Like Finding a $20 Bill In Your Pocket

 As a young guy, certainly through my mid-20s, there were few small thrills as nice as reaching into your jeans' pockets and finding cash -- either a 5, 10, or 20 dollar bill. Man -- even though it was your money, it was like finding it on the street -- assets you forgot you had.

Yesterday, Wifey and I had an updated version of that, in the form of "dormant accounts." Years ago, Wifey started a jewelry business, where she bought really cheap costume stuff at a mart near MIA and sold it to friends and visitors. It started to make real money, and I told her she needed to incorporate and start paying taxes -- lest we invite an IRS audit from her fun hobby. That put the kibbosh on her business, on account of she didn't want to go to the trouble, but she had opened a checking account that we funded with probably $10K, at the newly formed BankUnited.

I had also opened a checking account with them, at the request of former SunTrust folk who started the bank -- probably just $1200 or so. In all honesty, over the years I totally forgot about MY account, especially since the interest was so low as to make it non taxable,and so no 1099s came my way -- same for Wifey's account.

Wifey WOULD get notices from time to time that she needed to do something or the account would go "dormant," and money eventually turned over to the State. She would go in and make a small deposit -- she thought the last time was last year. Turns out it was over 2 years ago.

I got a notice from BankUnited about dormancy, and I thought it related to Wifey's account. I had asked her over the years to simply close it and take the money, but on the advice of divorced friends, really one friend, she was told to always keep her own account -- I guess in case I somehow took all of our money and fled. Or in case she needed to flee without my knowing -- I didn't have, or care to have, any online access to her "In case Dave goes off the air" account.

Well yesterday I got Wifey to go with me, and we went to the BankUnited in Pinecrest, where a friendly teller checked my letter and closed the account -- balance of $1400. That was nice, but Wifey knew her account was larger. Sure enough, there was a "restricted" account in her name --restricted since it was dormant, and after a 30 minute wait for BU's "operations" the teller learned the balance was well over $17K. Wow -- found money!

It took another half hour or so, and a sign off by the manager, but we got our second check, and the accounts were closed. Nice! Nearly $20K of "found" money -- the updated version of finding the $20 bill. Of course, the trip we just took had an Amex bill that took care of the found money -- yes -- found amounts are bigger, but our expenses are, too. Wifey and I laugh at how somehow expenditures have changed since we were first together -- and neither of us really buy STUFF!

Anyway -- we celebrated by walking next door for lunch at Chipotle, where it was crowded with VERY young people -- even some Pinecrest cops clearly in their 30s. One neighbor, Walter, stopped by to chat -- he's in his early 50s and about to take his wife and 2 young daughters on an Alaska cruise -- we told him about our trip when WE had young daughters, too.

We had more banking to do. Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my suegra's death. When she passed, she had one Bank of America account, payable on death to the Ds, with a balance of $100.15. After I got her death certificate, I filled out a comically long series of papers, and sent them with the certified certificate to an operations center in Tampa, so the Ds could each get their $50 and change -- and we would close the account.

We never heard back from BOA, and for the last 3 years, we get monthly statements showing the balance. 

Yesterday we went to the Sunniland branch, and I showed the certificate and statement to the nice, corpulent bank officer. He said the Ds would need to fill out forms, and together visit a BOA branch to get the account closed -- though Wifey has POA, the Ds are beneficiaries.

So I'll turn over the paperwork to the Ds -- and leave it to them. Honestly, the time it may take with absurd BOA to get $50 each may not be worth it -- it'll be their call. If they leave it be, eventually the money WILL escheat to Florida, and someday they can apply to get it from the state.

Time, even for retired guys, is precious. Recently a friend told me he and his wife attended a time share lecture in Atlanta to get free tickets to the aquarium. These folks are millionaires, with multiple properties in Miami, and a new townhouse up north. I thought he was kidding -- he was serious.

Hey -- different strokes, I guess.

But Wifey and I are now hopefully done with dormant accounts -- though if it turned out that there was more forgotten money somewhere -- well -- that's a nice little thrill...

Cats Champions!

 What a night! Norman, OG Panthers season ticket holder, had his regular 4 seats and 2 Club seats for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final (no S, as Norman explained) and generously invited Barry, his old friend Jim, and me to go. The Club seats went to his boy Benji and Josh, Barry's son.

Norman and Jim came here, and we flew up the Palmetto to meet Barry at a sushi place near his house in Pembroke Pines. Barry and family often go to POC (either Port of Call or People of Color, depending on who you ask) which is an all you can eat sushi buffet. I'm not finicky, but refuse to go there -- since sushi is expensive, to me that place is salmonella waiting to break out.

Instead, we went to Blue Ginger, which was fine. Jim told us about his job as a former Federal PD -- he currently has ONE client, like Tom Hagen. His client is an accused Islamic terrorist who has been tortured and held at Guantanamo Bay for 20 years!!!! It is amazing -- guy is truly a man without a country.

After dinner, it was up to Sunrise. No one else was in the mood to drink, but it seemed to me that if you can't have a pop or two at a potential championship -- when can you? I made the aging bartender laugh with my tired line "I forgot my ID" and got my vodka. Later, Jim felt bad I was drinking alone, and he got a G and T at the bar right behind Norman's seats. Barry and Norman tee-totaled it. This concerns me.

The arena was truly electric, though the Panthers jumped out to a 2-0 lead, and the game was really well in hand. They scored 2 more times, and the low energy Oilers (Ha!) managed only one in garbage time, and the Cats won their second Stanley Cup.

There is truly no better award in sports than that silver chalice, with each player hoisting it high and kissing it and skating the rink. We stayed for the entire presentation, as did just about every other fan. Josh and Benji met us, and when the crowd thinned out, we decided to grab a late dinner meal -- it was now midnight, and we were hungry fans!

Well, Broward, at least the West part, is still kind of sleepy, and there is no 24 hour Pinecrest Bakery to visit. We settled on a Waffle House, which NEVER closes -- even during hurricanes, and drove our 2 SUVs there.

The staff was sitting outside -- they were "closed for cleaning." We discussed alternatives, but Barry was ready to go home -- he had a 730 Zoom meeting. The closure gave me grist for politically incorrect humor -- I decided the Black staff was discriminating against we cracker hockey fans. Not true, but why not play the victim of being a white fan of a VERY white sport?

We dropped Barry, and took 75 to the Palmetto, to see a sign that it was closed near Okechobee -- for resurfacing, it appeared. We jumped off at 103 Street and made our way through the heart of Hialeah, to LeJeune, and the Dolphins, and back to the Palmetto.

We got him nearly 2 am -- and it was worth it.

It's great when a region's team wins -- everyone is a bit happier, and high fiving about the ring, or in this case, Cup.

I thanked Norman for his generosity -- he could have sold our seats for thousands each, but chose, as I would have, to savor the evening. It's nice when we mules get a special night out.

So the Marlins are the third worst team in the Majors this season (and for foreseeable years to come), and the Heat were bounced from the playoffs first round. The Dolphins don't appear to be poised for greatness -- hopefully our beloved Canes can do it this year.

Just over 2.5 months until the home opener -- hosting hated Notre Dame! 

Maybe Norman and Barry will have a cocktail or two at that tailgate. The events are fine -- alcohol makes them better!

For now, though, I saw my first championship other than 3 Canes Orange Bowl ring winners.

It was quite a night!

When Life Throws You A Canceled Appointment; Make Chik-Fil-A

 So I had my old man errand logistics all planned for today. Get to Tire Kingdom at 8 for an oil change and tire rotation, and walk to my gym at 9 for my hour workout, and then back to TK for the fetch. I dropped off my man sized Caddy and chatted up the affable TK fellow -- a Cuban from Jersey who is a Yankees and DOLPHINS fan. He was born 4 years before Dan Marino started playing, and asked rhetorically "Who WOULDN'T have loved the Dolphins then -- Marino, Duper, Clayton?" I told him one of my dearest friends --that's who. Despite moving here in high school, Dr. Barry maintains his love for the Jets and only animus towards the Dolphins. I think it's part of his masochistic tendencies.

Anyway, as I walked outside and started West in the warehouse district, my trainer Jonathan texted -- he was "under the weather" and needed to reschedule. Of course, I COULD have still gone to the gym and worked out myself, but instead I took it as a sign from the gods of food, and instead turned around and headed towards a perilous crossing of South Dixie Highway. Actually, they say not to call it that anymore, on account of it insults the decreasing number of Blacks in Miami Dade (migration to Broward) for using "Dixie," and instead the road is now Harriet Tubman Parkway, a name I have heard NO ONE use.

Using the cat-like reflexes honed during my workouts (okay -- a very OLD cat) I crossed US 1 (I think that appellation is still allowed, though it may insult those who despise America) and got to the other side, where, a few blocks North, Chik-Fil-A beckoned.

I had never had their breakfast sandwich before, and, it was quite delicious. Just Saturday Loni had told me about their iced coffee, a daily post Palmetto teaching treat for her. Indeed, that was delicious, too. The comically friendly counter girl (in Chik-Fil-A you can still say girl) brought my order, and I DID say a prayer acknowledging Pride Day before I dug in. Man -- that was one fine fast food biscuit and chicken and iced coffee.

Since it's Summer and it was after 9, the aforementioned US 1 was not at all crowded, and my trek back across was easy -- and this time I made my way to the Busway.

This is a classic Miami Dade boondoggle. Since Metrorail was too expensive to extend from Dadeland to Homestead, they built a dedicated pair of lanes with new fangled busses that you board from raised platforms -- to make them train-LIKE. There are even crossbars at the intersections with the East-West streets, which so far have made traffic even worse!

Since everything is political, the busway is no different. Turns out that to Black people, busses are politically charged, and the community opposed the Busway -- they wanted trains, too. Well everyone does, but there didn't seem to be an extra few billion dollars around to build them. I guess I understand -- busses bring back memories of having to sit in the back of them, and signal poor people ridership instead of, I guess, middle class folks riding trains.

Then again, to MY peeps, trains can be triggering -- recall the packed boxcars on their way to Nazi camps. I guess we got over that.

Anyway, I fetched my car, and was told they repaired 2 nail holes! I hadn't known they were there -- but the man showed them to me. I was thrilled no new tire was needed -- the man sized Caddy is a lease, and due back September of 2026 -- with my reduced driving, this may have been my last oil change.

But I drove home and told Wifey this adventure, and as expected was greeted with "And you didn't bring ME anything from Chik-Fil-A!!!???" I explained that no, there was a walk, and an unknown wait, and so I opted to forego her "language of love," which she has made clear is being brought food and coffee -- particularly when she is in bed or enveloped in her recliner chair. No -- she would have to actually drive to the Jesus chicken place herself...

Dan the Gate Man is here, replacing our old system, and then in early afternoon I expect Norman and Jim here, to begin our journey North of the Miami Dade-Broward line, something I do less and less as that cranky old man I have become.

In case the Ds forgot, I reminded them that my number one criterion these days for a restaurant is whether or not they have easy parking -- that is more important to me than the cuisine or atmosphere.

