Boomer Dinosaurs

 So last night we had a terrific dinner with very close friends, and were joined by their younger son, with whom we are also very close. He recently started his first real job -- a position he found himself with no nepo help, and we're thrilled for him. Important for his parents, he finally has health coverage, and so his Dad can cease the huge Obama care monthly premiums...

We asked him all about it, and he mentioned that he was still planning a trip to Europe in late September -- although he gets no vacation time with this start up until he's there a year, he had told them during the application process that he already had plans and would miss that week. The company agreed.

Wifey, who like her late mother says what's on her mind, starting questioning him -- why did he need to take that trip, shouldn't he be more concerned with impressing his boss with his commitment than leaving so soon for what is truly frivolous, why wouldn't he put it off? He's already been to Europe a few times, so this isn't some "dream of a lifetime" excursion -- and it's funny to note his parents, hard working for decades, have NEVER been to Europe.

Our young man was polite but steadfast -- no -- he WAS taking the trip -- it's what he wanted, had gotten an early pass, and that was that. Hopefully all turns out well -- his millennial boss gets it, and his budding career with the start up doesn't get quickly abridged.

On the way home, Wifey and I talked about it -- I told her things really HAVE changed. D2, during her tenure as a "People" officer with a company, what we used to call "Personnel" or later "Human Resources," explained that a long tenure with an employer was a liability. In our day, it was impressive to hear someone had been with a company for decades. Now, apparently, if someone stays more than a few years without some sort of equity in the operation, they're frowned upon -- not aggressive enough about advancing their own career such that it's harder to get a new job. Wow.

I thought back on my first lawyer job -- enduring blatant anti-semitism from my boss, and simply accepting it since Wifey and I had a mortgage, I wasn't a top of the class guy, and was happy to have the paycheck. Wifey's jobs were also rife with issues -- but it seemed like such a privilege to get paid for what we did, we stayed and got the pay check.

We ARE so out of touch, as Mick Jagger sang when he was still a young man. Now in his 80s, he's REALLY out of touch. In matters of careers, it seems, we are, too.

And it's not just jobs. The WSJ, which I finally broke down and subscribed to, electronically of course, had an article about Boomers giving more to their adult kids while they were alive, as opposed to waiting until estate time. Wifey and I always did that -- the Ds chose public schools throughout, and the money I would have paid in tuition towards Ransom, and Emory, and whatever, I invested for them -- and given the rise of the markets over the past decades, made them, in the words of Hall and Oates, rich girls.

Maybe that was folly. When I started making money, maybe I should have turned to cocaine, and exotic sports cars, and expensive escorts. Ha -- I'm SUCH a Walter Mitty -- a reference the youngins won't get.

Wifey and I and the Ds have enjoyed an amazing life -- yeah, due to my work efforts, it turned out, and I never took it for granted. We've lived in a house for nearly 26 years now where EACH time I pull into the driveway, beyond the gates, I can't believe I live here.

Back when I used to go to the street to fetch the Herald, I always expected to hear "Hey kid -- what the hell are you doing here -- get the hell out!" I still feel that way -- we are SO lucky and blessed.

When Wifey and I were first married, if we needed a new AC unit for our 1200 square foot house, it would have freaked us out. Last week I happily Zelled Danny the AC guy nearly $8K for a new bedroom unit, and was happy that we ought to be good for another decade or so with the Rheem/Rudd (they've merged, it seems).

So we Boomers probably would be most helpful getting the hell out of the way. Paul and I sure have in the law business. We still have a firm, but other than referring cases that still come our way, and Paul grinding the guys who take over about the results -- we're pretty irrelevant. The other day Paul mentioned a statute of limitations question. I reminded him those changed like 7 years ago!

I guess every generation, as they age into decrepitude, defaults to the "In my day" mode. Jeff and Lili's girl is a rising 3 L in Chicago. Turns out, they no longer torture law students with the socratic method. I wonder how that will play out when some client has his lawyer come under pressure in a major case.

My doctor friends are always flummoxed at how soft the new Residents and Fellows are. I guess we'll all find out how that turns out as we need more and more medical care from young doctors. 

Who knows? Maybe AI will render much of that moot, anyway.

So I chose MY path, and it will NOT include cocaine, luxury sports cars, or escorts. Even though Wifey was initially turned off by my lease of a Buick, last night she saw, for the first time, the LED strip lights and said "Wow -- this looks like a limo."

I WILL splurge on better vodka. I plan to have Stoli Elit and Zyr for my 65th. And then the best all of us Boomers can do is watch and listen.

Our old ways are passing into history.

Grandkids

 So Wifey and I both grew up with loving parents, but no real involvement with grandparents. For Wifey, it's on account of the Nazis killing all 4 of hers, along with most of the rest of my late suegros' families. For me, my Dad's Dad was gone 6 years before I was born, my Mom's Dad died when I was just a little boy (I have a single memory of visiting him in a hospital bed) and I wasn't close with my grandmothers.

Jennie, my Dad's Mom, always seemed SO ancient to me, and our bi-monthly visits to her apartment in Jackson Heights were most memorable to my child self for the strong stench of urine, due to her incontinence. My Dad would bring her some groceries, and the daily Forward, the Yiddish paper she preferred, and then we would go upstairs and see my Aunt and Cousin -- also not close -- but no urine smell.

Wifey got to meet Jennie once, and it led to a humorous misunderstanding. We were in NY, and I wanted to have Wifey meet my Aunt, but she had other plans that day (there was a reason my Mom only barely tolerated her sister in law) but she told me which nursing home "Mama" was in. It was funny, I always recalled Jennie as cold and mean, but in her final time of dementia, she had become a ray of sunshine -- smiling and giggling.

I told her hello, and that I was her grandson, and she said no -- she only had Steve. I said I was Hy's son, and she insisted Hy had Trudy and Susan. I guess the memory banks ended in the 40s or 50s, and my 1961 birth didn't make the cut. But then I introduced Wifey, and decided to use the Yiddish version of her name,  Faye, since I figured the Hebrew name would be confusing. They met, and that was the last time we saw her, but then came the funny part.

Weeks later, Anne called my Mom and said she had no idea I was gay. What? "Mama said David came to visit with his faygellah (Yiddish slang for gay). So I had no real relationship with Jennie, but at least the final event was hilarious.

Anna, my Mom's Mom, DID spend time with us on LI, but between her mumbling and heavy Yiddish accent, I never understood a single word she said. She had so many grandkids and great grandkids, and so I treated her with respect, and she was nice enough (though inscrutable to me) but I recall zero meaningful encounters. My Mom would tell me snippets of her folk wisdom, but I never got them first hand.

Wifey got to meet her, too, once -- at a nursing home in West Palm Beach. She was indeed ancient -- I think she made it to 97, and for me, that was a woman who seemed old world ancient in her 60s.

Wifey's parents and my Mom were indeed close with the Ds. Since Wifey is an only child, the Ds were kind of a big deal to the two Holocaust Survivors. And MY Mom was a hoot to them -- her quirkiness was the seed of warm memories, like the time she broke the silence in our mini van to sigh and say "Ah -- it's 430." The Ds asked -- so what? Was she expecting a call, or was there a show on? "Oh now, I just looked at my watch. To this day, 430 is Grandma Sunny time...

And now...well...we kind of cotton to D1's boys. Friday was Baby Man's last day of preschool 3 performance, and Wifey actually made it into the car at 730 am for the trip to North Miami! Wifey no longer does mornings. It was a delightful scene -- Little Man mad a sign for his brother, and sang and danced along to the songs the little ones performed.

There's lots of exotic Jews there -- South American, European, along with the garden variety ones like us. One little girl looked Asian -- sure enough -- Jewish Dad and Asian Mom. I asked D1 if she was accepted to MIT yet...

We decamped to Bagel Bar East, and D2 met up with us. She and Jonathan are working hard at bringing a new member to the Band as well. Big Man willing -- we're hoping that's the news of 2027.

The boys left for Naples with their Dad -- soccer tonight, and some time at Wolf Lodge, which they love. The Ds, Wifey, and I went to D2's house and spent quality time with Betsy the enormous puppy, and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel. Lemon came home with us since D1 has a friends' reunion in Chicago.

