A Tale of Two Steaks

 A good steakhouse is probably my favorite kind of restaurant -- I guess it harkens back to my childhood, before I learned to eat more sophisticated fare.

On account of wanting to maybe live a BIT longer, I don't eat steak all the time. That said, my recently departed friend Bill Share "never ordered the chicken" and he enjoyed his life until 90. So who knows?

I do know that Wifey and I are off soon to Aventura, to Bourbon Steak, to meet Drs. Barry and Eric, Donna and Dana, and Paul and Patricia. Bourbon is an elegant place -- the chef has a Michelin star -- we've been before and they are NOT shy about their prices. Tonight, though, since we did a nice job for a client and he thanked us with several generous gift certificates, we have $350 paid for off the top. That's good for maybe 3 steaks.

The main draw, though, is the company. I love being with my brothers and sisters, and tonight we have a lot to celebrate -- especially the fact that we're all standing up, mostly. Barry and Donna are the only non grandparents (Patricia is a step abuela), and we have to solve all of our kids' and grandkids' problems during the allotted few hours. Ha. As if.

As one of my 3 new credos goes, "You don't care what I say anymore...this is YOUR life." Accepting that has given me such inner peace.

Discovery Channel has "Shark Week," and I told Wifey yesterday began "Dave Week," since my birthday is coming up on Friday. Not really, but maybe a little.

Next Friday is ANOTHER steakhouse -- The Palm -- my favorite -- in Bay Harbor. That's just Wifey and the Ds and men -- but Paul included himself and Patricia, too , which if fine, since we have that relationship. Of course, he then suggested other people I might invite -- ain't happening.

If I've learned anything about birthdays in advancing years, it's that you have to do it YOUR WAY, since the time has long passed to worry about pleasing everyone else.

So I'll take an extra Crestor or two -- and enjoy tonight and Friday.

It's that time of year!

The Flood of Texas

 Oh boy, what a tragedy in Texas -- floods that have killed so many -- most horribly summer campers along the main flooded river. Last I saw, the death toll was 200, and will go higher -- lots of people are still missing.

Of course, the tragedy brought out the best in everyone, particularly Liberals known for their good hearts. Ha. As if! One former Houston mayoral aid, a Black woman, dismissed the tragedy since it was mostly "rich, white girls" who were swept away, lamenting that it only got press since it wasn't POC -- people of color affected. Worse, a PEDIATRICIAN, of all professionals, noted that many of the people affected were likely Trump voters (or, I guess, their families -- since scores of those killed were children), and only hoped the "non MAGA" people were saved. They fired her stupid, cruel ass from her practice, fortunately.

But, as Mr. Rogers taught, there are also the helpers, and I was proud to see the Miami Dade Urban Search and Rescue team flew to Texas, with 2 gorgeous Yellow Labs, to assist in the searches. And I finally paid attention to a charity I had heard about, GEM, or Global Empowerment Mission, based here in Doral.

It was founded by Michael Caponni, a former South Beach party boy club promoter who hit it big in real estate, and followed a predictable path: drug addiction and nearly killing himself and a girlfriend in a boat crash. But he got himself together and started GEM, which is non political, and non religious, but specializes in getting critical stuff to disasters around the world. Their first was the Haitian earthquake, where they were lauded for helping so many in that woebegone nation. I made my first donation to GEM today, and think they'll replace FIU on my annual list, as FIU's Public Health School seems to have forgotten about us -- no word from the new "Giving Director" there since last year.

Speaking of FIU, the news reported that the Business School Dean's wife and adult daughter are missing from their riverfront house and presumed dead. Earlier in the week, we learned that David Lawrence, a leading Miami philanthropist and former publisher of the Herald, lost THREE of his granddaughters, who were at the main summer camp affected: Mystic. Twin 8 year olds and an 11 year old.

Lawrence is an awesome guy -- I met him briefly years ago at a UM event -- he founded the Children's Trust, which has given millions to Miami Dade kids' education and health care programs. What a tragic irony that a man who has done so much for kids has lost his own so awfully.

