Mom D2 came by in the afternoon -- leaving D2 and Betsy and taking the boys and Lemon to Coral Reef Park for a playdate. D1 texted when she was on her way back, and I ordered Anthony's Coal Fired, and everyone sat around munching on pizza and wings and meatballs and salad. The happy, well fed crew left, and Wifey and I settled in to watch some "Mobland," and English themed Sopranos, and then headed upstairs for the season finale of "White Lotus" which has become our go-to show.

After it ended, and we discussed the fates of the spoiled rich white people infused with some Buddhist wisdom, I depressed myself a bit reading about today's stock futures, which may well portend another Black Monday. Truth is, since I am my Dad's son and never really trust the Stock Market, the losses will not affect our daily lives (if savings and muni bonds tank -- uh oh!), but still, it's no fun to watch my Merrill Balances tumble from the heights. Hopefully they bounce back, like they did from our first Black Monday.

That was 1987, and Wifey and I opened our first brokerage account, with Ronnie, a Drexel Burnham guy who was Wifey's co worker Kathy's husband. They were SO much richer than we -- huge house in Pinecrest -- wedding at Grove Isle -- BMWs. Ronnie was smart, a South American Jewish guy who had gone to Bentley, I think, and Wifey and my total life savings, other than our house which had small equity, was $9K -- my IRA with $2K, and Wifey's with $7K. We opened the accounts in late September, and took a trip to D.C. to visit Wifey's friend from FSU Dolly. When we toured the Capitol Building on Monday, I noticed most of the Congresspeople were gone -- later, in a Pub, I learned why: Black Monday.

We returned to find our $9K nest egg was worth probably less than $7K. I freaked, but Ronnie told me to stay the course, and I did, as an investor, ever since. Of course, Drexel went out of business, Ronnie and Kathy divorced, and we lost touch. These days, I'm happy when a monthly AMEX bill is close to $9K -- so things have changed, a lot. Hopefully Trump doesn't push us totally into a depression this time --I'm getting too old to do manual labor. No -- I AM too old to do manual labor.

Anyway, I kept reading online, and I came across an article about a guy my age named Kevin McMahon, born in Queens at Jamaica Hospital minutes after another baby McMahon was born there, and, sure enough, it turned out the babies were switched! The other baby was named Ross.

Ross ended up having a great childhood, with a loving family, but Kevin's father and paternal grandmother always treated him like the proverbial "red headed stepkid." They KNEW he wasn't their biological kin - -he was much darker in eyes and complexion -- and abused and treated him awfully. Grandma always suspected that her daughter in law had had an affair, and convinced her son of that, and so poor Kevin suffered his entire life.

His sister learned the truth through genetic online testing -- it showed she had a full brother -- the REAL McMahon, it turned out. All 4 parents are dead, and Kevin is suing Jamaica Hospital for the mix up -- he ended up doing ok, it seems, and he has met his biological siblings.

Of course the awful part of the story is how badly Dad and Grandma treated him just because they FELT he wasn't biologically connected. Ross McMahon was the one who lucked out -- he ended up with the loving, accepting family, even though he was the only blue eyed blonde.

These stories will only increase as more people get the DNA tests, although I suspect most of the "scandals" will be more of the great reggae song variety: "Your poppa not your poppa but your poppa don't know."

This caused me to reflect: maybe I was switched at Long Island Jewish Hospital in July, 1961, and truly belonged to one of the elite Ashkenazim from The Five Towns, or Great Neck, instead of my middle class family from Glenn Oaks. Hmm..I could have been handed everything, instead of working from age 12 to, really, about 5 years ago -- I STILL work, though only very part time. Hell -- I just assumed the role of private counsel for a good doctor friend being sued who has no insurance -- though Norman is the one getting paid and will do the real defense...

But I'm glad the way things worked out. Had I been to the Great Neck Manor born, maybe I'd have become a total douchebag, and instead of making the great friends who went to UM on scholarship, had MORE douchy friends who went to places like Duke. I might be still running my Dad's company...who knows?

All I know is, the luckiest part of my childhood is that I always felt PLENTY loved, and a strong sense of belonging. As I grew, my older than the others Dad and I became truly best friends. I loved and adored him so. Plus, I look a lot like him -- so pretty confident LIJ got it correct.

Another week begins. Speaking of UM, Wifey and I had planned to attend UM's Centennial, with open house and a concert by Music School alums, with Kenny and Joelle, neither of whom are alums. But when I told Wifey there'd be lots of walking -- she opted for Door #2 -- just dinner with our dear friends. And that's fine with me. I'll just plan on attending the Bicentennial...

Psychological Ozempic

 So during the first years of the Pandemic, I lost a LOT of weight --probably a good 40-50 lbs. My appetite was low, and I walked miles per day -- often 10 -- to fight the anxiety. During one of our "distance walks," Kenny took a photo of me to show how much thinner I was than a few years earlier, when we traveled to Sonoma County for Kenny and Joelle's 25th wedding anniversary celebration.

The anxiety came from the unknown -- would our baby, first born grandson survive this awful disease? Would the kids? I had a constant low level of queasiness that kept me from eating -- and the weight loss was needed.

In January of 2021, Wifey had her stroke, before she was able to get the Covid jab, and my anxiety increased. I knew she would survive the stroke -- would Covid in the hospital or in patient rehab, where she spent 3 whole weeks, get her? 

Thankfully, Wifey survived and recovered, and by 2022 or so it became clear that Covid was largely the "Boomer Remover" the pundits thought it might be -- taking, mostly, older folks. My appetite returned to it's typical fraternity boy levels, and my walking, though never ceasing, went back to 3 miles per day. The weight, not surprisingly, came back.

Well, the psychological Ozempic is back -- a series of life events have me dealing with existential changes, and the weight is coming off again. Wifey noticed it the other day -- I was wearing shorts I had retired in 2023 or so -- and I guess it's a positive unintended consequence of anxiety. Hey -- if the The Donald keeps up the craziness of his presidency, and drives us to a true Constitutional Crisis, or even Civil War -- I may become as svelte as I was in college, law school, and about 5 years after -- my pants were 32 waist size or lower. 

Meanwhile, I dealt with another silly phobia yesterday: tech. My IPhone, which is with me like a pacemaker to a heart patient, is, or was, a IPhone 11, which I got in 2017, from the Verizon store Downtown while Wifey and I were still Hurricane Irma refugees. The phone worked, except the battery wasn't lasting, and I was SO opposed to upsetting any tech carts, I took it to the Apple Store on Xmas eve and had the battery replaced -- that was nearly 2 years ago. 

But we have a Euro trip planned for late May, and I didn't want my ancient phone dying over there, so yesterday I steeled myself and visited the Verizon store on 104th St and S Dixie. It was 1030, and the place was empty, except for 2 salespeople -- I went up to Juan. I told him I thought it was time to get my free upgraded phone, and he asked if the one I had worked, and I said it did, but when he took it from me and saw it was an 11 that was 8 years old, he laughed and said indeed it WAS time to replace -- many of the Apps I use didn't work well with such an ancient piece of equipment.

I asked if they had a service where you could pay and have them transfer all your date, and he said yes -- it was $29.95 and I would need to stay in the store 1.5 hours or so. I did, and Juan got 'er done, while we talked of our lives -- he was born and raised in Cuba, came here at 25, and is now turning 40. He is no fan of the Communist government -- he told me even what USED to be good about Cuba -- like the doctors, no longer are -- no money to even run med schools correctly.

Somehow the time flew by, and I walked out with my new IPhone 16, which works just like the old one did, with some spiffy upgrades. The Ds called on FaceTime returning from Miami Beach, and I learned I could hit an emoji and fireworks or balloons or rain would appear in my image. They laughed at first and then told me to not use that with anyone else, lest they make much fun of me...

Of course, I had to reinstall Facial Recognition with some of the Apps, and of course no longer recalled user names or passwords -- but I spent a lot of this am after my long walk getting THAT done. So I'm back -- even bought all the new chargers the newer phones require.

So the phone lasted 8 years -- Juan's manager came by, I praised Juan to him, and he said "Well you got your money's worth with this guy." Indeed I did.

So I had my yogurt parfait for breakfast, and then a chicken salad sandwich for lunch, and now have zero appetite to eat more. At D1's the other day, we brought in wraps from Pura Vida, and I ate half -- I ALWAYS polish off a whole wrap. Hopefully lower bad blood markers await -- even though I was already strangely healthy while fat...

Hopefully we get to see the grandsons tomorrow, and maybe even D2 and Jonathan! We always order in Uber Eats -- less for me these days!

A Monday Night Visit

 So we spent a high energy weekend with Little Man -- originally just going to spend Sunday night here, but his trip to Naples to watch the soccer team his uncle Bob owns got canceled on account of his Daddy's wrist. Joey went mountain biking and took a nasty fall -- compound fracture in his left wrist.

Luckily, my friend Dr. Lew is an excellent hand surgeon -- and saw him yesterday and is set to repair things tomorrow am. We figured we could simplify things by taking Little Man early, and we did.

The 2 nights proved again what Wifey and I already knew -- raising and watching energetic little ones is for the young. This boy is non stop -- movement, questions, what to play next? We adore him and had a great time, but by the time I re-homed him via a Morningside lunch with the Ds and their dogs, I was wiped out.

I came home and felt more of the darkness surrounding me lately -- 2 seriously ill people flying back to South Florida is a part of it -- one seems to be fine and is due today, and the other not so fine -- ICU to ICU transfer from Dallas to the 305.

The second, Susan, was truly a shock. We became friends with her and her husband Steve when D2 and their middle boy met in middle school. The young ones drifted apart in college, but we stayed friends -- dinners a few times a year to compare notes on how even adult kids these days seem to need their parents much more than we did at their age -- totally our fault -- and the joys of grandparenting.

Susan is my age and very much a healthy lifestyle person -- exercises all the time and eats clean, as they say. Still, she suffered a devastating stroke while grandson sitting in Dallas -- weeks have passed, and she is barely responsive. Hopefully the air ambulance gets her back today, under the amazing care of our neighbor and UM stroke maven Dr. Jose. We're hoping for good news, and will take Steve out.

When Wifey was recovering from her stroke, Joelle taught me something about friendship. It's nice to ask "What can I do?" as most people did, and this independent guy politely refused offers. Joelle, a law professor, said "You WILL be here for dinner at ..." and later "You WILL meet us for dinner at Titanic..." and when I arrived, realized how curative for ME, the caregiver, those visits were. So I plan to do the same with Steve, though I know he has a fine support system.