One of her group is Caroline, a delightful and brilliant young woman, now a doc there. Her father Michael was an amazing man -- top surgeon in Miami -- the kind of guy who went to patients' houses to check on them, and had yearly charity trips to Haiti. He was a Richard Corry -- had it all -- but also demons -- he killed himself in 2018. As I saw the photo of Caroline , it struck me how sad her Dad will never meet his grandkids. 

So today, the skittish Spaniel will get a walky walk soon, and then a chill Saturday until this evening -- we're meeting Barry and Donna for dinner in Doral at Basilico -- precisely 20 minutes from each or our houses. Donna jokes that she will be an OLD grandma -- Scott, who is married, doesn't seem too close to having kids with Sam, and Josh is finding his path professionally now.

I hope they get this supreme blessing. I've heard it a lot, but now I know for myself -- grandkids are pretty, pretty, pretty wonderful. What I missed out on as a grandchild, I am MORE than gifted with as a Grandpa. And I dig it.

If You See Her, Say Hello

 So for me, it was a busy am. I awoke late, near 9 am, and spoke to Paul in Provence -- enjoying the beauty of the place but able to do without the French. It reminded me of an old friend Vince, Sr. who was there during WW II. He said Paris was the most beautiful city he ever visited -- if only Italians lived there, instead of French.

I began my constitution and called lawyer Tom in Michigan, who referred us a client -- his daughter's friend. She lost a finger tip in a bar in Key West. Who hasn't? We referred the claim to young Michael, and he go another absurdly positive result -- settling for probably 4 times what I thought the case was worth. Tom was thrilled, of course, and we talked football. His son in law, from upstate NY, is, strangely, a huge Dolphins fan -- likely since he resented the local Bills for their omnipresence there. We agreed his son in law would NOT be celebrating this year, or for many seasons...

I then ran into neighbor Oscar, whose son is serving decades in Federal prison. I tried to refer the son to my friend Joel, but the young man's ex wife picked his lawyer -- a move I never understood. Oscar told me they're appealing -- using a guy Joel respects. Oscar is a sweet man -- late 70s, Muslim from Guyana -- served the US Army in Vietnam. He's none too pleased with the government these days.

I came home and made a call I've been Jonesing to make -- to Florida Blue. I told them I had made my final payment of $2200 for my ObamaCare plan, with its high deductibles. First, I shut off Auto pay, and then called the company -- telling them my Medicare begins July 1. I figured they'd try to sell me one of their inferior Medicare Supplement Plans, but the agent did not -- just confirmed the dates, and that was it.

Young Josh called to ask if I was free tonight -- I told him other than bartending for Lili during Mah Jong, I was. He may stop by -- and if he does there'll be pizza along with a martini or two. His parents' 35th anniversary is today -- I plan to make him nauseous by telling him maybe go home REAL late -- lest he catch them cavorting naked in the swimming pool. I know how to sicken adult kids...

Meanwhile, I got to feeling nostalgic, and put "Blood On The Tracks" on Sonos -- hence the title of this entry. I guess 65 drawing close hits hard that far more years are behind me than ahead. And that's ok. There have been good times. DAMN good times as David Lee Roth sang.

Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of our law school graduation. They were heady times. I was clerking for Dan Schwartz, an insurance defense lawyer and avowed anti-semite who I though was Jewish. He thought I was NOT. "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew," he said. I needed the job, wasn't exactly top of my class, and so I just laughed him off. I only stayed until August of '87 -- his biggest clients fired him when they realized he had left control of the firm in the hands of Vanessa, his name only partner who spent more time doing cocaine than working the cases.

Dan died young -- my friend Pat told me he had become a pariah at Riviera CC for cheating at golf. Yeah -- I didn't mourn his loss, and, in fact, appreciate the strange tales that first job gave me. As for the anti-semitism, he sort of beat the Christmas rush, so to speak. I wonder if he'd send money to the likes of Tucker Carlson, AOC, and Platner in Maine if he was alive...

So the days flow on and on, and it's nice to enjoy them. And if you see her, say hello...

All Cool in the 305

 So Jorge and his boy Marlon, a Music student at Miami Dade College, arrived bright and early Friday, to remove our old (11 years) bedroom AC unit and replace it with a new one. Wifey and I left around noon for North Miami -- Marlon said they had about an hour to go.

Danny had assured me they were fine to trust in the house. I laughed. I got nothing much to steal! I have one hidden safe with cash and some gold coins, and I guess Wifey's jewelry, but the rest of the stuff? We returned home late, and the bedroom was nicely cooled -- the fellows did their work.

We found our way to the Scott Galvin Center, named for the first openly gay mayor of North Miami who secured the funding for the lovely facility. And as we watched the kindergartners parade in, it struck me why Barry and Kenny chose Pediatrics -- children are precious. They performed, and got their diplomas, and the cuteness level was immeasurable. Little Man beamed -- he's off to the First Grade Gifted Program in the Fall, and had LOTS of questions about whether that meant it would be more work. It would.

Wifey and I decamped to Temple Beth Moshe to fetch Baby Man, and take him to D2's house where Tio Jonathan was working from home. Baby Man is a delight -- so much more mellow without his hurricane older brother, and we enjoyed him, too, before all re-locating to D1's for Uber Eats Turkish food and a cocktail for Jonathan and me -- toasting the first of what will hopefully be many more graduations.

We packed Little Man into the car, and before we hit I-95 he was fully PTFO. We got him home, and he wanted to collapse onto the couch, but I shepherded him upstairs and the deepest of 6.5 year old sleeps. It had been quite the day.

Saturday, D1 suggested we take him to see a new kids' movie out, but he instead decided to enjoy the privilege we provide here: doing nothing. D1 has a multitude of activities when he is home -- here he can watch shows, play on his IPad, build with blocks...

I took him to the Falls Roasters, and got the news that they were closing -- the rent had become untenable. But, most of the staff was simply relocating 1.5 miles north to the Dadeland location. Little Man was given a going away black and white, and I was given a $25 gift certificate. That'll pay for one breakfast with Trump era prices -- assuming I avoid the lox!

Later, we visited Chick-Fil-A for a takeout order, and then I FaceTimed with Dr. Barry as I squeezed orange juice --Little Man loves it in a cup, as his Grandpa Dave drank his with some vodka, and we toasted the graduate. No one advised him about "plastics." I guess these days it would be "AI."

Sunday we were up early, to House of Bagels, where we got chocolate chip bagel and cookie for Baby Man, and chocolate chip bagel and a B and W for Little Man. I dropped him with D1, who had plans to take them to a Balloon Museum pop up (Ha!) at Wynwood and a birthday party afterwards. I came home and napped.

I cut a check for Baby Man's 4th -- to be held at Mitzvah Kitchen the am after MY birthday -- since D1 will be in Cali on his actual birthday. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama run it -- the kids get to play in the activities they have for the special needs kids, and bake cookies for themselves and to box off for food challenged folks. It's become quite an operation -- corporations have team building sessions there, and Camillus House gets thousands of meals -- glatt kosher -- though they don't care about that.

This am I was back at the gym, and then Danny emailed me the new warranty info and invoice for the new AC -- nearly double what it cost 11 years ago. But, apparently I can get a tax credit -- so there's at least SOMETHNG good for the rich white man.

But most importantly -- the new unit works -- WELL. No AC -- we would be heading elsewhere to live -- especially in the Summer. 

Each time I feel its refreshment -- I give thanks. This cool, rockin' Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA needs to actually be cool...

Friends Lost Along The Way

 When I turned 40, I threw myself a BIG party at Villa Wifey. Loffler's Caterers presented a clam bake -- tons of delicious seafood everywhere -- and a VERY busy bartender. Back then, Paul and I were at the height of our law biz, and I invited referral lawyers, doctors, and our whole staff.

The staff surprised me -- told me to come outside and look up -- there was an airplane flying with a banner that said "Happy 40, Dave." It was the first and only time I had been so honored -- as important as Coppertone!

At the cake cutting, my sister Trudy gave me a beautiful complement which was SO accurate. She said she and her husband, like many, collected things in life -- like antiques, but I collected PEOPLE. It's true. Among things I'm proudest of, it's my long term friendships -- the closest dating back 4 and a half decades. I treasure them.