But soon -- it's Go Cats! It sure would be fun to see them win the Cup.

My Sonos

 I always proudly proclaim that I don't care much about stuff. Except... I really DO dig my desk top computers, which I can type well on, the big screen TVs Wifey convinced me to get, and the Sonos, which Wifey also convinced me to get.

I'm really not at all how Sonos works, but I choose whatever music in the word I want to listen to, on one of 3 outlets. One is in the Family room, a sound bar under the TV, one is sets of speakers in the living room ceiling and under the front porch eaves, and I have a portable Roam device I can take anywhere.

Our routine is typically Wifey watching shows or old movies, and if I'm not napping or watching sports, I turn off the TV and turn on the music. I typically listen to WDNA, which has jazz and blues and Latin music, or a series of stations on Sonos Radio or Sirius/XM.

Tonight, I have on The Bridge, which is a Sirius/XM station featuring singer-songwriter compositions. As I type, I'm listening to Christopher Cross, after Carly Simon, after Steely Dan after James Taylor. Yeah -- my taste is stuck 40 years ago...

Occasionally, after a Zoom Happy Hour, Wifey will ask me to play DJ, and I'll play a selection of our music. Sometimes we even dance, if I put on The Ramones or B-52s. Yes, suburban life suits us just fine.

Ah -- now Jimmy is singing "Son of a Sailor." This makes me think of Key West -- been awhile since I've been there, and I do love it best in the Summer when it's less crowded, and Ocean Key House rooms are $500 per night instead of $1100 during season.

Tomorrow is a busy day for this lazy man. I have to get up early, and drop the man-sized Caddy SUV at Tire Kingdom for an oil change and tire rotation -- I'll walk to my gym from there, and if it goes like last time, the vehicle will be ready after my workout ends at 10.

After that, I'm rushing back home where Dan the Gate Man is installing a new board for our front gates -- I could have opted for a repair, but the board is jury-rigged from multiple insect incursions and prior power surges. I gathered all the openers, from Wifey and the Ds, and Dan will reprogram them once he's done.

In the afternoon Norman and his college buddy Jim are coming over. We will drive to Pembroke Pines in the hopefully newly oiled Caddy, and meet at a sushi place with Dr. Barry. We shall then drive to Sunrise for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals -- to see, I am confident, the Panthers win their second consecutive Cup.

Norman has season's tickets and was kind enough to invite us -- I'm sure he's giving up nearly $10K in potential sales to create this memory.

It occurred to me that I have only seen 3 championship games in my life -- the Orange Bowl victories that gave rings to my Canes. I've seen Marlins Series games, and Heat playoff games during their ring years, but never an actual championship. Go Cats!

So, to quote my favorite Alice Cooper ballad, that's enough for a working (formerly) man...what I am is what I am.

I recall that song from multiple LP playings the Summer of 1977. Come to think of it, it may be time for a play on Sonos.

Half Way/Half Way

 I try to keep track of the milestones in life -- I keep an old fashioned calendar in my closet, so each morning I remind myself of the date. And today is June 15th, which means we're halfway through the month whose end marks the half way point of this year - 2025.

Yesterday Wifey and I attended Teddy's first birthday -- Mike and Loni's wonderful grandson. Chris and Rachel just moved into a lovely, large house in Palmetto Bay -- Rachel's Dad Tony is a leading realtor, and he found the house for them and gave them a bridge loan until they sold their smaller, first house. As Mike noted, Chris has learned a key life lesson: never hurts to marry a rich girl. Alas, I never learned that lesson.

Teddy is a joy -- reminded us of D1, the world's easiest baby and toddler. I sent photos of the party to the Ds, and D1 noted it was classic "First grandchild vibes -- the next ones will be lucky to get a cupcake." She has my snarky sense of humor all right. I'm very proud of that.

As we walked back memory lane with Mike and Loni, we noted how time truly DOES change as you age. The 3 years of law school took FOREVER, or so it seemed. Now, 3 years of a grandson's life flies by supersonically. 

Mike joked at the end of the party that it was time for Teddy and Mike's afternoon nap. I took that as a fine suggestion, and came home and fell asleep, as I often do, to Smithsonian Channel's "Mayday -- Air Disasters." I'm not sure why I find these shows so soporific -- I guess it's the fact that I'm not sitting on the ill fated airliners.

It was a lazy Saturday night. Wifey and I watched some of "Hard Days' Night," which I hadn't seen in decades, and Wifey told me how it's considered a great film -- really the first music video, and sort of an avante-garde romp. Eh. I went to bed after an hour, and watched the Panthers win -- one more Tuesday night and they'll have a second Stanley Cup.

It brought me back to my childhood, and the new team that came about in Junior High, the Islanders. Our assistant principal at Salk, Jim Garvey, was the Islanders' announcer, and we got to lots of games. The team got better and better, but never won the Cup while I lived on Long Island. They finally did in 1980, and I watched on a tiny black and white TV in the dorm during Summer Classes -- surrounded by Saudi guys who thought hockey the silliest sport they had ever seen. I was outnumbered, so I avoided saying anything involving camels...

The Isles went on to win 4 straight Cups -- an amazing dynasty. The Panthers may be on track for the same. They've sure become the team of the hour in So Fla -- but there are rumblings the Heat may trade for Kevin Durant -- that'd be cool, too. Sports.

Today is FD, and the plans are to meet the Ds and Jonathan at Beauty and the Butcher in South Miami. We were there once before -- nice place -- where the longtime Shula's was -- one of our go-tos. 

We spoke to Mike and Loni about maybe taking a luxe cruise post Xmas -- including fireworks on NYE. We haven't really made a big deal about NYE in years -- I told Loni that her husband and I would be halfway to 65 in January -- how many of the turns of the year did we have left? Nothing like cheering up your friend at her grandson's first birthday party.

But there's that half thing again. The clock keeps running...

My Life Has Been a Poor Attempt To Imitate The Man

 So tomorrow is Father's Day, and for the past 36 years that has meant ME being a father. But earlier a FaceBook (tm) memory came up -- a picture of probably my 6 year old self, safely hugged in the arms of my Dad, in our kitchen on Long Island. He was SO handsome and jaunty -- holding his pipe in one hand, and me in a hug in the other.

My last FD with him was 1982, and I don't recall it. I was working as a sales clerk at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall in Boca, and enjoying the fact that in those seasonal days in South Palm Beach, there was a shortage of young men and a surfeit of young women -- particularly at the retail store, as well as Boca Hospital, the venue of my OTHER summer jobs while home from UM.

Dad had a heart attack -- probably late June -- and recovered, seemingly. He was home for the week of July 7, and then died July 14th, while getting a haircut after his doc, Heller, had pronounced him fine that very morning. So decades have passed.

But oh, I still miss him so. Those years were SO easy -- Dad was the family mule, and I was just along for the ride. He used to proclaim that HE was the family psychiatrist, and would solve all crises of life for his 3 kids. I now know that was, in due respect, a fool's errand.

Man was he fun. He never got to go to college after he returned from the WW II army stint -- he was working 3, then 2, then finally 1 job to support his young family. And so when I went away to university, he lived it SO happily vicariously through me. He wanted to know what the professors taught, what the parties were like, and whether the co-eds were indeed more, um, liberal than the young girls of his era. They were...

My Ds and Wifey and son in law all praise how I am as a Dad and grandfather, and I accept this praise. Indeed, as I near 64 my MAIN identity as a man is how I have taken care of my family. I'm humble about any professional accomplishments, but not who I am as a father, father in law, grandfather, and friend, along with being, I guess, an above average husband.

Still, I SO miss Hy, and fantasize about long talks I would have had with him as I aged. Precious few of my friends still have living Dads -- Norman is one outlier -- Max turns 98 this Fall, and though he had a few health blips recently, is still VERY much with it, and the true patriarch of his family.

My late suegro Richard loved his family. Unfortunately, I never had a single conversation with him -- he would talk AT me, and I would endure him. Things became comical -- in later years, when we would go for a meal, I would tell the host or hostess to have a tall vodka waiting for me when we sit, so that I could down it to deal with his verbal onslaught, and the inevitable embarrassing encounters with the server -- whether banging on the table if service was slow, or the comical requests of my mother in law since the tea was never hot enough. So Fate didn't give me a relationship there, but there WERE other mentors -- my friends' Dads took me in -- the closest being Mike's Dad Ed, who shepherded my career along wonderfully -- getting me 2 jobs, the last of which led to my true success. Ed died at 63 like MY Dad did.

Today we're attending Ed's great grandson Teddy's first birthday party. Ed died before Chris, his second grandchild, was born -- and Amanda was just a baby. I know Mike feels bereft like I do.

But we're BOTH living legacies to the leaders of the band. It's funny -- Ed was a professional drummer -- played during HIS army stint, and later at Miami Beach shows. My Dad had a beautiful voice, too, and missed out advancing on the Major Bowles show that launched the career of a skinny kid from Hoboken.

So music was part of what Hy gave me, but more importantly, the lesson of what it is to be a man -- someone who takes care of his family.

Dad did that for all of us SO well. I just wish he was around longer so we could compare tales of the trade. Happy Heavenly FD, Dad...

They Had It Coming Since Jimmy Carter

 So Israel launched an all out attack on Iran's nuclear program yesterday -- along with Mossad's operation confirming exactly the targets to hit. As I was in Budapest a few weeks ago, in the "Garden of Righteous Gentiles," I was suffused with pride that my people, who 80 years ago relied on the kindness of some to protect us, now has a homeland where they came up with pagers that blow terrorists' dicks off.

I first met Iranian folks as a UM freshman in 1979 -- we had a lot of well off kids here from Tehran admitted to UM's less than stellar Engineering School. Most were stylish -- guys favored the disco look -- silk shirts and coke spoons around their necks. Eric and I had one TA in Chemistry who wanted to be called "Moe," instead of his given name Mohammed. All was cool.

And then the Shah was deposed, and overnight these dudes showed up at UM in traditional Muslim garb -- lots of white -- adios to the silk shirts and coke spoons. I chatted with one -- his entire affect had changed, from 1980 Miami party boy to loyal follower of the Ayatollah. Whatever.

Over the ensuing years, when I met someone from their and they were mainstream, they identified themselves as "Persian," rather than Iranian. We have neighbors like that -- delightful folks who hosted a grand party when their daughter graduated medical school. Mohammed, however, keeps his actual name.

But in the decades since the Ayatollah played Jimmy Carter like a cheap violin, Iran became THE sponsor of Islamic terrorism. The awful Hamas raid on Israel's version of Burning Man was approved by Tehran, and they are sworn to the destruction of Israel and "Big Israel" -- the US.

Iran has been trying to develop nuclear "power" since they don't have enough oil for their energy needs. Ha. As if! Lately, the negotiations broke down, and Israel learned Iran was less than a month from having, as they used to call it, "The bomb." 

