Taking The Hint

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let There Be Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scammers!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Sleep, Perchance To Sleep

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mt. Nebo On A Thursday Afternoon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully the Big Man's plans agree...

Band Camp Tragedy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They Not Like Us

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Memories That Pop Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back In Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Banner Grandparenting Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But man -- that vodka helps...

Bible Study And The Difficulty Of Truly Doing It

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one learned of this until long after he died.

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

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

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

A Woman of Valor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good Eatin'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hello Young Lovers, Whoever You Are. I Hope That Your Troubles Are Few

 Valentine's Day is today -- El Dia de Amor. And my first thoughts turn, Oedipally, to my mother Sunny, gone now nearly 12 years, since a boy's first love is his mother, and so she was mine.

D1 is seeing this now as well, with her two sons, who she adores. The older one, more of a challenge, is now 5 and adores her. Last Sunday, at Greer Park, D1 was sitting and Little Man ran over and hugged her so hard they fell over in what I called a love tackle.

His pre school had all the kids make cards today, of course. On Wednesday, I drove him home, and he told me about polar bears and how they live in the "toondra." I corrected his pronunciation, but when you have teachers in Miami...

Ah, Sunny. As close as I was with my Dad, that relationship truly blossomed later -- probably when I was in junior high and I got his wisdom and humor. Plus, when I was young, he was still working pretty long hours, and though he had time on weekends for Little League, Sunny was the stay at home Mom, and she was so beautiful and chill.

My earliest clear memories are of kindergarten -- where Little Man will be next year. I would leave Miss McNamara's class at East Broadway, and look for the gold '65 Pontiac parked out front on Seaman's Neck Road. We'd drive North, often to my favorite, McDonald's, and she'd buy this finicky eater 2 hamburgers and scape off the onions, and she'd put down the glove box cover, which had depressions for cups, and she'd place my orange drink and her coffee and ask all about my morning. Then we'd drive home, and I'd go out to play with the kids on the street -- the Italian Perotas, or the Jewish girl Leigh 2 houses down, who, years later at our 20th high school reunion, drunkenly knocked on Wifey and my hotel door to proclaim her lifelong crush on me. Wifey was a good sport about that...

But Mom. I always knew she was a beautiful woman, and the fact she loved me so unconditionally gave me confidence with girls -- I went through life NEVER thinking there was a girl I couldn't date if I so desired. As I aged, she told me she loved AND admired me -- my grades were good -- and I had lots of friends. Indeed my first Valentine.

And now Wifey, for the past 4 decades, has been my Valentine. We often celebrate with Mike and Loni, and so it shall be tonight. Loni scored us reservations at Beauty and the Butcher, a new Michelin starred restaurant in South Miami. This is the WORST traffic weekend in Miami -- many come for Valentine's Day, PLUS the Grove Art Festival, and biggest of all, the International Boat Show.

It's a great weekend to stay in the burbs, where we live.

The reservation is at 5:30, but I'm guessing no Early Bird Special -- that's the stuff of Palm Beach County, especially Delray and Boca and Boynton...Wifey noted all the places she visited while there had a much older crowd than we get here -- it was nice to not always be the oldest patrons in a restaurant -- she sees why many of our cohort move the hour or so North when they retire.

But not us! We remain, indeed, young lovers, though only in our minds. And that's what counts.

Back To Marital Bliss

 So her fourth and final evening on the beach was last night, and Wifey is due back tonight, after solving the last of the world's problems with her friends. I spent my final evening alone on the couch, eating the second of two BOGO Carrot Express wraps I had bought the night before on UberEats, after declining Mike's offer to go to Canes/Syracuse.

I've been nursing a dodgy hip, and have been trying to rest more than usual -- my 3 mile walk have been under one mile. I noticed a stabbing pain 2 Saturdays ago, when I bent down without bending my knees to fetch something on the ground, and should have known better -- even my twice weekly workout sessions are no match for my family birthright of bad hips.

My California sister was born without the top of her hip socket, and kind of miraculously walked for a few years without it -- she was so lithe that the ball sort of just worked in the joint without being surrounded. She developed a limp, and was one of the earliest pediatric patients -- this was early 50s - to get an artificial joint, at Columbia-Presbyterian in Manhattan. She was laid up for months, and soon after being released from crippled child status, broke her weakened leg bone -- adding to the misery for another few months. But amazingly, the implant is still the original -- now well over 70 years old. She's needed new hips for years now, but has put off the surgery for fear of rehabbing by herself in her small Cali city.

Anyway -- we learned years later that bad hips was maternal -- my Mom had both of hers replaced, in her 70s, when that was still major surgery, requiring weeks in a rehab hospital. I hear now you leave the surgicenter the same day, if all goes well, and they have you up and walking within hours. Wow. Science.

Both Ds have dodgy hips, too -- D2 was diagnosed with "clicking hip" which, as the name implies, means you can sometimes actually hear her walk by. But thankfully neither has had disabling issues.

And so it's been with me -- I had an issue a few years ago, and PT set me right. I'm hoping the left joint will get better with rest -- if not -- I'll see one of the private PTs at my gym -- well worth paying for rather than navigating the typical insurance approval maze. Worst case: I'll need one or both replacements, too -- the good news is Baptist has some new wunderkind with a Dutch name who ALL of the local Boomers use for their new knees and hips -- Vandervenn, I think. I hope to avoid seeing him.