But alas, some folks (the Ds love when I use that old term -- particularly when referring to someone's parents) fall out of your life -- and that's ok, too. In my case, when I got close to someone, I tended to put a halo above their heads -- imbuing them with qualities that were often not there. And that's ok, too.

In college, I grew close to Vince. We met in the most comical way of any of my friends -- staring at the same girl's ample bosom from either side of her -- in Calculus class (I was still pre-med). I looked up and saw a guy with glasses and huge nose. He looked at me and gave me the thumbs up sign. We instantly knew we were fellow connoisseurs...

He was a few years ahead of me -- grew up in North Miami, Irish Mom, Italian Dad. His father was an Italian version of mine -- same high school in The Bronx, even -- self taught intellectual. Vince, Sr. owned a schmata factory in NYC and ran afoul of some bad hombres -- and Vince recalled being about 9 and being rushed into the family station wagon to drive to Miami for a new life -- his Dad opened a factory in Hialeah. Vince went to FSU and partied too much -- his Dad brought him back from Tally with an ultimatum: bring up your grades, or come be my janitor in the factory. Vince picked Door #1 and did well enough to get into med school.

He met his first wife in my apartment -- Barbara was headed to law school -- lovely and smart young woman from Chicago. The marriage only lasted a few years on account of -- well -- that's not important -- but Vince ended up marrying the nurse with whom he was having an affair -- and having his kids with her. That marriage ended when a prettier and more exotic nurse crossed his path -- separated from an angry Persian man.

The story of our friendship is long and varied, with the loss of all 4 of our parents -- but nurse number 2 ended up being wife #3 AND #4. Our friendship ended when Vince asked me for a big loan to start a pain clinic -- and having been burned by a donut investment from another college friend, and knowing he had paid millions to wife #3, I said no -- maybe ask now wife #4. He said, straight faced "Oh no -- she'll never trust me with money again."

Turned out, Vince was so disappointed in me, he ended the friendship. I found out later, at a lunch with his even older friend Fred, maybe it was for the best. When Fred's wife was dying young, of cancer, Vince was nowhere to be found -- broke his fellow Italian's heart, And later, through FaceBook (TM), I learned from Vince's sister upstate that he sort of abandoned his dying mother, too -- the sister bore the entire load of her loss alone. So probably not a guy to have in my life, anyway.

Another loss was John, who I met when he was a young lawyer and I a clerk the Summer of '85. He was WAY cool -- Southern guy, former USAF pilot, engineer before going back to law school. The firm didn't hire me, but we kept friends -- he jumped from firm to firm, and we handled a few cases together -- one, a blown tire case, he did VERY well on. He also repped my friend Sandy's step dad against UM after they botched the care of Sandy's Mom, Frances.

Much later, John was looking for a landing spot to re-launch his career after his wife died, and he was leaving another close friend, Curtis. I advocated strongly for him to join our group, on account of Stu was smart but comically lazy and needed someone to take charge of the cases.

Long story short: turned out John was lazy, too, and the relationship soured. John found another landing spot -- with a major TV lawyer I called Saul Goodman after the "Better Call Saul/Breaking Bad" character, and stole a major case from us. John became, forever, Fredo to me -- to this day everyone in our circle calls him that.

We ended up having to sue, and a resulting trial lasted most of a week. We got some of the money back, and could have settled for some more, but, as Paul pointed out, I wanted vengeance for the betrayal more than the money -- and so we got to air our grievances publicly. He's probably correct.

Anyway, Robert/Better Call Saul fired John, too, and last I heard John was up in West Palm -- still working in his mid 70s. He had a fraught relationship with his daughter, who I helped get accepted to UF via a key connection I had there, and I wonder whether it's still fraught. I'd bet it is.

Other friends -- well -- over time we just fade apart. Wifey is more blatant in that regard than I am -- with a single exception, she is no longer close with most of her formerly close friends. One she was close with, Elizabeth, died in her sleep 5 years ago -- we just spoke of that sad anniversary last week. But for most -- she had no drama -- just no longer the energy to keep the relationships going more than a few times per year lunch or so. 

As usual, John Lennon sang it best, about people in his life: "Some forever not for better -- some I've lost, and some have changed."

I'm not looking to add to my people collection anymore. Nice neighbor couples have asked to get together with Wifey and me -- we politely make sure the dates never get set.

Yet my love for those in my true inner circle remains as strong as it ever was -- stronger, even. And that makes me a very blessed man.

Cooling News

 So ever since Danny's man Jorge came by nearly 3 weeks ago, and recharged our bedroom AC with coolant, all has been fine. But yesterday Danny called to remind me we were living in an AC Fool's Paradise -- likely the stuff was still leaking.

Jorge was finishing up a job at Julie's -- Norman's ex's house. I joked with Danny that I guess Julie kept access to him after the divorce. I was only kidding -- Danny is amazing -- I once texted him Sunday at 11 pm and he called me back -- arranged to have a tech out first thing Monday am.

Anyway -- Jorge came by to check, and sure enough, found the small coolant leak in the air handler -- slow seeping out -- probably had another few weeks before we faced tropical nights -- untenable.

Danny told me a new coil for the handler would be about $3500 -- but I reminded him we had already discussed it -- it was time for a replacement. The existing Rheem was 11 years old -- and these days -- 10-12 years is what you can expect out of a South Florida central unit.

Later that evening -- Danny sent me a proposal. In 2015 the 5 ton unit cost $4500 -- now just under $8K. I trust Danny, but was curious -- did an AI search, and indeed the replacement cost ranges from $7500-$10K. I emailed Danny to go ahead -- he'll install the new unit probably next week.

And if it gets me to 75? That'll be just fine. FPL used to give rebates -- that ended. But the IRS still does -- I think I can get about a $1500 tax credit -- somehow some of the green tax breaks survive the GOP Congress and president. So that'll be a nice kicker next tax year.

Meanwhile, life continues to be daunting. I got my vehicle registration renewal emails, and paid online. Only the one for my old Caddy/New Buick came. I emailed the tag agency, and sure enough -- no record for the Lexus tag. The state shows the VIN with a NEW license plate -- were they gonna tell me? So I'm waiting to see if that comes in the mail, or I have to go to the local tag agency in Sunniland. It's ALWAYS something...

So that means I'll have to change stuff on our Pay to Park app, as well as change the SunPass info. Caramba! Why can't we just be left alone????

On a happier note, we FaceTimed with Little Man, and I asked what he wanted as a kindergarten graduation gift. He responded, happily: "$200!" I'm not sure where that number came from, but after my workout this am I dutifully traveled to the bank and withdrew 20 $10 bills. When that boy asks (his brother, too); I act.

The plan is to go to the graduation -- held at the Scott Galvin Center in North Miami -- named for the longtime mayor who was openly gay. I always thought that pretty cool. From there, Wifey and I will fetch Baby Man and take him to D2's, or maybe to his own home -- and then we'll all meet for shabbat candles.

Wifey and I will take the new grad home, and Saturday take him to see "The /Sheep Detective," a new kids' movie D1 is sure he will like. I have to re-home him early Sunday as D1 has several other weekend events planned. I'm sure Wifey and I will spend Sunday evening re-charging after playing parent for the 2 nights...

And actual Summer draws near. Growing up on LI, Memorial Day was when the lifeguards returned to the beaches -- so that was sort of the start of Summer. Summer effectively ended Labor Day.

In Miami, Summer is really  May- at least October. It's hot and humid.

Hopefully that new 5 ton keeps humming along each night...

Crime in The Neighborhood

 So Norman scored our posse some fine Marlins seats, and he and his boy Ben, Barry and his boy Josh, and Eric and I mustered on hallowed ground (site of the old Orange Bowl) for a banner Sunday. It was a great atmosphere, as I said what I always do at a Fish game: "I really love it here -- I need to come more often." And the Marlins won with a walk off grand slam -- first time I've ever seen one of those in my 60 years of baseball fandom.

After we dropped Ben, Norman and I were headed to Villa Wifey so Norman could get his whip, and I saw a Channel 10 News truck parked doing a story. I stopped to ask what was going on -- last time news crews were in Devonwood was for the FBI raid on a house where a young murder accomplice had lived -- ended up getting launched by Judge Altman for 30 years in a scheme for revenge against a car pimper in Kendall. Because: Miami.