Today starts my birthday week, and I have decided this year I want LOTS of gifts! Ha. I even told D1, who always comes up with creative and lovely gifts, to please stop giving me stuff. When she was in the library the other day, she saw a custom puzzle she had ordered sitting on a table, unused.

I'm not sure why I developed almost an allergy to stuff -- maybe it was losing so much of it in Hurricane Andrew. Maybe it's my growing OCD and my revulsion to clutter. But my family knows -- no more stuff -- though bottles of Stoli Elit, or maybe some Johnny Walker Blue, to keep for sipping with guests on special occasions, is always welcomed!

So instead, I realized what I enjoy most -- giving charity. I LOVE how Sinatra used to do it -- read about a local need in the Deseret News in Palm Springs, and then had his Beverly Hills lawyers anonymously send a donation, telling them "If anyone finds out about this, I'll fire you and hire NEW Jew lawyers!" I also loved Sinatra's lack of political correctness -- especially since he walked the walk of non racism and philo-semitism -- he wouldn't play in a hotel where his Black musicians couldn't stay, and his contributions to the founding of Israel explain why his name is on lots of stuff there.

But I can do it on a small scale, and I do. This week Lotus House got a donation -- an amazing facility started by a rich retired lawyer woman which has grown into the largest facility for homeless women and children in the US -- no asshole abusing men allowed anywhere near the place.

And I gave to Chabad of Texas, for more flood relief -- they do a good job of actually getting stuff to victims -- regardless of their religion.

But the Texas Flood just shows how we are all truly connected -- 2 major Miami families are direct victims of a natural disaster half a country away.

May peace come to the victims' survivors. I always remember my old friend Vince's father Vince, Senior's sage words. "Mother Nature can be one cruel bitch." She sure was in Texas last week.

Taking A Hint

 As Dave Week nears, the make believe narcissistic half a fortnight celebration of my turning 64, I have been reflecting and analyzing more than usual.

And yesterday's theme, after I returned from Band Camp and a going away hug from Belkys, the medical assistant who got to know me more intimately than most women in my life, was taking a hint.

Many people I know never developed that skill. They continue to try to have relationships with others who truly care little or not at all about them -- and keep on and keep on.

I guess I developed the skill early on -- I was always lucky to have different groups of friends, and if one group found me burdensome or annoying -- no whoop -- I'd go to another. 

A family member is a prime example. She's a well meaning person, who for years sent gifts that were, well, a bit off. Either it was clothing that the recipient wouldn't be caught dead in, or trinkets seen as silly. She never received a thank you -- actually -- learned that the recipients made fun of her choices.

Did she take the hint? Nope. Whenever she would see something at a thrift store, or antique shop, she would take the time and effort (usually not great expense) and send another gift. I think she finally got it -- I no longer hear about fun being made of her quirky generosity -- and that's a good thing.

And I get it. She sent a shirt to Little Man, since she saw it and laughed -- imagining him in it looking way cool. The problem is it's half his size. D1 could have rolled her eyes and said "Wow -- you have zero idea how big my son is," but instead thanked her and told her that Baby Man would enjoy it. D1's learned another key lesson -- it's better to be kind than it is to be correct.

Meanwhile, last night I met Pat at Captain's Tavern, and we caught up about the markets, politics, and most importantly his Gators and my Canes. I invited him to come to the game with me in September -- doing my part of the fading DEI initiative by having diversity among fans -- he'll let me know soon.

We shared some great times over the years -- we reminisced about Hurricane Wilma, in 2005, and how our families fled to Orlando and Atlanta lest they live without power for 10 days or so, and how he and I happily cavemanned it -- dinner at his CC Rivieria, and nightcaps at Fox's, and sometimes grilling in the blissfully cool October nights.

We drank our share of Midleton Irish whiskey -- back when it was $100 per bottle. Now: over $300.

His wife Susan is leaving for a month in mid October-mid November for eye surgery by her brother in Sarasota -- overlapping with Wifey's trip to Iberia for 10 days.

We may reprise our temporary bachelorhoods -- this time with some Canes games thrown in.

Pat, like me, knows how to take a hint...