So -- I chilled after my workout -- Jonathan had me avoid twisting movements to be spared the knife-like jabs to my groin -- and Bo was a most able companion. I did some investment stuff -- it still cracks me up how market movements routinely now make or lose me more money in a single day than I earned in a full year as a young lawyer in 1986. Really 1986 until 1992 -- the inflection point in my financial life.

I handled some stuff for the Ds, too -- even though they're married to a CPA and MS in Management who is in Private Equity, I handle their joint stock accounts, and Jonathan, who deals in accounts with many more zeros than we have, has praised my abilities. I wish I could claim creativity, but instead follow my guru, Warren Buffet. I only invest in companies I understand, and go long.

I also get advice from a comical corner -- the Catholic Church! My one remaining Financial Advisor Pat sits on the main investment board for the national Church -- he's a former altar boy from Pittsburgh and has kept active his whole life -- and shares with me advice he gleans from the really big Catholics. 

Pat's suggestions have been wonderful. Back in 2002, when we started working together, I would typically buy companies in chunks of $10K. One day Pat said "We need to double down on this one -- let's invest $20K in this California fruit company -- Apple." Well that $20K has led to 7 figures -- the Ds and I still have healthy amounts, and our charities have received healthy 6 figure pieces over time. No matter what other advice Pat gives, and today he manages just a small amount of our portfolio - Apple, and later Eli Lilly, were HUGE winners. It's funny -- Pat is skinny but had me invest in Lilly because of fat people -- and it has worked out wonderfully.

I ended up watching the end of the Canes game on ACC Network -- they had a rare win, versus a crappy Syracuse team -- and then called it a night.

Today I'm having lunch with D2 up near the Shores, and then fetching Little Man and driving him to Leggo Camp "Weggos" and then heading back South. I'm meeting Norman and Barry and maybe Jeff for dinner near our Bible Study class at 7:30 -- tonight we will learn about the Mishnah, part of the Talmud.

It's funny -- I had a long talk with an old friend the other day, who said she was a lifelong atheist, but now, approaching 60 -- she goes to Bible Study -- but hers includes the Son as well as the Father -- she's Catholic. We agreed that our formerly anti-religion biases were really, ultimately, narrow minded -- we both get wisdom and comfort from the religions of our childhood. I knew this woman when she was leaving a long term lesbian relationship to give dudes a chance -- she's now been divorced from a Y chromosome person and is happily married to another -- with a grown son -- so she was no Church Lady as a young person.

We agreed wisdom is the ability to keep an open mind and change.

So off for the day of the homecoming -- just in time for Valentine's Day. We often spend it with Mike and Loni, and Loni scored us some reservations at Beauty and the Butcher in South Miami. It will be nice to talk of old times and grandparenting and love gone by and still to come -- ah -- married life.

Like Dust In The Wind

 So it's been a week since Wifey's friend Alissa died, and it's as if she's already forgotten. When I spoke to her ex boyfriend Jamie, it appeared there would be a funeral -- and Wifey reached out to mutual friend Jackie to discuss it. Jackie said there was an online obituary, at a site called Dignity, and Wifey went on and uploaded some photos of her and Alissa -- bikini clad teen girls at, I'm guessing, Crandon Park in the early 70s -- and I left a note of condolences.

Wifey left Saturday for her trip to Highlands Beach, and I figured I would be attending a funeral, probably Sunday, alone. And then...nothing.

The Dignity page is no longer there. If I had to assume, it's because someone reported the news and put it up, but then no one paid for it, and so it was dropped. Jamie had told me he would let me know when the funeral would be -- I've heard nothing. Wifey found Alissa's oldest boy Seth's cell number, and sent him a text -- no reply.

I'm guessing the sons and Jamie and any other friends of Alissa came to terms with the fact that she was SO private, and probably didn't want any sort of deal made over her death. And if I believe anything to a certainty, it's that we should all decide what we wish at the time and after we leave this mortal coil.

Wifey texted me -- maybe I ought to reach out to Jamie again? Nah, I told her -- I decided to concentrate on the living -- enough effort spent on the dead. This was of course hilarious, as my nickname on our Canes Squad chat is "Obituary Dave," since I'm typically the first to share news of a death. Sometimes Norman scoops me...

So likely there'll be no memorial service -- as the very private Alissa wished. But I will remember her warmth and sweet heart, and some laughs we shared back in the day.

And it's funny, when we consider how much we worry and fuss about our lives, and the lives of those we hold sacred, and yet, in such a short time, it's like none of us were ever here.

I always do that thought experiment, in my own family. My paternal grandfather was gone probably 6 years when I was born -- so I never knew him. My maternal grandfather died when I was maybe 5 or 6 -- I have a single memory of meeting him in a Queens hospital bed.

I wasn't close with either grandmother -- they were old world ladies, one of whom mumbled with a heavy Yiddish accident, and I can honestly say I don't recall a single thing she said. My Dad's Mom was educated and spoke well -- but had little use for me, nor I for her.

And that's just TWO generations ago -- my great grandparents are mere abstractions -- and some lived as recently as 100 years ago.

