Taking Stock

 One of my favorite parts of being a Jew is getting to celebrate TWO New Year's Days. The Jewish New Year is in the Fall, and of course, the secular one in 4 nights. In college, we also learned that the Serbs celebrate NYE later, which was our excuse for a great party after everyone had returned from Winter Break. That celebration was followed by the Hangover Bowl, where the first guy up woke up everyone in Bldg 22, the Honors Dorm, and we played tackle without pads.

I played QB one year, and couldn't get out of bed for 4 days because of the pain. The following year, my roomie Mike was tackled from behind, and shattered his fib/tib. That was the end of the Hangover Bowl...

But a major thing I like to do each NYE or the days before is to take stock of my life. What's good; what I wish to discard. As Bob Seger sang: what to leave in; what to leave out.

I was reminiscing with Paul earlier today. For many years, he employed what I called the "E words" with many people -- thinking his friendship could enlighten them, enliven them, elevate them...there were a few more I can't remember. When his efforts invariably failed, I answered with my stock answer: "He (or she) can't help themself."

It's funny -- in my 65th year -- I believe this more than ever. Oh, I still give advice and support, and most of all love to those I care deeply for -- but to think I can change their outlooks, or even minds about something, is folly.

I also increasingly rely on a small group of inner circle advisors -- those who can see my life issues from above, instead of from within, as I live them. I can and HAVE changed my mind this way. But I'm careful about sharing my opinion when its not desired.

And it's a shame. I see red flags, to quote the overused cliche, more and more -- typically with relationships. I try to gently question folks, and when their denials of what is obvious to me are emphatic -- I back off -- they can't HELP themselves.

All I know is, I savor the days. Yesterday Little Man slept over and did so until 7:15, when I reminded him it wasn't to be a "Bagels at first light" day. Instead, we took a wagon walk (I pulled -- he sat) and fed the fish and turtles and had some honey yogurt. We then left for Mo's, and met Barry, Donna, birthday man Scott, and later Paul and Josh. Little Man had everyone laughing with his energy and vocabulary, and infectious laughter when Dr. Barry examined his full tummy with some tickles. It struck me that alone is why one becomes a pediatrician -- I can't imagine any of my adult doc friends EVER hearing hysterical laughter from their patients...

From there, I dropped him off with Baby Man, and the two acted brotherly -- whacking each other with plastic sabers...and then building and destroying each others' block castles.

I came home and started the sad part of packing. That's when you realize you have to get all your old man meds in order for the trip -- not just sun screen and birth control, as it was back in the day...Ok -- so WAY back in the day...

I'm all packed now -- Wifey got her hair did -- and is finishing up. She ALWAYS makes great fun of me for having us leave WAY too early for MIA -- but now Uber has come to my rescue! When you reserve a ride, as I just did, you plug in your flight, and Uber suggests a pick up time! I swear I heard Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" playing -- I made Wifey put on her glasses and read it for herself -- lest she excoriate me as usual. So the Uber is due tomorrow at 6:25 for our 9:55 flight -- I'm guessing the Sunday after Xmas is a bit nuts there.

Then, Wifey also showed little trust when I told her our itinerary would have NO temps in the 60s -- it's the freaking Caribbean! She had to check for herself -- the DR came close -- a low of 70 on January 2 -- but Wifey has satisfied herself that no coats need be taken along.

What to leave in; what to leave out...

So we're off to San Juan tomorrow -- West Side Story's "America" is my earworm. It occurred to me that play and move can't be made today -- total cultural appropriation! The thing was written and choreographed by a bunch of Ashkenazi Jews. Hell -- even the star, Maria, was played with dark makeup by Natalie Wood. Rita Moreno WAS in the show -- but just as a token...

But they can't take that tune away from me. "Everything better in San Juan..." I guess I'll see for myself.

All I know is 8 days of ultra luxury awaits some of my best by far...the trip costing more than we all paid for 4 years of tuition at UM just a few , um forty years ago.

Here's to a great 2026! To steal from Lennon -- let's hope it's a good one, without any fear...

Noche Buena

 It's funny -- growing up on LI, my Christian friends made a bigger deal about Christmas Day than Eve -- except maybe the Italians. My friend Debbie was of mixed parentage -- Irish Mom and Italian Dad -- and her paternal grandparents were old school -- they would host an amazing get together with plates of delicious food -- mostly seafood -- and I still remember that feast nearly 50 years later.

One year I went to Midnight Mass with Debbie, and I knew enough to not kneel, and as I looked up at the huge statue of Jesus, just kept thinking of the joke about the Jewish juvenile delinquent who failed reform school and jail, only to straighten out when his Jewish Mom relented to the pleas of her friend Mrs. O'Leary and sent him to Catholic School -- young Joel came home an angel. When asked why, he said "I looked up and saw what they did to that guy on the cross, and I knew THESE GUYS meant business!"

My youthful Christmas Day memories were mostly centered around my brother in law Dennis's parents' house in Levittown -- and sometimes a moveable feast to his lovely aunt and uncle Betty and Bill. Dennis's younger brother and sister, Michael and Kathy, would be showered with Christmas gifts, and I would get maybe one sort of consolation gift.

I remember whining about that to my Mom on the way home, and she answered "David -- you get gifts ALL year -- not just one day. You are NOT deprived!" I sort of bought that, but to an 8 or 9 year old, it felt being deprived.

Maybe that contributed to my later on not only not wanting stuff, but actually being revolted by it. Unless it's Stoli Elit -- I always like getting a bottle of that...

In Miami, I've been invited to several noche buenas, with caja chinas (Chinese boxes) roasting whole pigs. Those are fun -- the men standing around the pit, drinking Heinekins (not sure how the Dutch beer became the cerveza of choice) and then later singing and enjoying the feast.

This year, none of that for us -- just scrambling to find boarding for the Special Needs Spaniel. Wifey thought our long time housekeeper Miriam would move here and watch him, but last night she texted us in Spanish to beg off.  

D1 told us of a boarding place named Pet Lodge, and Wifey called, and was unable to deal with the owner since "I don't understand accents." I grabbed the phone and learned that indeed this may be a solution. 

I just want no tensosity before our trip. Ha. I also want to be Tom Brady sometimes -- that's not happening either.

But assuming the one living creature we have responsibility for is accounted for -- then we can fly to San Juan. And I am CONVINCED that Bo is our , at least MY, last non granddog dog.

So Ebenezer Dave bah humbugs into Xmas...

A Winning Team And Its City

 In my nearly 46 years in the 305, I've been around a lot of sports champion teams. The still pretty new Marlins -- 2 Series titles. The Heat -- 3 titles. The Fins have made the Super Bowl a few times since I've been here, but haven't won since before I arrived. The Panthers have 2 Cups -- trying for that Pat Reilly patented phrase Three-peat this year. Canes baseball -- 4 titles. Pretty, pretty, pretty impressive.

And here the thing -- the whole town gets happier with wins. My main team, the U, won a playoff game Saturday -- hopefully on our way to Ring #6. And yesterday, just walking around with my Canes shirt -- folks started up conversations -- it's very cool.

At the nail salon, where I got my pre-cruise pedicure, 2 older ladies, both U grads, chatted me up. One was a retired WHO nutrition expert, and the other a widow of a long time UM Med School Radiology professor, who died in 2024. We shared tales of our Canes experiences -- I told both I would be on a NYE cruise the night of the Ohio State game, and somehow a luxe NYE dinner was now going to be a game watching event. We all understood.

I never got backing losers -- like Cubs fans, or Red Sox fans, or NY Jets fans. I was lucky as a kid -- the Jets won the Super Bowl when I was 8, and the Knicks a few championships. Most important, my Mets miraculously won in '69, too -- that was the golden age of NY sports. But when teams lose and lose and you care -- it's depressing.

The counter argument is that sometimes fandom is a birthright. Yeah -- so might be alcoholism and pedophilia -- but when something is toxic -- change it!

Of course -- I'm Mr. Big Talk -- I continued to cheer on my Canes through a lot of mediocre times. Now that we can see the mountain top again -- well -- that's just grand.

I spoke today with Karen, one of Wifey's BFF's sister, who is a MAJOR Canes fan -- despite being a UF alum. Her late father was OG Canes -- in his later years, his cardiologist asked he not watch the games as it hyper-excited him. I can see that happening to me someday. Luckily Lou got to see a bunch of championships before he went that great Orange Bowl in the Sky. I expect that if there's a heavenly Orange Bowl, the urinals won't leak onto the fans in the lower deck...

Meanwhile Wifey solved a pre- trip issue -- what to do with the senior, aging Spaniel. Bo has become emotionally needy in his senescence -- barks and cries while left alone. During our last trips, D2 kept him, and had to bring him to her room at night, but he also snores, and that kept awake Jonathan.

We thought we figured it out -- Bo would spend days at D2 daycare, and spend nights sleeping with Little Man -- but we realized he STILL barks and whines, and D1 is afraid of him keeping up her boys -- and her!

So Wifey started calling around to sitters and referred sitters -- turns out that Xmas week, everyone was all booked up.

Wifey mentioned this to Miriam today, our 3 decade housekeeper, and Miriam and her husband Marvin will stay at our house for the week. Their 30 year trailer evicted them last Summer, and they've been staying with their son and his family in West Dade -- I think they'll welcome the change -- and the money won't hurt, either.

As I told Wifey, this is PRECISELY why I wish Bo to be our final dog - granddogs will be plenty for me. As Wifey's bad back has reared its ugly head, she can't even lift up the 11 pound guy. Wifey thinks the answer is a tiny dog next time around -- my masculinity isn't secure enough to allow that -- so we maybe headed to couples therapy when Bo crosses the Rainbow Bridge. I guess we'll cross that bridge when Bo gets to it.

Meanwhile, the year grows short. I've been busy with Todd, my Muni guy, harvesting losses to offset the gains this year f rom Eli Lilly (yay fat people)!. 

We mercifully have no Noche Buena plans, and then on Thursday while a lot of the world celebrates the birth of the Jewish guy from Bethelem, we will celebrate Wifey's birthday.

And then, Big Man willing, pack some warm weather clothes and call an Uber Sunday am -- to MIA and a flight to San Juan.

And man -- a Canes championship to start off 2026? That would be just grand...

The Orange and Green

 I say it all the time, but I kind of wish I wasn't such a rabid Canes fan. With the time I spend watching them, traveling to games, and talking about games, I could, I don't know -- do more significant stuff.

Yesterday they were in the first ever College Football Playoff - really their first chance to proceed towards a national championship since they were robbed of their 6th ring in 2003. They were underdogs at Texas A and M, and Barry said he'd drive down to watch here -- I brought in sandwiches from Boulangerie, a French place owned by Venezuelan Jews. Josh might join us later on.

His coming over to watch with Wifey and me brought back a memory of 41 years before. I had a nasty cold, and decided to skip the rainy, cool Orange Bowl where we were hosting BC, and their little annoying QB Doug Flutie. Barry felt bad for me, and so came to our shag carpeted apartment -- Eric and Dana went to the game. I had a decent TV -- a Sony 19 inch color job, bought as a gift by my sugar mama Wifey -- not yet Wifey -- just bottom squeeze. The TV sat atop our cinder block and plywood shelves.