Anyway, the nice young reporter named Byron walked over, with the nice cameraman ALSO named Byron, and told me that at 2 am, a stolen BMW had stopped there, and tried to steal some stuff out of a parked car, at the house where a 3DCA judge lives. A Pinecrest cop was on scene, tried to arrest the young fellows, and instead they jumped into the Beemer, backed into the police cruiser, and took off.

The cruiser gave chase, but was told to abort on the Palmetto near Sunset Drive on account of they didn't want to kill anyone over a petty larceny (though hitting the cop car elevated things to a felony). The young knuckleheads ended up crashing on I-95 in Broward, where the most knuckleheaded of all got arrested, while the more fleet of feet knuckleheads scrambled away.

Nope -- told the reporter -- no idea -- I was asleep at 2 am. Turns out, so were the occupants of the targeted car. Would I be interviewed? I would, and so wearing my vintage Marlins cap, a gift from Norman years ago, I said how quiet was our 'hood, but stupid stuff happens everywhere. It truly does.

I told the young reporter last time I was on Channel 10 was to explain the OJ verdict differences -- how one jury could say he was responsible for murder whilst the other acquitted him. I got that unpaid gig from my then roomie Mark, whose then wife Gail Bright was a reporter. They sent the truck out to our Falls house at like 10, and I was interviewed for the 11 pm news by spiffy Dwight Lauderdale, who lived in the 'hood and turned out to be a playa for real.

They liked me and asked would I come to the studio the following am to be interviewed by Doug Dunbar for the early news? Who was I to deny my public starving for legal analysis? Alas, my career on TV ended there...until yesterday!

So we all got laughs, including politically incorrect ones regarding the demographics of the criminals. My neighbor Gloria, a REAL smart Italian from The Bronx, actually believed me when I said the suspects were Chasidic Jews...

And then, as we called the Ds, turned out there was ANOTHER incident. D1 and Lemon the skittish Spaniel were visiting D2 and Jonathan and Betsy, the enormous dog. Lemon alerted Betsy to something outside, and Betsy joined in barking, and Jonathan looked out to see the spec mansion across the street was being toured by a couple of young men who didn't appear to be real estate investors -- especially at 9 pm Sunday driving a Nissan Altima.

He called the cops, and the fellows left -- so no harm, no foul, but again the political incorrectness in my mind soared. A Nissan Altima? The Wayan Bros taught me that was THE car of the Inner City...apparently since so many car rental companies buy them they are amazingly cheap to buy used.

Since I tend to follow the advice of the great Python Eric Idle from "Life of Brian" and always look on the bright side of life -- the positive here is that these annoying crimes generate interest.

Wifey and I remember a Miami back in the day, where the coke guys slaughtered each other routinely, sometimes getting bystanders in the crossfire. Later, there was a spate of German tourists in rental cars who, given Germans' aversion to paying tolls, would exit and try to navigate through the worst Miami 'hoods in their identified rental cars, where locals would carjack and mug them -- a few even got killed.

It was so common that one of our law school softball teams was named "Dead German Tourists." Yeah -- that name wouldn't fly today, any more than "Korean Airlines Pilots" did after THAT tragedy.

Later still, folks would get robbed of their Rolexes in their driveways -- pretty scary.

So on the crime scale, casing vacant spec mansions and stealing from opened parked cars are pretty minor. Annoying -- but minor.

Sunday turned out to be a VERY active day. Today, Memorial Day, I reflect on our lost servicemen and women -- other than leaving early for my workout --I'm laying low.

And for the record, I do NOT lock up my leased SUV -- I can handle the less than $10 in cash and coins I keep in it as a loss. May all life losses be this petty...

Everything's Quiet Memorial Day

 And so it's MD weekend, a holiday whose meaning probably a LARGE number of Americans misunderstand. Unlike Veteran's Day, which honors living vets, MD honors those who died in our wars. Even so, my memories take me to two WW II vets who indeed survived -- one with injuries physical AND psychological; one with only psychological.

The second was my beloved Dad, who never went overseas during his 4 years of service. He came awfully close, though -- set to be shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where his regiment suffered 90% casualties. His life was almost certainly saved when, the night before he was going to ship out, he met a full colonel at the PX in Texas. Both men were in t shirts, and heard NY accents, and were drawn to each other. My Dad was a private, and so you're not supposed to fraternize with superiors -- my Dad saw to his horror when both men put their shirts back on how (never knew his name -- Sidney, or Murray, or Hank) was so powerful. My Dad apologized. "Colonel -- I had NO idea." He responded "We're a couple of NY landsmen here in Texas, Hy -- don't worry about it."

The next am as my Dad was to board the plane, the sergeant put up his hand. "Nope -- order change for you -- back to Pasadena." Later, my Dad ran into a fellow from Texas, who was shocked to see he was alive. Yep -- dumb luck, my Dad would have said. Besheret, Rabbi Yossi would say.

Either way, thankfully his family didn't have to mourn him, including my newborn sister who hadn't gotten to meet him.

The second fellow is Phil Fouche. When Wifey and I took our first big trip, back in '97, we met the Fouche family on our small Med cruise ship. They were SO Texan -- from Midland/Odessa -- very Christian and very Republican. They told us about a family friend called "W" who would be president someday -- they knew him well. Wifey and I had zero idea who W was. They were generational Aggies, and Phil and I talked endlessly about college football -- he liked the Canes, too -- had spent some time in Miami during WW II. 

His granddaughter Ashley (her real name) had just graduated A and M, and the trip was partly to celebrate that, and partly so Phil could travel to Cassino, Italy to see a placque and memorial that had been installed in that dusty town.

Phil was injured there, badly, and lost many friends. The Germans had taken up a position on a hilltop convent, and shot at the Allies. The Church dissuaded any bombing of the convent, and so American GIs were sitting ducks. We asked to travel with the family from our hotel in Rome, and they were incredulous -- it meant giving up a whole day we could sight see in the Eternal City. We chose correctly.

We took the train to Cassino, and realized no one spoke English. I kind of figured a war memorial might be near the courthouse, and comically asked directions there by pantomiming being arrested -- with handcuffs. It worked! We found the town center, and sure enough, the memorial we were seeking.

Phil dropped to his knees and wept, saying only "They were such great friends, and so young." We made it back to Rome and the hotel, and said our goodbyes. Crystal, Phil's wife, told Wifey and I she loved us so, we were among the finest people she ever met, and would we at least CONSIDER accepting Jesus as our savior? Phil and his daughter and granddaughter were scandalized! "Mother -- that is SO wrong!" Crystal was so purehearted. "I just love this couple and want them to know what we have accepted."

Wifey and I weren't at all offended -- actually flattered. I joked that if I found a really good restaurant in Miami, I would beseech my friends to visit. We all hugged and said goodybe -- and kept in touch for years.

One night, after a late Canes game where we beat, I think, Notre Dame, the phone rang. "Is this my friend David? Phil here -- watched and loved every second of your boys puttin' a whippin' on that over-rated team!" It was delightful.

Phil and Crystal are long gone. My Dad much LONGER gone --it'll be 44 years this July. But next Friday, May 29, would have been his  107th birthday, and his great grandson, whose middle name is my Dad's, is graduating kindergarten. I may be a tad misty eyed.

But MD is Monday, and I will say a prayer for the fallen. Our nation is sure messed up, but remains the greatest on earth. And it's because of the ultimate sacrifice of so many.

New Whip

 So the 39 month lease of my Caddy XT6 was up in July. I am WELL under the miles I paid for --35K of them. I only drove 24K. I looked into buying the thing off lease and then selling -- could have made a few grand, but I am SO lazy and old that the thought of that fell into the "not worth it" bin. So I called the dealer and told them I wanted the exact same model -- would they come pick up the old one, inspect it, and bring me a 2026 XT6.

They could not, on account of Caddy stopped making the model in 2025. Turns out, Caddy is heading towards ALL EVs, and I could either get an XT4, which is too small for me, or an Escalade, which is too big. Indeed, I am the Goldilocks of car buyers.

I picked the XT6 since I could enter it without having to bend over, like you do for sedans or small SUVs. I'm not THAT enfeebled, but I like slipping into and out of my vehicle each day. OK, I AM that enfeebled.