In 2125 I am quite confident I will be mentioned for an obscure reference, if at all. NO ONE will care a whit about so many things crucial to me.

As Kansas sung -- just dust in the wind.

And yet I don't find that sad or pathetic at all -- just strong evidence for the necessity to savor life NOW. I have a close friend had a nasty fight with a very scary form of breast cancer -- she is thankfully disease free now -- and she puts off NOTHING. If a trip merely occurs to her -- she and her husband are off. I admire that so.

In my case, I have little desire to travel -- but plenty of desire to enjoy stuff close to home -- and so I shall -- before those who survive me sit around, wondering if I wanted a LOT of drinking at any shiva that may follow my burial. Spoiler alert: I want a LOT of drinking...

Super Bowl Sunday

 I guess the idea to make today, the Monday after the Super Bowl, a national holiday, never grew legs, as they say. It was a silly idea.

But for me, Super Bowls are nice markers in time's past, and yesterday was my third favorite -- even though I watched the game with only the Special Needs Spaniel Bo as my companion, eating takeout DiNapoli on the couch. Kenny had invited me, but it appeared that D2 and Jonathan might be stopping by -- but in the many moving parts that are our family, went to an out of town cousin's meeting instead.

My favorite all time SB memory was 1981 -- Eagles/Raiders. We hosted a party in our on campus apartment -- several guests brought their small black and white TVs, and we placed them all around. We had pizza and chili, and a bathtub filled with Moosehead beer -- and coeds from the Midwest who actually thought we Northeastern Jewish guys were cool and exotic. Ha. 

Even though I was just 19, and life was so simple (grades and friends) I had a sense that the time was special, and I might not pass that way again. Sure enough, a mere 1.5 years later, my Dad had died and with is any traces of being a boy I was to have. To this day, when I meet a grown man whose parents still make a lot of life decisions -- I wonder what that may have been like -- as opposed to being called upon to manhood days before I turned 21.

My second favorite game was in 2015. I happened to be in Seattle on a deposition trip, and I walked around Pike's market. It was the 'deflategate" game, where the Patriot's Tom Brady was accused of using a smaller football when the Pats were on offense, and many of the fishmongers made great fun of that -- having large fish on ice marked "Regulation" and the little guys "Tom Brady Fish."

I ended up at the hotel pub, and had some drinks and chowder, and watched with very spirited Seahawks fans. Since the Dolphins are my team, as I told my newfound buddies, it was easy to cheer against New England -- and the Seahawks were about to win, but in an epically poor decision, threw the ball instead of handing it to giant Marshawn Lynch.

The nice Northwesterners shouted curse words I had never heard, and then got up quietly and left the pub. I felt for them -- but not like when the Canes blew 2 championship games against Penn State and Ohio State -- THOSE were tragedies...

So yesterday, since Wifey was away, the Ds labeled the day "Pathetic lonely Dad Sunday" and had plans to hang with me. Again -- D2 ended up staying with Jonathan's peeps, which was fine, and D1 and Little Man came over. They gave him a choice, since Joey's cousin was staying at the Beach -- did Little Man want Beach or Pinecrest? "Grandpa Dev!" was his answer.

D1 ordered in sangwiches, and then we showed D1 the new koi from our neighbor Mariela. From there it was a trip to Target, where we bought him way cool Spiderman sneaks that blink red (on clearance for $9) and he found a red Super Mario hat. His Mom said no, but Grandpa Dev said yes. From there, we stopped at Greer Park, where Little Man saw that I was right: you DO jump higher and run faster with new sneaks -- especialy Superhero ones.

We got home and neighbor Mariela invited us over. Little Man and Amelie played, and we learned Amelie, though 5, reads on a high school level, and is already writing computer code. Turns out her Dad, Jesus, is a super genius -- he teaches at Columbia. I assumed he meant a school in Bogota, but indeed it is the Ivy League one.

He's a wine expert, too, and poured us a Burgundy that was so delicious, I forgot vodka. D1 looked it up -- sure enough -- a $300 bottle. Yeah -- I'll stick to my pedestrian vodka.

We spent a lovely hour with them -- Amelie and Little Man played beautifully -- she even started to teach him what the different chess pieces are called. I want him to spend MORE time with this prodigy, of course -- likely Little Man will be classed as gifted for school -- but not Super Genius level, I don't suppose.

D1 and Little Man left for home, and I ordered in DiNapoli -- and watched the Eagles dominate the Chiefs. I was happy -- I know lots more Philly folks than KC ones, though my neighbor Allison was walking her dog today in mourning. She's a KC product...

Wifey called during the game -- her roommie had gone outside to call her husband, I think, and we caught up about what she's been missing and our wonderful grandsons.

And so, football comes to an end. The Heat look to be a playoff team -- but not too deep. The Panthers may have a chance at a second Cup. And pitchers and catchers report soon -- we'll be taking the boys to a few games this season. As D1 says: "Yay sports!"

Good Ole' Sunday Morning...Bells Are Ringing Everywhere

 So Wifey, like a big girl, made it all the way to FLL, and later to her hotel. There was only one call concerned with the directions Waze was sending her. Lord -- we do so much for her...

