Yesterday Was Just For Me

 Ah, my dearly departed Mom Sunny. She was so funny and quirky -- the very aspects about her we all remember so warmly. She was retired and widowed since 1979 and 1982, respectively, and had no financial worries. Her time was truly her own -- she volunteered religiously at Delray Hospital, and had a very active social life, but never had to do a single thing she didn't wish to -- I guess with the exception of health matters.

Still, every once in awhile, she would announce "Today is just for me!" Of course, every day was just for her. Another great Sunny ism was "If I had it MY way, I would see a movie every night!" We would point out to her that she ONLY had things "her way," but the thought that somehow she was beholden to others ran too deep.

I thought of her yesterday, as Monday was "just for me." We had a busy weekend, with D1 and the boys and the happy tumult of their energetic presence, and after they left Sunday afternoon Wifey and I hosted our neighbor Gloria. As I still enjoy romance in our lives, I set the table in the kitchen and lit a candle, and put on "Yacht Rock" since we and Gloria are of that generation. I ordered DiNapoli, which concerned me, as Gloria is Bronx Italian -- but she assured me it was one of her and her late husband Ben's go-to places.

I poured her champagne, and poured Wifey's Diet Ginger Ale into a champagne flute as well, and we spent a great evening talking of our lives, and how things happen you completely don't expect. Gloria's husband Ben was the picture of health -- he would lap me running the 'hood when I walked, and at Devonwood events made fun of my eating the pigs in blankets while he stuck to the crudite. But he had some sort of genetic predisposition to heart rhythm disorders, and he dropped in February of 2019 in front of our neighbor Brian's house -- an ENT who wasn't home. Brian's housekeeper saw it, and called 911, but Ben never regained consciousness, and died on Valentine's Day. He was 60 -- would be 66 now.

Gloria has kept on keeping on -- helping to run a big family business, and looking after her adult sons -- one is married to a nice fellow, and the other with, finally, a serious girlfriend. I can tell she's LOVE grandkids -- hopefully that happens for her.

She left, after we enjoyed the pastries she brought from the great bakery at Kings Bay. And so yesterday I summoned my inner sloth and never left the house until after sunset, and that was just to fetch the mail and retrieve the garbage bin. Just for me...

Today it's back to the gym, and then tomorrow afternoon one of my comical medical procedures -- a visit to, as I call it, Band Camp. It'll be my third visit over the past decade to get hemorhoidal banding, to keep this birthright from my father at bay.

My first visit was to a colon surgeon named Marcos Szomstein, a quiet and smart Venezuelan Jew, who seemed to take a LONG time attaching the bands. Sure enough, my former friend Vince, who is an anesthesiologist who worked with Marcos, said his nickname was "Slugstein," as he was indeed slow and plodding. I decided I needed someone more fleet of hand, and found a young Indian American fellow in the Grove. Alas, poor Marcos -- HE dropped of a heart attack a few months ago -- a few years younger than I am.

So I saw Dr. Shah in late 2019, and he did a fine job, but again, since this is comical, reported he ran out of the "O'Regan" bands -- I needed to come back. I did, a few days before D2 and Jonathan's wedding, which was a mistake. This time, I was left with one of the again, comical side effects -- an unrelenting urge to move my bowels.

Great, I thought, I ruined enjoyment of my daughter's beautiful Miami Beach wedding -- I'll be fleeing from the events all weekend. I called Dr. Shah -- no worries, he said -- take Tylenol. No, Doc - I don't have pain -- just this never ending urge. The man knows his tucheses -- and sure enough the Tylenol worked just fine.

Well, that was 5.5 years ago, and Band Camp beckons again. Hopefully this time no Tylenol treatments will be necessary.

So tomorrow will not be "just for me." It's nice when a day is, from time to time.