And so last night they launched -- took out top military leaders and nuclear scientists, and at least one of two major nuclear manufacturing sites -- the other sits under a mountain and needs the "bunker buster" bombs only the US has -- I assume sooner than later the martyrs in charge in Tehran will order an attack on US installations, bringing us into the fight, and that will be the end of Iran's threat -- at least for a few years.

Bibi is problematic, but IS a fine wartime consigliere. He said, simply, that the Nazis stated they wanted Jews eliminated and went about doing it -- to the tune of 6 million. We've learned that when a government says that's their goal, they have to be listened to, and Tehran is sworn to the elimination of Jews. This time, though, we're taking action.

As far as I'm concerned, those sons of bitches have had it coming for decades. Maybe the non Islamist majority of Iran will seize this opportunity to finally depose the mullahs who have wrecked them since 1980. Boy -- that would be grand.

I also think back to the Summer of 1980, and a European undergrad I met. We discussed politics -- I was getting ready to vote in my first presidential election, and told her I was a third generation Democrat. She told me that, under Jimmy Carter, the rest of the world had lost respect for the US. It used to be that a US passport caused "the seas to part" in world airports -- under Carter, not so much. 

I remember taking that to heart., and also watching how Castro had also played Carter in Miami with the Mariel boatlift. I wasn't ready to vote for Reagan, and so I voted for John Anderson, the ill fated Third Party guy. Of course, Reagan won in a landslide.

Now the GOP has turned into MAGA, and the Dems can't get out of their own way -- giving credence to far left creeps like AOC and Ilhan Omar.

Hopefully the pendulum swings back to the center. I have grandkids' futures to worry about.

But for now, Israel is doing the heavy lifting against a true existential threat -- go kick some tuches, blue and white!

Miercoles Gigante

 It was a delightful mid week day for this cool, rockin' grandpa in the USA. After fending off the many questions of our comically old cleaning lady Miriam, who wanted details, in Spanish, about our vacation, I was able to leave. The funny thing is Miriam is convinced I'm fluent in Spanish, which I am NOT, but to be polite I struggle to get through our conversations. We really wish Miriam would retire, as she's past 70, but as Jeff pointed out decades ago, we really work for her more than the other way around.

Anyway, I arrived at D2's house and she and Betsy were SO glad to see me -- we caught up on the latest Shores news until it was time to fetch Little Man. We did, and that boy kept us laughing the entire way -- with his precocious vocabulary and adorable way about him. He made us guess his favorite sea animal -- turns out it's the narwhal, and made sure we know they don't have horns, but rather, tusks.

We stopped at Chick Fil-et and grabbed sandwiches for him, little brother, Wifey, and Lizeth, the lovely nanny who is in her final weeks before returning full time to her eye lash installation business. We got home to a happy house with Baby Man and D1 and Wifey, and played while they ate and I stole some of the delicious waffle fries. As the late Mr. Food said -- Oooo -- it's so good.

Around 6, I left with D2, and we dropped Betsy off and headed for Brickell. The party was at 60 SW 13th Street -- I knew that address. Sure enough, it was where my old boss Ed's building was -- next to an eye doc, David Sime's building. When Ed and Frank broke up, Ed offered to sell the building to Paul and me - -I think asking was $900K.  Paul was a bit interested, but I wanted no part of caring for a building, and the security issues of its location then -- on the edge of a rough 'hood. Well, SOMEONE bought it, and later sold for well north of $10M -- there's a 40 story condo there now. Eh -- win some, lose some in investments...

I pulled up to Trulucks just as Dr. Barry was walking in -- he had taken the train and People Mover from JMH. Sure enough, my man Victor was tending bar -- the remaining original staff member. We caught up and took a selfie -- the many memories of my time there came flooding back. It was truly my Cheers -- though 2 young women were sitting on "my stool" in the corner. Seems fair -- I hadn't been there for dinner since before Covid.

Dinner was great -- and the place was happily pretty empty -- a Wednesday night near Summer does that. Barry and I talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax.

I told him my new credo -- changing the pronouns in the Billy Joel lyric to "You don't care what I say anymore this is YOUR life." Adopting that has brought me so much peace.

We played a favorite game: "What if?" Barry remains more confident in his core values about life, marriage, parenting than I do. I allow for the fact that I may have screwed up more than I thought -- but that's ok. Everyone screws up.

All I know is, I savored the evening greatly -- so much so that I didn't mind the absurd traffic driving Barry back to the hospital. I jumped on 95 instead of sticking to the streets -- forgetting that the massive highway construction (they're adding a double deck on the 95- Dolphin interchange) shut down our way west. We went to 112, and came in from the North. Note to self: for the next year, avoid that area at night -- the construction will continue.

I glided home after the drop, and Wifey was up watching TV. We compared notes on our delicious grandsons -- she adores them so, as I do.

Yep -- pretty, pretty, pretty great Wednesday.

Indeed The Surge Is To Blame

 So I met Dan, who was wearing a wrist brace. I always enjoy chatting with him -- he lives on a big property in The Redland with all manner of animals. He said he was recovering from gout, but it was caused by his cancer treatments! What? I never knew. He told me that 2 years ago he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and told he had 3 months to live. Well, the newfangled immune therapy seems to work -- he is cancer free, but getting weird things like gout on account of hormone treatments, too. I just know he looked hale and fine -- told him in addition to his family and friends -- I need him, too! He laughed -- he's 52 and plans to stick around awhile, he said.

As I thought, a power surge zapped the gate electronics. Probably it's time for a new board and transformer and batteries anyway -- he'll get an estimate but we're probably talking about $3K. Since I plan on staying -- hey -- par for the course. Even though it's nice to avoid costs like this -- hey -- ya gotta keep up with stuff. As Dan and I discussed, at least with house, you decide. With a condo, the HOA does, and lately that's been nightmarish for many unit owners.

This am I FaceTimed (tm) with D1, who had Baby Man. They had dropped off his big brother early, for a Field Trip with camp, and the two walked on a dock near the school in Sans Souci. He is adorable -- I told him I'd be seeing him in a few hours and brought him a marionette from Europe. Listening him try to say that was a morning's highlight.

Wifey's visiting, too, but taking her own car. She has to bring the elderly Spaniel for his Lubrella treatment -- a really effective biologic medication that's keeping the old guy more sprite. She'll stay longer at D1's house while I Dadber D2 to her party, and meet Dr. Barry for dinner.

We're going to Trulucks, an old haunt, where I haven't had dinner, I think, since before the plague. Hopefully Victor, my old bartender and a long time employee, is still there. We love to catch up and talk about the old times -- like Paul's friend Alan.

Alan, a man about town, would sit at the bar and order a seafood tower for dinner, while watching ESPN on the TV. Sometimes an inappropriately young lady would join him -- to Victor's delight.

Victor didn't know Alan had died of cancer -- at 69. When I told him, he handed me a martini, took a glass himself, and we toasted Alan -- my drink was on the house. We were both misty eyed.

So first mid week back in the 305. I love being home -- even in the heat of this time of year. I hope everyone gets to live in a place that brings them happiness and peace.

Otherwise -- what's the point?

Father's Day -- Mother's Day's Po Relation

So Sunday is FD, and I think I figured out what I wish to do. Since Joey and the grandkids are going to his parents' house, and it'll be just me, Wifey, Jonathan, and the Ds, I think I may forego my usual drinks at Villa Wifey in lieu of an actual restaurant meal. An old favorite, Shula's, is now Beauty and the Butcher -- Wifey and I had a meal there with Mike and Loni a few months ago, and it was ok. Maybe we meet there Sunday. Big choice -- FD is clearly MD's po relation, and that's as it should be.

I mean, it's not like I spent decades busting my tuches to support financially my entire family, including education without loans through Masters degrees, bought houses, paid for grandkids' college tuition, etc...

Ha. The job of a proper noble mule. All I seek is my family's good health and happiness...

Meanwhile, I got back into the routine today -- worked out with Jonathan, and caught up on the last fortnight. I saw my handsome, charming dermatologist Jeremy, to check out an arm mole D2 found concerning, and picked up dinner for Wifey and me, since I made her breakfast earlier and felt guilty that I had skipped providing lunch for her...

Her mah johnng friends are here, and I poured Lili a few cosmos, which means I got a few martinis. This makes Tuesday evening a fun one.

The heat has returned to Miami, but the flowering trees, a small consolation for the "mean season," are in full bloom. The poincianas grab your eyes as you drive down the streets now -- truly a feast to behold, visually.

Tomorrow I will meet Dan the Gate Man -- apparently a power surge during our vacation may have friend the board of our front gate -- Dan will fix it -- always does. I have FPL's "Surge Protection" that charges me monthly -- if the repair is expensive, I may make my first claim. We'll see tomorrow.

After, I may meet Jeff for breakfast -- he's off to New Haven for most of the Summer -- he and Lili bought a townhouse there to be close to their granddaughter and another coming grandchild. It reminds me how blessed Wifey and I am to have both Ds in the 305 -- though Wifey gripes that Pinecrest to Miami Shores is "too far." I always quote to her the great Robert Browning line: "If our reach does not exceed our grasp...than what are the heavens for?"

And in the afternoon -- off to D2's house, and then fetch the Little Man. I haven't seen him or Baby Man in 3 weeks -- I can't wait! I'm driving D2 to Brickell in the evening for a "90s Birthday Party" on Brickell, and will then meet Dr. Barry for dinner -- we have to debrief the past fortnight, too.

So Summer's nearly here, and the time is right, for martinis in the air conditioning. It could be worse... 

The Noble Mule

 So I'm settled back into life at home -- slept all I needed to, and am SO happy to be back home. After years of traveling, I learned that a trip of 10-12 days is best for me -- after that, I get the schpilkes, as D1 noted. This one was 14 and terrific, but in the future I'll remember to truncate the long trips a bit.

We were invited to a "Celebration of Life" for Bob, who had died while we were away -- he had just turned 70. Bob was, as my friend Kenny so aptly described his father Manny at Manny's memorial, not a great man, but more importantly, a good man. He put his family above all -- and adored his wife and girls and 4 grandkids.

We got there at his girl Sam's townhouse in Cutler Bay -- there was a table set up with a picture of Bob and a candle, and I started thinking about what I would say if called upon to share some memories of the deceased. But I never got the chance -- no words were spoken at all.

More and more people came -- from Jeannette's extended Latin Jewish family, and family friends through the years, and I realized we had been there several hours, and then it occurred to me that no one was going to speak. I was held captive for about 10 grueling minutes from an old friend of the family who thought we needed to know every medical detail about her daughter in Tampa's pregnancy. We didn't need to know every detail.

We left, and Wifey correctly noted that each family is different in dealing with loss. Still, I told her that if she ever hosted a shiva for me, I DAMN well expect people to talk about my life and me, especially if I'm paying (or my estate is) for their food and drink. Wifey said my wishes were duly noted.

So another noble mule has gone to his reward. We weren't close, but Bob was a good man.

Meanwhile, a new week dawns, and I can't wait to see my grandsons. They're both in camp, and the plan is for me to fetch Little Man Wednesday, and meet up with Baby Man at the house. Wifey and I brought them wooden marionettes from Prague, and I think Little Man will love his, as he puts on shows using his couch as a stage. Hopefully Baby Man doesn't toss his.