The Final Band Camp Session, Hopefully

 So I was up bright and early and drove to the Grove for my second, and hopefully final, session of band camp. Belkys checked me out, and was teaching a young new medical assistant, to the party around my tuches was going to be better attended this time.

Affable Dr. Shah came in, used the O'Regan gun 2 more times, as I asked him if there WAS a Dr. O'Regan like there was a Dr. Moh and Dr. Apgar, and he didn't know. But before I could tell any prison jokes, he was done. Man -- that is an acquired taste I never acquired...

So with my knee better, and the stitches due out from my basal removal, I'm hopefully done with medical stuff for awhile.

Tonight I'm meeting my friend and financial advisor Pat over at Captain's Tavern. We were going to visit Fox's, but switched venues for the halibut. 

Last night Mirta and I caught up over some great paella at Bulla. Since Wifey's language of love is having food brought to her, I ordered both a paella and an arroz con pollo and brought her generous leftovers.

Mirta and I spoke about the unique challenges of adult kids, and how being an adult was sure a different thing to our generation than it is to our 30 and 40 somethings. And we caused it -- with helicoptering, and spoiling -- so there we are. We adore and love our kids, but they're much less shy about sharing their life issues and problems than we were with OUR parents. But we agreed, so long as they're healthy and on good paths, and we love them as we do -- we got nothing to complain about.

I shared with her that a friend was truncating his vacation since his daughter, a rising 2L making a ton of money and with a boyfriend, "missed" him and his wife. I don't recall EVER missing my parents, except for missing my Dad when he died. I guess stuff is different now.

I bought myself a second early birthday gift. The first was an oil painting of Tony Soprano giving the middle finger, which is in a newly renovated bathroom replacing the last photo I bought -- which I thought was a punk type woman sitting on a toilet in maybe CBGB's. Wifey pointed out that said woman had an Adam's Apple, and though I'm not anti LGBTQRSTUVW, I don't wish to have a photo of such a person -- better Tony, anytime.

The second gift is tickets to see Stevie Nicks at the Hard Rock in September. Wifey really digs her, and I figure we'll eat at Runway, Uber over to the Indian venue, and enjoy the show. Stevie is 77 -- so she fits in with our long procedure of seeing great acts before, well, they follow Tom Petty to that great show in the sky...

D1 is taking Little Man to Chicago early tomorrow am -- I can't wait to hear tales of him enjoying the Second City.

And we're meeting Drs. Eric, Barry, Dana, Donna, and Paul and Patricia for dinner Saturday night -- at Bourbon Steak in Aventura. It should be an epic evening, though there are fewer drinkers among us than in years past. I will do my level best to make up for the shortfall.

And Friday begins Dave Birthday Week -- sort of like Shark Week, but with less blood. I plan to savor each day even more than usual, and I am one world class savorer! 

As a first step, I took care of things at the seat of my powers. Ha. 

Good Ole Sunday Morning

 So after a Saturday of happy tumult, with D1 and both boys and added guests, today is much more chill. You can't be an effective grandparent to 2 boys unless you can tolerate great disorder and loud noise -- and we savor both.

Nicole, D1's forever friend and mother of 2 girls, stopped by -- while doing no child errands. Nicole is going with D1 and Little Man to Chicago Thursday -- for a long weekend of museums and Chicago tourism. And Dr. Hilit stopped by, soo -- our neighbor who D1 met when she worked at Jackson Memorial. She wanted to meet D1's boys -- she was last here about 10 years ago when we hosted a dinner with her and Eric, Dana, Barry, Donna, and Steve and Mary. Steve was all of our Religion professor -- for we Boomers in the 80s, and for the next generation Hilit and Alex in the 90s...

After some Anthony's Coal Fired, D1 took Baby Man home -- in protest. We told him HE was welcome to overnight stays after he was potty trained. He shouted "I use potty NOW!" He's adorable, but we figure staying with us is a good carrot to use in the training process -- he turns 3 next week, and it's really time.