I did some research, and learned that GM still has an equivalent vehicle - the Buick Enclave is a large SUV -- actually a tad larger than the XT6. So on Tuesday, I decided to drive over to Williamson to check one out -- zero intention of actually doing the deal.

The receptionist led me to Leonel, a 30 something nice Cuban/Puerto Rican guy from Tampa. He took me to the roof to see the Enclaves. The first one was a white "Sport" model. I liked it. He got the key fob and said to try it out. Indeed, it was peppier than the Caddy -- a 4 cylinder engine, but with a turbo. It was bigger. Most of the rest of the vehicle was pretty much the same, which I liked. No sunroof, which I recalled using ONE time over the past 37 months.

I drove to Galloway, East on Kendall, and then the Palmetto back to the dealership. I thanked Leonel, and then he hooked me: this was a loaner vehicle, with 6500 miles on it, and if I leased it, they would give me a GREAT deal. Fine. A few hours later, I was transferring all the stuff I never need from the Caddy to the Buick. Leonel set up all the electronics for me -- seamless. Even my APP was the same -- I can turn the car on remotely and see where it is if it gets stolen. The car insurance is $40 more. Win all around. Until...

I came home and Wifey, to my shock, was disappointed. She has never, in our 40 years of marriage, given a rat's tuches about cars. Now, all of a sudden -- she was acting like DiCaprio's wife in "Wolf of Wall Street." "A BUICK? Really. You've worked so hard and given so many so much. You gave both our girls big mortgages on their houses. You bought your SISTER a car and paid for her son's college. Shouldn't you have a better car than a BUICK?"

I tried to explain that the vehicle was essentially the same as the one I traded in -- just that it said Buick instead of Caddy. She was strangely annoyed. I know her BFF's husband in ATL drives a six figure car, and the BFF a Benz SUV. Was that it?

Well, as I reached the stage where I don't care much about most things, I let Wifey's feelings flow off my back. She actually saw the vehicle, sat in it, and then backtracked into "It's nice. I'm glad you're happy."

Life gets curiouser and curiouser. But I like my big, comfortable appliance of a car.

To get into Wifey's suddenly materialistic good graces, this am I bought a new Rolex. It is a gold and silver model with a blue face -- like the one I gave Jonathan. I had bought that one used for $4K, and apparently it appreciated to $20K -- so I figured I needed my own again.

Except, MY version of a Rolex was a $20K piece of a tax free muni bond from Texas, that matures long after Wifey and I will die, but pays $900 per year in tax free interest. Yeah -- that's MY kind of trinket --one that builds wealth without fear of it being lost or removed at gunpoint by a miscreant.

So -- if things go according to plan, I'll be a Buick man until I near 68 years of age. Wifey has her Lexus SUV with 20K miles on it --Lexuses easily last to 100K miles if maintained -- might that be Wifey's final vehicle before she goes full Uber?

As I said -- things are so curious around here, next she'll tell me she wants a 6 figure Benz SUV like her friend in ATL has. Whatever.

Speaking of expensive stuff: I booked the flights for our December cruise -- Barcelona to Lisbon. I called the Explora flight desk, and they offered the exact flights I had found: nonstop MIA to BCN. LIS to PHL to MIA -- all on our favored AA. But they wanted to charge me 30% more!

So I booked directly on AA. When I make the next payment on the cruise, I'll buy travel insurance. I used to laugh at that -- big premiums for never needing it. At our age, with all the moving parts -- kids, grandkids, and you never know health issues, travel insurance is a must.

If I meet an Ingrid Bergman-type in Morocco -- I won't tell her I drive a Buick.

Medicare Birthday

 As I've long said, much of my adult life I subscribed to Denis Leary's philosophy about birthdays: "There comes a time in a man's life where he needs to understand his birthday is no big deal, except MAYBE to his spouse and kids. That age is 9." I regarded others, particularly men who had big whoops, as self important, even maybe narcissistic. 

Wifey would always throw me parties, since birthdays were a BIG DEAL to her. When we lived together in the grammatically misnamed Les Chalet in Kendall, one year, maybe when I turned 24, she had a great surprise party for me, where she had friends waiting outside as we were going to leave for a show. It was terrific -- Eric regaled everyone with his custom coffee making skills, and one of Wifey's co-workers, who was, um, buxom, had been taking belly dancing lessons, and performed. Several kahluas in, I put on her outfit and performed, too. Fun times.

But then I came under the influence of Rabbi Yossi, who explained my wrong-headedness. If you believed in The Big Man, which I do, then you understand your life is the supreme gift from HIM, and if you fail to celebrate its milestones, you are an ingrate. This resonated, and expecially on the 0s and 5, I make a pretty big deal.

At 60, even though Covid was still rearing some of its ugly head, I gathered my BFFs at the Key Biscayne Ritz Carlton for a fun weekend of meals, drinking, and laughter. The Sunday we checked out, I had the Ds and their men to Capital Grille for a great dinner -- with surprise guests Alyssa and Freddy. The weekend was, to paraphrase the Go Gos, all I ever wanted.

So now 65 draws nigh -- 2 months from yesterday. I fiddled with the idea of a sunset sail, but the guy we used in the past retired. Then I thought I might copy Larry David's idea from "Curb" and host an above ground funeral, like Albert Brooks did, which, on the show devolved into chaos when Larry outed Albert as a Covid hoarder.  That idea never really grew legs...

Then I looked back at some of my favorite Miami venues -- and the Rusty Pelican jumped out. I hosted Wifey's 40th there, and we've been to many weddings -- the view is best in the city. D1 hosted a big party for herself there years ago -- Wifey is still not sure why -- and it was lovely.

So I reached out -- totally booked 7/18. Would I consider Friday 7/17? I would not, since several of my friends still have full time jobs, and getting to a dinner on a workday would be a pain in the tuches.

Yesterday we met Paul and Patricia at Sadelle's in the Grove -- and D2 joined us on her way home from a lunch in the Gables. And I came out: my true preference was to host a cocktail party in my beloved house -- site of SO many great get togethers which ceased on account of Wifey's bad back.

The last straw for her was a T Day where I ordered a caterer, and party delivery, and told her to simply be a guest, but she was unhappy with the dishes placement, or something, and so set about changing things and hurt her back. Since then, T Day is at D2 and Jonathan's, since D2 is young -- and we have sterling times there surrounded by a LOT of Venezuelans.

Paul gave Wifey some tough love -- insisting that her fear of a possible back issue 2 months from now was nonsense -- especially if we hired staff to host the cocktail party. 4 years ago, we had D2's 30th -- probably 50 people, and it was delightful. Couldn't I, the schmuck who busted his ass for years to pay for a grand house, enjoy it in my declining, golden years?

So it looks like that will be the answer -- not even that big -- maybe 20, 25 people -- fewer than TDay even. The Ds have ideas for caterers, and it will be simple -- no sit down dinners, just the people I love in the home I love.

Wifey will sacrifice, as she has done by being married to me nearly 4 decades. That's what long marriages are...

And, as D1 reminded me, it will be a banner weekend. Baby Man turns 4 on 7/11, but D1 has an out of town trip, so we will celebrate his birthday Sunday 7/19. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama have a year old mitzvah kitchen, and they host kids' parties, where the little ones learn basic cooking, and help prepare meals for poor folks, along with fun stuff like foam pits and sensory games. I offered to host that -- so there'll be a good deal of driving around in July.

So a plan has been decided upon. The 2 July birthdays celebrated, Big Man willing, back to back -- with no damage to Wifey's back. I guess it'll be like Thin Lizzie -- with the Boys BACK in town. If MY back goes out -- Medicare can help me right out.

The Things That Pass For Knowledge I Don't Understand

 So the city where I was born, New York, elected the finest mayor in their history: Zohran Mamdani. He's the finest for those of us who live elsewhere, of course, as he continues on a path of new and creative ways to push out the richest residents of NYC.

Recently, he took a shot at Ken Griffin, the billionaire who moved his Citadel hedge fund from Chicago to Miami a few years back, and has since given away hundreds of millions of dollars to local charities -- ranging from the Underline (the linear park beneath Metrorail) to UM, to Miami Children's, to Mt. Sinai's new cancer center.