The game became an infamous one, as the little vantz Flutie threw a Hail Mary at the end, to beat us. Barry fell to his knees and buried his face in the carpet. I did the same. Had there been phones with cameras, I have zero doubt Wifey would have taped us. We were forlorn. We were disgusted.

Yesterday, in a much more meaningful game, it ended VERY differently -- a freshman DB made the game ending INT for the Canes,and we won. We jumped up and down on our arthritic knees (not Josh -- he's young) and were thrilled. I poured us a celebratory 3 Tito's, and we basked in happiness.

Wifey and I had to leave -- delayed birthday party for Little Man. We arrived at a happy house -- 2 boys and their neighbor friend Riley -- Riley's Mom Sunny, and D1's pilates friend Harley -- all eating pasta brought from Pasta Luna, a great MiMo place. D2 and Jonathan and Betsy joined, too, and there was a toy Australian Shepherd bunking in, too -- D1's German friends were off visiting a sick mom, and D1 agreed to watch the cute little dog (I said maybe it was a lamb dog, given her size).

We lit the 7th night Chanukah candles, and sang happy birthday to Little Man. He and his brother kept emerging in a series of different outfits -- kind of like mini Village People. Jonathan and I had some Ketel, the better to endure the noise and tumult. It was a delightful night -- one I think will stay in the memory banks for as long as my memory banks operate.

Meanwhile, the upcoming NYE cruise has a wrinkle. The Canes play Ohio State, with whom we have a quarter century score to settle, on New Year's Eve! And, we'll be in San Juan, an hour ahead, which means the game WILL be going on as 2026 comes in.

This happened once before -- Wifey's 60th cruise. Canes were hosting FSU and Norman and I watched a lot of the game during dinner, to the annoyance of 2/3 of the wives. Eh -- what are ya gonna do?

This trip, Wifey, Loni, and Donna KNOW their 3 husbands are ultra orthodox followers -- they will understand there WILL be watching among the NYE festivities. 

And if the Canes can upset the heavily favored Buckeyes -- well -- there may be midnight pool dips...

Regardless, it's been a great season -- native son Mario Cristobal's 4th. He built the team from the lines out, as he said, and they're doing great. I'm VERY glad I renewed my season's tickets -- year 47 now. And I plan to indoctrinate Little Man into the fraternity.

On their way out, Barry and Josh and I said the Chanukah prayer as I lit the electric menorah. I just lit the 8th and final bulb -- the holiday is over tomorrow.

Thursday is a big celebration for the birthday of some other Jewish guy over 2K years ago, and we will gather at Sadelle's in the Grove for Wifey's birthday -- a number not to be published, nor revealed she was born when Eisenhower was president...

Then we'll pack, and get ready to jet off to San Juan -- mustering with Mike and Loni and Barry and Donna for a night there before leaving on the Explora ship -- first to the East -- Antigua and St. John, and then back to San Juan for NYE and that football game.

Loni's birthday and our 39th anniversary will be celebrated aboard -- assuming the US Navy doesn't mistake our ship for a Venezuelan drug vessel and cut short our voyage.

Nah -- likely won't happen. Now if the Canes can just muster better offense...

A Drive By Nutting

 So I was enjoying a lovely conversation with D2 today, as she turned onto her leafy Miami Shores street, and I heard a thud followed by her screaming "OMG -- that the hell was that?" As an anxious Dad, luckily that interjection was NOT followed by silence, or worse, by more screams, as that would have aged me instantly MORE than the normal aging that comes from being an anxious father and grandfather.

I immediately thought maybe a dog had darted out in front of her, which in my dog crazed family would have been almost as bad as if it had been a person -- actually worse than had it been an OLD person as none of us really like old people any more. Ha.

Anyway, she said right away that a coconut had fallen from the sky and cracked her windshield. She pulled over, and found the culprit -- in fact NOT a coconut but a small and heavy tree nut of some kind -- later identified as a mahogany seed pod. The damned things ARE dense and heavy, and it probably fell from about 50 feet.

D2 was fine, and sent a picture of the damaged windshield. I joked that probably Betsy and Lemon, hers and D1's dogs, had likely peed on that very tree hundreds of times, and it was time for the tree to get revenge.

The good news is that she was fine. Also, in one of the few VERY favorable Florida auto insurance laws, anyone having comprehensive coverage (all of us) enjoys a law that says there is ZERO deductible for windshield damage claims. I recall this from my 2 incidents of damage -- both actually more serious than a pretty tree shedding a pod. The theory is that driving around with a damaged windshield is a hazard, unlike, say, a dented fender, and they don't want anyone avoiding repairs because of the cost of a deductible.

So in fact Safelight will be out next week to replace the windshield -- billing the insurance company directly. As D2 noted, easy peasy...

I told her about MY 2 windshield incidents. The first was driving at highway speed in North Miami, and I saw a heavy steel spike fly off a flatbed truck in front of me, and come directly towards the windshield of my car -- smashing through. It was a railroad spike-looking thing -- probably weighed 2 pounds. Luckily it crashed into the passenger seat, and more luckily, I had no passenger. Safelight came out a few days later and replaced my windshield -- I think I may have left the offending spike in the garage of our last house after we moved.

The second time was comically timed. After we bought Villa Wifey, the next day we listed our Falls house for sale. That house, in unincorporated Kendall, was the scene of two car thefts -- my Lexus LS 400 stolen from the front, and, 3 months later, when I replaced the never found first one -- stolen again!

My anger was assuaged by the fact that the second time, the residual value of the lease was $3000 higher than the payoff, so Prudential paid me $3K after paying off Toyota Credit. Hmmm, I thought -- at that rate...

Anyway, I stopped leasing Lexuses, as they were, per the detective, easy to steal. By the time we were ready to move to Pinecrest, in 2000, I had a BMW. The VERY night we listed the house for sale, some POS folks came out, stole the 4 wheels, and attempted to pry off the windshield so they could get to, I guess, the BOSE sound system or maybe the airbags. They must have gotten scared off, as I found the car up on blocks, but the windshield only partly removed. Safelight came out -- free new windshield. Insurance paid for the 4 wheels -- but there WAS a deductible.

More importantly, I took it as a sign that it was indeed the time to flee Kendall for the safer Pinecrest. Man -- that was 1/4 century ago.

I don't see any sign in D2's experience today -- kind of hard to avoid trees in Miami -- especially outside of Brickell and Downtown. But maybe Betsy will look up when she pees under a tree next time.

And -- I AM of course relieved that only some glass was broken. Vengeful trees...

Letters I've Written...Never Meaning To Send.

 So it became THAT time for a guy who tries to plan as much as I can: time to update our estate plans. We last did some documents in 2012, when the Ds were single and childless, and D2 was barely an adult. At that time, there were different estate tax exemptions, and we meant to take advantage of them by transferring our assets into a trust. Somehow, even though Dan, the estate guy then, did the trusts, we never got around to transferring. Well -- worked out fine -- we lived! 

But now the GOP has decided that rich folks ought to keep our money in our families without taxes -- at least up to $30M per couple -- and who am I to object? So I decided to use a new guy, Mark, with whom we have several connections.

Dr. Eric went to junior high with his ex-wife Diane, and Mark has other mutual friends. He practices in Hollywood, and a few months ago Wifey and I met with him on Zoom after filling out a questionaire. Now he had completed the new documents, and asked us to come in for "wet signatures" witnessed by his staff. And so it was off to Hollywood -- my second trip to Broward in just over a week! We saw Stevie Nicks last Wednesday in eye shot of Mark's office.

Mark 'splained everything to Wifey -- pretty simple stuff. This time I WILL transfer assets and Villa Wifey into a trust, so that when Wifey and I are off to that Ashkenazi humor time in the sky, the Ds will have an easier time. Plus, if those pesky Dems take power again, we'll hopefully preserve the tax exemptions. Win all around.

Mark was most gracious -- and appreciative. I referred him a bunch of clients -- including some very close folks. I was glad I did -- he explains everything simply and with great humor. Also, he grew up a Canes fan, and though he prefers the Gators of undergraduate days -- the Canes are number 2 to him. That's a plus.

So we signed off on everything -- he sent out notices to the Miami Dade Property Clerk -- I'll handle the rest of our companies. So if , perchance, the US military mistakes our luxury cruise ship for a Venezuelan drug ship, and blows us to Kingdom Come -- well -- stuff will be easy for the Ds.

I decided we needed to celebrate, and we had beat most of the afternoon traffic, so we went to Tropical Chinese for an early dinner. I ordered a couple of martinis, and toasted Wifey -- let those letters Mark wrote have no real utility for a good, long while. We shared some delicious food, and looked back to our days at the much cheaper and downscale Canton, where we did, as we remembered, a lot of our  a-courtin', as Twain may have written. 

Wifey drove home, and I directed her to turn onto SW 124th Street -- to keep the whistling past the graveyard party going. We stopped at Chill-N ice cream, and treated ourselves to a few frozen yogurts. In homage to my late Dad, I had butter pecan. Wifey went with Nutella...

And now we're home -- Wifey is playing DJ, and trying to stump me. I'm getting 9 out of 10 correct -- though she had me with some Paul Revere songs covered by the Monkees...

So estate papers are now set...and hopefully we can now forget. For a good, long while...

Six!!!!!

 Our beloved Little Man turns 6 today. If there is a more adored kindergartner, I don't know who he is. I think his Dad is dropping him off at school, and at some point D1 will appear with cupcakes. The family will celebrate Saturday, and luckily D1 has a Jupiter party early, so I can watch the Canes playoff game at A and M. We'll gather afterwards to sing around a cake. For Little Man -- the cake is the reason for the season.

Ah, the day of his birth -- we got a call VERY early, and mustered at Holtz Children's Hospital. The top doc there, Chief Medical Officer, also known as Tio Barry, rushed in as well -- to make sure his niece of another mother was treated like royalty. She was. A healthy, chubby boy was delivered by C section. We were, all of us, over the moon.

A Peds hospitalist came in to check on him -- surfer dude looking fellow Barry knew for years. Joey freaked to see how he handled the newborn with less tenderness than Joey thought -- we all knew that they ARE tougher than people think. D1 was in a LOT of pain from the baby-ectomy, but still nursed him well. After a few days, they took him home to a house with a furry spoiled Spaniel sister -- a new chapter had begun. 

I loved him, of course, as I loved his baby brother who came a few years later, but I had a sense of something. As a Grandpa, the REAL deal would come as he got older -- and it did. Around 4 or so, I knew Little Man's personality. As he turns 6 today, I know him VERY well, and unsurprisingly, I'm one of his favorites.

For good or bad, he is a LOT like me -- smart, sweet, and, as the Spanish speakers say, picaro -- sort of charmingly devilish. He has already learned he can get away with a LOT with humor and charm. I hope to teach him to use this superpower for good, and not evil. Senator or CEO would be great. Bernie Madoff not great....