Anyway, I was sitting on my couch, and the gate ball rang --- a bit later than package delivery guys typically do it. It was young Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, and recent leader of our "Bible study," out doing his pre- Passover mitzvah of delivering the special schmura matzah eaten on the holiday. I knew he had a baby and toddler at home, but invited him in. Wifey joined us.

I asked coffee or a L'chaim, and he said he was never a coffee guy. I went to my liquor cart and was stunned -- my vodka was gone! What -- had fraternity or sorority kids sneaked in while we were in D.C? Luckily, Moshe spotted a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, which he knew was kosher, and I poured us a few fingers in glasses with the big ice cubes from the mold D1 had bought me as a Fathers' Day gift.

And we spoke -- joyously of our families. When his parents moved here, his older brother was a baby - Moshe is the next son. He's one of 9, and has emerged as the scholar, and Rabbi Yossi's true successor at the shul. He's a delightful young man.

I knew he was time pressed -- had to get home to those young kids and his wife -- they're living in an apartment 1 mile walk from his parents and the new Friendship Circle campus, but he was in no way rushed. When I told him it was his father who truly led me back to a strong belief in The Big Man -- he beamed -- that's the whole reason for the Chabad movement -- gathering the straggling Jews who forgot who they are.

And I told him the folly of my ways -- thinking I truly had control over all the sacred pieces of my life -- somehow unlike everyone else. He already knew this, but was comforting to me as we discussed this on our walk back to the car.

So I realize his visit can be seen as a mere coincidence -- a fundraising young man doing a nice deed for a donor before a holiday. But as I sat on my front porch, I felt deep down that his visit had more meaning. And that brought me succor.

Puffy White Clouds And Dust In The Wind

 And so it was a memorable weekend in D.C., for Scott and Sam's Big, Fat, Media wedding, as I called it. The weekend was a microcosm of life: joyful new beginning, in the form of the wedding, scary sickness, and recalling death.

And as this semi-retired, overweight and gray Jew from LI ponders all of this, I am comforted by, of all things, a song from the 70s and a view of the sky yesterday as I drove north on the Palmetto. The song is Kansas's masterpiece "Dust in the Wind," which borrows heavily from Genesis and Ecclesiastes, reminding us that, in the end, all of our anxieties, accomplishments, and heaviness of life is in the end, vanity -- dust in the wind -- and we return to dust as we came from it.

And the clouds were huge, puffy cumulus, set against a beautiful sky. It brought me back to my first time driving back to my parents' condo in Delray from UM in Coral Gables, on the Turnpike, and realizing that skies on LI rarely looked this way. I was dating a girl before I left New York who told me that she always wanted to live where she could see mountains, unlike our flat LI, and it occurred to me we had them in Miami -- just hanging in the sky. It was nice to feel 18 again, if only in my memory.

So after a lovely shabbat dinner, and South Florida themed rehearsal dinner, where the grandsons danced and had the time of their lives, ending in Little Man taking an uncharacteristic nap, Sunday was great. Saturday afternoon, too, as Eric noticed a heaviness about me and asked to meet before the rehearsal dinner.

We sat at a Starbucks and talked, deeply, for the first time in awhile. We've been brothers since 1979, but Eric is not a talker like Barry or Paul are. But that afternoon we were, and it was a conversation that meant the world to me. I recalled another great talk in my life -- after Paul's daughter Tracy's wedding in NYC -- on a gray, misty day, Barry, Paul, and Paul's best college friend Frank and I sat for over an hour talking of life -- the two late 60s college grads and the two early 80s version. Frank died last year from brain cancer, and it brought home how all of the plans we make mean nothing compared to what the Big Man does.

Anyway, Sunday before the wedding, Wifey was SO tired, and so stayed in, and Little Man was recovering from a bout of "Gomitar" -- his version of vomitar, or vomiting, from a quick bug, and so Lizeth the nanny stayed with him. Paul, Patricia, D1, Baby Man, and Jonathan and D2 and I walked from the hotel to the White House and then to the GW campus, where Paul showed us where he and Frank had lived back in those heady days of the 60s in D.C. We ended the walk at the corner of our hotel, and I spoke about how Patricia was the finest woman Paul ever had in his life, and how much I appreciated her caring for him, and next thing I knew the scene reprised the final episode of "Mary Tyler Moore" where we all met in a tearful hug -- thankful for our friendship and sorority and fraternity.

And then came the wedding, well, after a mass tefillin wrapping in the lobby with Rabbi Yossi, fresh flown in from Miami. It was a big ask -- Rabbi is SO busy with many projects, including the final opening of his and Nechama's gleaming new Friendship Circle. I asked him about taking off 2 days to officiate at a wedding a 2 hour flight away. His response: "With what Barry has done for my family, as a trusted health confidante, and all he does for the community -- if he asked me to fly to Europe to marry his son I would have done it." And so it proved that Barry, ever humble about his accomplishments and station in life, truly is one amazing and powerful man.

Speaking of which, he balled the entire time under the chuppah -- watching his oldest son start the next phase of his life as a true man -- one with a wife.

The party was terrific -- great band -- and Scott actually got on stage and rapped to Pitbull, his favorite. D2 noted she had been to many weddings and thought she had seen it all, but now she really had.

And poor Barry -- always the Horton of the medical world. His brother in law Marty needed middle of the night hospitalization, and so he Ubered to GW Hospital with him and his wife/Barry's sister Phyllis. Marty should be ok, though had to spend the week in the hospital -- coming home this weekend, hopefully. Barry did many of the simchas on 3 hours' sleep.

And we got awful news: our friend Susan, a child protection psychologist at JMH, who Barry also knows, had a devastating stroke in Dallas, while visiting her oldest son and his family. Susan is my age, a health nut and clean eater. We've been texting with her husband and son Spencer, since we have some experience with stroke recovery, and hopefully Susan will be ICU to ICU medevacked home to Miami next week, under the care of our neighbor and Neuro Chair at UM Jose Romano -- a true maven in the field. We're praying for Susan, and will support Steve.

So I left for the trip with trouble in mind, as Willie Nelson and Leon Russel wrote, but days later, it has eased somewhat.

Boy -- talks with people you truly love and love you are the best therapy there is! And beauty is everywhere to see -- even outside the windshield while driving on the Palmetto in traffic. And in the end, all we are is dust in the wind...

Spring But Not Yet April

So today begins Spring, and we're off, most of my family, in a few hours to D.C. for what I've named the Big, Fat, Media Wedding. My nephew of another mother, Scott, is a writer and reporter for AM station WTOP and his fiancee Samantha is a producer for CNN, and so the guests will include lots of their friends from the biz -- none famous, I'm told.

Spring is special in DC because of the cherry trees in blossom, and I've seen it once, years ago. I was there for some depos, and I strolled the Mall, and later, met Kenny and his then new girlfriend Joelle who took me to a neighborhood in Bethesda which reminded me of Coral Gables where the trees are plentiful and beautiful as well.

We're taking the grandsons, and the Little Man is already excited about the Air and Space Museum and Natural History, where I told him we would look for the "Mommies" he learned about, but not to be scared since they're just "Dead Adyptians." I loved and adored him from the day he was born, and I love and adore his toddler brother Baby Man, but I sort of knew I would really relate to him after age 5, when we truly talk and I tell him essential things about life, like how orange goes with green and not blue, even though his Mommy, D1, Aunt, D2, and Tio Jonfin are all Gators.

The wedding has 4 events -- a Shabbos dinner tonight, rehearsal tomorrow at a sports bar at Navy Pier, the big event Sunday, and a brunch Monday am. The size and scope of this celebration gives great laughter to my family, as our dear Barry loves to fashion himself a populist and man of the people -- tends to disdain rich folk - and yet the 4 big events have the Ds saying this wedding weekend is like "Shahs of LA."

Paul and Patricia are coming up tomorrow, and many of the local guests are friends I have connected -- Paul pointed that out to me. Our partnership of now past 30  years led to his friends becoming mine, and vice versa. And our Rabbi, Yossi, adding to the Shah-like nature of this weekend, is being flown in specially to do the service Sunday night.

Yossi is the busiest man I know -- his enormous and shiny new Center just opened, and I asked whether giving up 2 full days was tough for him. It is, but he adores Barry for all he has done for his family and the community, and wouldn't have dreamt of refusing this big request.

So it ought to be joyful, and yet I've been in a deep funk over the past days -- ironically, as T.S. Eliot pointed out, precisely when the rebirth of the land takes place -- April in the epic Eliot poem.

There have been some deaths of friends' parents, and also some battles with life threatening illness, and some deep family issues -- I guess they just all got to me at the same time.

But last night, there was D2, who I've come to understand is the wisest, most level headed in the family, snapping me back to happy reality -- reminding me that this should be a banner weekend.

And hopefully it shall.

Young weddings, despite the drama surrounding them, are indeed symbols that, no matter how bad things are in a nation or indeed the world, we look to the future.

So my future is to get on a jet plane, like the great John Denver song, but knowing when I should be back again.

May it be a weekend of laughter and celebration, and not at all, as Eliot wrote, the cruellest.

Born At Night But Not LAST Night

So probably going on 7 years ago, maybe 8, I joined a local boutique gym -- prompted by a combination of the Ds imploring me to move more so I'd be around awhile, and Kenny and Joelle going to a cool place they had found that had exercise classes.

Kenny and I were the two oldest (and typically only biological males) in the class, and it was taught by one of the gym's co-owners, Enrique. I was the class dunce, as my out of shapeness had me comically tripping and finishing routines last. Enrique came to me one day and suggested, nicely, maybe I would benefit from private training. I agreed, and we began a long and happy time together, ending when he needed to focus on building the business and only training a few corporate type clients. I switched to Juan.

Juan was great, too -- a Palmetto High grad who had made it to Triple A MLB, and he pushed me and I enjoyed our twice weekly sessions -- talking of life so the hour flew by. And then Covid hit, and I got into the best shape of my recent life having nothing to do with the gym, as they were closed. My anxiety about my family's survival and lack of anything much to do except walk 10 miles per day caused a 50 lb weight loss. I sent Enrique pictures. It was great, but when I realized the plague would spare my grandson and kids, and even Wifey who was hospitalized with a stroke during the throes of it, unvaxxed, my appetite returned. Now I like to say I'm fat but relatively healthy.

Juan left, and I fell to Jonathan, and we've grown closest of all. He plays guitar professionally, and is VERY single, and comes from a successful Sephardic family and we have tons in common, and the hour truly flies by.

There is zero I can't do on my own, but my laziness really benefits from knowing I have those Tuesday and Thursday appointments -- time I would otherwise be in LOL or Roasters instead of working on strength and mobility.