Little Man reminded Wifey and me that WE are the boss when he's here -- not his Mommy or Daddy -- and so OUR rules apply. Sure enough, there was a later bath and bed time than usual. But after that, he WAS knackered, as D1 noted, and he actually fell asleep as I told him my latest tale of the "Night Bird," a heroic avian that flies only at night, rescuing people and animals. The Ds loved it -- and Little Man does, too.

He slept well past first light, 6:15, and then woke me. We were off to House of Bagels, which he now knows is just a bagel shop and not a structure made of actual bagels, and got our usual haul. We had a men's breakfast -- Wifey sleeps in.

She did come down early for her, and suggested we take a "mango walk" so she could enjoy her coffee quietly. We did, with Lemon the Spaniel in tow, and found one useable mango, and one green skinny one. Since I developed a late allergy to the skin, Little Man plopped them into the bag, and we walked off for home -- a 1.5 mile walk. Despite his seemingly endless energy, he announced he preferred when we take the wagon and I pull him. I told him with my newly healed knee -- it was either walk or stay home.

We got back, and Wifey admitted she NEVER cut up a mango, and started off with a knife move towards her thumb that would have probably resulted in a call to Dr. Lew, my hand surgeon friend, for a digit reattachment. I grabbed the fruit, held the skin in a napkin, and did the job. Little Man pronounced the fruit "DELICIOUS."

Now he's chilling, watching a modern "Peanuts" movie, as the young Spaniel and ancient one nap next to him.

In a few hours, we'll head to D1's house, to meet up with her and hopefully D2 and maybe even Tio Jonfin. We're taking Lemon for the week, because of the Chicago sojourn. As much as I prefer no more dogs when Bo, the ancient Spaniel crosses that Rainbow Bridge - Lemon is welcome. Chill guy but still the energy to walk with me.

So even with a grandson, we can have a chill am. I told Little Man I had given it thought -- if he ended up liking Palmetto High in 9 years -- he could move in with us and attend it. He said he'd give it thought, but first thing was passing Kindergarten this Fall.

It's as I predicted -- I knew we'd grow close when he reached the age of language and reason. Like his precocious Mom, he says words like "Actually" and "Literally." Wifey asked him what his Mommy had said about a request. "She didn't respond." Yep -- got another one on our hands -- and we adore him. His brother, too, though as D1 notes, he's basically a cute cartoon character.

Happy Birthday America!

 Wifey and I were reminiscing, about the ebullient D2 as a little girl. Back then, the JCC in Kendall would have a parade, and D2 loved it. She would sing "God Bless America" with the adorably malapropped "From the mountains...to the fairies." She was might adorable.

For years, we'd rent a room and cabana at The Biltmore, and spend the day with some other family and friends swimming in that Gulf of Mexico -- sorry -- Gulf of America-sized pool. The Ds loved ordering virgin frozen drinks, and at night, we'd move to the golf course for the great fireworks. As the crowd grumbled in traffic leaving, we'd go up to our rooms. It was a fine way to celebrate the holiday.

This year, the grandsons are at a parade on Key Biscayne, and after, I think, local fireworks. D1 is bringing them over tomorrow -- the plan is to spend the day, and then leave Little Man overnight, so D1 can bring Baby Man solo to a lunch with friends. Little Man and I have our routine -- he MUST not wake me before the sun starts to rise, and when it does, we're off to House of Bagels.

Knowing this, I eschewed a bagel this am at breakfast at LOL with Norman -- went with the whole wheat toast instead, though we DID share an order of corn bread, blueberry French toast, which the Israeli waitress Orli said is her recipe. I reminded Orli that today is the 49th anniversary of the Entebbe hostage rescue. Back then, Palestinian terrorists were kidnapping Jews and holding them, whereas these days Palestinian terrorists kidnap Jews and hold them. Both times it didn't end well for the Palis...you'd think they'd learn...

Norman was going to do some work today. I plan some napping -- to the wonderful "July 4th Twilight Zone Marathon." Now we're talking -- this may be better to nap to then my usual "Mayday Air Disaster" on Smithsonian.