Meanwhile, Channuka is upon us -- tonight is the 4th night. It came right after a terrible terrorist attack in Sydney -- but with a ray of light of hope. As the lowlifes were shooting Jews at the beach, a Syrian Muslim man tackled one of the pigs, and disarmed him -- getting shot in the legs by the Keystone Kop-like Aussie police. Thankfully, the hero survived, and will now be lauded, rightfully, as a hero. But he KNEW he was risking his life to save the lives of others not of his own tribe. Maybe we Yumans, as Wifey pronounces us, do have a chance after all.

Also, Festivus is near -- the exquisite fake holiday from the show "Seinfeld." My favorite tradition from that is the "Airing of Grievances" -- so astute about the state of society.

Recently, I got some emails from folks doing just that -- nothing will change - but they want "the record to show" blah blah blah.

We all need to vent -- it's healthy. And I guess venting is the reason for the Festivus season.

So Miriam, our housekeeper is coming soon. Back when I worked, I always made sure it was Wednesday, to get out of her way. Now that our office is my home, that's over. Wifey is headed out for a hair coloring pre-cruise, and some manner of back injection.

I'm thinking I may head over to UM -- classes are out of session, so there'll be plenty of parking. Maybe lunch at the new Rathskellar, and a LOOONG walk through the memories -- reflecting on how I strolled those lovely paths in 1979, as an 18 year old freshman just figuring out what it was to be a grown up, and now, as a 64 year old abuelo of 2 -- still sort of figuring out what it is to be an old man.

I'll go to a favorite spot by Lake Osceola -- not really a lake -- just a fat part of a canal -- and thank the Big Man for Little Man's 6 years with our band. We sure do love that boy.

Light In The Darkness

 So Little Man is having "the best days of his (nearly 6 year old) life" in NYC with his Dad -- skating at Rockefeller Center, visiting the "Statue of Liverty," seeing the "biggest dinosaur bones ever!" and we were going to visit Baby Man and D1, but got bumped for a dinner with her friend Marissa. That's ok -- we'll head up today, but Mike called -- did I wish to go with him to Mai Kai, his favorite venue in South Florida, to meet Jim and young Josh for drinks and apps, since Loni was out of town? I did.

I kind of expected young Josh to dip, as he often does, and he did, but we met Jim and had an awesome time. Jim has a stepdaughter D2's age, who is truly his daughter, and she's doing well, and Jim and Sandra had a later in life boy, Jacob, who is loving UF -- junior now, with a paid internship coming up this Summer in Chicago. Mike, Jim, and I have more than 4 decades of memories, and we tore through many of them -- with belly hurting laughter about all of the good times and riches and son of a bitches, to quote Jimmy Buffet.

Mai Kai, apparently the only original tiki restaurant, recently had a massive renovation -- Mike LOVES tiki culture -- he has a small replica bar built onto the back of his house, and visits tiki bars wherever he goes. The place was buzzing last night -- packed with locals and tourists, and the same show as always -- I made a mental note to take the grandsons there -- they'll love it.

As Mike and I drove home, I read about the shooting at Brown University -- at least 2 students killed by a loser who slinked away. Oh boy -- darkness in that Ivy League school. Worse, I read an anecdote about a student who was 12 and at Parkland -- this is her SECOND school shooting. What have we wrought in our time?

Mike came in, and we had a coffee and tea, and then he headed home -- Loni is due home today, and Mike, far more energetic than I, is headed to College Station to watch the Canes, a day later to Quebec City for a Christmas trip with his whole family, then a day home before we all fly to Puerto Rico for our NYE trip. I told him just going to Ft. Lauderdale 2 weeks before the cruise was plenty for me!

Anyway, I got up early, and checked the news, and saw an even huger tragedy -- a terrorist attack on a Chabad Chanukah festival in Sydney -- at Bondi Beach. Apparently 2 gunman stood on a bridge and killed 9 people, one of the pigs got killed, and the other is in critical condition. I've been to many Chanukah parties sponsored by Chabad -- tonight there's a menorah lighting nearby, and D1 may attend one in Miami Shores. This sickening act hit VERY close.

And yet, tonight begins the Festival of Light -- Chanukah. I'll fetch the electric menorah and place it in the window -- this is a holiday Jews are COMMANDED to show everyone who we are -- not celebrate privately in shuls or homes.

My sage rabbi friends have taught me that our tradition is that darkness must be overcome only with light -- they symbolic one of the menorah candles, and moreso, by Jews being a "light unto the world."

Seems a tough order on the heels of so much tragedy, but so it must be. From the ashes of the Holocaust Israel was born -- a tiny nation that has given the world SO much -- like medical advances, cell phones, desalinization -- you name it. For me, it's given us Wifey, who gave me the Ds and the family The Big Man has blessed me with.

So I will do as commanded, and celebrate the light, beginning tonight. I'll keep the families of those lost in my head -- this transcends politics. US school shootings bring calls for gun control, of course -- but Australia has some of the toughest, and fewer shootings, but the victims in Sydney still...

Baby Man will be happy with the new dinosaur we're giving him -- and we'll see Little Man later in the week to hear, I am sure, ALL about his adventures. He knows I'm the only one in the family born in NYC -- he LOVES that fact -- we brought it up during a FaceTime the other morning.

His ebullience is a light onto my family. We have to focus on that, especially on this holiday.

Lovely Day

 It's funny when synchronicity happens, as it did this am. I slept incredibly late (for me) -- to 9 am on account of the Skyy vodkas they served at the Devonwood Holiday party. More on that in a moment. I got up, fed the Special Needs Spaniel and helped him outside, and opened my FaceBook (tm) as I drank my first Keurig coffee. Norman had posted the great Bill Withers song video for "Lovely Day," and that is exactly how I'm feeling.

The song also brought me back a decade -- actually 1.5 decades ago. Stu had moved into our digs with us on Brickell, on the 4th floor, as our 1st floor space was transformed into Trulucks, which became our Cheers, as it we visited several happy hours every week. I became such a good customer, and brought in so many people, that Ilde, the Texas Cuban manager, surprised me once.

We had a big family dinner -- 12 of us -- in the private room. The Ds and some friends, as I recall. I asked for the check, which back then was like $1500, and was told "No -- it's on Ilde, to thank you." One of the friends, Andrea, said "Wow, Dave -- you gangsta!" I generously tipped the wait staff and left -- what a night.

But weeknights they had, and still do, an old school piano player who sang. Our favorite was Mike from Cleveland -- talented guy. And Stu would ALWAYS ask him to play "Lovely Day," and Stu and I would sing along with the chorus -- 2 martinis in. We were middle aged -- 50 -- and now we're old men -- 64 and 65. But old men have their nostalgia!

Anyway, Wifey's been going through a rough time, on account of her bad back and hips have reared their ugly heads. Each week brings different doctor appointments, and CT scans, and MRI, and new Amazon boxes with massage guns and supplements. This is our THIRD major rodeo, sadly -- the first two kept her close to home as I made multiple trips to Gainesville while the Ds were in college and grad school, and the Ds and I saw Europe without her. Hopefully this Third Intifadeh, as I call these rough epochs in our lives, is short lived.

We're off to a cruise from San Juan back to Miami for NYE, and I fear Wifey will spend most of it in the cabin or on lounge chairs while the rest of us see some islands on moke vehicles, and such. I guess we'll see. Wifey's friend Linda is planning a trip, mah jong based with a cruise from New Zealand to Australia, and invited Wifey -- late January. Wifey sadly declined on account of her arthritis.

But last night, with her literally on my arm, we walked the 10 minutes to Shayne and Michael's house for the Holiday party, and it was lovely. They had a paella chef, and he whipped up an enormous skillet of it, and it was delicious. Drinks flowed, and our united nations of neighbors all had a blast. Our neighbor Monica, divorced from a jerk she had married at Duke, is now with a tall fellow -- they have a Brady Bunch family. The husband was always quiet -- I knew he was Colombian like Monica, but very tall and blue eyed. Sure enough -- Irish Mom -- and the Dude speaks Gaelic! We shared tales of Dublin, where Mom is from. Monica is blue eyed, too -- turns out her VERY Colombian Mom is Jewish -- but she was raised Catholic in Bogota by her fleeing WW II parents. Lots of that happened, it turns out.

I chatted with Eric, a Waitian -- White Haitian. His family, from Denmark, emigrated to Haiti in the 1700s and owned the major beer company there. Great guy -- total American accent -- married a Georgia lady who went to Michigan and we joked about their team's recent travails. Great to catch up with them.

The host Michael and Shayne moved her years ago -- ex pat NYC folks. Michael grew up in Great Neck -- but isn't into football at all, so no making fun of the Jets to him.

At 10, it was time to leave, and Wifey eye rolled me for keeping a conversation going, and so I complied -- we were walking home our neighbors Roberta and Joan. But when I got to the front door, WIFEY was still in the kitchen with Shayne -- talking about cabinetry, as we're re-doing ours next year after the new roof goes on.

We walked home our neighbors, both original Long Islanders like me, and marveled how we ended up in paradise.

And then, Wifey on my arm said "You really love it here -- you never want to move!" and I facetiously disagreed -- "Nah - kind of bored with these people -- I want to move to Aventura where there are more Five Towns types." Not really.

So today we were going to D1's, but she realized a dinner she though was later was earlier, so I'm chilling here until 4. Mike is fetching me for a trip to the re-opened Mai Kai in Lauderdale -- Mike LOVES Tiki bars and culture. I love the company -- and Wifey's not up to doing much, anyway, and Loni's in Atlanta visiting her Mom before Xmas...

Lovely day, indeed...

Sad News Monday

 So as the news junkie I am, I typically hear soon about the latest local tragedies. Sure enough, I read about a murder-suicide out near Country Walk on Sunday -- young 40s couple, well liked by neighbors, leaving 2 small kids. They had Hispanic sounding names, and so I assumed I had no connection with these star crossed people, until I did...

Rabbi Yossi emailed all of us to announce the sad news -- they were Jews and members of Chabad. The announcement was that there funeral today, at the same cemetery where Wifey and I bought plots. What??? Murder suicides among Kendall Chabadniks? That wasn't on my radar.

I'm sure I'll learn more details, and whether I had met them. I assume I had -- maybe know the parents. For now, I just ask the Big Man to bring peace and healing to this tragedy affected family.

Then I got a call from an old professor friend. I had reached out via email Saturday, reminding him we hadn't talked in a long time. He wrote back that he would call -- he would explain why. I assumed maybe he needed legal advice. Then I learned why a call and no email -- he was diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer's Disease.

Oh boy. This is a brilliant scholar who published multiple books, and had a long and stellar career in academics, both teaching and administration. I thought right away about "Tuesdays With Morrie," but Mitch Albom's beloved professor was physically declining -- not cognitively so.

I know treatments for the Big A have gotten better recently, and I hope this is my old friend's experience. Still, it came as a shock.

In happier news, D2 is headed over with enormous puppy Betsy, to hang here for the day. She has a rare not much planned day, and so we'll walk Betsy, maybe run into her old friend Jagger, and go for lunch at possibly First Watch, a small chain place I know D2 will approve of, food snob as she is since her sabbatical in NYC.