I got Wifey to go, too, and she is a bigger user of the services than I -- training with Bianca and taking private pilates with Joann. I bought an $1800 private training package for Barry, too, trying to push him into fitness like my Ds did, and he, after a long delay, started going to the Broward outpost -- loved his trainer. I think he renewed one or two times after the gift was used up, but then the trainer said she could no longer make it to Broward because of our local scourge: untenable traffic, and Barry has not re-upped . I hope he does.

Anyway, all was going well, and I was paying a lot, but figured with all my generosity to my family and friends, I could well splurge a bit on my own health. Training sessions are $85 per hour, and Wifey's pilates $100 per hour. Apparently these are typical for Miami private stuff.

But then (dramatic music) on Thursday Enrique handed me an envelope and told me to read it after my session. Ah, I figured I knew what it was. I had given him 2 solid hours of free legal advice -- he was going to thank my by offering a few free weeks to Wifey and me. I mean, we learned recently that 38 year lawyers can charge $800-$900 per hour to consult -- seems fair, right?

Ha. As if. It was an "offer of true partnership for health in the community" by having us pay, up front, just north of $16K, to "help in the health of the community with increased pilates classes, etc..." The offer would give us apparently a small discount, dropping the hourly rates to $75 from $85, and Wifey's PT (pilates) charges from $125 per session to $100 per session -- these discounts would last for 140 sessions, which works out to about 1.5 years.

When I read the "offer" closely, I really got annoyed. If it said simply "Pay a lot upfront, get a long discount" that would have been one thing, but trying to couch it in terms of "helping the community" - well --yuuuge turnoff.

Wifey said it reminded us of an email or FaceBook request years ago where friends who lived at that time in a $1M house (now worth $2.5M) had their daughter asking for funds so she could attend a private camp, or visit Israel -- I forget which. We laughed it off, but the girl, who went on to attend 2 Ivy League schools, was serious.

So this week I shall tell Enrique that no, there will be no checks or credit card charges coming for $16.5K. And Wifey and I may actually use this as impetus to check out the new LifeTime gym that opened in the Falls -- Wifey gets free membership with her Classic Medicare, and apparently the hourly costs for training and pilates are a good deal lower.

I really enjoy my time with Jonathan, and Wifey with Biance and Joann...but business owners need to read rooms better -- don't ask clients to "help the healthcare community" via paying your luxury business.

Wifey and I also debated whether our increased crankiness, that accompanies age, make this seem more annoying than we would have found it in our 40s. I have a feeling we'd have simply laughed then, and not insulted. And that's just the way aging works... 

Mentorship

 Maybe it's because I lost my life's true mentor, my Dad, when I was so young, but I often sought out mentors in life. And when it came to lawyering, the main guy was Ed, my dear friend Mike's father.

I was far from Ed's only protege. Scores of young lawyers sought him out for career and life advice, and he relished that role. If a young lawyer had a problem with his firm, there was a routine. You'd sit in Ed's yeoman-like office as he chain smoked -- until 1989 when he quit cold turkey following a minor heart attack. He let you go on for a moment, and then he would start making calls in front of you, to the many lawyers he did work with: "Sutton? Ed here. I gotta a 3 year lawyer in my office -- smart guy -- boss being a greedy asshole. Give him an interview." Typically the lawyer would agree, and more often than not, it led to a great connection.

I got my first job on my own -- I clerked for an insurance defense lawyer who I'll call Dan Schwartz, since that was his name, and he kept me as a young lawyer after I passed the bar. Dan was a virulent anti-semite -- despite his name and being born and raised in Miami, he was Catholic, and openly couldn't stand Jews. He thought I was NOT a Jew -- my name could, I guess, be confused with German, too, and when he found out he laughed and said "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a Jew -- I can't stand Jews or Cubans." He had a Cuban associate, but found Lou acceptable since he was raised in Chicago and therefore was not "your typical Miami Cuban."

Anyway, Dan's firm was failing, and upon returning from our first vacation as a married couple in August of '87, I got a call from Lou saying the ship was sinking and I would be first fired. Dan had let his associate Vanessa run things, and he was also sleeping with her, and when Vanessa found out he was leaving his wife but for someone OTHER than her, things got cray cray.

I called in sick and went to see Ed. He got me an interview with Dick Thornton, and I was hired that afternoon. A year later he called to say there "was an open seat" with his biggest client Ratiner, a fellow I had heard about and went to law school with his daughter Randy. Although I initially turned down their offer, the senior associate Paul convinced Wifey and me I was a fool to pass it up, and after asking my present firm for a $5K raise and being turned down, I accepted.

In 1991 I brought in my first 7 figure case, and Ed was entitled to a co-counsel fee for the trial support he provided. When the case closed, Ed R handed me a check for nearly 7 figures -- truly life changing money. He was going to mail Ed's check, but I asked to hand deliver it. I called and asked if we could have a couple of vodkas -- he said of course. As we drank in his amazing sports cave in the house behind Baptist Hospital, I thanked him for his mentorship and then handed him HIS 6 figure check. The midwestern stoic man got teary eyed and we hugged.

I recalled this since today is Michael L's birthday, and I consider him my finest protege. Michael is married to D1's sorority sister, and while he was clerking for a federal judge, on loan from his white shoe firm, he asked if we could meet -- he wanted to become a PI lawyer, like me. We met, and I discouraged him -- top young lawyers like him made careers in the huge firms repping major companies. But Michael was adamant, and then I said the best he could do was apply at only select Miami PI firms -- the cream of the crop. He did, and was hired, and he soared.

He made partner in record time -- in addition to his legal brilliance, he is savvy, and has brought in a lot of business -- including from Paul and me.

Over the past half decade, by far the majority of our income has been fees from co-counsel cases with Michael's firm. And even when his firm won't take a case, he refers us to a firm that will -- we are awaiting a very nice check from one such firm -- it'll pay our yearly insurance costs.

I sent Michael an heartfelt email, and he wrote back -- we have a mutual appreciation club. Wifey asked the other day if he EVER disappoints Paul and me. I answered quickly: nope.

There have been plenty of other young lawyers I tried to advise. Wifey has a close friend whose daughter is an FIU Law grad. I offered to mentor her -- she politely declined -- and that's ok.

Others have asked for help finding jobs, and of course I did what I could, though the current Miami job market for lawyers is at a historic high for lawyers seeking jobs -- tons of big firms have moved here or opened offices, following the big finance companies, and most young lawyers I know get monthly offers of employment.

But I will forever prize all Ed did for me. He died in 1994 -- he was 63, like my Dad was. Like my Dad, I think about him all the time, and miss him.

Oh These Are The People In Your Neighborhood

 What a Martes Gigante we had yesterday! Wifey and I and Bo the ancient Spaniel fetched Little Man from school and gave him his expected honey yogurt, and Wifey put on his cleats and we went to his T Ball activity. Ah, the memories it brought back to me -- of my first day of Little League, at 7, nearly 8 years old.

The manager, Mr. Casale, who was my friend Bobby's Dad and later had to move to Queens after some illegal dips into the widow Mrs. Vukov's well (Mrs. Casale was none too pleased) told me to go warm up the pitcher. I squatted behind home plate, the pitcher bounced the ball on said plate, and said ball hit me square in the right eye. I bawled -- I was NOT a tough kid and not used to getting smacked in the eye. My Dad took me home, we iced the eye, and I announced I was DONE with baseball! Fortunately my Dad convinced me to give it another try, and it became my sport -- I actually made the high school team before dropping out in 11th grade on account of I found girls to be more attractive than daily after school practices.

But now they start them at 5! The coach, an affable Cuban guy, tried to herd 11 of them into drills. On the adjacent field were the older kids -- 9-11, including a girl who hit the hell out of the ball. I banished all thoughts of transgender issues from my mind -- she appeared to be a biological girl just much better than the boys.

I stood out on the field sort of helping the coach -- reminding the running boys to hit the bases as they circled the field. When it came Little Man's turn to bat, he hit a solid shot off the tee, but didn't realize it was time to run, so I encouraged him, and he made his way to first, talking to me the entire trip. Although he has good eye/hand coordination, he seems to run like me, which is to say, slowly. D2 picked that up in the video -- I was never fleet of foot. I guess we'll see -- Joey is pretty fast -- hopefully he got some of those genes from his Dad.

After an hour, he had totally lost focus, and we left. I told D1 and Joey that, in my humble opinion, maybe 5 is too young to start baseball. Joey agrees; D1 is taking it under advisement.

We brought in Anthony's Coal Fired, and there was soccer in the back yard, and a visit from Isabel, an adorable 9 year old who just moved in. She announced that her grandma said she wasn't allowed inside houses, so D1 and I walked over to meet said grandma, a hilarious Russian Jewish lady, probably about 70. She was born in Belarus, and lived in NYC. She was probably a looker back in the days of Glasnost. We liked her right away, and she dug us. She said I "vould drink vodka vith my husband Ilya," and I look most forward to that. I told her my parents always said their parents came from "Russia," but Ina pointed out that the cities, Bialystok and Czernovitz are now in Poland and Ukraine. Lot of shuffling back in the day.

And then we heard about the kerfuffle! D1 and Joey found a true oasis for their home: gated community of 18 houses. The people who bought them new paid between $700 and $900K -- since 2016 they've nearly tripled in value, and to rent one, it costs nearly $20K per month. So one of the owners did just that -- moved elsewhere and are renting -- to a good looking, childless couple who do something that lets them afford this high rent -- and the man, who I'll call Bobby, since that's his name, had a tragedy. One of the kids plastic helicopters, which weighs maybe one ounce, supposably (yep -- keep using that Miami spelling) fell onto his Porshe, "denting it." His wife Amy, not hard on the eyes but apparently not very bright, asked on the neighbor chat whose toy it was, and D1 and Joey's next door neighbor Sara, a lovely Alabama woman, said it was indeed her sons -- the toy got stuck in a tree on Xmas day, and just recently fell out in the wind (proof of how light the toy was). Amy wouldn't return the toy to Sara -- she said her husband needed a "convo."

Somehow D1, working on her balcony on this beautiful day, heard the asshole Bobby yelling at Sara and calling her a "fat ass" before breaking said toy on the ground. Also, Bobby and Amy are angry that kids play in the street (the very reason for this 'hood is the safety from traffic it provides) and refuse to drive slowly.

Hopefully a mediation occurs, or these people move, or get arrested from defrauding people, which would be the MOST Miami ending possible. Drama.

Here, the funny drama is typically the creation of Riva, who has some screws lose. She had published an angry post on Pinecrest Neighbors, which I read since, like the Styx song, I have too much time on my hands. Riva was livid that a neighbor put a dog poop bag into her trash bin.