I ordered in Chana Thai -- probably our best local sushi. Kenny told me about them pre-plague -- they have a restaurant in Lower Manhattan and one by the Falls -- they're pretty, pretty, pretty good. Though I rarely drink alone, the shadows of the evening trees and Sonos playing Allman Bros gave me reason for exception. And my faithful skittish Spaniel Bo voiced no opposition -- so there were a couple of ice cold Stolis with orange peel...

Today I ordered a bachelor's Publix Insta Cart delivery. With Wifey here, it's a production. With my few staples, it takes 10 minutes. It's funny -- I don't change. In college, when Barry and I would go to Pantry Pride across the street from our campus apartment, I would only buy 4 things: Lenders frozen bagels, American cheese, orange juice, and milk -- my breakfast foods. All else was restaurant or take out.

I'm the same guy 45 years later, though now it's yogurt, raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries, along with some granola and bananas. In deference to my Ds, who think I need to eat healthier and are clearly correct -- I've upped the breakfast game. I DID get a few boxes of Yasso frozen yogurt pops -- Wifey eats probably 3 or 4 per day -- so she will be happy when she returns.

I should say "If" she returns. I haven't heard a peep from her since she texted that she arrived at the hotel yesterday afternoon, and I joked with the Ds that we may be changing the address plate for our house from "Villa Wifey" to "Villa (Watch This Space)."

D1 is heading over soon with Little Man -- he was given the choice between beach with Joey and Joey's dear Colombian visiting friends, or Pinecrest, and he chose the latter, so Joey takes Baby Man to the beach today. I have Little Man's favorite yogurt with a side car of honey -- and NO ONE mixes it like I do!

We were talking about this at dinner the other night -- the Grandpa gig has played out exactly like I though it would. I loved my grandsons as soon as they handed them to me, but I had a sense that I would REALLY hit my grandpa stride with them around age 5, and so it is. Little Man and I talk. A lot. D1 said a psychologist they met, for testing for gifted programs at school, noted he "has an advanced vocabulary and his mind is always processing things." Wow. How insightful. Anyone who knows this adorable boy sees that -- the specialist might as well have commented that he has 2 legs and 2 arms.

So Baby Man is adorable, and starting to communicate well, too -- but for this grandpa, at least, 5 seems to be the sweet age. I have SO much to teach him. To appreciate the Big Man. That our family is 3 generations of Democrats but we're re-thinking that now since the ultra lefties hate Jews, and the mainstream Dems seem ok with that. That the color orange must always be paired with green -- never blue. In other words, being a Canes fan is his birthright. Also Marlins, Heat, and Panthers. I have a feeling he'll teach ME about soccer -- his paternal birthright. And in the NFL, of course the Dolphins, though they were last relevant when his parents were wee children...

He announced to us last week that "February is Black History Month!" and when we asked what that meant, he explained "To celebrate what people who are Black have done!" Can't argue with that.

So I have Greg and Duane and Dicky, all now of blessed memory, jamming on my Sonos.

I'm not goin' to Carolina -- but my family is indeed my Blue Sky...

She's Gone -- Daryl Hall

 Man I loved Hall and Oates in high school -- even before I knew they were called "blue eyed soul." Wifey, Mike, Loni and I got to see them at the AAA a few years back -- they were terrific. They've since broken up in a bitter split (Hall and Oates -- not Mike and Loni). As soon as Wifey left today, I put Hall and Oates on the Sonos. 

Ah -- Wifey -- she is indeed SO unusual, to quote Cindy Lauper. Her plan is to fetch her BFF at FLL, and the two of them drive to the hotel in Highland Beach -- apparently they plan to drive to see friend Diane's new place in West Delray, and I think Linda was permitted to visit the last day -- Tuesday.

As she was leaving, she asked me "Do you have any desire to drive me to FLL -- my friend learned that it costs a lot to park the car each night at the hotel (the room is already near $800 per night -- high season in South Florida on the beach) and this way we could Uber from FLL to Delray, and back and to Diane's -- saving the overnight parking fee?"

I giggled and said that would be a hard no -- I'm a mule -- but this mule ain't looking for a 3 hour roundtrip drive to save a couple of rich ladies hotel parking fees -- but also realized the Uber charges from FLL to Delray, round trip, and to West Delray would run into the hundreds, anyway.

But she IS good for lots of family laughs -- like last night.

We celebrated D2's birthday 4 days late at a trendy place called Sunny's Steaks, in Little River. It's one of several new places opening in the "next Wynwood" of Miami -- the NY Times recently profiled several of them -- in Little River and Little Haiti -- mere minutes from the Ds' houses.

It was a banner evening -- "epic" as Joey and Jonathan called it. We shared delicious steaks and sides (I always think of Rob Reiner as the outraged CPA Dad in "Wolf of Wall Street" when presented a bill for enormously expensive dinner sides (actually charges for escorts). "What -- do these sides cure cancer????!"

The food was delicious, and the talk so loving and warm. For the second toast, I implored the 6 of us to realize, despite all life's challenges, how f-ing lucky we all were. I reiterated that thought this am, sober, on the family "Full Squad" text Joey created for us years ago.

But back to the table at the packed restaurant. D1, with super-human, Spiderman like observational ability, noticed that the former Supermodel Cindy Crawford and her crew was two tables away. I took a glance - and found she looked pretty, pretty, pretty good for a woman in her late 50s.