When she was a kid, a day with Dad was typically going with me to Home Depot, agreed to by a bribe for later stops at Toys R Us and Dairy Queen. I don't think these enticements work anymore. Plus, Toys R Us is now a huge Chevy dealership.

Last night we got a surprise visitor -- Lauren -- Wifey's BFF's daughter. She was in town for Art Basel, and visiting a friend nearby -- she had some time before her late flight, did we want company? Of course we did, and since she was Ubering, that meant some drinks. She had red wine and I had Tito's, and Wifey made her a bagel with chicken salad sandwich.

I reminded I met her when she was one, at the Fountainbleau Hotel -- her Dad had a chiropractor conference there, and I made her laugh with animal noises. She said at 42, she still laughs at animal noises.

Her cell was dead, and so I called her Uber with mine, and confirmed he had made it to MIA with time to spare.

So goes life. Ups, downs, what have yous?

Tomorrow we see Stevie Nicks -- guessing the audience will have a shortage of fecund fans. Stevie is 78 and still singing. We should all be so lucky.

Hail To The Spirit of Miami U

 Our fight song is wrong -- we're U Miami. Miami U is in Oxford, Ohio. Somehow this hasn't been corrected over the decades, even though we all know it. It's kind of like my illogical love for this team -- dating back to 1979.

Yesterday I watched the College Football Playoff Selection show, as my fellow rabid fans commented on two separate chats. We're all infected with this same disease -- one where a good amount of our moods are tied to a group of 18-23 year olds and whether they are more, or less, fleet of foot than other 18-23 year olds. It's absurd, and like a disease that's chronic and incurable, I suffer.

We were sure the CFP Committee was going to keep us out of the playoffs, and instead invite hated Notre Dame, even though we beat them like the Ulstermen beat the Dublin rebels in the early 1900s. OK -- so that's not a nice analogy, but Irish, like my Jewish friends, are immune to busting balls, even when it's politically incorrect. And I was at the game -- though the score was close, Canes dominated the entire time.

Despite that, the whiny Irish, by far the biggest TV draw, with their OWN network contract even though they last one a ring in 1988, the year D1 was born, looked to take our spot. It didn't happen, and when the green and orange flashed on the screen, I yelled, loudly. Wifey exaggerated to the Ds -- said I was dancing like a giddy ballerina. OK -- maybe I was.

Years ago, I said I wished I got excited about higher cultural pursuits -- like classical music, or opera, or, even though I'm a straight guy, ballet.

Never happened. Though the Canes have given us LOTS of disappointment since their domination of the sport in the 80s, 90s, and into early THIS century -- I can't quit them. Not even close.

A lot of it has to do with the brothers and sisters with whom I share this chronic disease -- even "adopted" Canes like my friend Kenny. Kenny is a Wash U and Drexel alum ( when he was there the med school was Hahnemann) and Kenny was baptized on a glorious night, January 2, 1984 when he sat with me in the hallowed ground of the Orange Bowl and watched the Canes win their first national championship against mighty Nebraska -- a team many had called the greatest ever.

Kenny and Joelle are in Southeast Asia, and this am Kenny sent a photo of his wrist, with an orange, green, and white cotton bracelet. He explained that days ago, he gave an offering to a Buddhist monk at a temple in Laos, and the monk thanked him with that cotton bracelet -- Kenny ignored the colors -- until yesterday. As he wrote: "Who's to say this didn't influence the Committee to let you guys in?" Can't argue with that!

So even 10 years ago, I'd have been booking a flight to College Station, TX to watch the Canes play their first opponent, Texas A and M. Eric even broached the possibility last night. But I answered that young Dave would have been in (in 1992 I was on a charter flight to the Cotton Bowl to watch us beat up Texas, flying home that night) whereas old Dave, who is leaving for a Puerto Rican starting cruise the following week, will instead take the sedentary route to watching my boys.

Plus, on December 20, the day of the game, we're celebrating Little Man's 6th birthday -- a few days late. I think he'll forgive me for having my eyes glued to the TV during those festivities.

I like the Dolphins. I enjoy when they have success, which they have a little of this season, after a slow start. I follow Canes basketball and baseball when they win. I enjoy the Panthers with my grandsons and Norman -- saw them win the Stanley Cup last year, and it was very memorable. I follow the always competitive Heat when they go far.

But the Canes? They're the only team I truly live and die with, as the saying goes, and this year they have a chance to win a 6th ring (really should be 7 if the evil ref Terry Porter didn't screw us against his alma mater Ohio State over 20 years ago).

I just renewed my season tickets. I've had them every year since 1979 when we got them for our student activity fee. Now they're over $1K each. I only have 2, and with parking it'll be $2500 gift to myself. I plan to start taking Little Man next season -- I had held off since I figured he was too young until now, and my tiny bit of selfishness was to enjoy the games without the stress of child care. But that will end in 2026, hopefully.

So for now, all this man can say is: Go Canes! Hail to the Spirit of U Miami!

The Fog Of History

 I often blow past many important holidays -- Jewish and American ones -- by simply being annoyed that there's no mail or stock market open -- but I ALWAYS stop and reflect about a particular date, even though it's NOT a holiday: December 7th. It is, of course, Pearl Harbor Day, when the US was finally committed to enter WW II. I reflect on the date since it was the beginning of my family's modern history.

I was young when I got into knowing about WW II. Strangely, I learned nothing about the Holocaust -- my family had no Survivors -- we didn't even know any. I learned about the Holocaust when I was about 9. My Dad and I were at a store and I noticed a man had numbers tatooed on his arm. My Dad gave me an explanation, and it was probably not until late Junior High that I learned about History's Acid Test of Inhumanity, and how it focused on my people. Little did I imagine that decades later, my life would be in many ways affected -- marrying a daughter of Survivors. Each time Rabbi Yossi asked me to come along on the adult March of the Living, I begged off. I told him I had the Marriage of The Living...

But anyway -- back to the US. Dad told me he was working for his father's schmata factory as a shipping clerk, which meant he schlepped dress carts all day all around  Lower Manhattan, from shop to shop, where different parts of the garments were added. He recalled that on December 8th, the city came to a stop -- like a movie set -- everyone huddling around any working radios to hear FDR's famous speech. (I compare having a president like FDR to the clown we have, or to the other clown we COULD have had -- Harris --- and it's like the species have changed).

My Dad knew immediately that change was a-comin' to this 22 year old fellow, and indeed in April he got a letter inviting him to Fort Dix, NJ to be inducted into the US Army "For the duration." Luckily, due to Fate and some cunning, he stayed stateside during the entire War. Near the end, he was about to be shipped out to what became known as the Battle of the Bulge, from a base in Texas, but a chance encounter with a sympathetic Jewish Colonel the night before his flight sent him instead back to Pasadena, where he had married my Mom and my sister was on the way.

It's funny -- the date seems so ancient, but was just 20 years before I was born. A lot sure has happened since, to the world and our family. I just wish my Dad and Mom were around to see the family part.

Yesterday D1 and I accepted Tio Norman's generous gift of his fine Panthers tickets, and took the boys to see them play up in Casa Carajo -- a/k/a Sunrise. D1 had never been to a Panthers game, and was taken by the strikingly different demographics of the fans versus Heat games (like totally white and non Latin). The boys had a great time, though D1 overruled my idea of getting them hot dogs for the better quality Lime tacos, which didn't end so well -- but over all, we had a fine time -- the boys danced and screamed to "Let's Go Panthers," and "Go Cats Go," though Baby Man at one point got confused and shouted support for "Naples," since he's been to many FC Naples games of exciting (sarcastic emoji) soccer.

When we got home, the rest of the crew was there , having gone to dinner, and we compared notes or our days. As Wifey and I drove home, we basked in the glow of the family WE created -- a family that began with a chance meeting at a Kendall apartment mailbox in 1983 -- 42 years after Pearl Harbor Day.

History's recollections become foggy. These days a lot of it seems reinvented for political gain. But I know what happened 84 years ago -- and how so many years later - it still resonates with me.

The Last Class

 I have really been enjoying the Jewish Learning Institute (JLI)'s class on Kabbahah, or Jewish mysticism. First, Rabbi Moshe is a gifted teacher -- far more a scholar than his learned Dad Yossi, my good friend. And the material truly has my mind bending -- like last night's lesson, which was whether G-d essentially micromanages the universe, or just created it and let it be.

Turn out, at least the the Chasidic scholarship, to be the former. Most of us, those who think about a Higher Power, see it opposite, if we believe in a Higher Power creating stuff at all. We look at it as if G-d, or The Oversoul, or the Big Woman (Wifey's feminist answer to me when I use the term "Big Man," even though somehow that conjures up images of a circus performer) created the world, and then let it be.

Rabbi Moshe gave the analogy to a carpenter -- he creates a cabinet, and then (unless he's really creepy), leaves the cabinet to its uses -- the carpenter doesn't stand with the cabinet overseeing its every event.

The scholars point out the difference, though. The carpenter didn't really create anything -- he just put together wood, screws, paint, etc...--using skills to put together existing materials. On the other hand, The Big Man created all out of nothingness, and according to their intellectual history, believe that if G-d stops ruling over all for even the tiniest moment -- all of existence as we know it will cease.

The leaf that falls off the tree and turns 5 times before hitting the ground? It doesn't just happen -- it is G-d's plan.

Of course, very often we can't understand the logic or meaning behind what the Big Man does. The Rabbi said let's keep the discussion to the quotidian -- leaving out questions of tragedy. So my brother Norman promptly asked about kids getting cancer, and the Holocaust. I reprimanded him: "He said no using the C word, or H word!" So we had some levity along with the deep thoughts as well.

The other examples were wonderful, too, like ones where one's presence totally changes an outcome in someone's life, even though the "actor" has zero clue what he had done -- he was just there and then.

I thought back to the times of my suegros and my mother nearing death. Sunny in particular -- once she had fallen mostly into unconsciousness, I said to her (coincidentally Chasidic) doctor, Levin, how anyone could say there was any meaning in her life -- she was mostly gone, and starting to struggle for breath.

He answered that EVERY person has a purpose. Maybe a dying relative brings a family together, for example. Well, that surely didn't happen, but my Mom's final days DID trigger in me a deep assessment of the nature of my life and those in it with me.

When my father in law and mother in law were near the end, it brought out a beautiful form of love in Wifey, who would be the first to tell you she's not the nurturing kind. When each finally passed, she grieved organically -- deep, mournful sobs of grief. I saw a depth to her that I hadn't seen since the birth and childhoods of our Ds.

Anyway, I'm actually disappointed that last night was the last class for me. There's one more -- Barry and Norman will attend, but I'll be taking Wifey and some friends to see Stevie Nicks -- a concert rescheduled from September.

The next class begins in January -- and I am now hooked. I think the subject matter is how different scholars answered various issues, and the bases of their conclusions. I don't think it's as profound as the class going on now -- but it gives me an at least weekly workout of the mind -- discussions with the teacher and class members on a level I haven't had since I last taught Religion and Law with Steve Sapp -- and that was well over a decade past.