This am, I learned the culprit. It was the Doodle Quincy! Actually, Quincy supplied the poop, his dog Mom Elissa tossed the poop, was caught on camera, and received a classic passive aggressive VM from nut case Riva. "Hi. My cameras caught a woman who looks like you walking a dog that looks like Quincy putting dog poop in my trash bin. So you should be ashamed."

I don't know Elissa that well, or as she told the story I would have grabbed her and kissed her saying "It was YOU, Elissa -- you broke my heart!"

We just got a magazine from Pinecrest crowing that crime is at a record low. We had an incident where a homeless creep grabbed a woman as she was on an afternoon jog -- then fled on a bicycle. They arrested him up in Palm Beach County. The long arm of local product Jason Cohen, our police chief, proved too much for the pervert.

So things are pretty damned good. But drama seeking rich folks seem hell bent on creating drama. I hope Riva's show dog loses all his competitions, and Bobby and Amy's Porsche gets wrecked in a parking lot. There -- I said it. May time wound all heels...

A Delightful Voicemail

 So Wifey and I watched "White Lotus" and both are now hooked into how Mike White will take care of the colorful characters. It's nice to have a show you have to wait weekly to see an episode -- brings us back to "The Sopranos" and "Breaking Bad," the latter of which we dipped on a Broadway show in NYC to watch.

This am I got a call from a 239 number, so let it go to voicemail. I played it, and a delightful British accented guy said he was calling from FC Naples to report on the first game Saturday, the "greatest game in the history of humanity."

I called Reese back, and said he was from one of 3 areas: UK, South Africa, or Australia/New Zealand. He said he was indeed from South London -- I dug the guy right away. As an account executive, he was tasked with reaching out to all team investors, including, apparently, even little pishers like me.

He told me the game ended in a tie, tough Naples scored a winning goal which was nullified by a call of offsides, which Reese said caused the "ref to be banished to Botswana." He invited me to meet him when I came to a game -- I will definitely ask Joey to include me next time he makes the drive across the Swamp known as The Everglades.

I ended by telling Reese that the greatest college football game in the history of humanity was played in January of 1984 when the Miami Hurricanes beat Nebraska for our first ring. He answered: Go Canes! I really want to meet this guy.

Wifey's out -- getting a knee injection on account of arthritis, and then takes Bo to the vet for his monthly Lubrella, a stem cell treatment what is giving the old disabled guy some more mobility.

I'll walk my 3 miles, and then tomorrow meet my trainer Jonathan, followed by a drive to Miami Shores for our Tuesdays with Grandparents' day. Assuming no rain, I fetch Little Man at school, and drive him to T Ball. We'll hang around and then probably bring in dinner for the squad. Wifey and I really dig Tuesdays.

My Cali sister called this am, and I told her how much of my life follows the great John Lennon song where he sings about just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.

That said, I still have some case calls this week -- a matter I thought was nothing might actually have some worth -- a fellow playing soccer on a private, for fee field, fell and broke his leg.

I was on my investment site before, which was a bad idea, as the Super Genius president is clearly guiding us to a recession, and major loss of investment value. But as long as the billionaires don't worry, I guess the electorate thinks that's all that matters. What times we live in!

A week from Friday we pack 9 of us into an AA flight to Reagan. D1 reported this am that Little Man is fascinated by mummies. We plan to take him to the Egyptian exhibit at the Smithsonian to give him a look see.

I told her to have him watch "The Americas" on Sunday nights -- a great nature show narrated by Tom Hanks. Last night was about the Arctic tundra, which the native Spanish speakers at school call "Tooondra." Having him get to the stage where he wants to learn and absorb like a sponge is the best.

I'll be having the 5 year old explain soccer to me...

The Lazy Weekend

 So after Kenny, Joelle, and their boy Nathan visited Friday night, Wifey was "socialized out," and so we declined an invite from D2 to visit her house as they hosted Jonathan's family. I could have gone alone, but decided to relate to my inner sloth as well.

We ended up having 2 Zooms to attend. The first was our Boston friend Mark, who suffered a devastating stroke on a golf course over 2 years ago. He's in a nursing home for the rest of his life - he just turned 70 - but recovered his ability to speak, and is now doing inspirational gigs. His first was at his shul on the North Shore, and Wifey and I were thrilled to watch -- he was wise and funny - and most of all -- cognitively all there.

His girlfriend Sheryl called afterwards for our critique -- we told her it had made our day. When the stroke first happened, it appeared non-survivable, or, if he DID survive, wouldn't have wanted to. Although he'll need physical help forever, he has a lot left to share -- more than many people who still have their physical abilities.

After that, Wifey and I watched some episodes of "Kugel," the Israeli prequel to "Schtisel," about the haredim. Eh. It was ok.

I realized, though, that it was time for Zoom #2 -- Stuart was hosting one for his Dad Bill's 90th birthday. Bill had a bad fall in November, and has been bedridden since, though he's back at home with 24 hour care. The screen was filled with Philly accents -- old friends and family jumping on to honor this terrific man. I called Paul to remind him -- he joined, too. I noticed Stu had a highball glass and poured myself one, too, and we gave Bill a "L'chaim!"

When Paul visited him in Aventura hospital weeks ago, Bill said he had 2 goals: to return home, and make it to 90. Mission accomplished -- so now he's playing with the House's money, as the saying goes.

The rest of the evening was kvelling over pics of the grandsons -- Baby Man in Miami with D1, and Little Man with Joey in Naples. Last night was the first game of FC Naples, the soccer team Joey's brother founded, and we were so proud of him.

Little Man got to go onto the field with the other owners' and players' kids -- he looked so happy. They played to a 1-1 tie, and are a big deal in Naples now -- first pro team there ever! My boredom with soccer will of course be eclipsed by my desire to hang with my son in law and grandson -- I'll probably tag along next trip. 

I emailed Bob this am. What courage -- cashing out his investments to follow his dream! I want to see him soar.

I'm the smallest level investor. If I were more of a douchebag, I'd go around telling people "I own a soccer team," but at least in that regard, I'm LESS of a douchebag.

Nothing is planned for today, either, but I hope to at least get my normal 3 mile walk in. Yesterday one of my hips was a bit dodgy, as the Brits say, and I decided to give it a day of rest.

As Wifey and I note, just about each day brings a new pain or malady of some type. Ya gotta just keep on keepin' on, I guess.

So after we watch "Sunday Morning," the news show for Boomers (we laugh -- ALL ads are for different pharmaceuticals), it'll be to the street.

I guess lazy weekends are better than lost ones...

Taking The Hint

 My Cali sister and I were talking yesterday -- we speak a few times a week, philosophizing about the world's problems, and the subject I never tire of: human nature.

I told her that one thing I had learned well over my years on this planet: how to take a hint. My sister agreed she has never truly learned to do this -- she makes the same mistakes over and over with people, assuming their better souls will eventually win out and she'll be treated well. They rarely do.

We compared notes about gifts to now estranged family members. Years ago, when I learned of a little girl who loved marine science, I called her local aquarium and sent a yearly membership for her and her family. Months later, at a family gathering, I asked how it was going. Her Dad replied: "Well, since your membership didn't include the dolphin encounter, and that costs extra each time, we don't really go." That was a hint to cease my giving in that direction.

On the other hand, my sister gives gifts there, never gets a thank you, and instead hears how her gifts are fodder for their laughter -- how silly and strange she is. But she keeps on doing it over and over -- never took the hint.

As I age, I seek the company of fewer and fewer people. My circle of friends is sacred to me, but I'm not looking to add to it. If I ask you to go out socially, know I TRULY wish your company -- gone are the days of taking people out for business purposes.

We used to share space with a nice fellow -- moved to Orlando years back. We had a lot in common -- even learned we were both born at Long Island Jewish Hospital, though he's a few years younger, and his family moved to Miami soon after, where he was raised. We enjoyed doing business and each other's company -- my Ds used to babysit his 3 sons, all of whom are now grown.

We spoke a few months ago about a case I tried to refer his way, and I followed up a request for a call to catch up. Never heard, and that's ok -- I can take a hint. We have a mutual friend whose Dad we both really like a lot, and he appears to be nearing the end of his life journey. Maybe we'll catch up at a shiva...

I remain very friendly, to the point several neighbors call me "Mr. Mayor, " which is funny since the actual mayor of Pinecrest lives in our 'hood. A few different couples mentioned going to dinner with Wifey and me, and though it's very nice -- probably it won't happen. We both have plenty of friends.

This is why the thought of running for office makes me tremble. Meeting tons of people, having to have meals with people? Yuck, as Wifey says...

Tonight we're having Kenny and Joelle over, with their wonderful younger son Nathan in tow. Nathan's between engineering jobs, and will be leaving, I think in Spring, for Connecticut. In the mean time, I asked if he would join us tonight, and Joelle said he REALLY enjoys my company, as I do his, so he will be making craft cocktails while I pour my simple concoctions.

It's great having a young person here -- it keeps down the otherwise normal talk of various health ailments. And I love that this interesting young man enjoys our company -- as I always tell the Ds, borrowing from "Freaky Friday," "I'm a COOL Dad -- not a regular Dad."

Two weeks from tonight, Big Man willing, our entire crew will be in D.C. for the first of 4 wedding events for Scott and Samantha. I think Friday is a shabbat dinner. D1 already has museum visits planned out -- the evenings and Monday am are spoken for.

That will be a place, and with people I very much savor and look forward to sharing precious time with. No hints to take then...

Let There Be Light

 So last night was our 4th of 6 Talmud class given by Rabbi Moshe, or, as I have begun calling it since going to "No Party" on my voter's registration: Bible Class.

Barry, Norman, and I took a Bioethics class last year and enjoyed it, and when we heard about Talmud study, we re-upped. Jeff is in, too, though he's too busy to meet us for our pre-class dinners -- my favorite part of the evening.

We had no class last week on account of Rabbi's wife giving birth to their second child, a girl. He's 25, and only has 2 kids -- dude needs to step up his game! Before class, I told him that when his parents moved here, they had just the one child, Mendel. Jeff and Lili kept up with his parents through 3 kids, but then Rabbi Yossi and Nechama pulled away. They have 9!

Last night we met at One Thousand Sunny, an Asian place in the Center across from the office building which is the temporary Chabad HQ. The Center has a comically high number of restaurants -- Roasters for breakfast, and just about every other kind of food. One Thousand Sunny was ok -- I think next week we may go simple, per Norman's request: Jersey Mike's Subs.