When we left, we all agreed to be cool and not annoy her like tourists or groupies. Jonathan walked out first -- not even a glance -- and Wifey did a cartoon-like double take at Cindy's table -- we could have all predicted it.

We got outside and hilarious laughter erupted -- D1 mimicked her Mom by getting right in her face -- Wifey didn't do THAT -- but was not subtle, as we had all predicted.

Yeah -- she marches to the beat of her own drummer, that wife 'o mine.

So plans are sushi delivered tonight, and tomorrow D1 and Little Man coming over for lunch. Kenny is "probable" to come by to watch the Super Bowl -- I'll bring in man food if he comes -- probably pizza -- and I have plenty of chilled Peronis and Heinies...

Maybe Tuesday I'll head up to see the grandsons and Ds and sons in law, like a typical Tuesday -- and Wednesday Funny Wifey is due back -- but I would guess late -- the better to squeeze every moment out of her trip off the reservation -- a favorite saying of my late mother's which you can no longer say...

Ah -- "I Can't Go For That" is playing now. Bo is snoozing. I got a peaceful, easy feeling. 

I am indeed one blessed, fortunate Daddy in the USA...

Judicial Fundraisers

 Back when I was actively in practice, we had to donate a LOT to judicial campaigns, and we even hosted several. In Florida, trial court judges are elected (though vacancies are appointed by the Gov), and, though the system is supposed to be free of bias towards cheap ass law firms -- you sort of don't want to be in that number.

One now deceased Judge, who I'll call Alan, since that was his first name (his last name is that of a federal employee), was a hilariously transparent case in point. Paul and I had him on a case where we settled after three mistrials -- it involved a family friend who's daughter lost a tooth in an accident, while her Mom had neck and back injuries. We got her an amazing settlement, and appeared in front of Judge Alan for approval -- since the girl was a teenager. My friend Mike was Guardian ad litem, who blessed our efforts. The Judge decided to grandstand, and said "I ALWAYS cut the fees lawyers earn in minor settlements!" Mike came to our aid, explaining how much work we had put in for the result, and the judge relented, but afterwards the Dad, Arnald, wondered if I was ripping him off. I told him to ask around, and he realized all was kosher.

Paul and I went to see His Honor later, and explained how he had embarrassed us in front of a client who was also a neighbor. To the Judge's credit, he apologized, and asked us to help on his re-election campaign. We did -- raised him well over $10K.

Several years later, we got another case before him -- a sort of comical one -- actually Wifey's favorite tale. A contractor fell through an abandoned A/C shaft in a kosher Miami Beach hotel, and broke both legs as he fell and got stuck a few floors below. He yelled for help, in Spanish. Ethel Rosenblatt (I'm making up her name -- but it was like that) called the front desk and said in her Brooklyn accent "There's a man behind my wall yelling in Spaaaaaaanish." The clerk accused Mrs. Rosenblatt of going too hard on the Manishevitz, but she insisted, and they sent someone up to rescue the poor guy.

Anyway, we filed suit, and, as we always did with our cases, set it for trial fast. Maybe 2 months had passed since the accident. The defense lawyer, who I'll call Mike, since that's his name, filed a Motion for Continuance, and we attended. Mike was totally confident he would win -- I mean -- there hadn't even been time to hire experts or anything. He made his argument. "Denied -- you'll be going to trial in 3 weeks"" boomed His Honor. 

The Court Reporter left, and Mike was incredulous, asking the Judge how he could be serious. "Well, maybe next time my friend Sy (his bag man) comes to visit your office, you won't send him away rudely. David and his partner are gentlemen!" We ended up setting up a mediation the next day and settled the case in record time.

Years later, I recalled that when I saw the T shirt in Key West that read "A good lawyer knows the law. A GREAT lawyer knows the Judge."

Thankfully, we're out of that game, mostly, but my friend Joel's sister Dawn is a friend, and so last night Mike and I attended her fundraiser at Joel's historic Grove mansion. Dawn and her protege, Judge Cristina, are the only 2 we support financially anymore -- because of friendship only.

It was a nice time. I ran into Marta, and old friend and long time School Board Member -- she thanked me for hosting a fundraiser for HER probably 20 years ago. She's 74 and went back to law school at 64 -- she know works in the Juvenile Justice system, and came to the party to support Dawn. It was great catching up with her -- we both recalled a night where my family gathered at her North Gables house and walked to Versailles. She was dating Chris at the time, whose daughter Alex was D1's friend.

I also met Jim, a childhood friend of Norman's, and his wife, from Chicago. We exchanged Chicago tales -- she loved the one I had about Gibson's Steakhouse and Sinatra.

So it was a nice evening, but happily a rare one. Those $500 checks add up...

Tonight we're celebrating D2's birthday a few days late. The plan is for Wifey and me to fetch Little Man at school at 330, and get him, his nanny, brother, and friend Riley all Happy Meals. We'll then hang a bit and have our more expensive happy meals at Sunny's Steakhouse -- one of the hip new places the NY Times profiled recently. I went a few months ago with Dr. Barry. I liked it -- too hip for Barry. He's far more of a populist than I -- I'm surprised he doesn't like Trump more...

And tomorrow I begin 4 nights of bachelerhood -- Wifey decamping to a boutique hotel near Delray for a girl's vacay. I will survive.