They say the mark of a good movie or TV show or live performance is that the viewer keeps thinking about it long past the actual viewing. I have been thinking about the JLI class a lot over the past 5 weeks -- I guess that tells me everything about its worth to me.

Turns out learning and discovery really can be a life-long pursuit? It needn't be just political bullshit -- hating Trump, defending Trump. That crap gets to use up less of my mental real estate. I have REAL matters to ponder.

The Retro-Spectascope

 During my first year as a lawyer, I was the briefcase schlepper for my boss Dan during a major products liability case, in which the Plaintiff's lawyer, Carl Rentz, sued a motorbike company (we repped the local store) for a bad design, in which Carl's speeding client was thrown off the bike and killed. This was in 1987, and I still recall it so well since it was the first big case I worked on -- the other lawyer, for the company, was Ben Reid. Rentz is long dead, after an awful set of years in a nursing home following a terrible crash where he, drunk, stumbled down the road near the Tiki Bar in Key Largo and was hit by a car. No idea about Reid. And Dan, my comically anti-semitic boss, is long dead, too.

But when Dad did closing, he coined what to me was a neologism: the retro-spectascope. That was a magical tool by which we could look back in time. Of course, Dan argued that looking through such a tool, no one would ever do something that would cause harm later, but since there was no such thing as this scope...well....how could you blame Dan's client for selling a dangerous motorcycle.

The jury didn't buy the argument. Rentz got, as I recall, a multi million dollar verdict, and this was back when these were big deals. Rentz was a hell of a trial lawyer and made tons of money before he took that fateful, drunken walk from the bar that night.

But I think about the retro-spectascope all the time. I wonder what I would have changed as a husband, parent, friend, and, well, man, had I known how my actions of decades ago would have played out.

When my kids are feeling at all mean, they tell me how they are "amazed" that Wifey and I (fill in the blank) when they were younger. Why did we (fill in the blank) when certainly we SHOULD have (fill in the blank).

Hey, I answer -- what are ya gonna do? We did our best, with our own limitations as people. All I know is, I remain confident that we did a pretty, pretty, pretty good job -- our family remains VERY close. Just last night, I told Dr. Barry about some info one of the Ds shared about her sister, and he remarked: "Wow -- your family is amazingly close -- that's a blessing and a curse."

And he's correct, of course.

I KNOW I messed up a lot with Wifey. I let a raging river's worth of water slide off my back with her, and now that I'm older, and call her out on many of her behaviors, she's understandably befuddled. "Wow. That NEVER bothered you before..." is a refrain I here a LOT from her. Whereas the truth is, things in fact DID bother me, but I chose to, as the line from "Frozen" goes, "Let it Go." Maybe I should have let far less go...

But to use any number of tired old cliches...the past is a canceled check, the past is water under the bridge, and without that retro=spectascope -- ain't nothing to do about our old mistakes.

On the positive side, this all leads to a rarefied place. Judge Murray Meyerson, one of my favorite people, and a true dispenser of life knowledge, used to love to share that mistakes lead to experience, and experience leads to...WISDOM. Ah yes, Mt. Wisdom -- a place where an older person may perch, like a majestic eagle, and know much more than he did decades ago.

I got a lovely call Friday night, on the way home from dropping the grandsons home -- from a dear friend of Jonathan's, thanking me for referring him to a young lawyer for the handling of his case -- the young lawyer, who I'll call Michael, since that's his name, settled what we used to call a "whippie," for whiplash -- a case where the client got no surgery or extensive treatment. By any reasonable analysis, the result should have been in the mid 5 figures. Michael got this young man WELL over 6 figures. And the young man was thrilled.

I got off the phone, and recalled how I used to think referring folks to other lawyers, or doctors, or really anyone, like plumbers or electricians, was no big deal. But I have come to learn it IS a big deal -- when you're rich, as Tevye sang, they think you really know, and my referrals have some weight. So these days, if I am not confident about a referral, I simply beg off. I guess this is some of that wisdom.

So I plan to keep on doing nothing but my best. I shall be judicious with my advice -- not just spout it off like I used to. I will say when I really do know something, and when I am merely speculation.

And I guess, in the years ahead, that damned retro-spectascope will show where I screwed up. It works that way for all of us.

Blowing In The Wind

 So I think I have resolution about a matter of much hot air: my landscaper's illegal use of gas powered leaf blowers (GPB). A few years ago, the Village of Pinecrest outlawed them, and said we must use Electric Blowers (EB) since they're quieter and less polluting.

Last month, I got a warning, that said next time I was caught it would cost $250 and $500 thereafter. Those are some expensive blow jobs, even by South Beach standards...

I wasted time reaching out to our Mayor, who foisted me (love that "Curb" episode) on the Village Manager Yocie, who recommended 2 companies that use EBs, but it turned out they did not. So before TDay, I wrote a snarky, but kind of nice, email to Yocie, letting her know she sent us on a wild blower chase, and could I just be left alone?

She wrote today: I could not. If I got fined and appealed, I would go to a Magistrate, and "probably lose." Well this rich white guy doesn't like to hear that! She said many folks were buying their own EBs, and keeping them for use by the lawn guys at their houses only, and the one the VOP gardeners use costs only $1500.

But wait! I recalled we're pretty good friends with our commissioner Shannon, who happens to be a stunning lawyer, married to a model handsome lawyer. We met them through Joelle and Kenny -- they repped them on a Chinese drywall case -- and have been to dinner several times. I emailed Shannon.

She called me today, and we had a delightful talk. She said the law grew from Covid times, where people working home were distracted by the noisy blowers. Also, GPBs exceeded Pinecrest's noise level allowance, so they could either raise that, or ditch the GPBs. Since no one wants loud parties allowed in our leafy Village -- they decided to ditch the GPBs.

Shannon and Skip bought one at Home Depot, they keep it charged for their lawn guy, and all works fine. And she said the one they bought cost FAR less than $1500 and works fine. So I wrote to the VOP manager, thanked her for her time, and suggested maybe they email residents to tell them the grace period is over, lest they feel discriminated against like I did -- though I couldn't figure out any protected class I belong to.

And then Shannon told me she was running for mayor. Great. Now this WILL cost us, since Wifey and I will support her candidacy -- truth is, she's VERY smart, charming, attractive, and experienced. And...a Democrat -- but not one of the Squad type idiot ones -- one who actually supports Israel and stuff.

We agreed to grab Joelle and Kenny for a 3 couple dinner after our friends return from Asia, and Wifey and I return from our cruise. They're fine company, and we can discuss her race to alcalde (she's also completely bi-lingual -- has Hispanic background, I recall).

So this latest brouhaha (Wifey loves that word) seems to be over. We'll ask Pedro (his real name) to pick an EB out and have it for his use. We comply with the law, Pedro saves on gas...all win.

Speaking of house issues -- the roof company is due to start on our new roof in the coming weeks. They tell me it will take 3-4 weeks. We're changing the look of Villa Wifey from Nouveau Mediterranean to Key West Cottage -- a yellow house with a gray metal roof. I care most about no more maintainence -- hopefully that's the result. And with a new roof, I can get a fire insurance policy again. Yay -- more premium payments.

Ah -- First World problems...

The Right List

 So Paul and I get Florida Bar stuff delivered to my house, on account of the fact that Paul doesn't think a legitimate attorney ought to have his house address the same as his office one, whereas I am accepting of things. Anyway, this am I glanced through the Florida Bar news, which I ought to get online, but am too lazy to make the change.

I always glance through the articles, like I used to do with "Playboy" magazine, just to make sure there's nothing glaring I should know, and then I turn to the two important lists: "Disciplinary Actions" and "In Memoriam."

It occurs to me that fewer and fewer of my colleagues make the first list. Prime career time for screwing up seems to be early or middle -- not the twilight, as Norman calls us. As to the second, sadly, that list has members of ALL ages -- though of course it skews to those admitted to practice in the 80s and earlier.

This month my friend Dave Coulson was on the sad list. And truly, the whole key is staying OFF that "In Memoriam" group for as long as possible. Discipline? Hell -- at this point, I'd just quit, or do what's called a "Disciplinary Revocation" which is essentially disbarring yourself.

Intimations of mortality, to malaprop Wordsworth.

Anyway, we had a BANNER T Day, where we feasted and laughed and enjoyed our shared gratitude. I spent a lot of time with Jonathan's grandmother Judy, the essence of a true matriarch. She's 90 and sharp as a tack, and loving as ever -- surrounded by her kids, grandkids, and 2 great grandkids. We talked about planning and the absurdity of that -- her parents never planned on Nazis and having to stash their daughter in a convent to survive the Holocaust as a little Catholic girl, emerging to find nearly everyone killed off.

But she always makes me smile -- remembering with greater clarity than I have when she met D2 and Wifey and me in Gainesville and knew in her heart that very day we would become family. Anyone who acts against this powerful woman's wishes does so at their own stupidity and peril -- we sure didn't!

We took Little Man home with us after the feast, and spent a lovely day with him -- D1 and Baby Man stopped by to fetch him for one of 2 Friendsgivings, and then she left with Baby Man -- Joelle and Kenny had stopped by for lunch and my notary skills -- they're leaving today for SE Asia and needed some stuff notarized before they left.

I had some leftover champagne from D1's pilates party, and Joelle and I toasted to their safe and fun journey.

In the evening, we took Little man to Fairchild Garden's "Night Garden," where they light all the trees and place fairies all over -- it was truly mystical. There's a huge banyan tree with a West Indian accented man talking as if he was the tree, Archimedes, but you can call him Archie. Little Man got to ask a question, and it was "Are you pretend?" Archie said no, he was a real talking tree, and Little Man came back to me, leaned in, and said "Grandpa Dave -- there's a speaker behind him-- he's not really a talking tree."

Ok, so we got one of THOSE on our hands -- good thing we're not Christian -- he'd know Santa Claus was total bull. 

And as we drove home, he asked how long we had been at the Garden. I told him nearly 2 hours. He said "It seemed to me it was much shorter. When you're doing something fun -- an hour goes by SO fast. But sometimes in school, when I want to go outside, an hour seems SOOOO long."

So we have a not yet 6 year old already thinking with Einsteinian abstraction. D1 told us she met with the school folks last week -- he was placed into the Gifted Program starting in First Grade. Beat me with a stick!

We drove him home, and since he was already bathed, and his little brother already in bed, he got a few books read to him and then off to bed, too. Wifey and I drove home kvelling about our grandsons, and daring to hope for maybe more grandkids, too.

So long as we stay off that bad list...

Space and Time

 So Barry, Norman and I are taking a class taught by Rabbi Moshe Harlig, intellectual son of Rabbi Yossi, on the Kabbalah. Not the pop-style Kabbalah favored by idiots like Madonna, but the real McCoystein, so to speak.

Last night's class really blew my mind -- I told Barry I felt like Larry Kroger in the scene in "Animal House" where he tries weed for the first time and Donald Sutherland's professor character has him contemplating entire universes on the tip of his finger.