I still think back to 4ths of yore. In 1984 pre-Wifey and I spent the night before at her friend Yvonne's South Beach efficiency, so we could wake early and stake out a decent spot on South Beach -- the Beach Boys were playing that night. It turned out they played to half a million on the D.C. Mall earlier, and then jetted to Miami for another 400K of us. It may still be the record for most fans seeing a band in a single day.

We drank wine and beer all day, and with the sun baking, were ourselves well baked when the concert started. Jeannette was with us, and when special guest Ringo Starr was introduced, Jeannette ran like a crazy woman towards the stage -- I thought we'd never see her again. John Lodge and Justin Hayward also guested -- it was truly a night to remember, and afterwards Wifey led me back to our car, the 1982 Buick Century Mom had given me for law school.

1981 was huge, too. I was working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital, and my friend Vince was house sitting in North Miami -- his parents and sister were at their Keys condo for the holiday. What a blast that was -- friends came from Boca and were taken aback at the wildness of parties in the 305 compared to Southern Palm Beach.

I spent the night and the next am helped Vince fish all of the patio furniture out of the pool, and clean up the broken beer bottles and liquor bottles. He found $100 in cash -- he used probably $10 of it to treat me to breakfast at the nearby Ham and Eggery. Fun times for a nearly 20 year old me.

This 4th -- no parties. It appears fireworks may be a washout tonight, anyway. 

And snark aside, boy do I love this country. We have lots wrong, but it's still amazing, that maybe 120 years ago my 4 grandparents came here with bupkis, as they say, and 2 generations later their grandson is living the life of Riley.

So Happy birthday, Land of the free and home of the brave -- from the mountains to the fairies...

Again With The Doctors

 So D2 had noticed a mole on my arm, and didn't like the looks of it. Sure enough, it was a basal cell cancer -- the kind that likely won't kill you, but needs a big extraction if you let it grow. So man crush Dr. Green biopsied it, and I was set for removal yesterday, but by a young colleague who goes by Dr. Zand, as she has a hard to pronounce Persian last name.

I got in all my dark humor telling everyone that I was scheduled later in the day for "Cancer surgery," which is technically is, but the Little League version. I arrived early, as usual, and the lovely PA was training a new staffer - would I mind if they used me as a guinea pig? Not at all. I infused the session with humor, and the PA said "Not all the patients are as nice as funny as Mr. A." But I figured I'd give the young Jamaican background beauty queen a nice welcome.

And she was a beauty queen -- everyone who works at that office is noticeably attractive. As my late Mom said when she learned that lithe D1 was becoming a dietitian: "Well she looks the part. Who wants to get eating advice from a fat horse?" And so it is with cosmetic practices -- the patients want to aspire to look like the staff. Not me -- I joked that Mike and I (who I referred) are the outliers -- guys who just want skin cancers detected and removed -- no Botox for us.

Dr. Zand came in, and she was MAYBE 30 -- a year out of Residency at UF, after 8 years at UM. She's from Louisville, and of Persian extraction, and LOVES Miami. She took about 20 minutes to whack off the mole, stitch it up, and tell me to return in 2 weeks for suture removal. Easy, peasey -- and I figured if the incision hurt, it would take my attention from my knee pain, though now a week later that's eased, too.

And so it goes, as Vonnegut said. Everything passes as we live. I happen to be ebullient these days -- resolving some issues that kept me blind, to borrow from the great Johnny Nash song. And I know the ebullience shall pass, and there'll be melancholy, and that will pass, too. The Ds joke the melancholy is good for me -- I lose weight during those times. Nah -- rather be fat and happy, literally.

Wifey and I were getting bored watching the George Clooney play about Edward Murrow -- probably was good live -- on TV just a lot of talking and yelling about Commies. And then around 9, I got a call from my old friend John -- the retired CIA guy whose book was finished filming and will premiere as a series this Fall.

We talked for 1.5 hours, and it was delightful. He's so brilliant and insightful, and while I was bored in law school, he was driving out of the Green Zone in Baghdad, trying to not get shot. He had attended our 45th high school reunion, after I warned him how boring the 20th was, and I had sworn off future gatherings. He told me how right I was -- other than a few old friends -- he realized that just because you sat next to someone in Social Studies half a century past, it doesn't mean you really need to catch up with their lives -- especially in our blue collar Long Island town, where most of the lives changed little since high school -- except for marriages and divorces and kids and grandkids, of course.