The class last night was a lot of history of the Talmud -- the various rabbis from about 300 BCE to 300 CE and how they put the great document together. Honestly, much of the history went over my head -- I don't see bringing up Talmudic history at future cocktail parties - but at the end of the evening, the class resonated with me.

Rabbi Moshe told of a parable of a young Rabbi asking his much wiser Rabbi suegro why goats walking always seemed in front of ewes. The elder rabbi said "Like the world, darkness comes before light."

And we learned the Hassidic view of creation. The Big Man was infinite, and had G-d light far greater than can be imagined. He decided to create the world, and made it a dark place, until He said, famously: "Let there be light." And then there was the day and night, forever -- light following darkness.

Rabbi explained that was the way of all the world -- we all have darkness from which we must emerge to live in enlightenment -- whether a disability, or challenge. Since all religion is personal, I reflected on my own life: the darkest day being July 14, 1982 when my Dad died in my arms, and how, as my life went on, I was bathed in an enormously huge amount of light in the form of my family and dear friends.

Since great, or at least mediocre Talmudic scholar minds think alike, after class I said to Barry and Norman I was thinking of the Gloria Estefan song "Coming Out of the Dark." Norman already had the lyrics on his cell phone -- it occurred to him, too. Gloria's song is about emerging from the darkness of a bus crash that nearly killed her, and her long rehab allowing her to again perform and soar.

There are 2 more classes, and I look forward to them. Life has fallen into a lovely rhythm -- Tuesdays with grandkids, Wednesday class. I'll probably sign up for the next JLI class, too. Wifey is committed to Wednesday night mah johng, so she'll probably skip, but maybe Norman and Barry and even Jeff will wish to continue.

Speaking of Barry, his boy Scott's Big, Fat, Media wedding draws nigh. We're scheduled to muster, 9 of us (Ds, husbands, boys, nanny Lizeth, and Wifey and I) in 2 Fridays at MIA and fly up to D.C. Hopefully the weather is tenable, and the cherry trees in bloom. If not -- plenty to do inside -- I can't wait to see the faces of Little Man and Baby Man when they see the rocket ships and dinosaur skeletons.

Yes, life holds darkness -- each night, certainly, and sometimes even when the sun shines. But oh that light is so beautiful...

Scammers!

 So we were at D2's as per our typical Tuesday. Wifey and D2 and her friend Olivia were being pilateed by Stephanie, and D1 came over with Lemon. We had brought Bo, the elderly Spaniel, and so it was a 3 dog afternoon with enormous Betsy happy to host the small dogs.

I got a call from a local number identified as "Chase," one of our banks, and so answered. The fellow, who identified himself as "Michael Martinez" and was clearly a Miami Cuban, was calling about the Zelle linked to our checking account. He said 2 items were "held" because of suspicious activity -- did I have a Samsung phone? I did not. Did I Zelle $1850 to Shanteria Watson, and $1500 to Kenyatta Jenkins? I did not. (These guys are so clever, I would learn, that they use subtle racism in their con).

Michael said that he was transferring me to a Zelle rep, at an 800 number, and I needed to share with them a security code and 2 case numbers, to eliminate the fraudulent charges. He did so. I told "Victor Diaz" I would call him back, and he freely gave me an 844 number and an extension. He then said he needed the codes I was given to be "inputted " into my Zelle contact list, so they could mark them as fraudulent before they were debited from my Chase account.

This raised my Spider Sense, and I told him I needed to take a business call and would call back. Victor became stern, and asked if I knew how critical this was -- these people could take ALL our checking account funds! 

After being put on hold and redirected by the Chase national numbers on my app, I was told the truth: there had been no fraud at all, and these guys were trying to have me add their numbers to my Zelle contacts, and then they would indeed access my Zelle.

D2 did some quick research. Yep. Sure enough, it's rampant, and Zelle doesn't get your money back or credit you like a credit card company -- they're not your bank -- just a service linked to your bank. And once you "Zelle" with permission from your bank -- your bank won't help you either.

Sure enough -- I looked at the "case codes" they had given me. They contained letters, but in the middle were 2 phone numbers with 201 area codes. The bastards were NEW JERSEY Cubans!

These guys were good. I can see how they typically succeed -- they keep assuring you they want no passwords or personal information from you -- they criteria we're all told to watch for in fraudsters. But once they access your Zelle with contact numbers, indeed they can Zelle away until you shut down your account. They went to far as to say that during the process, our Zelle would be inactive for 48 hours. Now I realized this it so give them 2 days to clear you out without you checking on what's going on.

Hey -- crappy new world -- although I'd rather worry about cyber crime than getting mugged on the street. Fortunately, in most of Miami, that sort of thing is pretty rare -- unless you get into a beef outside of certain clubs and get a cap busted in yo tuches...

Little Man was to play baseball, but it was raining, and so we took him to Chick Fil A instead. D2 ordered us Carrot Express, with wraps for Joey and Jonathan to eat afterwards -- those hard working sons in law of mine. I poured myself a Tito's and D2 a glass of chablis and enjoyed the boys.

This am D1 shared a testing report from a school psychologist she took Little Man to, to test for gifted programs that start, now, I guess, in Kindergarten. Not surprisingly, his verbal skills were in the 99.9th percentile. I told D1 that Jewish Moms of the 50s and 60s would have said "So, nu -- who got the full 100%?" Now I guess Asian and Indian Moms do that sort of thing.

Little man indeed does NOT talk like a preschooler. He begins many of his declarations with "Actually..." He's just beginning to read -- the psych said it is essential to stimulate him lest he get bored and rebellious -- he is quite spirited. He also says "I prefer..."

I have ZERO doubt, not even .1% doubt, that D1 is up to the task of handling a gifted child -- she was one herself, as was D2. D2 was far quieter, but actually ended up getting a perfect 5 on the "Florida Writes" exam while D1 got a 4. The things you recall from nearly 3 decades ago...

Wifey, D2, and I read Little Man stories, while Baby Man was being put to bed. The little guy is something, too -- he grabbed my hand and said "Come!" as he wanted to play soccer.  He's not as verbal at 2.5 as his brother was, but watching learn and grow will be a joy, too. He's already tougher than his brother -- when Little Man takes something from him, he gets it back with violence. I have a sense that someday the older one is going to be saying "You do that again and I'm bringing my little brother here."

Again -- we'll see. Que sera, sera.

Tonight I meet Barry and Norman for dinner at 6. Jeff meets us later, at Bible Study, as I call the Talmud class. My trainer Jonathan has asked to tag along -- he's known Rabbi Moishe since he was just Moishe.

Hopefully we can squeeze him in -- I love being around young people. Barry and Norman get that privilege all the time at work. For me, it's when we visit the Ds and their families...

But Zelle scammers: thwarted! I hope their dogmas get run over by karmas. Bastards.

To Sleep, Perchance To Sleep

 Wifey and I have another thing in common as we journey down Aging's path together: we have trouble sleeping! Just yesterday, we sat outside enjoying our dinner, some takeout from a place called 1000 Sunnys, which I knew I would like since it shares my late Mom's name. And Wifey said she only got 5 hours the night before. I bragged -- ha -- I got seven -- though in 2 parts.

Well, the sleep schadenfreude caused me soporific karma: last night I fell asleep 11, was up at 4 am, and there was NO getting back to sleep. I got out of bed with the sunrise, let the Special Needs Spaniel out (he sleeps VERY well), and will take my walk. I'm guessing a long afternoon nap awaits later on.

When we first met, we were, like most young adults, very adept sleepers -- Wifey better than I. She fell asleep in any moving vehicle. I needed a bed. But once I went to sleep, I stayed asleep, until my old school clock radio alarm woke me. There were no overnight pee visits. My brain happily shut down, as opposed to these days, when my return to bed brings with me all the anxieties of the world -- at 4 freaking am!

I know we're not alone, and we're both fortunate that we have flexible schedules and very few work responsibilities. I can't imagine practicing law full time this way -- I would leave lots of stuff out. Worse would be driving, or practicing medicine. Sleep is so essential.

After a few nights go by, I go the xanax route -- that OTHER little blue pill gives me a solid 5-6 hours. I know xanax isn't really a sleep aid, but it works for me -- with zero hungover feelings in the am.

I read about a newly approved drug, , the hard to say Quviviq, which apparently works differently than the stuff you get addicted to. My doc wrote me a scrip, but my Obama Care plan said no. I could pay for it, but a month's supply is like $500.

I found a coupon to try it, but Walgreens still refused -- since I HAD insurance, they said, the coupon wasn't valid. I know I could go into another pharmacy, not linked to my insurance plan, and get the stuff. But so far I lack the initiative -- probably because I don't get enough sleep!

Wifey asked, many times, as Wifey is wont to do, if this sleep issue really bothered me. I told her I just chalk it up to another aging thing -- like making noises like my Dad did whenever I get up from a plush sofa, which is low to the ground, like the one we have! Note to self: next Family Room sofa needs to be higher.

It's funny -- at the Palace, when we visited my suegra, all of the chairs and couches have inflated cushions -- so the really old can get up more easily. I used to laugh at that. Now it's much less funny.

Another thing I've noticed is the different ways women and men deal with empty nesterhood. I was discussing this with Jamie at his late girlfriend's Bagel Emporium shiva. Jamie, like me, finds that the older he gets, the less change he wants. He's 68 and knows he has it pretty good.

Wifey, and the two other women at the table, Lori and Jackie, feel exactly the opposite. Jackie, like Wifey, has "had enough of the suburbs" and wants to live somewhere where "you can walk to stuff." Lori says she thinks about selling her big North Palm Beach house in favor of 2 smaller houses -- maybe one closer to the stuff going on in Miami.

I remind Wifey that there are many more widows than widowers, and if she just hangs around a bit, she can choose to get rid of our big house and live wherever she pleases -- and travel constantly. I neither wish to move or travel much. She says she doesn't like it when I talk that way. Again, I blame sleep deprivation.

Mt. Nebo On A Thursday Afternoon

 So Wifey and I drove over to the cemetery off the Palmetto, where her parents sleep and someday we shall, too, and joined the 15 or so mourners for her friend Alissa, whose cremains inside a nice urn were to be buried.

We caught up with Seth and Daniel, her 2 sons, who are delightful young men. Seth is married to Poom, a Vietnamese lady, and they have a 7 year old boy, who clearly misses his grandmother. Daniel was there with his girlfriend, and has had his own health challenges -- a brain tumor, thankfully not glioblastoma, which was surgically removed by Komotar the wizard at UM and Daniel should be just fine -- he's a pathologist in Jupiter.