The lesson was that places, people,and time are all The Big Man's creation, and therefore not subject to the understanding we mortals have. For example, in the Torah it is mentioned that Abraham was basically celebrating Passover -- giving matzoh to angelic visitors -- more than 2 thousand years before the exodus occurred. Why? Because the exodus was already created by G-d -- it just took Moses -- being in the right spot and time -- to bring it to reality for humans.

We also talked about how each day has its special energy -- particularly holidays, and one's birthday. A secular holiday is a construct -- if a family decides, for example, to celebrate Thanksgiving the day before the Thursday, it's no less a T Day for that family. But Jewish holidays don't work that way -- you can't decide to celebrate Passover other than the prescribed time -- the energy is different.

Same is so of Shabbos. There was a tale shared of a Roman emperor who came into a Jewish house on a sabbath and asked why the food tasted different. Was there a unique spice? No, per the sages -- food DOES taste different on shabbos -- due to its powerful, crucial energy.

Earlier in the week, I spoke to my old friend Stu, who holds himself out as a funny, silly guy, but was Phi Beta Kappa in college as a Philosophy major before Emory Law. We talked about people, and how you can't get them to change their ways. Stu remarked: "People are like the weather. They just ARE. You may want it warmer, or sunnier, or cooler, but you can't affect that -- the weather just IS."

This actually jibes well with last nights lessons -- things, under the Hand of The Big Man -- just ARE. We need only to study and figure them out, and parse meaning for our lives. Simple. Ha. As if!

Another lesson was how critical it is to celebrate our birthdays. Again -- we were born to a certain mission, at a certain time, as a gift from Above. I used to subscribe to comedian Denis Leary's theory: "There comes a time in a man's life, where he knows, or needs to know, that his birthday is no big deal to anyone other than his selfish self -- and that age is about 8."

Au contraire, funny Irish Boston Catholic guy! Failing to celebrate is akin to getting a precious gift from someone, tossing it aside, and not showing gratitude. And in my family, we SHOW gratitude. The Ds well remember that any gifts they received were not released to them before a thank you note was written.

All of this dovetails into today -- the biggest secular day of gratitude, and, for us, D1's birthday. We will celebrate the latter TWICE -- first a pilates get together on our front porch, and later with 23 of us at D2 and Jonathan's house -- catered by Les.

When you accept each day, each moment in your life is truly sacred, and truly holy -- unique among infinity of time and space -- well -- you'd damn well better savor that. So that's on today's scrumptious menu for sure.

Mahjong Ladies

 It is so funny to me how my life has come full circle. A VERY strong childhood memory is my mother Sunny hosting mahjong games -- every few weeks. She played with a group of women, one Greek, the rest Jewish, and I LOVED that there were cookies and Sarah Lee cake, which I was allowed to sample, but HATED the intense cloud of cigarette smoke which made it all the way to my bedroom -- 2 flights up our split level from the playroom where the games were hosted.

I recall Kay (the Greek lady) and Arlene, and Bea, and Berneice, and a few others. They would sit around Sunny's table, 4 players and one waiting, in their Marge Simpson-style hairdos, and talk happily about their husbands and we kids. 

When Sunny moved to Delray, she found 2 other regular games, but by then none of the 60 somethings wanted to host -- they met at either the "main" clubhouse, or the smaller one nearer to my Mom's Kings Point section, the "Isle of Capri," which was so named because there were canals around it. Years later, when Wifey and I visited the actual Isle of Capri in Southern Italy, I learned it was just a tad more picturesque than the 70s cell block style architecture of Kings Point.

But anyway, turns out that younger generations of women are now HEAVILY into the game, too, and over the past year Wifey has begun weekly hosting the game. I joke that depending on my level of Oedipal thought, I'm either slightly aroused, or slightly revolted. Nah -- not revolted at all -- none of this generation smoke, and occasionally I can get one or more of them to accept a cocktail, which means I can pour myself one or two, and thereby get by my self prohibition of not drinking alone.

One of the regulars, our friend Lili, is out of action for awhile, on account of she and Jeff are up in New Haven, where they bought a townhouse to be closer to their eldest daughter, and one granddaughter and another on the way in a few weeks. New Haven tends to be bleak -- and in the late Fall and Winter more so, but the grandkids are the draw -- Lili is gone until next year, so she can help with the baby.

So last night our neighbor Laura joined the party -- her husband Will is a crazy Cane like I am -- his family owns the bookstore across from campus, where I spent a LOT of money from '79-'86, a fact I always remind Will of as we pass on our walks -- and he always says "Thanks -- it helped to buy our house here!"

Another newer addition is Roberta, who used to drive Will to Gables High in the early 80s. She's divorced long ago, with 2 kids living in Brooklyn who have become orthodox. After the game, she and Wifey talked for a long time outside, and I joined them, and it was lovely -- Roberta is delightful.

They mentioned how Laura, like Wifey, wants badly to move out of her huge house, and Will, like me, LOVES it here -- he may be the only neighbor who walks more than I do. I asked where Laura wants to go, since they'll stay in Miami, and the response was "She doesn't know, but somewhere smaller and easier to take care of!"

A ha! Just as I suspected -- another case of the divergence of older men and women. It seems to me, once in the 60s, men want no life changes, and women crave SOMETHING -- they can't even identify it, but it's there.

This happened to my parents in 1978 -- my Dad was happy as a clam on LI, I was going off soon to college, but my Mom was restless. And so they decamped to the Delray condo, and my Dad loathed it. He loved South Florida, but always saw himself living in what is now Aventura -- he had a business friend who lived at a place called Admiral's Port, which is right next to what is now Williams Island, where Paul and Patricia live.

No dice. My Mom and her sisters decided it was time to go back to the future -- when they all lived close by in post WW II Bronx. So my Uncle Marty and Muriel, Lorraine and Abe, and Dorothy and Arthur all moved to Kings Point. The youngest, Florence, was the po relation, and couldn't afford to leave Rockland County.

Within a few years, all but my parents moved to nicer places than Kings Point, which, to this day, is the ugliest condo development I have ever seen -- essentially huge parking lots with the buildings in the middle, with small strips of lawn separating them. 

But to my Mom, it was heaven -- she stayed there a total of  33 years -- 30 after my Dad died.

Likewise, Wifey wants a change -- not sure what -- but SOME change. Not happening -- at least for me. 40 minutes is close enough to our beloved Ds, and I too love it here. Long suffering Wifey will reluctantly endure.

And so the games will continue. And as I welcome the mahjong ladies, each time I'm taken back half a century in my mind.

Strange Days Indeed

 I follow politics far less than I used to, largely since I can't stand MOST politicians these days -- both on the Right and Left.

Wifey and many others give people like Trump FAR too much free real estate in their brains -- I get nearly daily emails and FaceBook (TM) posts about how evil he is -- same with DeSantis. I didn't vote for either of them -- never would -- but like Dave Chappelle, I chose to stick around and see how their favor the rich policies work for me. The latest is Florida GOP coming up with a bill to essentially eliminate most property taxes for those 65 and over. Hey -- if they want to save me $20K per year or so, who am I to complain? I'd probably just have to spend the money helping the grandsons attend private schools, since the GOP seems hell bent on weakening public schools, anyway.

Joey contacted me about a former high school classmate of his who now lives near us, and is running for Congress as a Democrat -- to maybe unseat Maria Salazar, our current joke of a representative. Salazar beat Donna Shalala, who lost due to her hubris -- she didn't bother to campaign -- thinking, like Ruth Bader Ginsberg, that she was an so important, she would serve forever. Not so fast, Donna -- the far dumber and less qualified Salazar won.

Anyway, I told Joey I'm done with giving any campaign contributions -- with the exception of a few judicial campaigns for old friends. I'd like to see more Dems win, but the party of my grandparents, parents, and until recently myself, is batshit, too.

When we were in Maine, Joelle and Kenny were crowing about some guy named Platner, supposably (always use the Miami spelling) who was the future of the Dems -- could unseat the old lady incumbent -- was an oyster farmer and retired Marine -- a "muscular" new candidate who could shake things up. I read up on him -- he's a bit anti-semitic-ish. Said nasty stuff on Reddit, and has had, for years, a Nazi tattoo he claimed he got not knowing its meaning -- but he kept if for 7 years! A chief of staff even quit his campaign over it -- and Bill Maher, who I like more and more, calls him the Nazi Oyster Farmer. Yeah, no, to coin another Miami neologism.

I guess the Dems bother me more lately -- seems much more Jew hatred comes from the extreme left. This guy recently elected in NYC is amazing to me -- apparently 20% of Jews voted for him since he's promising free crap to the young ones there -- and cheaper rent. Anyone with any sense knows that turning NYC into Havana or Caracas on the Hudson isn't a great idea. And the other day, during a meet at a venerable NYC synagogue, the idiot Hamas lovers hassled the Jews attending a pro-Israel meeting -- saying their catchphrase "Globalize the Intifada!" Mamdani said it shouldn't have happened, but criticized the synagogue for the content of the meeting!

How did NYC go from 9/11 and all it meant to a time, 24 years later, when they elect a mayor largely sympathetic to the goals of the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center?

Hopefully the pendulum swings more towards the Center in the years ahead. All I know is, my money goes to my family and charity -- the scoundrels in politics can go tap other sources.

Strange days, indeed, as the late Lennon (not Lenin) sang.

Overnight Grandson

 So Friday was a logistical one for us, mostly due to my creeping senility. Joelle and Kenny invited us to meet for their shared birthday dinners, and I marked it down for Saturday night. As a result, D1 was going to drop off Little Man Friday night after a local shabbat dinner, we'd re-home him Saturday, and then meet our friends in the Gables -- at Sra. Martinez, a Michelle Bernstein spot that used to be in the Design District.

Alas, Kenny texted to confirm for Friday, and I was like -- what? You mean Saturday. No -- I messed it up,so we fixed it by D1 agreeing to come later Friday night, making our dinner earlier, and no big whoop.

The dinner was delicious -- Michelle Bernstein and her husband, Sr. Martinez, came to our table, and Michelle claimed to recall me for being on her Check Please! Public TV show, but I think she was just being charming. The food was fine, and we toasted our friends for many more decades -- they're leaving for a SE Asia trip Saturday.

We rushed home to accept Little Man -- Baby Man was none too pleased being told he needed to be completely potty trained before he can stay, too. And D1 was off for home, and we hung with Little Man until he rubbed his eyes and I told him another Night Bird story, a character I made up for the Ds about a heroic female bird who does good deeds like rescuing children and pets. When I got to the part about Little Man's kindergarten homework being brought to him, he was out like a light.

Sure enough, around 3 he came into our room, and I invited him into bed with us -- Wifey was PTFO, as they say. When I got up to pee, Little Man had migrated to my spot, and so I merely slept at the foot of the bed, horizontally, causing Little Man to wake up laughing when he spotted me.

We had our traditional daybreak drive to House of Bagels, and then his engineering-like analysis about the best way to eat his large black and white cookie. After that, there was a lizard hunt with Ippi (Wifey's grandma name) -- he counted 20. And then Saturday cartoons -- he loves them, as we all did.