And Griffin was poised to build a yuuuuge project in NYC, until Mamdani filmed a video outside his most expensive (Griffin's, not Mamdani's) vacation apartment, promising to tax the hell out of it.

Ok -- so I'm no economist, but have some empirical life experience. The Summer of '80, I had a dorm at UM where I lived when I took Genetics, the better to catch up on what would become an aborted pre-med career. The first day, my roomie showed up -- Saudi guy, with an Arab-fro, silk shirt, and gold coke spoon. He was a character out of a Hiassen novel, and said the following: "I have a hot Argentine girlfriend with an apartment in Kendall. I live with her, but my father, the Sheik, has no idea. He will call twice during the Summer asking for me. Please tell him I'm at the library, and then call me at this number (he handed me a card). If you do that, the room is a single for the price you're paying for a double."

We shook hands, and sure enough, the next week the phone rang -- it was the Sheik calling from Riyadh -- courtly fellow, with an Arabic accent. He knew about me -- I was an American from NY named David. (I guess this was a form of an early Abraham Accord). "Hello David, I am looking for my son Mohammed. Is he there?" I followed instructions to a T. Indeed, the Sheik called a second time, like abacus clockwork, and I did the same. I never heard again from either my 10 minute roomie or his Dad -- hopefully he wasn't one of the 19 on 911.

But the thing was, it was terrific for me. I had the room to myself, to entertain whoever I chose, and to scream at the small black and white TV as the Islanders won their first Stanley Cup. I watched with less wealthy Arab guys, who had zero idea what hockey was.

So Mamdani has all these billionaires and millionaires, who in fact DO pay taxes, and hire folks like contractors and housecleaners and such, and get almost nothing in return in the form of services! Great deal for the City.

Yet this putz is driving them out.

Our neighborhood has, so far as I know, only one billionaire property owner -- a guy named Ron Gutman, and Israeli-American scientist who got an early patent for at home Covid test kits. He moved his company from Silicon Valley to Miami, and bought himself a luxury condo on Miami Beach, and two houses in my'hood for, I am told, relatives to eventually move here.

He's owned the houses for years, renovated one, and kept the other in pristine condition -- looks exactly the same as when long time resident Ellyn sold it to him. He's a perfect neighbor! He pays WELL over $100K in property taxes, keeps up the houses, and adds zero noise or traffic to our 'hood. I guess eventually he WILL move in the relatives, or flip the properties, but for now? Should we tax him for being too rich?

Again -- NYC's losses are Miami (and apparently Texas's) gains. Send us MORE billionaires -- let them give to charity in amounts I could only dream about.

It's true -- as I age -- I lose my liberal leanings -- since, as the saying goes, I have a brain. To NYC and the Dem Socialists: party on. I saw Mamdani recently recognized Nakba Day -- something NYC used to call Israeli Independence Day. That's when the Arabs rejected the UN partition plan, and decided to drive the Jews out -- didn't end well for them.

I suspect the Mamdani Administration won't end well for NYC, either.

Music In Shows

 To me, a mark of a good movie or series is the proper use of music. Not always, but in the way clean restrooms are important to a restaurant...

Wifey and I watched last season's "Your Friends and Neighbors," and it immediately struck me as an updated John Cheever tale. I LOVED Cheever -- read one of his stories in high school, and my Dad bought me the hardcover compilation of his tales -- I still have it. His world was the upped middle class of Westchester -- WASPY at the time. The new show, by a guy named Jonathan Tropper, adds more wealth and Jewish and Asian characters.

We liked the first season, but weren't bowled over. Our son in law suggested we give Season 2 a try, and we did, and is usual with advice from our smart Jonathan -- he was dead on -- it's TERRIFIC.

And sure enough, they use music beautifully -- Jon Hamm's sister is a musician and later teacher, and she tries to teach the snooty private school kids (a Westchester version of our own Miami Country Day) acoustic versions of Ramones songs. Wonderful.

And when she performs acoustic sets at a local tavern, she plays Neil Young's "Comes A Time" and recalls her childhood. For me, it was freshman year of college -- a favorite of one of the Building 22 guys with a guitar.

The pinnacle was the episode where Hamm's Dad drops dead. The daughter played Warren Zevon's "Keep Me In Your Heart For Awhile." I got teary-eyed -- best funeral song ever! Zevon wrote it for his wife when he had terminal cancer and knew he'd be off the mortal coil soon. I would be proud to have it sung at MY funeral -- it's so on point. No "remember me forever" crap -- just the more realistic remember me "for awhile." Because that's how it is.

So now Wifey and I are IN deep -- we'll blast the rest of Season 2, and look forward to Season 3. It pokes such deep fun at a lot of the foibles of our cohort -- the manic competition to get your kids into great colleges -- keeping up with the (fill in the blank). The hot MILF types dealing with menopause.

And the soundtrack will, I'm sure, continue to impress.

Meanwhile, last night was a Sabado Gigante -- at D1's house. We brought in Bar Bucci -- some of the best pizza ever. Little man, strangely, doesn't like pizza, but he ate the crusts. We drank some vodka and tequila and had an amazing time. We drove home as the boys were going into their bath with such a warm feeling.

Hopefully I don't have to become a cat burglar like Jon Hamm in the Series, to keep up the lifestyle. Speaking of which, we gave the deposit for our December trip from Barcelona to Lisbon -- Barry and Donna are in, too. I got an email saying since this was our 3rd Explora cruise, we got another $500 discount. As I love to politically incorrectly joke -- Finally! Something good for the rich, white man.

Your friends and neighbors...

Shanghaied To Shul

 So my buddy Jeff turned 65 today, and I asked what his plans were. To me, you must celebrate EVERY birthday -- especially if you believe in the Big Man. I was taught years ago that your life is the supreme gift, and if you do NOT celebrate your birthday, it is an act of ingratitude. I never wish to be an ingrate.

Also, I think the 0s and 5s bear special attention. I'm already giving thought to how I wish to celebrate MY 65th  in 2 months. Jeff had no real plans, so I offered to have him and Lili over for drinks after dinner. He doesn't drink -- so really Lili. That turned into a dinner invite at THEIR house -- so I will pack up my shaker, cosmo mix, and some plain Ketel for myself.

Anyway, I left for my constitutional at 730 this am, and just as I got near Jeff's house, I saw him pulling out in his cool new Lucid EV. I asked where he was going so early on his birthday, and he replied "Minyan at Chabad."

A minyan to the orthodox is 10 men, the number needed to say certain prayers, and to read from the Torah on those special days of the week. I used to be a regular "relief Jew," as I named myself -- filling in whenever they were short. But over time, I realized I wasn't a shul going guy -- so I go very infrequently. But today, I asked Jeff if he wished me to join him. He did --so I got into his car and off we went.

Sure enough, they were short a person, and so the fact that I was there let them say Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Rabbi Yossi and Rabbi Moshe were there, and some old friends, and it was a very warm scene. After we un-tefillined ourselves, Jeff and 3 other guys followed Rabbi Moshe into another room, for a short learning session on Tanya.

Tanya is part of Jewish mysticism, also part of Kabbalah. It's become sort of a cool thing -- non Jews like Madonna go to Kabbalah study. But for the real McCoy Jews, so to speak, Tanya is something to be studied only by those with deep Torah and Talmud understanding -- it's a serious endeavor, not a pop fad. The short session was interesting.

Afterwards, Jeff dropped me back to his house, and my walk continued. I ran into Matthew, a rising UF senior whose company I also enjoy, and we walked 1.5 miles together -- he made me pick up my pace as he shared tales of Gainesville. His brother Zach, also a winner, will be a Palmetto High senior next year, and is also applying to UF. They're sort of younger, male versions of the Ds.

Tomorrow evening we're off to D1's, and bring in dinner with the boys. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan join us, too, along with Betsy, the enormous puppy. D2 got her groomed, and they put in dainty yellow ribbons on her head, which are hilarious -- as Betsy is SO large -- not like a little Maltese or Poodle.

So the weekend is here. I said my pre shabbos prayers, and feel spiritually elevated. Tonight we will celebrate a friend I met when we were 22. Lili faces the terrifying prospect of sleeping with a 65 year old man. I guess that's what happens when you stick around a marriage long enough.

Ear Issues...What????