We say with Jackie and Lori, friends from childhood (high school for Wifey), and Jamie Alissa's junior high boyfriend who reconnected with her after a lifetime in LA when he moved to Boynton Beach and the two started dating again.

The family hired a local cantor, who I'll call Rachelle, since that's her name, who I NEVER got along with. I think she may have some kind of Asberger's --her daughter and D2 were sorority sisters at UF, and whenever I approach Rachelle at various functions and bring this up, she acts like I'm an insurance agent trying to sell her a policy she doesn't want. So I gave her wide berth. Wifey approached her after the services, where she did a yeoman's job for someone who had never met the deceased, and asked how her daughters were. She asked "Why do you ask?" Wifey said she knew them, from our Ds. Strange bird, that cantor woman...

But Alissa's son and friends spoke beautifully about the gentle, hippie woman who in many ways remained stuck in the 1970s. Jamie said when she asked him to retrieve her tie-dyed shirt, he found 50 in her closet.

We all shoveled a bit of earth onto the small container holding the urn, and then we were off -- Lori, Jackie, Jamie, Wifey and I to Bagel Emporium -- Alissa LOVED Shorty's and delis. 

They spoke of times dating back -- way back. Jamie told of seeing the horse races at Tropical Park -- I told him they stopped racing there in the 60s! But the stables remain -- Miami and Miami Dade Sheriffs horses live there, now.

Wifey and Alissa and Lori graduated Killian High. Jackie was a Gables grad -- Jamie moved to LA and went to high school there.  We toasted Alissa with Dr. Brown's soda -- as she would have liked.

Jamie told us when Alissa got the diagnosis -- which was primary lung cancer -- she decided to just let it run its course. Her brother Mark went the same way -- he had prostate cancer which had spread to his bladder and was told it was treatable, but he said to let it go, too. Both siblings joined their parents in the great beyond within months.

When I last texted with Alissa upon her becoming a grandmother, she told me it was the best thing ever in her life. And she was close with Samuel -- named after her late father. When I'm with my Little Man and Baby Man, I think of her -- she was spot on!

As we were leaving the Emporium parking lot, Wifey said she had meant to take a picture -- to see how all of us look versus 10 years into the future. I corrected her -- let's hope all 5 of us are HERE 10 years into the future. Ain't nothing guaranteed, as Tom Petty sand, and found out.

My friend and broker Pat is in town and he asked me to meet at Fox's. I plan to Uber over -- tonight seems the night for that third martini -- to toast Alissa.

Wifey has another shiva this weekend -- Sunday - in the grove -- for her friend Karen's mother, who died at 94.

As for me -- enough with all the dying. I joke about it, but it's been a bit much lately.

Hopefully the Big Man's plans agree...

Band Camp Tragedy

 So from my Dad I inherited a great sense of humor, above average intelligence, love of the English language, and, unfortunately, bad hemorrhoids. I've suffered with them most of my adult life, and several years ago, the GI I went to, Dr. Neil, now retired and living in Boca, suggested "banding." This is a procedure where they strangle the offenders with rubber bands, choking off their blood supply, so they fall off like raisins left out too long. Neil didn't do the procedure, but referred me to a nice Venezuelan Jewish guy named Marcos, who did.

Since I have a strange sense of humor, I called the procedure "band camp," and had it done with Marcos, who seemed to take FOREVER putting on the bands. I later learned from a former friend, an anesthesiologist who worked with him, that indeed he had a fine reputation but was known to be plodding. After our one session, I decided I wanted no more plodding in my tuches.

Years later I found a different doc who did the newfangled procedure, called the "O'Regan Banding," sort of a higher tech band camp -- I started calling that space camp. The new guy, Dr. Shah, became my new GI after aforementioned Neil decamped to Boca, and Dr. Shah and I had 2 sessions of band camp. Probably I need another session...

But a dear friend made an appointment with Dr. Marcos, and asked me to find a lunch place close to his Baptist office tomorrow, so we could meet after HIS procedure. I looked up Dr. Marcos to make sure he was still near Baptist, and instead saw a terrible message from GastroHealth -- he had just died! At 59!

The article didn't give a cause -- just said "unexpectedly over the weekend." I'm guessing Jonathan can learn more details from the Venezuelan Jewish grapevine -- not that it truly matters. The only thing that does is that a good man is gone.

Years ago, I was at one of Jonathan's family's simchas, and the nice older lady next to me had the same last name as Marcos. Of course, I soon learned she was his mother, and after a few drinks we laughed about how her son knew me more intimately than most anyone else. She assured me I wasn't the only one -- and I recall how much she adored and admired him. I think she had a younger son who was a doctor, too -- maybe up in Weston.

As Jim Morrison noted, no one here gets out alive.

Wifey has a new mah jong friend, Karen. I knew her Dad -- Gerry Kogan -- Florida Supreme Court Justice. Karen was caring for her 92 year old Mom at Grove Isle -- and she just died today, too. And on Thursday we have the interment of Wifey's friend Alissa's cremains.

Fortunately, I made plans with my friend Pat to meet at Fox's Thursday night -- he's in town from PA. I think I may Uber over and have a few -- to celebrate remaining vertical amongst all this horizontality. 

So may the Big Man bring peace to Dr. Marcos's family. 59 is pretty damned young. But when the Big Man says it's time; it's time.

Dr. Shah is in his 40s. Hopefully my current band/space camp director will be around a long, long time.

They Not Like Us

 My son in law Jonathan has an amazing family -- and the true matriarch is his loving grandmother Judy. She has an origin story beyond anything Marvel Comics could have dreamed. When she was 6, the Nazis took over in her city, and her parents left her with a Catholic friend in hopes of saving her life. It worked -- and Judy ended up with a "Catholic name" and identity -- living in a convent, where she was raised as a Catholic girl until WW II ended.

Her parents and little brother were killed in Aushwitz,and she was spirited out of Europe and to Caracas. She met her husband in the US -- Judy lived in NY and Detroit -- and raised their family in Venezuela, including her one daughter, who would someday become our wonderful consuegra.

Judy is one of the most strong and loving people I ever met -- she and I hit it off when we met, in May of 2014, when D2 and Jonathan were graduating UF. Within a few years, she KNEW D2 would become another granddaughter, so much that when Judy introduced us to friends at Jonathan's brother's wedding, she said "these are my future in laws."

A wise person does NOT go against Judy, and Jonathan in fact asked to marry D2. At their surprise engagement party at the Grammercy Park Hotel, Judy came up to me, hugged me, and said "we did it!!" I assured her SHE did it...

Over the past years, Judy has dedicated herself to teaching South Florida school kids about the Holocaust. There are fewer than 200K survivors -- most of whom were, like Judy, children during the war.

And today, she was featured on CBS's "Sunday Morning," because of the project of a Survivor's granddaughter, who is a professional photographer and compiling portraits of the Survivors before they leave us. Judy was eloquent and beautiful as always -- Wifey and I watched the episode with great pride.

Of course, D2, like Jonathan, is the grandchild of Survivors. At their wedding, Rabbi Yossi brought up the Shoah, though admitting he never had before -- he was so moved by this victory over Hitler and the Nazis -- they're long gone, and the Survivors' grandkids are prospering.

I was woefully under-educated myself about the Holocaust -- none of my family, at least the cousins, aunts, and uncles, were affected -- my Ashkenazim had all left Europe around 1900 -- fleeing pogroms from the Czar, not Nazis. 

I first learned of it as a boy -- I was with my Dad visiting some of his customers -- a couple who owned a gift shop, and I noticed the tatoos of the numbers on their arms. My Dad explained what was what on our drive home.

At UM, I took "Literature of the Holocaust" and for the first time read deeply. And, of course, the Big Man decided I would marry the daughter of Survivors. I sure learned a lot through them!

Rabbi Yossi would always invite me to the adult version of "March of the Living," where you visit concentration camps in Poland followed by the uplifting trip to Israel. I replied that I already had "Marriage of the Living"  - had all the Holocaust education there was to have -- in some ways in deeper ways than those who merely visit the sites and don't live with it.

But boy did Judy shine today! And as we watched, D1 and Joey had their boys at Temple Beth Sholom for Mitzvah Day! Am I proud my Ds have embraced out heritage, and are proud Jews, raising their kids (and hopefully future kids) as Jews?

Durn tootin'! I know Judy feels the same way, and a wise person agrees with that wonderful lady.

The Memories That Pop Up

 So poor Wifey visited the rheumatologist for hip and back pain and was given good news/bad news. The good is she has nothing acutely life threatening. The bad news is she has plenty of age related arthritis everywhere. Her parents both became symptomatically arthritic around the same age, so this is no surprise, but when you get told medically you're, um, no longer young -- it hits home.

She'll have specialized workouts, and keep moving, lest she end up a shut in like many older pain patients become. She actually wants to travel far more than I, and I will compromise and go. We'll avoid climbing, though.

We drove to Coral Gables and met Dr. Barry and Donna and sons at their go-to Italian place, Fratellino. The men shared a bottle of red, but neglected the Billy Joel suggestion about Italian restaurants and avoided the bottle of white. I got to bust balls with my man, the way guy friends show love -- how we like to be seen as middle class and make fun of the rich but somehow we became them.

The pasta was delicious, and we talked of times past and to come -- the Big, Fat, Media wedding in D.C. as I have named Scott and Sam's nuptials, as both work in Media and the party will be lousy with journalists.

Wifey was up a lot of the night watching the new DeNiro Series, and I slept, but then she went to sleep around 130 and I was up an hour -- we joke with each other that we sleep in shifts -- we could run an overnight business.

And this am, I checked into FaceBook (tm) though I no longer ever post on it, following a nasty episode with an ex-nephew, and a memory popped up. It was the combined Bar Mitzvot of Scott and Josh -- 14 years ago today. Since the brothers are Irish twins, they decided to wait until Josh was 13 and do the party combined.

There's a great pic of Barry, Eric, and I toasting ebulliently, probably after we did the Worm, as is tradition for us dating back to parties in the Honors Dorm in the early 80s. Scott demands a Worm at his wedding -- I asked him last night if the D.C. Conrad had staffers available to lift the elderly dancers off the floor. He said they would.

I think of John Lennon a lot -- he was one of my most admired artists. He always seemed so much older and wiser than I was, and he was shot a few months after he turned 40. I still recall it -- I had fallen asleep watching the Dolphins on Monday Night Football, and so missed the now famous Howard Cosell announcement, but the next am awoke to my clock radio playing all Beatles music. My roommate Rudy, no Humanist, said "You heard the news? Some psycho blew away John Lennon last night." I had NOT heard the news, and was truly affected -- I dragged myself to the 8 am Organic Chem class and met fellow mourners.