D1 and Joey have their kids in constant activities. We roll differently -- time with us is down time, and Little Man loves it -- he so told me. He's turning 6 next month and we adore and get each other -- he's figured out he can get away with a LOT if he uses charm and humor. Hopefully he ends up in law or business and not Bernie Madoff-type stuff. Time will tell...

We drove to D2 and Jonathan's -- Baby Man was dropped off so D1 could take her pilates training, and the boys had a blast playing and being treated to Jonathan's garage gym. D1 fetched them, and I watched the end of the Canes game, and then Jonathan poured us a sample of the Elit I brought for T  Day use -- we had to insure it was a good batch. It was.

And so T Day week is upon us -- 23 guests will gather, more or less, at D2 and Jonathan's for the big day, assuming the dyslexic caterer Les gets it right -- he did last year, and is notorious for not being much in contact with clients before a big party. We joked it may be T Day pizza this year -- but there WILL Be plenty to drink -- my trip to Total Wine made that a certainty.

Guessing Little Man will be overnighting again -- and I love it. I joke with his parents that they need to get him through grade school, and then I will take him here -- for Middle School and High School at Palmetto. I'm only half kidding...

Expensive Steak

 So our awesome Wednesdays, for Barry, Norman, and me, are early dinner followed by Bible Study. For last night, Barry suggested we try Daniel's Steakhouse, located in the former Fiola, in the Bacardi HQ on Sunset. We gathered at 5, to give us time for a leisurely dinner of trayf before attending the orthodox class. If the Big Man punishes for the venal, we'd better bring clothes for hot climates in the Afterlife...

Daniel's was terrific, as D2 and Jonathan reported. The very charming server showed us the special steaks, which included one out of a Fred Flintstone cartoon -- a 55 oz tomahawk from Australia. Done. A second main was lobster mac and cheese, which was a big lobster stuffed with pasta. Done. We shared a crab cake, wedge salad, caesar salad, and some sides. We each had a drink -- the vodka martinis were nice -- came on a platter with a vial of vermouth and olives -- sort of customize your own.

It ended up being the 2nd most expensive dinner of my life. Number one was the Salt Bae guy on Brickell -- Stuart picker up that tab -- $500 per person. Last night, I gave the server my card, and he had me sign -- no I reminded -- just for 1/3. The amount was $330. "That IS 1/3, Sir." Oh boy.

But you know what? Every once in awhile, you have to remember YOLO -- and last night, celebrating -- well -- everything in our blessed lives -- was one of those times.

I called D2 and she said her friends' dinner was $150 per person -- but they ordered "like humans." Truth is, the $550 Australian wagyu hangar steak could well have fed 5 -- but we acquitted ourselves nicely -- one small slice was the only remainder from our feast.

Afterwards, the challenge was to stay awake for the JLI class --- we did. The subject was finding meaning in EVERYTHING -- even a morning shower -- since it's all part of the Big Man's plan.

I was happy He planned for us to feast last night. It was memorable.

Hey -- as my late grandmother Anna said, coffins don't have pockets. We could have gone to a mundane restaurant -- but would we write about or remember that? No way. As my late boss Ed used to say, when Paul questioned his expensive wine and food tastes: "You can't afford NOT to go first class."

After my workout, I stopped at Total Wine -- my TDay task is to supply alcohol. D2 sent me a list -- it seems there will be MUCH more than required than the 23 guests will consume -- but that's ok. Last I checked, alcohol doesn't spoil.

Hell -- I have a bottle of brandy from my late Mom's liquor cabinet -- given to my parents on the first flight we ever took -- JFK to Tel Aviv in July of 1969. The brandy smells like all brandy -- I keep it for the memory -- it has an El Al inscription on the label. Probably last night's check was a majority of the cost for that 3 week trip my Dad paid for. Times change...

I saw my doc yesterday for my annual. My lipid numbers were "freakish" -- and he meant that in a good way, and my lung tests was "like an athletes." I told him the latter was since lawyers are filled with hot air -- and I guess I'm a poster child for Crestor.

Still, I remain, in medical terms, a fat pig, and Rigo said maybe try Metformin, even though I'm not yet "pre-diabetic." He's been on it for years, and he's lost weight, and feels terrific. Jonathan's uncle Lou is a fan, too -- so what the hell -- another drug to my daily regimen. Sometimes the side effects are positive -- supposably (Miami spelling) the finasteride I take for prostate keeps my hair looking thick. Who knows?

But Rabbi Moshe's lesson, though experienced through a food coma, was on point. Let every moment be sacred. Someday the moments will be gone -- like most of that Tomahawk steak last night.

Leaf Blowers In The Wind

 Ah, to have First World problems -- what a blessing. So a few years ago, the Village of Pinecrest banned gas powered leaf blowers -- to noisy and bad for the environment. Yeah. Whatever.

All was fine -- nobody paid attention -- until I got a "Warning Notice." If our landscape guys used the bad blower again, fine would be $250 for first offense; $500 for later offenses. We contacted our guy, and he said he was "in the process of getting battery blowers" and would take a chance with the gas -- understanding if we got fined, he would pay.

He then stopped showing up, and our tree infested property started looking like the forest it would quickly revert to without a leaf blowing guy. Wifey started looking around for any other companies that used battery -- she was thwarted. It turned out that we and one other neighbor were the only ones warned, and the other neighbor's elderly yard guy is near retirement -- he uses the battery unit Frank and Martha bought for their house's use.

I suspect one of 2 neighbor women who hate me, probably Riva - called the Village on me.

Anyway, today I walked past the VOP Mayor's house, and, lo and behold! - his guy was using a gas powered blower. I took a photo, and emailed Mayor Joe -- nice Italian guy from Philly -- and told him my problem -- explaining every other house I knew still used gas, including one "he might recognize." I'm still very good at being passive-aggressive.

Mayor Joe emailed me in 10 minutes -- referring me to VOP Manager. She said she would send me 3 companies "registered with the Village" who presumably follow the law. I told "Yocie" a little secret -- even the registered guys still use gas -- they work better, are cheaper, and the entire idea to ban them was given by the Avenue Q "Bad Idea Bears."

Anyway, as I type, our landscape guy is finally back here, and I hear the gas blower, well, blowing away. Hopefully we escape the dragnet again.

Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan had dinner Sunday night at Daniel's Steakhouse, the place that took over for Fiola in the Gables. It's located in the Bacardi HQ building, and Fiola was founded by the Bacardi heir and his BFF Dickenson, the former head of Royal Caribbean Cruises. I was told the 2 lived in Gables Estates, and didn't want to have to drive "all the way" to Downtown Gables for fine dining, and so established a place close by to their waterfront enclave. It has a wine room -- once -- the manager showed Paul and me a $3K bottle!

Anyway, D2 said the place was my kind of place -- a fancier Palm -- great steaks and martinis -- they even bring you a tray so you can customize your martini. We're going tomorrow night -- Barry, Norman, and me -- before our Kabballah class. At our age, the thought of a great steakhouse turns us on greatly. 

I remember being on Delray Beach with my Dad -- probably 1981. He was a little younger than I am now, and I pointed out a VERY hot girl in a bikini. He said "At my age, if she had a pastrami sandwich in her cleavage -- THAT would turn me on." I am become my Dad...

So Rabbi Yossi asked me to be on a committee -- to plan the 30th anniversary of the founding of Chabad of Kendall, since I was "a founder." I regretted saying yes as soon as I did -- I LOATHE committees, and "Join the Committee" is Rabbi speak for "Give money to pay for this event."

The first meeting (and I figured, probably my final one) was set for tonight -- but Yossi texted to reschedule. What's the opposite of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)? HIC (Happy It Cancelled)? Anyhow, I have HIC.

So I never enjoyed gambling, other than the formerly annual Day at Gulfstream we used to have at the end of the year with my brother in law/our firm's comptroller Dennis, where we drank and ate and lost money. But now I have the gambling adrenalin going -- will each gardener visit cause a violation? I guess the coming weeks will tell...

Holiday Season For Our Family

 Next week begins the high season of holidays for our family -- not Xmas, or even the High Jewish ones, but a spate of birthdays intermingled with holidays everyone else celebrates -- Xmas, Chanukah, T Day, NYE, Valentine's Day...

Thursday is, of course, Thanksgiving. For the second year in a row, we're catering it at D2 and Jonathan's house. Jonathan's amazing grandmother, Judy, offered to pay -- most of the guests are from Jonathan's family. She is so generous -- if you look up matriarch in the dictionary, Judy's photo is there. But I pulled nativist rank: of all of us in the family of Baby Boom or older generation, I am the only one born in the US! Therefore, as I told D2 to tell Judy, I pay! May we have only this type of family "dispute" in the years ahead.

Last year's T Day was great. Catering by Les sent out the mother and son team we've had for years at Villa Wifey, and they were wonderful. Jonathan mixed martinis, and we sang Happy Birthday to D1, whose birthday is typically around TDay. I look MOST forward to the holiday this year, as does Little Man, who loves his food.

Before we decamp to Miami Shores, though, D1 is hosting her own birthday party on our front porch -- her 37th. She has a bunch of friends and their significant others coming over for a pilates session, with croissants and champagne, which I shall pour. Wifey and my job is to watch the boys, which we love. It ought to be a very full day.

After TDay passes, we celebrate the 6th birthday of Little Man -- happily in kindergarten, and the embodiment of ebullience. I kind of like this kid -- his mother's face and intelligence, and his grandpa's sense of what Spanish speakers call "picaro," or charming mischief. Sadly, or happily, Little Man has figured out, as I did at a young age, you can get away with a LOT in life with charm and humor -- hopefully this brings him to great heights and not too much trouble -- like his Grandpa Dev.

Around then we have Chanukah going on, and then, on December 25th, the birthday of our Lord and Savior, Wifey. She turns -- nope -- under strict instructions to stop mentioning her age in any way, or the fact that Eisenhower was president over here when she was born in Haifa. She will pick her celebration -- typically a movie and a meal, although this year the new "Wicked" movie is out, so if they pick THAT movie, it needs to be at a theater with a bar -- most of them have that these days.

Right after Wifey-mas, we leave for San Juan -- major NYE celebratory trip with Barry, Donna, Mike, and Loni. I LOVE NYE, and we used to celebrate bigly, as the POTUS says, but that fell off recently -- like the last half decade. But this year we'll be sailing into 2026 on an Explora ship -- truly a Four Seasons hotel that floats -- NYE is set for San Juan Harbor, where there will be fireworks and hopefully no gunfire from the shore...

While at sea, ANOTHER of our holiday events takes place -- Wifey and my wedding anniversary. Somehow it's going to be 39 years. Wow, as I always note, this is just because I was a child groom. For our first anniversary, I surprised Wifey with a hot air balloon ride over South Dade -- hell, back then it wasn't even Miami Dade yet. We were young and fun -- we toasted with champagne at our successful landing. I guess this year there will be a toast with our dear couples friends -- nearly 120 years of combined marriage!  Our long suffering wives...