Be True To Your Shul

 So last evening it was back to shul, uh, school, for Dr. Barry, Norman, and me. We three took a Jewish Learning Institute (JLI) class some months back, led by Rabbi Yossi's son Moshe, who I told Yossi was a taller and smarter version of him. The class was on Bio Ethics and Judaism, and we enjoyed it quite a bit -- meeting at 6 pm on Wednesdays and then class at 730. Barry, always complaining about his commute times from Pembroke Pines to Jackson Downtown, even undertook MORE driving to attend.

I got another email, this time a class on learning the Talmud -- and my boys both were in again. Also, Jeff, whose life is immersed in service to his 2 temples, since he had he sense to drop out of being a lawyer in 1994 and has grown close to Moshe, signed up, though he thinks he'll miss several classes on account of his stuff with the Reform places where he's on countless committees...

I joked that we three were the cool guys in class last time -- but then again -- the bar wasn't very high. We weren't competing with the likes of Jim Kelly or Bernie Kosar, like when we attended UM.

Barry thought he might take Metrorail if the traffic was too untenable, and so I suggested we gather at Shorty's, right at the base of the Dadeland South station, and after class I'd drive him back to the Health District. Instead, all 3 cars pulled up early, and we retreated inside for some delicious barbecue -- in Norman's honor,  I got the burger for my first time in patronizing Shorty's since my Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Abe took me during a Miami vacation in 1973. The burger was indeed delicious.

We three solved some issues of medical legal importance, and then carpooled the 2 blocks to class. Neighbors Robert and his wife Stephanie were there, as well as several others -- all 20 seats were taken -- a testament (Ha!) to Moshe and his budding career as the future leader of the empire his parents have created.

Barry was the ringer. He had attended Yeshiva for Junior High in Queens before moving to South Florida for high school, and he peppered Moshe with great Talmudic debate questions. Jeff knew lots of stuff, too, from his 3 decades of immersion into things Jewish.

We each took turns reading, and my short section was the question "Why Do Jews Read So Much Law?" I found it hilarious -- of Jeff, Norman, and myself, all members of UM's Law Class of 1986, I probably read the LEAST Law of the 3 of us -- I was the only one not on Law Review!

But of course we got some pride shout-outs -- Moshe shared the fact that although Jews make up something like .2% of the world's population, they have won 22% of the Nobel Prizes. Our tribe thinks learning and studying is truly holy.

So the Talmud is mostly law, and its commentary. The law is based, if you go the way of the true believers, on the Word of The Big Man, as interpreted by Rabbis throughout the ages -- mostly the ages long ago. Norman questioned why Medieval Rabbis are given so much cred, whereas the modern ones, no matter how brilliant, are considered overall schleppers. I guess we'll explore that during the Wednesdays to come.

Moshe told one parable that resonated -- about a king years ago who really dug Jews. His ministers despised them, and set about to show the king how ridiculous Jews were -- with their picayune laws about everything. Sure enough, there was a passage about tying shoes -- you put the right on first, but tie the left one first. See, the ministers said, these supposedly Chosen People are absurd.

The king had a different take: the Jews were special because they turned even the most mundane tasks into a connection with the Big Man. It recalled for me a Harry Chapin line about a special woman in his life: "I could not make things possible...but she could make them holy."

I came home, and Wifey peppered me with questions about the class -- asking the next one before my tired self could complete the answer to the last one. I asked myself: what would make things holy? And so I went to bed -- leaving her to watch her post mah jonng news.

I reflected on the death of Alissa, and her brother Mark. I texted Jamie, to ask whether any plans had been made for Alissa's funeral -- he replied they had not. If the burial comes after tomorrow -- I'll be going alone -- Wifey is NOT disrupting her beach trip plans with her friends to come back to Kendall. And that's ok -- she and I often find different things important -- variety keeps stuff together for nearly 4 decades, it appears.

Today after my workout, I'm meeting Paul and Patricia for lunch in Doral -- they have an appointment there -- and we actually have a small bit of law firm business to do together.

Tonight I'm going to Crazy Joel's mansion in the Grove -- he's hosting a fundraiser to retain his sister Dawn on the Bench. I really dig Dawn -- in our waning years of practice -- we only contribute to her campaign, and the one for her judicial protege Cristina.

Dawn will likely raise enough money to scare off would-be opponents -- I think this is her last go round before mandatory retirement. And it's great to catch up with Joel's criminal law buddies -- they tend to be more colorful than my colleagues in the civil law world.

We sat in the car last evening at Shorty's, and regaled Barry with a tale about one of them -- a retired judge Norman's known since high school. Mary, as I'll call her since that's her name, was the target of an infamous Motion for Recusal from a pro se party -- who claimed she couldn't be a fair judge since they had a sexual encounter of the Lewinsky/Clinton variety, and he never called her afterwards. The junior high schooler in me can think of little else when I'm with Mary, despite the fact that she was quite the accomplished judge.

Maybe I'll ask Rabbi Moshe is there are any similar tales about Talmudic scholars. Nah -- better not -- that's for school -- not shul.