But in Lennon's last record, there's a song called "Watching the Wheels," about the temporary retirement he enjoyed: "I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round...I really love to watch them roll." I see myself that way now that the law practice has blurred mostly into the rear view mirror.

Except...we keep getting in cases, and have to refer them out. A catastrophic injury case involving a girl from Colorado came to us -- Paul spoke to the Mom, and we had our man Michael review it. Mike spent a LOT of time vetting it, and ultimately his firm decided to take a pasadena, but Mike was kind enough to direct us to another lawyer who has handled some similar matters -- involving foreign resort hotels. That lawyer will take another look for us, and Paul wishes to meet him in person -- so we'll see if that happens next week. But regardless -- not ties or jacket for me -- those are reserved for weddings and some funerals.

Speaking of which, Wifey's friend Alissa's cremains will be interred Thursday -- we'll go together. One of the early friend decided that Alissa would have enjoyed it if her friends met at one of her two favorite local places: Shorty's or Lots of Lox, to discuss the old times.

I figure I'll drop Wifey off at either of those venues and let the former Killian High kids enjoy their nostalgia -- I met Alissa 11 years after Wifey did, and most of their best memories were made while I was still in Junior High.

But man -- those wheels sure roll fast. The trick is to savor the moments -- somehow Bar Mitzvot become weddings even as we watch.

Back In Time

 So yesterday I drove to mid-Beach to meet an old friend/former employee at her condo. We hadn't seen each other in 19 years -- she reached out, to ask me about a mutual friend who did renovations for us and the Ds, and we agreed to meet for lunch.

The meeting reinforced 2 things for me. I'm no fan of Miami Beach anymore -- especially that part. It's truly a concrete canyon, where we owned an oceanfront unit from 1997-2000. We had some fine times there, but the area is now PACKED. Second, I never want to live in a condo. The wait for the car was long, and as our reno friend noted, doing work under the auspices of an HOA is a nightmare.

But it was still a nice catch up -- talking about the old times. My friend is sad, though -- her husband died 4 years ago of pancreatic cancer, and her daughter's baby Daddy, with whom she was also close, is gone 3 years now from colon cancer. A lot of loss.

Still, we shared some great deli sandwiches on 41st Street, at a Roasters that years ago was Arnie and Ritchie's. My memory of the wacky cases is sharper -- I fear my old friend's depression may have clouded her memories.

I drove home in nostalgia, though -- decades of cases, and co-workers, and parties, and escapades. That's a lot to recall...

As I got close to home, Wifey told me that Crazy Sheryl, our Boston friend, wanted to meet for dinner, and Wifey correctly assumed I would prefer to stay home and bring in. Sheryl brought her dear friend Stacy, and with the very lively chatter of the 3 ladies, I felt the need to have a few drinks, though I thought I'd take the night off. 

We ended up having a fine time -- bringing in Big Cheese -- and comparing grandparenting notes. It's funny -- we met Sheryl when D2 and her girl Amelia were 5 -- the age Little Man is now, Truly sunrise, sunset...

Tonight even MORE eating. Scott's in town for his tux fitting at a fancy store in Coral Gables -- Dr. Barry, Mr. Populist, justified the paying top dollar for the haberdashery that it was, after all, his son's wedding. Younger brother Josh initially objected -- asserting he was going to find cheaper black tie, but ended up joining the high retail party, too -- so I'm guessing the 3 tuxes will equal the entire cost of Wifey and my wedding in 1987.

That's the beauty of old, close friends -- we call each other on our B.S. In 1985, my Firebird was wrecked by a red light running girl in North Miami, as I was visiting Wifey, who had fled from Kendall to get away from me and my "not yet ready to commit" self.

The insurance company provided me with a Dodge Omni, by far the cheapest and most bare bones car then sold. I was living with Eric, who was always more of a car guy than I was, and my then populist self, during a trip to dinner, proclaimed that no one ever needed any more of a car than the Omni -- the AC was cold, decent stereo, reliable transportation.

Eric questioned me -- if we ever made money, wouldn't it be nice to have something better as a ride? No, I insisted, I would always be an Omni, or equivalent kind of guy.

Fast forward 9 years. Paul and I started our firm, and agreed that image WAS important -- clients weren't going to hire broke ass lawyers. I was driving a nice Mitsubishi Diamante then -- it was a new car, and I leased it for $199 per month, paying an extra $10 per month for leather seats. It was actually a good car. But Paul convinced me -- luxury time - and so I leased a Jaguar sedan -- powder blue. If I needed an upscale car, I figured I might as well channel my inner James Bond.

I drove by Eric's Kendall house, knowing he'd want to check out the car. He drove us onto the Palmetto, and gunned it -- checking out the nice performance. He turned to me and said, wryly: "Wow -- Dodge has really done WONDERS with the Omni."

Guilty. He got me. And now, fast forwarding nearly 3 decades, I LOVE that my practical, middle class values friend, is spending TONS more on 3 tuxes than I ever spent on clothes -- even when our law practice was flying, and we were in the chips.

I intend to so toast to it at the Italian place on Miracle Mile tonight.

Yes -- you can get though this life with no friends. Damned if I understand how.

Banner Grandparenting Day

 So I fetched Wifey out front after I had an appointment, and we were off to Miami Shores. We brought the special needs Spaniel Bo with us -- figuring it would be a long day for him alone, and he was happy, sort of, to see his enormous puppy Betsy. We caught up, and D2's friend Stephanie the pilates instructor came, followed by D1 and her happy Spaniel Lemon. I took all three dogs out back and let them fun around, except for Bo, who sort of humps along like an old raccoon. 

D1 had a work call after Pilates, and so retreated to Jonathan's office downstairs, and D2 and I walked Betsy and Lemon. I realized the time grew short for my task -- fetching Little Man at school after soccer, and I left for North Miami, honey yogurt at the ready.

He loves the stuff, and I always bring it as his after school snack -- he slurps it happily as we drive home. He high fived the teacher's aid on the way out, and several kids yelled his name -- clearly he's a popular pre k kid at the school. On the way home we talked again of the animals that live on the frozen "toondra," as pronounced by his native Spanish speaking teachers, because, as the saying goes...Miami.

We arrived home, and he greeted his brother Saul, who was there with nanny Lizeth. It was a happy scene. Shortly afterwards, D1 and Wifey arrived -- Chick Fil A in tow, which brought happiness, and then D2 and Betsy arrived as well.

I had told the Ds I felt like something a bit more upscale than Chick Fil A, and so called in an order to Pinch, my go-to gastropub 4 minutes away. And I got to do my signature move -- arrive a few minutes before the order is ready, and enjoy a martini at the bar, checking out the diverse and colorful people of that gentrifying part of Miami.

I finished said drink, and brought home said food, and the Ds and I ate -- Wifey played with the boys. D1 had invited over old friends -- British Dad and Italian Mom, and their lovely 6 year old girl. They used to be Cavalier Spaniel friends when they lived in North Miami, but have returned to Southhampton and Majorca.

The Mom greeted Little Man with a long A pronunciation of his name, and he went into his room and wrote it out on a paper and nicely corrected her. My grandson is, without a doubt, a total character. He brought the little girl into his room to show her his toys, and, being a girlie girl, was less than impressed by the trucks and Transformers. But she loved the dogs.

I poured the Dad a Modelo, and had another finger of vodka, and we talked of Europe. He's not a Brexit supporter -- and was  telling us what a huge mistake it was. In Spain, the government is getting ready to put a 100% tax on all properties not owned by EU people -- luckily the Italian wife can avoid it.

So it turns out that Brits have a majority of moronic voters just like we do -- and they're seeing the results now.

Around 8, I told Wifey it was time to leave, and as we did, it was pouring rain -- Summer level intensity. A cold front was passing in, apparently.

We called my California sister and chatted during the ride home -- she's turning 77 in June and she and Wifey compared notes on the ravages of aging. I kept bringing the conversation back to more pleasant topics -- like the funeral we attended Sunday, and the one we had to attend Friday.

And that was precisely why, in stark relief, enjoying the grandsons was so exquisite. Time here is limited -- they give us hope and direction as we age and slink further into decrepitude.

But man -- that vodka helps...

Bible Study And The Difficulty Of Truly Doing It

 So as much as Dr. Barry loathes his commute times, when something truly appeals to him, he's ADD to it. And so Wednesday will be our third JLI Talmud Class, taught by Rabbi Yossi's son Moshe, a taller and smarter version our dear Rabbi friend, though not as funny.

Barry, Norman, and Jeff and I are among the 20 or so oldsters in class, with a few more on Zoom. It's been very interesting -- learning why the Torah started being written down versus sent through time only orally, and how the Talmud, the great book of Torah explanations, is constructed.

When I tell folks about it, I say I'm in Bible Study, so they can pause for a moment and think maybe I've gone Christian. In fact, at UM I was a Religion minor, and much of what we studied was in fact New Testament -- I still can typically spot whether a gospel was Mark or Paul...

But anyway, one of the greatest Jewish thinkers and writers in all of our history was Maimonides, known as the Rambam. Among his teachings was the forms of charity, or tzekekah, a crucial commandment, or mitzvah, given to our Tribe by The Big Man.

He wrote about how the highest form of charity was doubly anonymous -- the giver gives, not knowing who the receiver will be, and the receiver just knows he is getting charity without having to thank a particular person -- just the Big Man for requiring this sort of exchange.

Yeah -- it's hard to do.  Charity is terrific, but just look at the names of buildings at hospitals and universities to see that people DO want to be acknowledged for their largesse. Years ago, my friend Jorge's wife Maria gave birth at Mt. Sinai Hospital on the Beach. Jorge joked he would daily visit by walking down the "Hall of the Ashkenazim," with the comically large number of signs and monuments with classic Ashkenazi names -- ending in "berg" or "witz." I can never visit there without recalling that.

I've been fortunate to do a fair amount of philanthropy. My first major target was my beloved alma mater UM, but over time it became clear that even though my cumulative gifts were well into the 6 figures, I was totally small potatoes to them. These days, other than the required Hurricane Club donations to keep my good seats at Canes games, I no longer give -- particularly to the College or Arts and Sciences where the Dean is a jerk.

Chabad and Friendship Circle are always on our list -- due to our closeness to Rabbi Yossi and Nechama and their amazing works. And then FIU popped up.

When D1 decided to get her MS in Dietetics, I was prepared to pay private grad school tuition. I actually thought she was going to follow her good friend Chelsea to NYU. But she decided to stay in Miami and attend FIU -- the entire tuition for her degree was about $25K over 3 years -- probably 1/5 of what NYU would have cost.