Tauk, the tour provider, also gave us medallions to commemorate our journey, and I will give them to the boys explaining that they are ancient Danube River coins. I will also tell Little Man that I met some actual Adiptian (Egyptian) women on the flight home, but they weren't mummies. We have SO much to catch up with.

We Zoomed with Joelle and Kenny last night, and will plan a visit to Maine for October. I do love the Fall -- the only season I miss from my childhood away from The Tropics, and hopefully our trip will coincide with leaf season -- though in this era of warming, you never know.

We also discussed the possibility of a New Year's Eve cruise. Their friends Adam and Phil do this each year -- just 4 days roundtrip from Miami on a luxe ship. Maybe it's time to bury our recent tradition of going to sleep early NYE in favor of some partying on the high seas. We will see...

Adam and Phil are great guys. They met in Orthodox Yeshiva in Brooklyn as young men, and then met again in college --both were pre-med. They realized that they had much more in common than study of the Torah, and ended up together.

Phil is a Peds Radiologist and Adam an eye doc. They're a ton of fun to be around, and with their high dual incomes without being dragged down economically by kids -- take the best trips. It's be a blast to go along with them.

So the heat is here, but not oppressive yet -- I did my 3 miles this am with barely a sweat. Maybe I'm just getting immune.

I made an appointment for band camp later this month. Dr. Shah, my GI, said he thought he'd see me sooner than later after my colonoscopy several months back -- he was right. Yay. Band camp. Oy.

Part of being the noble mule -- like Bob, of blessed memory. We are what we are...

The Grim Reaper On Both Ends of Our Trip

 So right before we left, our friend Susan died -- we missed her funeral. I texted her husband Steve and explained -- we would be in Budapest. He wrote back that exactly one year ago, he and Susie were there -- they took a land version of our trip along the Danube. They loved it so much they vowed to go back. I told Steve they would, and indeed our first night on the riverboat, Wifey and I toasted our wonderful friend. She and Steve were back in spirit.

Death has a way of never taking extended holidays, I have learned. On the trip, we were touring Budapest, with the PA 6, and one of them, Louann, got a call as we walked the old city. She thought it might be a pocket, as it was 5 am PA time, but it wasn't -- her sister was calling to say her niece, also her goddaughter, had died, at 34. The young woman was a college runner who had given birth to her first baby the week before -- some sudden cardiac issue must have taken her. Louann and John, her affable husband, left the tour, went back to the river boat, and made plans to fly home the next day -- apparently they were able to find a flight out of Frankfurt.

Though we had only met days before, we all felt close to them -- we talked during dinner, deeply, about her beloved niece -- married to a teacher and living near Charlottesville, VA. Louann was in shock, of course -- they made it back, according to the now PA 4. We had her and her family in our thoughts the remainder of the trip.

Wifey and I , with our dark humor, noted that we would only cut short a trip like that if, Big Man forbid, a very select number of people in our lives suffered such a loss -- so there was an "upside" to not having close, extended family.

Anyway -- last week, as we awaited a coach to take us to an amazing dinner at a palace in Vienna, Wifey got a text from Samantha -- her friend Jeannette's daughter. Sam NEVER texts -- she asked Wifey to call her or Jeannette. I got a sinking feeling -- figuring someone had become very sick. Wifey texted back -- she was in Europe -- was all ok? Sam replied to just call when she returned to the US. I was a bit surprised -- I would have called -- but Wifey, ever the more practical one, figured bad news could wait -- why mess up OUR trip? Hey -- it was her call.

Sure enough, as we were awaiting baggage in customs Sunday evening, Wifey got a text -- from the third Brooklyn friend -- Jeannette's husband Bob had died last Thursday. When Samantha learned we were in Europe, very WASP-like, though her Mom is a Latin Jew, she didn't want to ruin Wifey's trip.

I told Wifey that when I die -- I don't care if my friends are at the freaking Hurricanes championship game -- I want them to know -- THEN! But that's just me.

When we got home, Wifey called Jeannette. Bob had just turned 71, and was home from a great vacation -- took his 4 grandkids to Harry Potter World in Orlando. He had a nasty fall, and was taken to the hospital -- they diagnosed some type of bowel obstruction, and released him after a few days.

He was home recovering, just week but feeling ok, and Jeannette was by his side. He insisted she leave for awhile, and she did -- and when she returned some minutes later, he was dead -- in bed.

Something is missing, of course -- typically an obstruction doesn't prove fatal -- maybe he had a perforation? I know he DID have heart valve surgery some years ago -- maybe that illness returned?

All I know is, today is a celebration of life at Samantha's house, where Bob and Jeannette lived, old school style.

Bob was a sweet guy -- always adored his family. He always fancied himself a businessman, but never caught a break -- lost all their savings in an ill fated franchise of day spas. But they were living with their oldest daughter, a lawyer, and her husband and 2 kids, and were VERY close -- the kind of grandparents with daily duties.

And poor Jeannette -- her Mom Inez died just a few months ago. Her death was expected -- she was in her 90s and with dementia. Wifey thought Bob looked poorly at the funeral -- to me he looked fine. But Jeannette must process the loss of 2 of her innermost circle, so close.

My friends have nicknamed me Obit Dave -- I always share news of deaths before anyone else. On the river one evening, I discussed with Wifey the reason for this. I WANT all of my friends to always know, like I do, how fragile and precious life is. We assume we have unlimited time -- like I'm sure Bob figured he wasn't leaving this mortal coil any time soon. 

But the truth is, as Jim Morrison noted, no one gets out of here alive. And when a death hits close, that ought to hit US close, and make sure we savor each moment -- whether on a luxury vacation, or eating a really delicious Cuban sandwich in Hialeah.

So this afternoon it will be adios, Bob. He was cremated -- no funeral for him -- just the get together today.

But he leaves a great legacy, adored by his daughters and 4 grandkids, and now widow, Jeannette.

RIP to a good guy -- may we not hear from Mr. Reaper for a good, long while.

Back For The Old Country

 Wow -- what a fortnight! We ate amazingly, drank prodigiously, and met wonderful people. We also toured and experienced the cultures of Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, and The Czech Republic. Most importantly, Wifey got the trip she hungered for, with me, her lazy, tends to stay in one place husband.

And Eric and Dana, who we sort of talked into going, as they were fearful the fellow river cruisers were too akin to Eric's patients -- old -- found even closer friends than we did and had an awesome time. So, to cut to the chase: mission accomplished.

Since we travel rather infrequently, and, well, I have the money, I will only go top drawer. So we started at American's Flagship Lounge, since we had Biz Class across the water tickets, and it gave our usual Centurion Lounge a run for its money. Although there was a delay and change of planes, along with the unsettling announcement that "this plane (a 777 ER) wasn't supposed to fly trans Atlantic tonight, so the crew is making changes"), we got off swimmingly, and I drank Tito's and watched an excellent documentary about the making of Led Zeppelin as we flew the Atlantic. Our transfer went well, and we arrived in Budapest smoothly -- to see a bunch of our cohort all with Tauk luggage tags -- we knew we were headed to the same Summer camp.

Sure enough, while waiting, I saw a fellow in his 70s, and we struck up a conversation -- he had a dripping southern accent. Jerry was indeed a Louisville Jew -- retired lawyer -- and his best friend lived in Miami. First small world connection: the friend and my man Paul know each other well from Williams Island. Jerry's Dad was a NY WW II Jew who was stationed in Louisville, and taken to a dance by the local Hebrews. He met a nice girl, who said he was perfect for her sister, and began a family there. Nice tale.

We also met the PA 6 -- 3 couples of Penn State grads -- Irish and Italian folks who lived in and near State College -- Pittsburgh natives. They became dear friends -- especially for Dana, who bonded well with the ladies. One of them, Sherry, was obviously not well -- indeed was a 5 year cancer survivor, with limited mobility, and her husband Mark, a retired engineer, literally carried her on piggy back every day on the multi mile walks. I told Wifey not to get any ideas...

We also befriended Steve and Winnie -- the only young couple -- late 40s. Steve is the CMO of Kaiser Permanente ENT services in California, and Winnie a Chevron exec. She's Vietnamese, and his family is from Taiwan. They were lovely and brilliant, and Winnie provided a first for me: standing outside a castle in Budapest, she offered me a seat on a bench. I laughed -- it finally happened -- like a young girl being called "Ma'am" for the first time -- I had become the sweet old man a younger person wanted to help. We laughed a lot about it over drinks at later events.

And the trip was amazing. Tauk is known for their "Experiences," and came through. A private tour of the Budapest Opera House ended on the steps -- with a performance of several arias by the pro singers. Later, a dinner at the Akademy of Science had a performance of Mozart by members of the Vienna Symphony. Lighter fare was a terrific oom pa band in Durnstein, and the final night in a castle with a lecture by the granddaughter of the rich Prague family who recovered much of the stolen family riches via the "Monuments Men" glorified in the George Clooney film.

We took 2 Jewish tours -- one in Budapest, and one in Prague. The first was with Timi -- a granddaughter of Survivors whose family stayed in the city. Sure enough -- a connection -- at the Central Synagogue there is a memorial to the righteous gentiles, and it included Margit Shafta - the Mother Superior of the convent that saved our son in law Jonathan's grandmother's life.

It was moving, but I reflected again on my Zionism. I take comfort in knowing my people have a homeland now, and when we get terrorized, instead of relying on righteous gentiles, we send the bad guys pagers that blow their dicks off. Go Israel!

It was my second time cruising the Danube, and it is indeed beautiful -- though it will probably be a month before I can get the Strauss waltz out of my head -- it got played on board -- a LOT.

We taught the PA group the worm one night -- we deemed them worthy -- even though Mark and Dave insisted on reminding us that the night of January 2, 1987, when Testaverde through 5 picks and Penn State won the ring -- was one of the best of his nights. Such is the nature of true college football fans -- even on a luxury trip, this gets discussed -- a lot!

The final day was the Prague Jewish tour. I have to say, though Wifey downplays this in her quest for more travel, I feel like Johnny Cash -- I've been everwhere, man. And Prague is the most impressive city I ever saw -- buildings and bridges from the Middle Ages on -- no WW II bombing destruction. And I got to see the synagogue where supposably (Miami spelling) the Golem of Prague's bones are kept. I always loved that myth. On the way back, our guide Lenka took us to a butcher shop that produced a Top 5 pastrami on rye I ever had. I'm still thinking about that sandwich today.

We said our goodbyes Thursday evening to Eric and Dana -- they were headed out for even MORE photos -- I think Eric may have snapped over 10K -- and headed to sleep for our last night at the Andaz Hotel -- Wifey said maybe her favorite hotel of all time. It was posh, as the Brits say.

We left Vaclav Havel airport at 7, and had 5 hours in the Heathrow Centurion Lounge -- packed with an array of people that, to steal my consuegro David's observation of NYC City Hall -- looked like the Star Wars Cantina -- an amazing array of human diversity.