I Just Knew The Call Would Have Awful News

 Wifey's first friend upon moving to Miami in 1972 was Alissa -- a sweet, red headed Jewish girl who went to Killian High. Alissa gave Wifey the first love of her life: Sunshine, the adorable yellow dog who was middle aged when I met Wifey.

Alissa met Garth, and the two married young. When I met Alissa in 1984 or so, she was already married -- Garth worked for FPL as a nuclear power plant supervisor. They had 2 sons, a bit older than the Ds -- one is an IT guy and the other a UM trained pathologist.

Years ago, Wifey and I were at dinner at a local Italian place in Coral Springs, with my sister, bro in law, and cousins Jeff and Lynn. I noticed a few tables away was Garth enjoying a romantic dinner with a lady NOT his wife. I tried to get his attention -- Dude - take off -- but he came over with the woman. Wifey, soap opera-like, said "Garth! And (     )!" The woman was Alissa's close friend, who Wifey knew as the first rich girl she ever met --her Dad was a doctor in Coral Gables and had the first $1M house Wifey ever visited. I forget her name. Anyway, Garth said that he and Alissa had split up, and was now with her friend -- they ended up marrying.

Wifey called Alissa the next day, and the poor thing was in denial -- "just a phase." Still, she asked me for a divorce lawyer, and I sent her to my friend Jeannie, who reported that Alissa was very much in denial and wanted to just get divorced without alimony, etc...And so they did.

Alissa moved to Boynton Beach, and we last saw her probably 6 years ago, but kept in touch on FaceBook. Her oldest married a Filipina woman, and they have an adorable 9 year old. 

Alissa reconnected with a junior high boyfriend from Kendall, Jamie, and the two began a long relationship. They broke up, but remained friends. We met Jamie one time -- at, I think, Roasters in Kendall. Nice guy -- had lived much of his life in LA, and moved back to South Florida.

Well this am I got a FB message, from Jamie. "David -- call about Alissa." I knew it wouldn't be happy news, and I was correct. She died this am, of cancer. Wifey and I were shocked.

I asked about her brother Mark, who was a retired teacher living in the family house off Galloway Road. We'd often run into Mark at Captain's Tavern, and even 2 Saturdays ago I looked around for him. That was futile: Jamie said Mark had died, at 70, last December, from prostate and bladder cancer he refused to get treated.

My thought was the only blessing was that their parents were both gone -- it is unimaginable to lose both your kids a few months apart.

We asked about Alissa's boys. Jamie told us Fate was not done with the family: the young doc was at UM post brain surgery for a tumor, and getting treatment now at Sylvester. Fortunately, Jamie said, it's a curable type of brain cancer, and Daniel is expected to recover.

Alissa's going to be buried in her family plot at Mt. Nebo. I told Jamie we were just there a few weeks ago for my father in law's yahrzeit. Jamie said he has many family members buried there, too.

So I guess we'll be going to a funeral by the end of the week. Wifey and I are still processing this.

I recall a talk I had with Alissa, probably 8 years ago. She no longer wished to drive on the highway, and so wasn't visiting her Mom in the nursing home. I told her she ought to re-think that, even though her brother was visiting often. She and her brother were close -- I warned her that a parent's death could well weaken a family rather than strengthen it -- take an Uber to visit, if she needed to. I don't know whether or not she did -- but all of them are gone now.

Barry loves to call me Obituary Dave, as my dark humor causes me to always be the first to share news of death to our group of friends. But learning what I did today was beyond even my very dark pale -- 2 siblings gone fairly young, and the young son fighting cancer?

I said a prayer to the Big Man, and hope I don't get anymore Messenger requests like today's.

Special Tech

 So after ATT went out for about the 10th time in 1.5 months, and 2 very nice fellows have come to fix it, finally Wifey got them to send out a "Special Tech" today. That brought back memories of one of Wifey's quirky moments -- one of the Ds brought home a Siamese Fighting Fish, and Wifey was trying to remember what it was called, and settled on "A special fish." Special Fish lived a decent life, and now whenever we speak of the undersea world, we recall him...

Anyway, we re-homed Little Man and the Skittish Spaniel, and waited for his parents to return from MIA. We said quick hellos, and were off -- to meet D2 and Jonathan for an erev D2 birthday dinner. We met at Silver Lake, which is neither Silver nor on a lake, but has great French food, in the old area of Normandy Isle. We toasted 33 for D2, which I understand many Latins call the "Jesus Year," since that's how long the Son made it. Fortunately, it seems no one is out to crucify my second daughter...

We drove home to a quiet house -- with working ATT. But we're still having the Special Tech visit -- supposably (there's that Miami spelling again!) before noon. Probably the issue is we don't have fiber service in our 'hood yet -- when the nice tech Steve came out last Friday, and I watched him, I saw our entry box had those tiny wires like I recall from dissecting telephones in the 70s. Maybe we can get some more modern supply cables...

Meanwhile, a pretty chill week is scheduled, though as I told D2 in my birthday email to her this am, schedules aren't worth the paper they're no longer printed on. I said something similar, anyway...

Saturday Wifey is finally doing what she should have done many times before: leaving me. Only for 4 nights, but still. She spending some nights at a Delray oceanfront hotel, and our old friend Diane, who now lives in Delray, is coming to meet the hotel crew. It may be, for the B and T friends and their Miami counterpart, Sweata Weatha.