 I've always been blessed with keen hearing --the Ds inherited it. I can tell if a toilet is running anywhere in the house, to Wifey's amazement, all of the time. About 2 years ago, alas, I developed tinnitus, or ringing in the ears.

I saw Dr. Rigo about it, and he said all my tests were normal, and if it didn't bother me too much, leave it be. Luckily it doesn't -- sort of a quiet hiss in the background when it's quiet. He explained it comes from the hairs in the inner ear becoming brittle with age. There are no real cures for it, though the internet is lousy with them. I let it be.

In March, I had Nurse Nancy do her thrice yearly earwax removal. She sort of struggled with the right ear, and sure enough, a few days later, I had ear pain. I saw Dr. Rigo -- eardrum was fine, but I had some sort of irritation, so he gave me drops with 2 antibiotics and a steroid. Sure enough, in a few days all was fine...until...

Mid April, I went swimming with Little Man, and a few days later, my ears itched! This was a new one, and I self treated with the remaining drops. But a week later -- no relief. It was time to see Dr. Brian.

Dr. Brian is a neighbor and great guy. He's in his early 70s, and like me, from Long Island, but a Catholic school guy instead of a public school one. We chat mornings when he drives by in his 911, and the year before Covid, I saw him for a cough and sore throat that wouldn't quit -- convinced I had throat cancer. Nah -- all was fine, but he DID tell me to avoid alcohol mouthwash -- he was sure it would be reported it was harmful. Oh no -- what about drinking? That was fine, he assured -- the booze passes through -- you don't daily gargle with it. He was correct.

I saw him early today, and he said the drops I was given are a 50 year old prescription, and bore a problem: the neosporin tends to kill good ear bacteria, allowing for a fungal infection. He cultured me and would let me know results next week, but put in a powder that killed both fungus and bacteria, to get started.

What about the tinnitus? He has it too, he explained, and as long as I dealt with it -- deal with it. He told me about one patient driven to a suicide attempt by "the noise in his head." I told him I was nowhere near that.

We traded LI tales, as well as those of a former mutual friend we've both lost contact with. Great guy -- I saw him last month at Captain's Tavern while I was sharing Kenny's farewell dinner. He and his wife had Kay along, a lovely widow. The fact that he includes her speaks volumes about Brian and his wife.

So, yet another feature of aging. As if on cue, I got a letter from Medicare today. They had listed my premium as zero, which I knew was a mistake. Sure enough, now that they have checked the files, it will be $446 per month. Adding on the supplements, I'll be paying just under $1K per month -- less than half my Obamacare, and with better coverage. So I got no complaints.

Last night at pre class dinner, Jeff showed Barry and me HIS Medicare card -- he's already using the benefits -- CT scan and other expensive tests. He turns 65 tomorrow, and had no real celebration plans. I invited him and Lili to come by after dinner, and I would make Lili some Cosmos so she could better deal with the fact that she'll be sleeping with a 65 year old man. Scary thought, I would think.

Instead, Lili invited US for dinner -- I will bring my Cosmos and some vodka with me, and we will celebrate. I met Jeff when we were 22. Now 65. Man -- those years fly by.

Lili has VERY serious hearing issues -- if you are behind her and call her name...nothing. She has begun lip reading. So I guess the conversation will be LOUD tomorrow evening -- with lots of "Ehs?" and "Whats?"

Old age sounds different, it turns out.

Grandma Sleepover

 Wifey and I have been blessed with our parents -- beloved by both mom and dad - though Wifey's parents did their best through the trauma of The Holocaust. In contrast, my parents Great Depression and WW II childhoods and youth were walks in the park (Crotona Park, in The Bronx). But in the grandparent department...

Wifey never met hers on account of the Nazis killed them along with much of my suegros' family. My paternal grandfather Simon died 6 years before I was born, and my maternal grandfather Isidore died when I was, I guess, 4 or 5. I have one memory of a very old man (he was probably my age) in a hospital bed -- so no impact on my life.

My Dad's Mom Jennie spoke English, with a slight Yiddish accent, but never seemed much interested in me. My memories were going with my Dad to visit her in Jackson Heights to bring her groceries, and my holding my nose against the stink of urine. It was a relief when we were able to leave and go upstairs to my Aunt Anne's apartment where there was, mercifully, no incontinence. But I recall zero conversations with Jennie -- really until the final year of her life, and that had funny consequences.

Wifey and I were together, I guess '84 or '85, and we went to visit her. I tried to see Anne, to introduce her to my intended, but Anne had a lunch with friends that day she apparently couldn't reschedule (my Mom said she was petrified she might have had to buy us or prepare lunch). So we found Jennie, and she was SWEET. This was a woman I never saw smile, but in her dementia was positively lovely. I introduced Wifey using her Yiddish name, Faygele, and that was the last time I saw her.

Later, Anne called my Mom and said she never knew I was gay. Apparently her mother said "David was here with his faygele," which is Yiddish slang for gay, and so my Mom laughed heartily and explained. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that.

My maternal grandmother, Anna, both mumbled and had a HEAVY Yiddish accent, such that I truly never understood a word she said. She was warm to me -- I recall one visit to our house on LI, and visits to her in Spring Valley where she stayed with my Aunt Lorraine in the Summer, and Miami Beach where she snowbirded at the "Edvaard" (Edward) Hotel on 10th and Collins. My mother said she was a woman of great folk wisdom, and I assume she was -- I just never got it first hand. One tidbit I recall is her answer when her kids complained of life being too hectic. "You want peace? There's peace in the tomb." Indeed.

So it brings me great joy to see our grandsons being so close. And yesterday, Wifey drove to Miami Shores, fetched D2 and Betsy, and then they got Little Man. They were selling Italian Ices outside of his school, and he allowed as how D1 "never lets me have this," so Wifey bought him one. From there, they spent time at D1's, and enjoyed the afternoon, and when it was time for Wifey to re-home D2 and Betsy, Little Man begged for "Ippi" to spend the night.

She did -- after the short dropoff to Miami Shores, and texted me about post bedtime story conversations with the VERY bright 6 year old -- about religion, why Jesus was killed if he was a nice man, etc...He thinks more deeply than most kindergartners.

Wifey got up 5 am to pee, and was met by him "Are you up now? Are you going to do morning things?" As Dean Martin sang: "Memories are made of this."

I read recently that the best a grandparent can do has zero to do with gifts -- or even experiences, like taking them on trips. Rather, the grandchild should know that when they are together, the grandchild is by FAR the most important person in the room. And so it is with our boys -- they definitely know that.

So it was a lovely evening. Hopefully I see them this weekend, but it seems their days are mighty packed with activities. If so, I'll cruise up next week for a visit -- but I won't sleep over. Wifey has more patience than I -- and I mind driving less.

Wifey is exploring cruises for this Fall. She has a milestone birthday in December, which number cannot be revealed or even hinted about by saying things like she was born when Eisenhower was president. In January we celebrate our 40th anniversary. July I turn 65 -- so yeah -- bunch of big signs marking time on the trail of life.

Maybe it'll be Portugal. Barry and Donna have interest -- I sent info to Mike and Loni last night, though they have a granddaughter coming in July, and I think they have visited the areas already, as have Dana and Eric. Joelle and Kenny have taken one of the cruises we're considering -- and they'll be in Maine this Fall. So we'll see.

But as we pass these milestones, indeed grandkids are a highlight. Pretty sure if you asked the garrulous grandson -- he'd agree.

Graduation Days Of Yore

 So my alma mater held its graduations last week and weekend. I saw one pic photobombed by Jon Bon Jovi -- turned out his son Romeo graduated the Music School. And my friend Norman attended his step son's med school graduation. And then I saw the speaker at the UM Law ceremony was Judge Roy Altman, my new man crush, as D1 noted. Ah, the spigot of memories opened.

I don't clearly recall my HS graduation, in June of '79. In my mind, I was already headed away from Long Island to Miami. I DO recall that my friend Eric (LI Eric, not Miami Eric) did one of the meanest passive aggressive stunts ever -- surely the biggest to that date. My HS girlfriend Alison and her parents threw me a surprise going away/graduation party at their house. I had zero idea about it, and the plan was Eric and I were to head to Alison's to fetch her and head to a local diner.