The flight home was fine, too -- American Biz is top -- and I watched "The Apprentice and Inside Man" and before I knew it, we were landing. We had downloaded the Global Entry App, and sailed through Passport Control in record time -- with courteous TSA and ICE Agents. I guess if you're of a certain type, you have no problems -- and my thought they might deport Wifey back to her native Israel was unfounded.

Meanwhile, I took photos of her EVERYWHERE -- D1 said I was "an instagram husband," and Wifey was an influencer now.

So I began the trip with John Denver's "LEaving on a Jet Plane" in my head, and returned to another of his songs, "Back Home Again." Indeed, sometimes this old suburban Miami house feels like a long lost friend. 

Wifey chatted -- and I did laundry and unpacked.

Today we fetch the aged Spaniel from D2 and Jonathan -- his snoring kept Jonathan awake, and they kind of want to ditch him. Still, we appreciated the dog sitting, and told them we were treating them to a Palm Beach stay cation in thanks.

And, like the old Disney Travel films I used to watch in grade school, we will forever treasure the memories we made in our trip to Central Europe... 

All Our Bags Are Packed...We're Ready To Go

 Man, did I LOVE that song when I was a boy, though I only heard the Peter, Paul, and Mary version then, and much later realized John Denver was the writer and sang it better. The PPM version is harmonized and takes away some of the sadness of the tune, which Denver wrote sitting in National Airport in D.C. and thinking about all of his traveling -- that great vision of bags by the door, awaiting a taxi, and the coming sense of missing home.

Well, last night I finished shoving my clothes into a suitcase, and Wifey is about done, too. We thought we might share one checked bag, to lessen schlepping, but realized 14 days probably requires we each have our own. I felt better about our choice when I spoke to Eric, FAR better organized than I, who admitted that he and Dana also are checking 2 suitcases.

So I pre-ordered an Uber to be here at 5, to MIA around 6, and plenty of time for the crapshow that is Memorial Day Weekend there -- turns out MIA is a Top 5 busiest US airport for MD. The boarding passes show our gate is near the Centurion Lounge, where we like to begin journeys, and Eric and Dana are coming to MIA an hour or so after us. They're flying Delta, and are on the other side of the airport, and will likely do their pre flight lounging in either Turkish or a Delta Lounge. Hopefully we muster for our welcome champagne in Budapest Saturday evening.

D1 sent a video of Baby Man dancing at his pre school, and Wifey and I miss him and his brother already, and we haven't even left for the airport yet. They are truly the cherries on top of the ice cream sundaes of our life.

Wifey and I were both awake early today, and talked about our lives and marriage. We agreed we BOTH have quirks and annoyances, and when we can laugh about them, all is fine. Wifey gets a kick out of my OCD behaviors "checking for incoming mail, overbuying cleaning supplies, making us arrive EARLY for everything, etc..." I am guilty as charged. Wifey is a bit more prickly about being called on her, um, neurodiverse behaviors, and that's ok. I come from one parent who was VERY chill -- my mother. Neither of Wifey's parents were at all chill...I always commend her on not being even MORE messed up...

So we'll be in Europe for Memorial Day -- I'm guessing there won't be any "Thank you, Yanks!" signs about. I plan to summon the spirits of my forefathers and foremothers who lived for centuries in countries adjoining those we'll be visiting. Budapest to Czernovitz is less than 500 miles.

Our family chat was sad yesterday -- mostly about the terrorist murder of the 2 young Israelis in D.C. Some of us opined that they never thought we may have to leave the US in our lifetimes, but things may, in fact, become tough for our people. I joked that I would check on real estate prices in Budapest, Vienna, and Prague -- Wifey immediately said "No cold countries for me!"

So I guess it would be back to the future for her -- temperate Haifa -- where she was born. The good news is most Israelis speak English, so I wouldn't have to be like those sad 70 year old Cuban men who were exiled after Castro and came to the US speaking only Spanish. I can learn to say "Stoli martini, please" in Hebrew, if need be.

Jonathan's family understands the impermanence of family homes all too well. His grandma Judy had a great childhood in the Czechoslovakia, until her mother had to hide her in a Budapest convent to survive WW II. Then she found a home in Venezuela, and loved her life there, until the bastard Maduro made living there untenable, too.

Wifey's parents had great childhoods in Poland until they didn't. The decision to emigrate to the US was a quality of life one -- both my suegros had family here, and life in late 50s Israel was pretty tough. My father in law never really felt comfortable here -- looking back, as an Independence War veteran, he probably would have had an easier life in Israel. But my mother in law Rachel NEVER liked Israel -- too many bad memories, including the stillborn son she had 4 years before Wifey was born.

So who knows? I sure hope we get to stay -- after 3 generations, I really love the USA. I hope they keep loving me and mine.

But for now, the 777 300 ER awaits, and a hopefully fine fortnight along and near The Danube. I hear Richard Strauss playing in my head already...

Bad News On The Electronic Doorstep

 Loved that line from Don McLean about reading about the death of Buddy Holly in the newpapers he delivered. Alas, several years ago I gave up the print Herald deliveries -- all my bad news now comes electronically.

We got word from Steve yesterday that our friend Susan was at peace. She died in hospice. I had grieved the day before, when I learned her fight was over -- yesterday hit Wifey hard, as she recalled the great times they shared -- especially the fact that Susan had brought us Vienna, the strange rescue dog, and how the two of them drove to their favorite jeweler, Phillips House, on Miami Beach. 

The funeral is set for Mt. Nebo -- set to be Wifey and my final resting place, in Kendall, followed by a memorial service at UM, in the same Lakeside Pavillion Dr. Barry was in for the Provost's Teaching Awards. It's Sunday, and I texted Steve that, but for our Europe trip, we'd have attended, of course. I said I would remember Susan to Budapest.

Steve wrote back that nearly a year ago, he and Susan were in Budapest, and loved it so they vowed to return -- they took the land version of the trip we're on -- Budapest to Prague. I told him indeed Susan WOULD return, though in spirit as we spoke her name.

I spent a lovely day with D1, dropping off the Special Needs/Now Elderly Spaniel Bo. We left with Betsy and Bo to fetch Little Man from pre school, to take him to Legos at the Community Center. On the way he explained to us that "some teachers are EXPERTS." Yeah -- the kid has his Mom's vocabulary already, and would never be called taciturn.

When Legos ended, we fetched him and then fetched Pura Vida in Downtown Miami Shores -- D2 pointed out all of the 100 year old houses in this old Miami suburb. We went to D1's house, and later D1 came home with Baby Man, and there was brother joy and the eating of quesadillas. I savored my time with those precious boys before dropping off D2 and her regular dog and visiting dog and heading for home.

Neighbors emailed me: more bad news. Their son, who I tried to refer to my friend Joel to fight some murder-y charges, was found guilty of arranging the revenge killing of a car customizer guy. The parents were "Shocked." I wasn't -- the evidence was solid, and then you go to trial in Federal Court in Miami, you lose, I think, 98% of the time. Joel would have gotten the kid a better deal -- he's going to now get "launched" as they say in the trade -- probably get life. I feel for his parents -- two lovely Guyanese CPAs.

But the bad news was not to end -- I awoke during the night to pee and read about the murder of the lovely young Israeli couple in D.C. They were beautiful -- the fellow bought a ring and was about to pop the question to his fellow Israeli Embassy employee next week. The creep is from Chicago -- I hope they destroy his whole family -- as Israel has learned with terrorists, that seems to be the only thing with any sort of deterrent effect.

So it's a downer day -- and I think of Melville in "Moby Dick," whose narrator Ishmael said that when he got down, he knew it was time to go to sea. Wifey and I and Eric and Dana are choosing to fly OVER the sea -- but I look most forward to these 2 weeks away.

And Sunday, if we arrive as scheduled, I WILL toast our friends Susan and her beloved Steve from that beautiful Hungarian capitol.

Praying for Peace In Jville

 So my friend Steve had been texting daily updates about his beloved wife Susan, who suffered a devastating stroke in March, while visiting their eldest son and his family in Dallas. After Steve got Susan airlifted back to Miami, I shared a dinner with him and his middle boy Spencer, who I hadn't seen in probably 15 years.

Susan was under the care of our friend Jose, the Chief of UM's Neurology Department, and a world class stroke expert. We were all optimistic that Susan's relative youth, 63, and VERY healthy condition before the CVA, would let her recover.

After a month at Jackson, she still wasn't waking up enough to move to Lynn Rehab, where Wifey had her stroke recovery in 2021. The options were limited -- turns out there are only a few rehab hospitals that take on deep brain injury patients -- and one, Brooks, is in Jville. They transferred Susan there.

The daily updates continued, until a few weeks ago -- Steve said there was relatively little to report, as Susan took, at most, baby steps. Her blinking and maybe saying her daughter's name was a major improvement -- Steve promised to update us with significant developments.

The text I feared came today. He told us all that Susan had been moved to hospice care last night -- despite her long fight, she had nothing more left. He asked us to pray for a "peaceful and soon" transition.

I guess I expected this outcome, but was still shocked. At Steve's last text, I responded that I was more and more into visualization -- focusing one's mind on a hoped for goal -- visualizing my problems from a camera rising far above the fray has been helping me a lot lately.

I told Steve that I was visualizing Susan and him and Wifey and me out to dinner at Captain's Tavern -- not for awhile, but eventually -- debriefing on this nightmarish Spring Susan had suffered, but looking ahead to the manifold blessings brought by our combined 5 adult kids and 4, so far, grandkids.

I guess deep down I feared the outcome that is now upon us -- and I'm very, very, sad.

Steve and Susan are that type of friends who you don't see often, but when you do, even after a year or more, you take up right where you left off. Their focus, like ours, was their family. And Susan was a leader in Child Protection -- along with her boss Walter, one of Barry's friends at UM Peds, they would evaluate and treat and recommend futures for abused children in Miami. Talk about a high calling.

At our last dinner together, Wifey asked Susan if she ever shared the most horrific tales with Steve. Leave it to Wifey to ask the probing questions... I don't recall her answers, but she did tell us that over her 3 decade career, she had seen it all. I thought of Springsteen's line in "Cover Me" -- "I've seen enough I don't wanna see anymore."

I stepped outside before and looked skyward and asked the Big Man to indeed bring peace to Steve, Susan, and their amazing family. The kids live in Dallas, NYC, and Chapel Hill, and Steve has NEVER been without at least one of them by his side. They are a wonderfully close bunch.

If I have to predict, it would be that Susan will pass soon, and her funeral will be after we leave for Europe. I will honor her when we return, in some way -- hers has been a very full life, very well lived, meaningful to many.

When her daughter Erin was taking a lot of time off her Peds Residency -- Steve made her return -- reminding her how proud her Mom was that she was becoming a Pediatrician, and knowing the last thing she'd want is to delay Erin's training.

I guess the only lesson I can take is the one I try to practice -- best said by the late, great Warren Zevon when he was given a terminal cancer diagnosis: enjoy every sandwich. I shall.