John's a film buff, and told me he was headed to NYC in August for the premiere of an older Roman Polanski film -- about the Dreyfuss Affair. It couldn't play earlier on account of the whole Me, Too thing, since Polanski, well, was a little rapey back in the day, and can't return to the US. We talked about today's standards, like what Epstein and P Diddy did - - Polanski was a regular RoseMary's baby in comparison -- but still...

He wanted to hear about the Ds and grandsons -- that path was not for him -- his wife Barbara was always an international worker, and sadly has been down with bad MS for a long time. John is SO devoted to her -- visits daily -- and I really wish peace for him and Barbara.

And we DID have some grand times growing up on that Isle of Long...

Today I'm headed to the bank to make the final deposit into my life insurance trust, to pay the last premium on the last life insurance policy I have. Old friend Rob convinced me to buy the one whole life policy 29 years ago -- while most of the coverage I had was term. I let the term lapse when we no longer needed my income to raise the Ds, and my fantasy of hiring an absurdly hot au pair should Wifey have prematurely left never turned real.

The whole life would pay $175K if I don't make it to next July 18. If I do, I get a premium refund of $77K -- either way -- Wifey wins. I sure hope we get the smaller amount.

But it's funny when annual bills pop up -- for me they're mileposts in life. I think back to 1996 when I took out the policy -- young, dumb, and full of ambition. Paul and my law firm was 2, and we were working day and night to build our practice. The Ds were 4 and 7, and we were living in our post Andrew reconstructed house. I was driving a Jaguar, the better to impress clients and opposing counsel. Wifey was struggling with some mental health issues, but we were, in general MUY happy.

Fast forward -- now I drive an SUV, we live in Villa Wifey, and the Ds are grown ass women -- hell -- D1 is not too far from middle age, though she perishes that thought.

And we have the Little Man and Baby Man and they bring us the joy we may have dreamed about those 3 decades ago.

So I'm happy to have paid these premiums -- and hope to NOT have Wifey collect the claim. And keep those doctors at bay...

A Day To Remember

 So Doc Julio got me in early yesterday, they X rayed my knee, and affable PA Jason came to talk. Sure enough, my diagnosis was spot on: OMK, or Old Man's Knee. Luckily, it was a mild case -- 'no where NEAR needing surgery or replacement," and Jason said he'd prescribe Celebrex, since the NSAIDS hurt my stomach. No PT even needed -- just home exercises -- and Jason predicted I'd be better soon. If not, I could come in for an injection like Wifey gets, since her arthritis is, as she has made clear, "Far more serious and painful" than anything I might get. 

Dr. Julio popped in, and we talked...and talked...and talked. We have lots of folks in common from our days at UM '79-'83, and then his switch from UM to UF Med School where he became friends and classmates with Dr. Barry. He told me how proud he was of Barry and Eric -- how both had become CMOs in their fields. I didn't tell him they were proud of HIM for how rich he had become. As Kenny and I texted earlier in the am: "Not to self: next time buy surgical center."

But the reason for the day was to pay respects to Bill -- Stu's father, who died on Saturday. Wifey and I drove up to the West Hollywood cemetery where her Uncle Lou is buried, as well as other POFs (parents of friends), and where Wifey and I had to visit to sign papers for my suegro when they comically took his body there instead of the Kendall cemetery on account of they all have the same names now, including "Beth David," "Weinstein," and "Memorial."

We made it just in time, hugged Stuart and Val, and took our seats with Allison, her old boyfriend Roy, who I DID not recognize since I hadn't seen him in 3 decades and he has become, well, large enough that I want to sit next to him to appear thinner, Paul and  Patricia, and later Joel and Michelle. Yep -- a lot of the old Brickell crew was back together, to honor our friend.