So I met with the Department Chair, and said I wished to donate a like amount -- $25K -- maybe to pay the tuition for a student like D1 but who came from a struggling family. Instead, their "Development" team came up with a better idea -- the $25K would start a family named scholarship, and each year it would award several thousand dollars to the MS students doing their required and unpaid internships. You have to do 3 to get your degree, and for kids from struggling families, time away from paying jobs is a major hardship. We agreed, and over the last 14 years, have gifted to the scholarship.

Between our gifts and the keen investing of the FIU Foundation, the Fund now has assets nearing $200K. We're all proud of all the students it helped -- a few even came to work for D1's company as consulting dietitians.

And FIU was gracious. They assigned a wonderful officer from Serbia to us, and each year she sent 4 tickets to the South Beach Wine and Food Festival -- and we had a blast, either on Miami Beach or, for the past 4 years, at events in the Gables. The officer also was well connected. When I mentioned I was on my way to the Key Biscayne Ritz for my 60th birthday weekend, she surprised us with a bottle of Dom -- compliments of her friend the owner. And she once called me with her neighbor on the phone, a former Canes DB and first round NFL pick who was now coaching at FIU. Yep -- she spoiled us.

Well she left for Barry U and a promotion, and our new "handler" has fumbled the ball of our account. She called me once to ask for friends' numbers and names so she could ask THEM to give to FIU, too. I explained to this woman that I would never do that -- my friends all have their own charities, or don't give much, if at all to charities, and I was not going to burden them. And then came time for the South Beach tickets, which takes place next weekend.

I called the woman, who I'll call Dorean, since that's her name, and after several attempts, she called me back -- I asked if we were getting our annual tickets. She said she would check and call back -- and never did!

Now -- I can buy my own tickets -- the one event that looks kind of cool is at the Grove Regatta Park -- hosted by Dan LeBatard, a great sports guy -- but I won't. Instead, I figure this is a good jumping off point for saying adios to the annual gifts to FIU.

I KNOW it's petty, and the charity is the thing -- not the disrespectful and incompetent Development woman -- but as Wifey says -- we've given them enough -- the Scholarship is self sustaining based on the small gifts they annually give -- and -- well -- basta!

Years ago I read about something one of my life's heroes, Frank Sinatra, did when he lived in Palm Springs. He would daily read the Deseret News, and see some sad tale -- maybe a waitress's home burned down, or a kid got in an accident and had no insurance.

Frank would call his lawyers in Beverly Hills, and arrange an anonymous gift -- telling the lawyers if it leaked out who was the source of the gift, he would "replace you greedy Jewish lawyers with OTHER greedy Jewish lawyers." I loved his political correctness. 

No one learned of this until long after he died.

I've been doing the same on a much smaller scale. Recently I read about a young father, delivering Door Dash in the wee small hours (homage to Frank there) when a dumb ass in a stolen car hit and killed him. A GoFundMe page was set up -- and I contributed -- no idea who this family was, but a Dad trying to support his family resonated with me.

So I figure the FIU Family Scholarship will now be re-directed to the "Sinatra Program."

I wish I could be less petty, and not care about being treated well for my acts of charity -- but hey -- I figure charity is charity -- and the Chairman of the Board would have approved...

A Woman of Valor

 Our friend Jeannette is one of the sweetest people ever, loathe to ever put anyone out. So when Wifey asked her about a funeral for her mother, Inez, Jeannette made it clear it was a small service -- we really didn't need to attend.

So after the second huge meal in two nights, today we set aside to honor Inez -- a lovely lady who passed after a fall.

I learned a Jewish cemetery hack: bring your own rocks. It's traditional to leave a rock on top of a gravestone, to show you were there, and often the grounds of the cemeteries themself are strangely short of them -- I always take a few along.

We arrived at Lakeside in Doral just as the cars were assembling in front of the chapel, for the drive to the grave. We hugged Jeannette and her girls Sam and Erica, and their husbands. Inez was Sephardic, from Honduras -- came to the US when she was 16 and learned English, and worked hard, and met Dave, a Cuban Jew who's half Sephardic. They had Jeannette and Larry, and made a lovely life in Brooklyn, before relocating to North Beach in the late 70s, along with Larry, who suffered since late teenager-hood of schizophrenia. Jeannette and Bob moved here in the mid-80s, and had Sam and Erica. Erica is D1's age; Sam a few years older.

Larry was a burden. He would have periods of relative stability, but then go off the air. Inez and Dave were realists -- never hoping for more than relative peace -- they harbored no illusions that Larry would ever work or go to school. He died at 50 -- heart attack, maybe from the psychotropic meds he was on. As awful it was for them to lose their son, they finally had peace in their lives, to enjoy their granddaughters and Jeannette and Bob. They were a VERY close family.

I always really enjoyed talking to Inez. She and Dave were friends with a Cuban Jewish lawyer from their congregation also named David -- a pioneer advertiser in Spanish media -- he sent a LOT of cases to Paul and me. At Inez's husband Dave's funeral a few years back, Wifey noticed the TV lawyer's head stone -- we had lost touch with him and I didn't know he had died. In fact, he passed in 2017, at 74.

So about 20 of us gathered under a tent at graveside, as the Rabbi spoke. Airplanes were taking off from MIA just to the East. I chuckled when I looked up and realized one was El Al -- Inez would have liked that -- she was a fierce Zionist like us.

Wifey saw David the lawyer's grave and we placed stones we had brought. We also placed them on Dave's headstone, though it had been moved to allow for the fresh grave for Inez. We took turns shoveling earth onto the grave -- considered the highest mitzva, since it's one that can never be returned by the person being buried.

Inez lived for her family and community. She worked at the Sephardic shul -- the Rabbi recounted how kind to him she was when he came aboard as a young rabbi and she was a decades member.

Jeannette is still working in the flower industry -- Wifey got her started. She and Bob live with their daughter Samantha and are in house nannies -- the other girl Erica, in Hollywood, wants Jeannette to move in with her, too, to help with her baby boys. What a testament to Jeannette -- adult girls fighting to have her with them. Inez was, I know, VERY proud of that.

We drove back to Pinecrest and had a late lunch. This is a funereal week -- Friday we have Wifey's friend Alissa's interment at Mt. Nebo.

Hopefully that will be it for a good long while...

Good Eatin'

 I really, really need to lose weight. I can't speak for Wifey, but she does, too. She was on Mounjaro for a bit, but got off, and hasn't gone back on. I have preferred the new fangled method: exercising more, and eating less.

I did it well during the first year or so of the Plague. I was so fearful that the novel disease might take our newborn grandson, and the rest of my family, that my appetite waned, and I walked over 10 miles per day, to damp down my anxiety. It worked! I told my sardonic dietitian daughter that it turns out that eating less and moving more leads to svelteness. I probably dropped 40-50 lbs.

Alas, when I realized the Plague was truly Boomer Remover, and killed mostly only old folks, who we care far less about, I started defaulting to my normal: eating like a college boy and exercising less. Back came those pounds! One of these days I'll eat better and less.

But that was NOT this weekend. Fate conspired to have Wifey and I meet Loni and Mike at the new place that opened in the old Coral Gables Shula's spot: Beauty and the Butcher. Wifey and I shared a NY Strip and a pasta dish. Loni and I shared a wedge salad. There was dessert. Mike decided to have 3 mezcal drinks, and not wanting to make him feel alone, had 3 Stoli martinis. It was a delightful meal.

We've probably spent more Valentine's Days with Loni and Mike than any other couple. We talked of days gone by -- like the Charades at a party where one of the guests, Wendy, was given the movie title clue "Octopussy." You can imagine how a buzzed woman tried to convey that clue.

On the same topic, Loni, a long time English teacher, shared that her Department Chair decided that for Valentine's Day, the faculty ought to share a poem at the morning meeting. Loni picked a Sonnet, but some of the younger, feminist teachers picked stuff with titles like "My Vagina is Angry." We may have laughed up some of the sprouts...

We talked about hopefully traveling with them again. We've gone to many away Canes games together, as well as a wonderful trip to France -- we toured Normandy and Mike and I, WW II lay historians (Mike actually probably more knowledgeable than most college professors) as well as many other cities, ending in Paris. Joelle happened to be there, and we shared a great meal with her, followed by a visit to an old fashioned Jazz Club, and Joelle turned us on to a famous souffle place.

We also toured the Pacific Northwest together -- beginning in Oregon and seeing most of the state, and then driving North to Seattle. Again -- a ton of fun.

We're off to Europe in May, and Europe once every few years is plenty for me -- maybe we could take one of those luxury Canadian train trips -- through the Canadian Rockies, staying at the old luxury hotels, like the Chateau Frontenac, where we had a lovely stay with the Ds years ago? Wifey is hopefully going to look into that - I only spent a single day and night in Vancouver, and would like to return.

Tonight, speaking of world travelers, Joelle and Kenny and their boy Nathan are coming to pregame -- before dinner at Platea, our local best Pinecrest restaurant. 

I see all of this as a vast conspiracy designed to maintain my vastness! But it's soooo good.

Tomorrow I think we have the first of two funerals this week -- our dear friend Jeannette's mother Inez died, and will be buried Sunday. She was 91 and had bad dementia -- she was a delightful lady -- a true second mother to Wifey as a young girl in Canarsie.

Inez was the first Honduran Jew I ever met -- married for many years to Dave, a more garden variety Cuban Jew. Jeannette had a younger brother Larry, who suffered with schizophenia. Larry was sweet, but caused such grief to his family -- I recall dinners with Jeannette where she had to leave to go get her brother out of a police station after an episode. Larry died at 50 -- heart attack at the Fellowship House, where he lived many years.

As awful as his death was, it gave Inez and Dave years, finally, of peace -- enjoying their granddaughters and the GREAT granddaughters they were privileged to meet.

Jeannette said Wifey and I needn't attend -- there won't be a shiva, since Jeannette and Bob live with their daughter Samantha, and don't wish to burden their daughter -- I told Wifey it was her call whether we go or not.

If we do, we'll stop for lunch in Doral, near the cemetery, to "make a day of it." My dear late Mom and her sister Lorraine, presented with MANY funerals as the 60 something and 70 something relatives and friends began dropping in greater numbers, would either skip or attend, and if attending, would indeed "make a day of it" by either enjoying the shiva spread or going to lunch afterwards. Nothing changes.

Friday, Alissa's service is scheduled -- at the Mt. Nebo cemetery where WE will end up! They cremated her, and it will be an internment -- again -- Wifey makes the call whether we go or not. Poor Alissa was only 67.

So in the mean time -- another drink, please! While here, I very much plan to savor the pleasures of life.