The Friendly Trooper

 Our neighborhood is a "Special Tax District," which means we all pay a yearly fee in order to have off duty FHP troopers provide un-needed security. It truly is unneeded -- Pinecrest's crime rate is akin to Mayberry's from the great show, but the residents voted to not only keep it, but actually increase the hours the troopers visit. We used to pay about $2500 per year -- last year it was above $3K and expected to keep rising so that we compete with the even richer neighborhoods like Snapper Creek to get our people.

I guess it IS a nice benefit, and the troopers are nice enough -- typically I just wave as I walk or drive by. But another benefit is that we tell them when we're leaving on vacation, so they keep an extra eye out. We heard about one Kendall house, owned by our neighbor Lori's father, where they actually brought a moving truck and cleaned the whole house out while the Dad was away. Hopefully that won't happen -- wouldn't want to lose our 5 year old desk tops or aging smart TVs...

Anyway, this am I walked over to the SUV painted black and yellow, and the fellow rolled down his window. And we talked --for a good 30 minutes. He was a Cuban guy, probably mid 50s, and we hit it off right away. Well -- half Cuban. I noticed his name was Scalia, and sure enough - -he had an Italian Dad who died when he was young (parents met in Havana) and yes, he's a distant cousin of the late SCOTUS fellow. Interesting Miami connections...

We talked of life -- he's married nearly 30 years and has an artist son in college in Milwaukee, and a 16 year old son in high school ("We got to travel a lot because of my wife's international job, so we started late.").

I told him we were going on a river cruise, and he and his wife took one last year -- the Nile. I asked if he saw any baskets floating by the boat -- he got the biblical joke. He noted that for a Miami Cuban working guy, he's seen a lot of the world.

We both have wonderful wives who, once in awhile, almost never, don't look at the bright side of things. He told me he awakens each day and thanks G-d and Jesus for another day on this planet -- I told him I did the same, but not the Jesus part. He got that, too...

He took down the information, and I wished him safety on his job. He thanked me, but allowed as he didn't do patrol work -- he was the DOT representative, and mostly inspected interstate trucks for safety issues. Ah yes -- much better than encountering maniacs on state roads...

Before my encounter, I reflected on life again -- something Dr. Barry and I discussed over martinis on Zoom Friday night. I've taken to trying to be like the great cinematic method, the one where the camera shows a scene of high drama, and then pulls away, sometimes all the way up to show the entire planet earth. Barry reminded me that was a fine shot in "Forrest Gump," with the feather.

English 101 students get the symbolism. What seems SO critical and anxiety producing while you're in it, is meaningless in the big picture.

Sometimes the painfully obvious brings me great comfort. I recall when my Dad died -- so many people said so many nice things, and yet only one conversation resonated. Jim Ash, the Honors Director and professor or Religious Studies, who went on to a life out of a Carl Hiassen novel, hugged me and said "Dave -- sorry about your Dad -- but we ALL do it." Yes we do, and it reminded me that though I was just 21, someday I would die, too, just like Dad -- so no big whoop, really.

So today I'll try on jeans and slacks, for the happy reason that I've lost weight and many of them slide off of my smaller tuches now. I don't wish to give the upscale fellow Tauk cruisers reason for that kind of laughter...

I need to drop off the Special Needs Spaniel with D2 -- Bo will be bunking with enormous Betsy and skittish Spaniel Lemon while we're gone. And then Friday it's off to MIA, and a 777 ER across the ocean -- the only tensosity is whether we have enough time to make our connection to Budapest at LHR -- if not, we have an extra day to get there before the trip really begins.

Eric and Dana are flying through Paris on an even later flight --CDG is a mess, too, but I think they have a longer layover.

But one way or another, the two brothers of different mothers who started drinking cheap beer together at the UM Rat in 1979 ought to find themselves, with our long suffering wives, drinking top shelf stuff on a luxury boat on the Danube.

Yep -- plenty of reason to thank the Big Man -- I leave it to Trooper Scalia to say it to his supposed son...

Just A Pimple On The Skin of Human History

 So as we leave one week from tonight, across the ocean to Central/Eastern Europe, I've been waxing philosophic -- especially since the late Spring Miami heat is back and it's too hot to wax my car.

The plan is to fly back, Business Class, to the land my grandparents fled just about 120 years ago, on account of the Czar's pogroms were getting to be a royal pain in the tuches, stay in a 5 star hotel, and then cruise on what's supposed to be the top tier boat run by Tauk, which is supposedly as good as it gets before you get into the realm of private jets and renting out entire villas for your vacation.

In short, the journey East for us is set to be FAR nicer and more luxurious than the journey west was for my two sets of grandparents, who, I'm guessing, were just happy to be on a ship out of Rotterdam bound for the new world and life in the tenements of the Lower East Side of NY, before they moved to the relative affluence of The Bronx as part of that great group, White Ethnic New York.

120 years -- as Wifey said -- a mere pimple on the skin of time. And yet, our lives are SO important to us -- decisions our adult daughters make -- health issues of dear friends and family -- what to leave in; what to leave out, as Bob Seger sang.

Our grandsons never met my parents or Wifey's father. The Little Man, during The Plague, say across from my suegra outside of The Palace ALF and their eyes met when he was a toddler. His great grandparents (and his brother's) will therefore be mere abstractions -- talked about in stories, but not actual humans either can hug or be directly impacted by.

I was never close to my grandparents, though now, I WISH I got to hear more tales about "Russia," as they called the Old Country, even though for my Dad's family it was Romania at the time, now Ukraine, and for my Mom's people it was indeed what they called "Russ-Poland," now, according to Google, just Poland. The cities were Czernovitz and Bialystok -- also abstractions to me, although I DO enjoy the famous bread from the latter -- bialys!

So a lot's gone on in my family these 3 generations since that emigration, and I get to enjoy the fruits of the labors of the past 2 -- primarily that of my beloved father who returned from over 4 years during "The Big One -- WW II" as his beloved Archie Bunker used to say, to work 3 separate jobs to support his growing family, then 2, and finally a single well paying sales job by the time I came along as the tail end of the Boomer generation.

So many tiny issues of our rich lives take on outsized importance. As I admitted to my nephew of another mister Josh just the other day, I'm bothered that his Dad, who I love, is considering buying a Toyota Camry -- this for a man who spends 3 hours per day in his car commuting to his job where he teaches the future healers of children, and can afford a much more comfortable vehicle suitable for his large size. I'm bothered by the fact that this amazing man takes such amazing care of those around him and does so little for himself. And is that really something of my concern, or truly anyone's other than the fellow squeezing himself into a too small car? Of course not.

I guess my goal for the upcoming trip is to truly lose myself in the past. I've already visited all of the cities along the Danube save for Prague -- and I plan to keep my mind open to the spirits of the Ashkenazim forefathers and foremothers who were in that part of the world for hundreds of years, leading to my modern family. Years ago, a DNA test showed I had somewhat less "European Jewish" blood than the typical American Ashkenazi -- like 92%. The rest was Italian, which is funny, since my Dad, with his olive skin, was often mistaken for Italian. I got the milkier complexion of my Mom's family -- with lots of blondes. But I'll fantasize. Did some handsome fabric seller from Verona visit Bialystok and have a tryst with a great, great grandmother? Who knows, but it's funny to consider.

My Dad always said there was a "Goldsmith sickness" on Mom's side -- many of her uncles were major players, and the aunts had less than Puritan values. So if I have to guess -- the mix came from her side instead of the colder, more intellectual bent of my Dad's family...

Wifey just shared with me a long talk with an old college friend yesterday whose life is chock full of difficulty, and has been for decades. She said they had planned a family trip to the UK, but canceled it after the spate of plane crashes. Really? The couple is nearly 70, as is her husband, and they're putting off a trip they truly want for fear of meeting Destiny that way?

I don't get it, but again, it points to the outsized sense we have of our own importance -- a few decades from now, it'll be totally irrelevant if this friend left this mortal coil slouching into decrepitude or falling into the sea -- the latter would provide, at least, some fat stacks for any survivors.

I have my inner marching orders -- embrace the positive -- embrace the peaceful, easy feeling the Eagles sing about -- leave my worries behind in the US as I journey to the Old World.

Sooner than later, in the scheme of things, Ecclesiastes proves its age old wisdom: all is vanity.

I Learned My Lesson Well

 What a Mother's Day 2025 we had. We laughed, we cried, we ate, we drank. It was a TWO order meal in day -- Pura Vida for lunch, and Mister01 Pizza for dinner. As D1 said in her thank you text: thanks for the unconditional love for our family and the carbs...

We got to talk -- a lot -- and much of it was about my nagging problem in life: I feel I need to fix everyone and everything I truly care about. The good news is that as I age, those lists have gotten far shorter -- for most -- I just cheerlead and well wish -- but for my true inner circle I think I have the power to repair.

And I know I don't. For example, Wifey has made clear she wants to live closer to the Ds -- not to necessarily babysit more, but to avoid the drive that used to be typically 35 minutes and now is over an hour. I thought, fine -- I can fix this, even though I have truly zero desire to move from this paradisical property we bought in late 2000. I kept trying to talk myself into a move -- Miami Shores has a beautiful Bayfront area where I can walk -- cool new restaurants -- closer to most everything than Pinecrest is -- a/k/a casa carajo. But when I saw that a downsized house will still cost over $2M -- the proverbial hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Ok -- maybe a workaround -- we lease a 2 BR condo at Quayside -- we keep stuff there -- and keep Wifey happy. But after our family discussion Sunday, I realized something: there I went again -- trying to fix OTHER family members' problems. And so I made another proclamation: no moving, no rental condos, no downsized houses.

Of course, this proclamation is subject to change. I like to joke that many of my life's proclamations aren't worth the paper they're not written on. After our Hurricane Years -- 1992-1994 -- where we moved, with 2 small kids, one small dog and one jumbo dog -- 4 times -- I made a proclamation. When the contractor came by for the final payment,  I told him he had one more task: dig a hole in the backyard for my burial, since I was NEVER going to move again. Well, 7 years later, we did indeed move, to Villa Wifey, where we've been ever since.

So I guess we'll see. But I DO have a thick skin and think I can take advice, and when my family tells me to change something, I usually listen. And if they don't want my fixing, just my love and support -- well, I can work on that.

Meanwhile, Europe draws closer. I can tell Eric is getting excited -- he called me at 730 this am to discuss a few details. He actually woke me -- he knows I'm an early riser, but this am my 2 part sleep was 10-4, and then 5 until, well, 730.

I pulled 2 suitcases off the garage shelf -- this weekend Wifey and I will see if we can share one big one and make due with 2 carry ons. If not -- 2 big ones. Supposably (using the Miami spelling), Tauk is famous for handling EVERYTHING, and so from the time we check the bags at AA, Tauk does all the schlepping. We'll figure it out this weekend, but Wifey has a deep fear of being cold, and though Central Europe temps in late May to early June don't seem frigid, she tells me "50 degrees IS cold!"

