And so it was a memorable weekend in D.C., for Scott and Sam's Big, Fat, Media wedding, as I called it. The weekend was a microcosm of life: joyful new beginning, in the form of the wedding, scary sickness, and recalling death.
And as this semi-retired, overweight and gray Jew from LI ponders all of this, I am comforted by, of all things, a song from the 70s and a view of the sky yesterday as I drove north on the Palmetto. The song is Kansas's masterpiece "Dust in the Wind," which borrows heavily from Genesis and Ecclesiastes, reminding us that, in the end, all of our anxieties, accomplishments, and heaviness of life is in the end, vanity -- dust in the wind -- and we return to dust as we came from it.
And the clouds were huge, puffy cumulus, set against a beautiful sky. It brought me back to my first time driving back to my parents' condo in Delray from UM in Coral Gables, on the Turnpike, and realizing that skies on LI rarely looked this way. I was dating a girl before I left New York who told me that she always wanted to live where she could see mountains, unlike our flat LI, and it occurred to me we had them in Miami -- just hanging in the sky. It was nice to feel 18 again, if only in my memory.
So after a lovely shabbat dinner, and South Florida themed rehearsal dinner, where the grandsons danced and had the time of their lives, ending in Little Man taking an uncharacteristic nap, Sunday was great. Saturday afternoon, too, as Eric noticed a heaviness about me and asked to meet before the rehearsal dinner.
We sat at a Starbucks and talked, deeply, for the first time in awhile. We've been brothers since 1979, but Eric is not a talker like Barry or Paul are. But that afternoon we were, and it was a conversation that meant the world to me. I recalled another great talk in my life -- after Paul's daughter Tracy's wedding in NYC -- on a gray, misty day, Barry, Paul, and Paul's best college friend Frank and I sat for over an hour talking of life -- the two late 60s college grads and the two early 80s version. Frank died last year from brain cancer, and it brought home how all of the plans we make mean nothing compared to what the Big Man does.
Anyway, Sunday before the wedding, Wifey was SO tired, and so stayed in, and Little Man was recovering from a bout of "Gomitar" -- his version of vomitar, or vomiting, from a quick bug, and so Lizeth the nanny stayed with him. Paul, Patricia, D1, Baby Man, and Jonathan and D2 and I walked from the hotel to the White House and then to the GW campus, where Paul showed us where he and Frank had lived back in those heady days of the 60s in D.C. We ended the walk at the corner of our hotel, and I spoke about how Patricia was the finest woman Paul ever had in his life, and how much I appreciated her caring for him, and next thing I knew the scene reprised the final episode of "Mary Tyler Moore" where we all met in a tearful hug -- thankful for our friendship and sorority and fraternity.
And then came the wedding, well, after a mass tefillin wrapping in the lobby with Rabbi Yossi, fresh flown in from Miami. It was a big ask -- Rabbi is SO busy with many projects, including the final opening of his and Nechama's gleaming new Friendship Circle. I asked him about taking off 2 days to officiate at a wedding a 2 hour flight away. His response: "With what Barry has done for my family, as a trusted health confidante, and all he does for the community -- if he asked me to fly to Europe to marry his son I would have done it." And so it proved that Barry, ever humble about his accomplishments and station in life, truly is one amazing and powerful man.
Speaking of which, he balled the entire time under the chuppah -- watching his oldest son start the next phase of his life as a true man -- one with a wife.
The party was terrific -- great band -- and Scott actually got on stage and rapped to Pitbull, his favorite. D2 noted she had been to many weddings and thought she had seen it all, but now she really had.
And poor Barry -- always the Horton of the medical world. His brother in law Marty needed middle of the night hospitalization, and so he Ubered to GW Hospital with him and his wife/Barry's sister Phyllis. Marty should be ok, though had to spend the week in the hospital -- coming home this weekend, hopefully. Barry did many of the simchas on 3 hours' sleep.
And we got awful news: our friend Susan, a child protection psychologist at JMH, who Barry also knows, had a devastating stroke in Dallas, while visiting her oldest son and his family. Susan is my age, a health nut and clean eater. We've been texting with her husband and son Spencer, since we have some experience with stroke recovery, and hopefully Susan will be ICU to ICU medevacked home to Miami next week, under the care of our neighbor and Neuro Chair at UM Jose Romano -- a true maven in the field. We're praying for Susan, and will support Steve.
So I left for the trip with trouble in mind, as Willie Nelson and Leon Russel wrote, but days later, it has eased somewhat.
Boy -- talks with people you truly love and love you are the best therapy there is! And beauty is everywhere to see -- even outside the windshield while driving on the Palmetto in traffic. And in the end, all we are is dust in the wind...
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