I will have to slog it alone, and my plan is the same as each time Wifey decamps without me: dinners at the bar of local places, like Sea Siam and Captain's Tavern -- maybe even Fox's. The Super Bowl is this Sunday -- not sure if anyone is hosting a gettie, to use the Millennial term, but if not, I can watch with Bo, the Special Needs Spaniel. 

I don't have much of a rooting interest, except for my friend Stu Bill's Dad -- a life long Iggles fan. Bill is nearing the end of a long and wonderful road of life -- it would be great to see his Boids do it one final time. I don't know any Chiefs fans...

So hopefully we stay internetted and TV'd. If they can't fix it, I asked Wifey to undertake the annoying task of switching to Comcast/Infinity. They have issues, too, but their equipment seems more modern. 

Alas, as I was typing -- ATT went down. But 40 minutes later, Ricardo arrived -- a "Special Tech." He told me HE had taken us down, to try to fix the problem at the "main box" about a mile away. We came back online as he arrived.

He shared the truth that for some reason (actually I think I know) no one had told us. We were still on technology "60-70 years old" as far as the cables were concerned. He said we would keep losing ATT until they replaced the entire system. He didn't know when that would be -- maybe "months." He said that right now, north of 112 Street, it's "all new." That's 1.5 miles from here.

Great -- so we live in a neighborhood where the cheapest house sold recently was north of $2.5M, and we have schlepper internet.

And so I have tasked Wifey with undertaking the conversion -- I think Infinity is already using newer stuff. She never can find that 'round tuitt tool needed to get stuff done -- but she is FAR more into TV than I -- I'm guessing she does it after her 5 days away.

I can do pretty well with just my phone and IPad -- until football season, anyway.

Special tech. Ha. Just a guy who told us the tech was as old as I am...

And February Made Me Shiver...

 So tomorrow is February 3, the "day the music died" according to the great Don Mclean. That was before my time, but for our family, it was the day D2 was born -- so we celebrate!

Yesterday Wifey and I were to drive up to D1 and Joey's, to fetch Little Man for the night. His parents are at a wedding in Panama, and my consuegra Jacqui is there with Lizeth the nanny -- we were going to fetch Little Man Friday, but Jacqui wanted ALL her grandkids for a shabbat. We of course acceded.

D2 had called -- would I fetch a karaoke machine from Elise and Brett's house? I refuse to schlep -- something my late boss Ed taught me -- if you schlep for people, you are a schlepper. But I make an exception for nuclear family, and so I agreed. I went to tell Wifey we needed to leave a bit earlier, and was greeted with her scared little girl look -- her back was flaring up, and she was in distress. Would she prefer I go make the pick alone? She would.

So I saw Brett and Elise, and got the machine -- D2 and Jonathan were hosting some friends for an early D2 birthday -- and then I stopped at Anthony's ("Anfony's " in Little Man pronunciation). I UberEated Dave to Shorecrest, and D2 and Betsy joined us -- Baby Man acquitted himself well by scarfing down 2 meatballs. The curly haired toddler is speaking in sentences now, and is illegally adorable.

Little Man and I left around 2, and came home to a recovered Wifey. She took him next door to play with Amelie -- her newly refurbished playground was terrific. Her Mom Mariela had been over several times with koi -- putting them into our pond. She was tired of having to care for her closed pond -- weekly cleaning -- and is turning it into a fountain. Her beautiful koi are happily hear, and Mariela, Jesus, Amelie, and Jordan have open visitation rights.

Little Man took a bath in our absurdly large tub -- the builders Richard and Jennifer put the 7 foot diameter job in when they built the house in the late 90s -- sort of silly now. The jets long ago stopped working, and it turns out finding a jacuzzi repairman is a task greater than is worth for me -- -but the tub is still fun for little ones.

We fell asleep early -- except Wifey -- she went downstairs for some late night TV -- and I knew what was coming early today: a wakeup call from Little Man near 6, as he knew that's when House of Bagels opens. Sure enough, we were off in the pre dawn gloaming -- and saw the retired professor who is always there at store opening for his bagel, coffee, and Economics books.

Little Man was extremely hyper. The young girl who works there could be Eminem's sister -- a blonde, white woman who talks like the most inner city hip hop performer. She's lovely -- and noted "Wow -- dat boy talk a storm!" Indeed he does, though now, post bagel, I have him quietly watching Paw Patrol on our thankfully working TV.

Tomorrow a "Senior Tech" is visiting to figure out why the ATT keeps going down every few days -- typically for hours. If I was still working and hosting Zoom meetings -- this would be a problem. The affable tech who came out Friday said that ATT Fiber would be in our area soon -- and that would solve the issue -- but who knows? It may be time to switch to Infinity, though I hear they're fraught, too. Ah -- First World problems.

Later Little Man and I have a peafowl ("Pavo Royal") and iguana hunt scheduled -- he has his field notebook to keep track of what we find.

At some point, we'll re-home him and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel we took home with us, too, and his parents are due back from Panama.

The family dinner for D2's 33rd is scheduled for Friday -- a hipster steakhouse called Sunny's -- I took Barry there last month -- good, but we were clearly the only ones there older than 50.

So I DO recall what was revealed the day that D2 was born -- and it was all wonderful.