Earlier I drafted and sent the "Bad News/Good News" email to the Ds I always send before we go on an overseas vacation. The bad news would be if something untoward were to befall Wifey and me. The good news is the money they'd inherit. I fully realize our chances of dying in the Uber on the way to MIA far outweigh the chances of dying due to AA or BA or Danube-related disasters, but my strange brain works in strange ways -- I'd have comfort in a 777 hurtling towards the Atlantic if I knew the Ds knew what's what with all our earthly details.

Yeah -- I DO probably need some more professional help.

In the mean time, we're off to see the Ds and their men as soon as Wifey returns from her PT. We'll fetch Little Man from his Lego camp at the Rec Center. Poor kid is one of us. Wifey asked him Sunday if he worries about anything, and he said "Ippi -- I worry about everything." He's 5.5.

So there'll be love, and support, and enough trying to fix anyone other than myself. I ought to have listened to the Ricky Nelson song and taken heed long ago. I guess it's never too late.

Thursday Fun Day

 So my trainer Jonathan texted early -- could we move our session to Friday, to accommodate other clients? We could indeed -- and so in 1.5 hours I'm off to get my flexibility and strength dose, to hopefully avoid the falls that come with age. Meanwhile, yesterday I got in my 3 miles on the street, encountering the friendly neighbors, including Karen, our new HOA VP. She told me her duty is to plan the holiday party -- what did I think of a progressive party this year. I told her I thought, like many rich areas, we had a lot of Trump voters -- not sure about the progressive thing. As a lifelong Democrat, she scowled.

But then I told her I liked the idea -- probably a decade or so ago, several of our neighbors had a NYE progressive party. Our next door neighbors Diane and Charlie, long divorced and moved upstate, had the apps and some cocktails,and Ann and Mark hosted dinner. They've also fled, to North Carolina, because of a VERY funny reason. Back to that in a moment. The night ended at our place -- nice champagne, and dessert as the bells for the new year chimed. So Karen is now recruiting 4 or 5 neighbors -- not sure if Wifey wants in.

We hosted the a big Devonwood party the year we moved in, and Wifey announced we would do it again in 80 years -- that's how many houses we have, and Wifey figured after everyone else took THEIR turn, we would do it again. Ha -- she's into equity...

But back to Ann and Mark. Ann was a bit of a looker in the 60s on Long Island, but, alas, somehow aged into her late 60s. Unlike many women who accept that, Ann had it with Miami, and the, well, many non appearance challenged women. At lunch at Greenstreet's in the Grove, with her husband, they were surrounded by hot young women at the other tables. "That's it!," Ann announced -- "We're off to Raleigh, NC -- women are frumpier there!" And indeed they listed their house, and made their way to the land where her cohorts wear sweatsuits instead of revealing outfits. Hey -- different strokes...

Anyway, after the walk, Wifey and I motored up to the Shores, and spent time with D2, and then loaded all 3 family dogs to go fetch Little Man, who is in the final weeks of preschool. Wifey waited for him -- no Little Man. A bit of tensosity followed -- where was he? Turns out his after school Drama group had decided to work late, and apparently some of the parents didn't get the email saying dismissal would be at 430 instead of 330. The very friendly Miami Dade Deputy Sherriff who is always at the school assured us our grandson was NOT lost -- just late. And indeed he came skipping out, to be greeted by a car full of dogs and his favorite honey yogurt.

We hung with both boys, and D1 came home, and D2 ordered us in Pura Vida. At 6, D1 had a babysitter coming to spell Lizeth the nanny, as she had a challah bake at Baby Man's preschool. Unlike her mother, Wifey, D1 IS a challah back girl...

Wifey was on her phone, which told me she was tired, and we dropped off D2 and Betsy at home -- I wanted to by at my desk top by 730, for a Zoom Memorial for Kenny's Dad Manny. I made it with minutes to spare!

About 25 folks were on, telling tales of Manny, and Manny's friend and co-worker of many years, himself VERY old, was one of them. He couldn't figure out the camera, and so just participated verbally, and he commented, in a pitch perfect LI accent, about EVERYTHING that was said.

Afterwards, Kenny and I texted, and agreed it was like having the Muppets' Statler and Waldorf on the Zoom.

But mission accomplished -- lovely tales were told of a very good man who was beloved by many, and brought his gift of music to students, and later to residents of his ALFs. He died at 92 in his own bed -- not a bad run, as all agreed.

So today I have my training, and then a trip to Total Wine. Wifey hosts mah jonng every Wednesday, and Lili LOVES my Cosmos, which are just pre-mixed Ketel One Cosmos, but I need replacements -- along with vodka, which somehow seems to go fast. I'll need some for Sunday -- Jonathan and D2 are coming for Mother's Day, and that means some martinis for us...

D1 is bringing the boys tomorrow afternoon -- Wifey and I are babysitting -- as D1 has a local birthday sushi party. We'll bring the boys to Chill 'N -- the local ice cream place with all the smoke that supposedly makes the ice cream better. I have a feeling the boys will appreciate the science lab nature of the place...

And Europe draws near -- 2 weeks from tonight. A boat down the Danube. Talk about a progressive party...

Prisons Of Our Own Making

 I get to travel mostly in very privileged circles. My California sister always points this out -- her tales of friends typically include awful hard luck tales, and as she said "My friends aren't rich doctors and lawyers like yours are."

Still, if I learned anything during these nearly 65 years on the planet, it's that NO ONE is immune from misery and darkness -- no matter how great things look. I first saw this in literature in the great poem Richard Corry by Edward Arlington Robinson -- the rich man admired by all the schleppers in the town, who had it all, and "went home and put a bullet in his head."

The other day I spoke to an old friend who hosted his kids and granddaughter for a week -- they live up North. I asked him about the stay, and all he could tell me about was how "the house is finally back in order -- toys put away -- and laundry all done." I knew him well enough to tell him I didn't give a hell about his house -- how were the humans? But this poor guy, who suffered all his adult life and continues to suffer from awful OCD -- to him -- it was all about restoring the order to his world after the tumult of a family visit.

His wife said the other night "I'm sure we've lost friends because of this -- when people come visit, which is rare, my husband spends the time cleaning up after them -- that tends to make guests feel uncomfortable." Ya think? One past the Woody Allen-like humor in it, I realized he has true suffering -- how can you savor life if your inner voice is compelling you to restore order?

We ALL have demons, and fight them daily, if we can. I joke that, despite my cheerful demeanor, my anxiety is a constant -- truly relieved only by sleeping, drinking, and, well...And as I age, these three respites are harder and harder to come by. I guess I could up my drinking, but don't plan to . Truth is, I never drink alone -- to me -- it's a social lubricant and makes the laughs louder. 

I'm also in a cohort that worries FAR too much about our adult children -- are they happy -- are they making proper choices? I can't help but contrast this with my own experience -- largely NOT needing parental help once I was in high school -- loving the closeness and sage wisdom of my Dad -- but that ended 4 days before I turned 21. From that point on, I supported Mom far more than the other way around -- I wouldn't have DREAMED of burdening her with my difficulties -- I was the MAN -- and I had to watch after her.

Same with Wifey, and her Survivor parents. As immigrants, Wifey navigated THEM through life in America, and not vice versa. So much of our marriage focused on THEIR needs -- were they happy where they lived -- were the finances in order -- Wifey, an only child, handled all of this with my help.

We didn't share concerns about the Ds with any of the 3 grandparents -- grandparents were there to babysit and have fun with. All 3 died without knowing anything about chronic health issues of any of ours, and without knowing any of the crises we dealt with. 

I can't complain, but sometimes I still do, as Joe Walsh sang. Wifey and I are privileged to be VERY close to the Ds and their families -- and eagerly take on roles of support and help -- financially and emotionally.

D1 said the other day how her monkeys "are a lot." Yeah they are, but I reminded them, if Big Man willing they grow and become independent like MOST boys do from their mothers, before she knows it they'll be Middle Schoolers and hopefully wanting less and less to do with her -- just "leave me alone Mom, but can I have a ride to the (        )? as one of the parenting books Wifey read explained.

The alternative is FAR scarier -- we know plenty of failure to launch, or failure to fully launch adult kids still living at home with their parents -- either not working at all, or working and emotionally not ready to get on with independent lives. One friend, a doc in Broward, has THREE of these! All in their 30s, and living at home. 

So I don't see privilege when I see my friends -- I just see folks very blessed in many ways, but cursed in others -- in other words -- flawed, imperfect, but often still wonderful human beings. And though we may look at their lives and see them in prison with the keys to the cell within reach -- that's not the point. Hopefully they grab those keys themselves and walk out into the sun.

Money, Money, Money

 I've always been VERY conservative when it comes to paying my taxes -- I err on the side of conservatism versus aggressiveness, when it comes to deductions. Our company CPA feels that way, as does my personal CPA -- I always tell him, especially as I near Social Security, the LAST thing I want to deal with is an audit.

Fortunately, the last "examination" of my return was back in 2006. I had given sizeable donations to both UF and UM Departments of Peds GI, and the IRS questioned them. I sent them the receipts and checks, and some auditor decided to allow the UM deduction but not the UF, since D1 was a student there and they figured the UF deduction was my paying tuition. Not true -- D1 was on full Bright Futures Scholarship, and the balance was by Florida Prepaid, but I went to my roommate Mark, who handled IRS cases, and he suggested I just let it go, lest the IRS decide to audit our firm as well as this one issue. It cost me a deduction of about $6K, and I followed Mark's advice. Grrrrrrrrr.

Several years later, D2 got a letter -- the Agency had reviewed HER return and found she over paid -- she got a check for $800 or so. That was a nice surprise.

Well, last Thursday, my US Mail App showed 2 letters from the IRS to Wifey and me. Annoyance set in -- what now? When we returned from D2's house, I opened the letters -- again, it was nice news. My CPA Mark had calculated a late payment penalty wrong, since Florida residents were given a break because of all last season's hurricanes, even though South Florida was in the clear. The "recalculation" said we were getting back $1600 and change -- the check came yesterday. Finally, as I like to say -- SOMETHING good for the rich, white man!

Mark the CPA explained his software hadn't caught up with the forbearance. No worries -- a good letter from the government is always welcomed.

Speaking of money, I decided to get some Euros for our trip. Apparently one of the private guides Eric and Dana found wants to get paid in them (the other said dollars are fine). I happened to be perusing my BOA site, and saw they have a nice service: they'll send foreign currency to you, at a favorable 2% exchange rate, by FedEx, for free. I ordered some walking around Euros, and they came today.

Hungary and the Czech Republic don't take Euros, but I don't plan to mess with their silly currencies -- with dollars, Euros, and most importantly, credit cards, we ought to be covered. I'm hearing the Strauss waltzes in my head more as we near departure...

This dynamic is classic. I typically wouldn't choose to travel. Sometimes I feel like Johnny Cash -- I've been everywhere, man, and if I don't see another historic museum, church, or synagogue in my lifetime, that's ok. ZooMiami is as close as I need to get to exotic animals -- I have ZERO desire to visit Africa. I've only dipped a toe into Asia -- when I was on the correct side of the Bosphorus River in Istanbul, and I have no desire to go there, either, with the tiny possible exception of Japan.