The holiday season lasts until February -- D2's birthday. She turns 34 this year -- still not sure how that happened, either. It was just yesterday we introduced her to D1 who kissed the top of her newborn head and then went back to playing with another toy, and maybe late yesterday afternoon when I traveled to UF to see her inducted into Phi Beta Kappa as a college junior. She thought it no big deal, but the academic groupie in her Dad thought it a VERY big deal. And Big Man willing, D2 and Jonathan add to the band next year...

Of course, Baby Man and I have birthdays in July, and the other men in our orbit have them in Spring, but the true reason for the season is upon us, nearly.

The weather is beautiful. I went to use my beloved firepit the other night, and realized that the metal pot had nearly dissolved from rust -- so my favorite store, Walmart.com, is shipping a replacement. I so enjoy the cool nights outside by that fire -- I think Little Man is staying over this Friday, and maybe there'll be one for us...

But it is erev that most wonderful time of my family's year, and I am one blessed, happy, rockin grandaddy in the USA...

Crepitus

 So I have crepitus in my cervical spine -- literally, I am a creaking old man. When I turn my head from side to side, you can hear a crackling sound. When Wifey gets close enough, she can actually hear it, too, as we experimented while having old person marital relations on the sofa the other day.

Those include her adjusting her back heating pad while using the massage gun on her hip, and me then taking the massage gun and zapping my neck. She looked at me, sighed, and said "We're quite a pair." 

But the good news is I got my reports, and nothing scary is growing in my head. Yay. And the cervical study is essentially the same as it was 1.5 years ago. As Captain Doctor Radiologist Kenny said -- "no changes" is the best we agers can hope for -- kind of like a tie.

So I can dial down my alarmism. Wifey saw HER arthritis doc yesterday -- he has a whole smorgasbord for her in store: epidural pain blocks, new meds, new PT. For me -- I'll just live with what Nature gave me -- truly it's tolerable -- maybe have my trainer Jonathan just give me more high back strengthening stuff. Ah, aging...

Meanwhile, Barry, Donna, Eric, Dana, and Wifey and I had a great Zoom last night -- alcohol fueled belly laughs -- well --for the fellas, at least. We shared tales of people we've known for decades but there were still tales to reveal -- it was exquisite. Then D1 called -- in SF visiting friends - and we caught up with her and her trip and shared tales of the grandkids. Little Man got a perfect Math test score, but a "Fix It Ticket" that he is TOO bubbly --- he has to wait his turn before he blurts out answers -- all of which he knows. Beat me with a stick! I saw that coming with him awhile ago. Barry made great sport of this -- since nutty D1 had him see a speech pathologist at 2 for not talking so much. "Maybe you can sue the speech pathologist for too aggressive treatment."

I had my first fire pit the other night, and we have slept AC free all week. Ahhhhh...I love this time of year. 

I'm heading to the final Canes home game later -- tailgate situation seems kind of dull today -- the opponent is NC State -- probably just a few subs and a few shots of Ketel Oranj -- the beverage I converted Scott to when he was here, and now I feel compelled to photo drinking it and sent it to him -- though he's at a friends' wedding in the DR this weekend with his bride.

Speaking of firepite -- last night I went out to clean out the ashes, and the entire metal pan fell apart from 2 years of rust. What???!!! Wifey had insisted I have a nicer one -- and the pan falls apart? I went to my favorite store, Walmart.com, and ordered a replacement pan -- hopefully here by the next 50 something night.

Other than that, Norman, Barry, and I have been enjoying our Bible Study, as I tell people to watch their reactions. It's really Jewish Learning Institute, and Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, is on fire as a professor. Last week we explored the difference between purpose and meaning, and forever Junior High humor level Barry, Norman, and myself immediately thought of Navan Johnson, Steve Martin's character in "The Jerk," who found HIS special purpose, which was his tallywacker. 

Turns out, the Torah has other ideas...

So I thank the Big Man for this glorious day, and all the wonder it shall bring. I plan to enjoy it -- creaky neck and all...

Emails That Didn't Age Well

 So I have a primitive email filing system -- I just keep them "fresh" until the subject matter is no longer needed. This is true of law firm related stuff -- typically from our comptroller and my bro in law Dennis -- I keep them until we pay whatever is needed to the IRS or ourselves (smaller and smaller numbers -- especially this year), stuff I do for others (advice about legal issues) or personal matters that need following up.

Every so often, I go through them and delete and send to trash completed or resolved matters. I did that this am, and there was an exchange from July. D1 had told me she wished to do a presentation to my old college friend Dave's law firm -- he had taken over as managing partner when the firm opened their Miami office, trailing Ken Griffen and Citadel, trailing like remoras on a shark.

I sent a cheerful catch up email to Dave, after D1's calls never made it through, breezily telling him about my life and congratulating him on his change of life babies starting college -- a Cane and SMU Mustang. After a few days, he wrote back -- apologizing as he had been traveling, but would follow up, which he did, with his HR Department, though it never led to a gig for D1. I still appreciated his efforts.

I wrote back noting that, if the Big Man allowed, in 13 years I would be taking a GRANDson to college, even though I was just 2 years older than he, since I was a child groom. Well, less than a month later, Dave was dead -- burst aneurysm on a plane home from a vacation in Italy.

Yeah -- that email exchange didn't age well.

I was talking with Paul last night -- he's in Peru with Patricia and her family. He had some down time, and we discussed our grown kids, as we typically do, and how we raised them and their challenges and blessings, and how going forward...

And we both laughed -- because we knew that "going forward" was sort of a funny concept, believing, as we both do, that Man plans, while the Big Man laughs...

Oh, we'll continue to advise and spoil them, of course, but have zero illusions that we have any control.

The wonder of FaceBook (tm) Memories is that it, well, recalls stuff for you. And yesterday was the Yahrzeit of Alan H,  Paul's dear law school friend. Alan was a true Readers Digest "Most Unforgettable Character," the best example of a loveable scoundrel I ever knew.

He was a gambling addict, and was disbarred for stealing from clients through his trust accounts as a result. He was still, though, a TON of fun to be around, and we did some productive business together, though he tried to shave us at the end of one large workers comp case -- resulting in us banning him for a number of years.

Still, he had 2 grown kids and grandkids he adored, and they adored him, and a roster of friends who always had a great time when Alan hosted a party or dinner. Just the other day, Wifey and I were walking in the Grove, and passed the former site of Mezza Note, an Italian place famous for turning off the lights at 10 and the women patrons dancing on tables. Alan hosted his firm's holiday parties there, and they were some amazing times. Mezza Note is some shared, boring workspace now...

Alan's gone 7 years yesterday, and was 69. I went to his memorial service, and Paul and Patricia flew up to Scranton for his burial -- his family had deep roots there. Paul recalls the bitter November cold as they lowered the coffin into the frozen ground...

I keep in touch with Alan's 2 kids on FaceBook. Max lives in Miami with his Israeli wife and 2 kids -- in Alan's old apartment. Ally lives in Park Slope and is out of Central Casting for a typical self hating, voted for Mamdani, limo liberal. Max served in the IDF, and always apologizes to me for his "idiot sister."

Who knows? Maybe all the youts are right, and Mamdani turns NYC into a free bus, lower rent Utopia, showing up all of us old, crusty realists. Nah -- Havana on the Hudson is on the way, I'm pretty confident, with the accompanying exiles to South Florida, much like Cubans in the late 50s who believed Castro was the answer ended up in Hialeah.

But that's politics. This am I am reflecting on matters of mortality. RIP Dave and Alan. Dead in their 60s. Not very old.

Not Everyone Can Like You

 So a few weeks ago I told my neighbor, who I'll call Ellen, since that's her name, that I was not able to perform her daughter's wedding ceremony since we'll be on our cruise then, in January. No big problem -- they had 3 months to find a replacement, and the truth was I sort of barely knew the bride and groom anyway -- I was just a friendly neighbor they picked because they thought I was funny, it was an interfaith wedding, and, as Wifey figured, I was FREE. Ha! As if! Turns out she hates me now.

I told her and her husband the news and she truly reacted as if I was the doctor delivering awful news, and told me she was leaving on a 3 week vacation and "couldn't deal." Well yesterday am I saw her and her husband and said a hearty "Welcome home!" He nodded, and Ellen performed a maneuver I have only seen one other person perform: my late suegra Rachel.

Best I can describe it, it involves rolling your eyes while closing them, and looking away in utter disgust. I sort of chuckled to myself for the memories of my ancient suegra, who held grudges since WW II. And I don't mean, like understandable grudges, like involving Nazis, but rather relatives who weren't nice to her.

So now TWO of my women neighbors abhor me: Riva, since I told her to stop harassing me following 5 texts and calls about her stupid bike path petition, and now a woman whose daughter's life I have apparently ruined. As Tony S says -- "Yeah -- but what are ya gonna do?"

Meanwhile, it was a delightful afternoon at the stadium yesterday, surrounded by those who don't have animus towards me. Norman and his brothers hosted a fine tailgate of Famous Dave's barbecue, and supplemented by smokemaster Rob's delicious balls -- bacon wrapped around sausage with 5 different cheeses. DEE - licious, as Norman's beloved late Dad used to say...

Norman bought a new tent, which was enormous. I immediately called it the "GOP Party Tent," as years ago they claimed their party had room for everyone. Maybe not so much anymore.

Kenny and I left during the 3rd quarter, as post game traffic is awful given the construction at Golden Glades. Indeed -- the smoothest ride home all season, and although I was home before 8 pm, with the time change it seemed like 11 pm.

Today I got a surprise visit -- D1 had a client in Pinecrest, and dropped off the Skittish Spaniel Lemon -- he's vacationing here for the week on account of a busier than normal schedule pre T Day. After our appointment, we met at Joanna's and she had them make her a salad she said would cost $900 -- it was actually closer to $20. I bought a couple of $17 sandwiches for Wifey and myself, and sat with D1 as I ate half of one -- a signature turkey job called "The Feast." It is indeed a great sandwich.

She left for home, and all I have on the schedule today is watching to see if the hapless Dolphins have ANY hap, probably while taking a double Spaniel nap.

Right now, WDNA is on the Sonos, playing my favorite of their shows: Blues Sunday. I immediately recognized the dulcimer voice of Robert Cray, an old favorite, and a fellow I met at Tobacco Road back in the late 80s. Wow -- probably near 4 decades past now.

It's funny about Ellen. Wifey reminded me that when we moved in 25 years ago, she and her husband came by to greet us -- they were here 5 years before. We hadn't met them, but had many folks in common, and after the visit, we realized Ellen had literally shit talked the majority of folks who came up.

We knew then we would NEVER become friends, but morning walks would be fine. Ellen has active feuds going on with most of the neighbors -- so now I'm on the list.

Maybe I'll confine my walks now to the streets where neither Riva nor Ellen live. Nah...

I was sharing this news Friday night with Barry, and he found it hilarious that I even mentioned it. I reminded him that I need SOMETHING to keep my mind active about, now that I'm not lawyering much.

I fear checking my ratings as a wedding officiant on Yelp. Zero stars. DO NOT RECOMMEND.