Rabbi Yossi led the service. Before , I joked about how his work as police chaplain during the Surfside condo collapse made him an international star -- why was he slumming with regular folks? Yes, as he told me, though he is religious and I am not, we are both cut from the same cloth as wise guy, sarcastic, NY Ashkenazim.

Suffice it to say, at day's end, I told Wifey I want the exact same funeral. Stuart spoke beautifully and hilariously about his best friend, and grandkids Val and Ava were heartfelt -- how Popie was a huge presence in their lives -- pick ups from school every Wednesday for activities his parents didn't necessarily approve of. Ava was the only one who cried, as she recalled the love and wisdom shared by her beloved grandfather.

Bill was always a mentor -- I rededicated myself to being the kind of grandpa he was -- it's already taking shape with Little Man -- at 5 and a half, we get each other. Baby Man will get there, too...

Stu ended the service by taking out a flask of vodka, and saying one final "L'Chaim!" to his father! I told Wifey I want a bottle of Stoli Elit and shot glasses passed out graveside should she preside over my final goodbye.

Rabbi Yossi talked about how inspired he was seeing the love in that family -- and it's true. He noted that the Torah commands we RESPECT our parents -- never mentions love -- and indeed, Rabbi noted sometimes parents are so damaging to their children, the adult kids simply cannot love them -- but there is never an excuse for not repecting.

Stu and his family truly LOVED Bill -- it was evident. Even in the final hours, where Bill was still very much alert and said the final prayers -- the love was so clear to Yossi he was moved. We all were.

They asked for pallbearers, and I stepped forward. As a Cohen, Paul is prohibited -- the strange laws about the priestly class and dead bodies. But two of my fellow pallbearers were Steve, Stu's best friend from Emory Law, and his cousin Rich. We had all stood with Stu at his wedding 24 years ago.

The clear circle of life: you stand with a man when he marries, and then you help bury his father. With the life Bill had, it was such an honor for all of us.

Bill loved the son. I used to joke with him that he flicked melanomas off his skin like nothing -- it was actually kind of true. Thankfully, though there were gathering storm clouds, the Big Man let the burial take place in the bright sun.

I thought of a joke Bill loved to share -- why it's good to be friends with a funeral director. Everyone needs that ONE friend who will let you down...

We then dispersed and Wifey and I drove into the great maw of traffic that is Aventura -- for the after party at Stu and Traci's. Stu and I were the only ones drinking -- Allison had a few sips of a vodka and tonic I mixed her -- and Bill would NOT have approved of the teetotaling. But we sat and told warm tales of years gone by. 

I met Stu in 1987 when we were lawyers at Thornton, David -- we became fast friends -- shared a secretary named Karen and a boss named Barry, who was a wildly nerdy Jewish guy who loved hanging with the far less nerdy Stu and me. Stu left to do Plaintiff's work, and a few years later his boss was hit by a car down in Key Largo while drunk walking from the Tiki Bar.

I left to do Plaintiff's work in 1988 and introduced Stu to Paul -- they became fast friends, with even more in common as both were single and would paint the town together. In 1992, when we were living in Hurricane Andrew exile on Brickell Key, Stu called me one evening to say he was thinking about going out on his own -- his firm was run by a brother in law of the now horribly disabled boss. I strongly encouraged him, and told him we would refer business, which we indeed did. Paul and I left in 1994 to start our own gig, and we handled cases together for 3 decades.

Stu was late to the marriage game -- he enjoyed being a single Miami lawyer with money. Who wouldn't? And then he was blessed with his kids -- at about the age my parents were when they had me. Stu asked what it was like having an older father. I told Stu Hy was my Dad, Grandpa, and best friend all in one. Any downside? Well, I answered Stu -- ever get to MEET Hy?

Luckily Stu is here for his kids, and they had Bill in their lives.

We all marveled at how loved Bill was -- by family and friends -- his was truly a life in full.

Wifey was falling asleep, and demanded we leave, which put us back into the worst of the Aventura traffic maw. She slept; I drove the 1/3 hours.

I reflected on Bill the whole time -- a beautiful life he lived the HELL out of. When my time comes, I hope to go out exactly the same way he did -- loved by grandkids and kids -- and with a final toast to my soul.