Still, Wifey contrives to get me to go, by conspiring with dear friends like Mike and Loni and Kenny and Joelle and now Eric and Dana to plan trips. And, without fail, I end up VERY happy that I took the trip. I suspect this will be true on my second float up the Danube River.

I DO enjoy Fall trips -- relief from the worst part of Miami heat, and enjoying crips evenings. Joelle and Kenny have invited us to meet them in Maine in early October -- we'll plan a few nights on the Maine coast soon. It ought to be leaf season then.

Other than that -- nothing planned. But if I keep getting checks from the government...

For Whom The Bell Tolls

 So at dinner Saturday night, with Wifey, Barry, Donna, and Scott, I shared some research I had done earlier in the day: of Americans born my birth year, 1961, what percentage of us were still alive? Of course, Barry guessed closest: he said 80%. I think the answer, per whatever site I found, was 82%.

I had done the research since, as Scott and Barry noted, "obituaries and death are Dave's hobby." Indeed they're correct.

I guess it comes from losing my Dad when I was 20, about to turn 21. He was 63, and it caused me to think, from that time, that would be my lifespan, too. Of course, he died in the pre-statin age, which is a game changer, and my Mom made it to 93, so if I get more of her genetics and avoid things like crashing cars or airplanes, maybe I still have a good run ahead of me. Or walk. I NEVER liked to run.

Today is my late father in law's birthday. He would have been 100 -- he made it to 90 -- despite amazing hardships (the Holocaust) and a VERY serious heart surgery when he was  my age. I recall it well -- he passed out, and saw his family doc, who sent him STAT to Baptist, where a heart surgeon, Cesar Brea, a very skilled Argentine, recommended bypass immediately. Eric was in training up in Boston and I asked to send the VHS films of Richard's studies to Eric FedEX. I did, and Eric called right away: "I concur -- CABG ASAP."

After the surgery, I asked Dr. Brea what Richard was looking at for future life. "We hope to give these patients 10 more good years." Dr. Brea was humble: Richard survived 27 more -- outliving both the younger Dr. Brea and the family doc who saved him by recognizing the seriousness of his heart condition.

So you never know.

I do know that some folks I know age well, and others poorly. And though lifestyle seems to help, I'm more convinced genetics rule -- and luck, I guess.

We're still dealing with daily updates from "Team Susan" about our friend, my age and a health nut, who suffered a devastating stroke. Last week, she was admitted to Brooks Rehab Hospital in Jville, one of only 4 like it in the US that specializes in "deep brain injury rehab," caused either by CVA or trauma. She faces a long slog to just return to the state where she can have REGULAR rehab back her in Miami. Each day brings baby steps -- though months after the stroke, she still out of it most of the day. I hope to hear better news each time Steve emails all of us.

Paul shares my hobby -- we talk of mortality most mornings on our walks in Aventura and Pinecrest. We wonder how much of our grandkids' lives we'll get to see. Paul's oldest is nearing 15, so I like his chances of seeing at least ONE college graduation. 

My oldest is 5, but I'm 11 years younger than Paul. I look at this gorgeous boy and his adorable brother, turning 3 this July, and wonder the same thing.

But one thing is for sure -- they grow so fast. Wifey is SO happy we live in the same city, as weeks to little ones bring major changes. We're planning a Thursday visit to fetch the pre schooler from school and spend some time.

And at 730, my friend Kenny and his brothers are hosting a Zoom Memorial for their Dad Manny, who recently died. I'll attend either from home, or from North Miami Dade.

So I keep watching those wheels go round and round, as Lennon wrote and sang, and hope I get to for a good long while.

90 like my suegro? I already outlived my Dad. 93 like my Mom? 97 like my suegra? The Big Man knows...

Smaller Dosages

 Our dear friend Elizabeth's yahrzeit is May 25th -- come that date, she'll have been gone 4 years. A memory of her was triggered today -- on my am constitutional, my neighbor Bob was telling me that Perry's Steakhouse had a promotion going -- they were selling diners, I think, $8 pork chops to honor their anniversary in the Gables -- the first 100 diners. Bob scored one last week.

It reminded me of one July 4th -- may have been 2010 or 2011. D1 was in grad school living on Brickell, and our plan was for dinner at the Palm followed by fireworks from her balcony. I believe Norman and Deb were with us -- Elizabeth definitely was. And the Palm offered NY Strips for $17.76 in honor of the holiday. Man, that was great eatin' and a great offer!!

Elizabeth, never much of a steak eater, enjoyed it, as I recall. And another charming thing about her, despite advanced degrees, was her occasional use of malaprops. One she used a lot was inserting the medical 'dosages" for the more general "doses," as in "I can only take her in small dosages."

We'd never correct her, but took that one on for ourselves, like the way I have adopted the very Miami "supposably" instead of "supposedly," and adopted another late friend, Alan's, neologism: "tensosity."

I really miss Elizabeth. She was so wonderful to our whole family, and she and I used to enjoy long talks -- especially during Covid, when I was putting 10 miles per day on my New Balances, and she had downtime from work at Orlando Regional.

She was the picture of health -- major exerciser, and ate clean -- never even a little overweight. But she had awful genetics -- her parents died within weeks of each other, both in their sleep, from heart attacks. She had seen a cardiologist for a rhythm disorder, and got the overnight monitoring, but probably the heart doc should have ordered a calcium score, too, which may have shown blockages in her vessels. Who knows? All I DO know is that she was a beautiful person, inside and out, and she's gone coming up on four years.

My nephew of another mister Scott is in town, and asked if Wifey and I were free for dinner tonight. We are indeed, and so will meet Barry, Donna, and their firstborn at Basilico in Doral -- 30 minute drive for each of us. 

Next weekend D1 and the boys are coming Saturday -- Wifey and I will babysit BOTH of them for the first time while D1 attends her friend's birthday event in Palmetto Bay -- and Sunday is Mother's Day. I remind everyone that I ain't HAD no mother since 2013 -- this will be the 12th MD for me as an orphan. In other words, Wifey gets to choose what we do.

Meanwhile the meter on moving is back to its default setting: staying put. Every time I picture a nice but 1/3 sized house in the Shores, my gut tells me no -- stay in my little (ok, not so little) slice of heaven. Another option, if Wifey insists on being closer, is to rent a condo in a development called Quayside -- blocks from both Ds. Quayside was THE place in the 80s, and it's still nice -- sort of like the Grove Isle of North Miami Dade. I would never buy a condo, but maybe a rental would let us have easy access and give Wifey a coveted "view of the vater," like her late Mother demanded.

For the ease of renting, that might/well could be a compromise -- and hell -- if I really loved it there, we could rent a BIGGER unit, sell Villa Wifey, and become renters. As we age, that actually sounds better and better -- let someone else worry about repairs, and if a hurricane gets a bull's eye on Miami -- well -- we leave and say to the owner "sucks to be you, pal."

We'll see. Right now, our trip is less than 3 weeks away, and hopefully we get a lot of living in before and during that trip. Fun -- that's best in HUGE dosages...

Just Another Manic Thursday

 So Wifey and loaded the Special Needs Spaniel into the man-sized Caddy SUV, and headed North to D2's house. On the way we called Jonathan's Grandma Judy -- one of our favorite people. It was her birthday, and we saved her from singing -- just sent love to her VM.

We arrived, and D2 and Wifey decamped to see a house for sale in the Shores -- D2 had made an appointment with the Ukrainian broker. The house was way overpriced -- asking over $1K/square foot, but was nicely renovated and in the part of town we have interest -- near D2 and Jonathan. I begged off -- we're not really ready to move unless Wifey finds her PERFECT downsized house and I don't exercise veto power -- not likely to happen. Wifey and I don't house shop well together -- I've known this for 1/4 century - so why would I take up bandwith even visiting a place she doesn't love?

Sure enough -- there was a fatal flaw (other than the overpriced thing) -- the Master bedroom was right off the family room. Neither of us want that -- Wifey stays up late watching TV, and our bedroom needs to be far from the Family room. Again -- need to find THE place or we're staying put.

D2 and Wifey returned, and we decided to ALL go fetch the 5 year old at his school -- Betsy and Bo included. The boy cracks us up -- his Tia said she was tired, and asked him if he was, too. "No -- I'm full of happiness." And, thanks Big Man, he is...

We got home, and a bit later his little brother arrived, as well as D1. We played soccer and wiffle ball and the boys acted like bear cubs -- I showed them my paper airplane making skills, for the first time. Boy -- all the time I spent avoiding paying attention in Math class while making those things...

A bit later Paul joined us -- his Wife and step son are coming back to town today, and he and I had a bit of business to do. We brought in sandwiches, but  Dr. Barry was free -- his boy Scott was in town, and had a concert date with Donna. Josh was to join us but dipped.

So we ordered from Pinch Kitchen, and I had a Ketel at the bar while the food was being finalized. D2 drove Wifey and the dogs back to her house -- and we pulled in right behind Barry. What energy that house has -- so warm and inviting -- I poured Barry his first and my second cocktail, and we ate the delicious food, and caught up -- got to debrief the Big, Fat, Media wedding of 2 months ago.

D1 was home putting the boys to bed. Jonathan was at a work dinner. We had a fine time -- time with my older and younger brother, as D2 and Wifey endured our tales...

The hour grew late, and Paul left -- running into Jonathan on the driveway. Jonathan came in and we spent some more time - Barry adores him. And then it was time to head home -- with just the Special Needs Spaniel -- on the floor in front of Wifey.

As we neared our house, around 10:30, Judy called back -- and realized the late hour. I assured her her timing was perfect -- we were in the car from her grandkids' house. We had learned she had spoken at Beth Am, a synagogue near us, and gave her some business for not inviting us -- she said our consuegra Lizbeth was reluctant to "bother" us. We assured Judy we want to go next time with bells on, and she shared a tale she had told the Beth Am folks -- about the Mother Superior in the convent where she was secreted at a Catholic girl to avoid the Nazi camps -- and how that lady saved many Jews and is enshrined at Yad Vashem now as a righteous gentile...

So it was a terrific Thursday -- and the fun continues tonight -- meeting Kenny and Joelle in the Gables for the Ruths' Chris Happy Hour -- a deal Wifey and her friends discovered. They have a great steak sandwich before 6 for like $15 -- and we have some life celebration to do: for Kenny's Dad Manny, who passed last week.

We're also going to discuss a possible coastal Maine trip this Fall -- the inns fill up fast, and we need to reserve now -- Kenny and Joelle are there through October, and a coastal trip for them is like Key West for me -- a happy pleasure.

And speaking of brothers: we leave 3 weeks from tonight with Eric and Dana -- for Central Europe. We're all flying out of MIA, but they have a late flight -- they wanted to see their granddaughter's Pre-K graduation. Our boy graduates while we're away -- we'll have to  get by on videos of his singing some hip hop song including a reference to Applebee's he's been practicing...

Indeed these ARE the good old days...