On the way, Eric said to me "You know about the surprise party, right?" Um, no dude -- what are you talking about? He feigned shame, but I knew right away he told me out of envy -- he had no girlfriend, and was headed to Nassau CC instead of university. So, I walked up to the house, and faked surprise -- the Cohen's had at least 25 people there, including my parents -- and everyone yelled "Surprise!" and handed me a UM T shirt (the Ibis was still smoking a pipe back then). It was a lovely party, and very nice bon voyage, and the next day Eric (putz), Mark, Mike, John, and Gerry gathered in front of our house to say goodbye.

We caravanned the 2 cars (my '78 Firebird and my Dad's '75 Olds 98) to Virginia, boarded the Autotrain the next am, and we were Florida bound. Au revior, Long Island!

Well, the next 4 years a lot happened. On the great side, I made lifelong friends (Eric and Barry and I are still brothers), I fell in love, had my heart truly broken. On the awful side, my Dad died in my arms the Summer before Senior year, in a barbershop chair.

I clearly recall college graduation. It was on the green by the library, outside and hot as hell. My Mom had been seeing a guy -- I barely knew him and was annoyed that he got to be part of my graduation -- that was pride saved for my beloved Dad. But Mom liked the fellow, who was named Bernie if memory served.

The speaker was a South American president with an impenetrable accent. Afterwards, we went out with Eric and his parents and sister, and my friend Jeff and his brother and parents. We were all solidly middle class -- the meal was at Steak and Ale in Kendall -- with a salad bar! After dinner, Jeff and Eric went home to their Kendall houses, Sunny back to Delray with Bernie, and I went to spend the final night in my on campus apartment.

My friend Jean, who is a non practicing lawyer I still see, was one of the only other people in the building. She was leaving for Duluth for the Summer, and then off to UCLA Law. I had a bottle of fine wine (either Mateus rose or some blush stuff) and we drank together and toasted -- both of us realizing we were at an inflection point in our lives, with treasured memories from Building 22 -- including theme parties that were the envy of many (Serbian New Years, AntlerFest, Super Bowl, Drinks Around the World).

I left the next am for summer in Delray -- a great job as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital before returning to Coral Gables for Law School. Barry dipped on Eric and me on plans for a 3 bedroom place by Dadeland, and so it was besheret that we pick a different garden apartment where a quirky, funny, pretty 26 year old was living upstairs -- later to become Wifey.

That same month, I also met Mike, Jeff, and Norman as 1 Ls, and our friendships endure to this day -- trips together around the world, and too many great times to mention -- spouses, kids, and for Mike and Jeff and me, grandkids. Yeah -- lots happen over 4 decades.

Law School graduation was mercifully inside, at the Dade County Auditorium. This time I think I fetched my Mom -- no random dudes. Wifey and I were "Exclusive!" as the Ds love to lampoon, and she was there -- beaming with my Mom.

The speaker was the Dean they named a month before, and none of us knew her. We wondered why our beloved Dean, Claude Sowle, was benched, and sort of protested by talking on the stage while the random new woman spoke.

I really don't recall where we celebrated, but since my future in laws were probably present, I'm guessing it may have been Canton, which we all loved -- maybe a large "special steak" which came sizzling.

The next Monday I was back at work, for my comically anti semitic boss Dan, where I was clerking ("Hell, I thought you were German, like me. I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew! I hate Jews and Cubans."). Maybe Miami wasn't the right match for Dan, though he as born and raised here and died here years ago. I didn't mourn his loss -- kind of chuckled when I read the obit.

So those were the 3 graduations for me. We got to see a combined 6 for the Ds -- high school, college, and Master's programs. D1 graduated high school 20 years ago this June. I AM old...

But I love graduations -- our next is May 29th -- the kindergarten ceremony for Little Man. That's one I WILL remember.

MD 2026 In The Books

So this am I got in my more than 7K steps, part of which was with neighbors Hilit and Alex, two academic docs who live in the 'hood. They stopped to say hello, and I asked them if they had seen the classic Bill Murray film "Groundhog Day." They had, and so I told them I would play the part of the annoying insurance salesman and tag along for part of the journey. I learned their youngest is starting PT school in Boston, and their oldest lives in D.C. doing I forget what. But I wished Hilit happy MD -- she adores her girls, and they adore her.

Then I called Barry to tell him a funny anecdote but also to tell him I felt for him -- the first MD following the loss of Bev. He was philosophical about it, of course, and then I called his sister Phyllis to leave her a VM  with the same sentiments. She texted back -- it was a tough day. We agreed you don't "get over" a parent's loss, but the years lighten the sadness.

Wifey and I got into a wonderful talk about the nature of our 40 year (almost) marriage, and how we each put up with family annoyances for each other. We also talked about how young and clueless we were at 25 and barely 30, and how neither of us was dying to have kids, but doing so was the best thing we ever did.

Sure enough, the oldest one came over soon after, and we traveled to meet D2 and Jonathan at Platea, a local steak and ceviche place. They had an MD brunch, but also the regular menu, and since we didn't see the need for 5 desserts, opted to family style share some lamb chops, 2 steaks, a seabass, and ceviche. Oh -- sides, too, and a few adult beverages. Even Wifey had a prosecco! It was a festive, wonderful celebration -- we laughed, and spoke of life, and of days past and to come. I toasted my Baby Momma Wifey -- best in the business.

Earlier, D1 had sent her an email, which Wifey may print out and frame. It was hilarious and loving -- D1 is indeed self aware, and Mother aware. D2 is now on the clock. I know her email will be terrific, too. As we all agreed, you do NOT blow past MD or Wifey's birthday, even though, as D1 wrote, Wifey has zero cruel bones in her body. She does have guilt-producing ones, when triggered.

D1 came back with us, and had some calls while we got to pet the skittish Spaniel. She left for an early dinner with her friend Nicole and family at Nicole's Mom's boyfriend Jay's house in the Grove. I watched some NBA playoffs, and have but one activity left: the new episode of "Rooster," which Wifey and I like -- chuckle producing with Steve Carell. Not liking Steve Carell is like not liking Dolly Parton -- everyone likes them.

Tomorrow my workout awaits, and a trip to Total Wine, as I am running perilously low on vodka and Cosmo mix, and Lili comes to play mah jong each Wednesday and expects her Cosmo, even though the game now conflicts with Bible Study, and she has to shake her own.

I think Wifey and D2 are fetching Little Man at school tomorrow. I may sit it out -- let the ladies have their time with the grandsons and nephews.

We're considering a Euro cruise in the Fall -- Donna and Barry have interest, now that they have become Explora addicts, as we are. Kenny and Joelle already took the route we're considering, and will be in Maine in the Fall, anyway.

Lots of moving parts putting together these trips, though I joked that these days, they may offer Hantavirus discounts.

I've never been to Portugal, the place we're considering, so I'm not kicking and screaming as I tend to do when offered Euro trips. Wifey is always the driver behind them, and I end up having a great time. I expect if we go, that will be the protocol.

It's funny -- some dear friends chose their mates precisely because they wanted the best mothers for their kids. That didn't even occur to me. I just dug Wifey, knew our values were the same, and if there were kids -- well -- as I mentioned to D1's hilarity -- I kind of wondered how maternal she'd be.

When we first met, in the Summer of '83, she had just returned from visiting her friend, who had a baby girl. Wifey showed me pictures of her holding the kid, and made a face of disgust -- as if her friend, a housewife in suburban Atlanta and part time helper of her husband's chiropractic office, had a reason to NOT become a mother. But Wifey still saw the 2 of them as years away from motherhood. I guess I recalled that in 1988, when Wifey got pregnant after a year of marriage.

Boy, was I off! Wifey turned out to be the most wonderful, loving, mother. Just today, the Ds said how they always felt safe and loved by her, and still do. D1 said she patterns herself as a mother after Wifey, though with less patience for her "feral racoons" disguised as young boys.

So there was proper honoring today, as is tradition (Love that South Park reference).

Next up: Little Man's kindergarten graduation at the end of May. Man, the years sure do slip by fast.

Extended Family Best Left Alone

 My many Latin friends and family are involved in the lives of cousins, aunts, and uncles. My friend Jeff, too -- seems to ALWAYS be attending a function involving an aunt or uncle or cousin -- even out of town stuff. That long ago fell away for Wifey and me, with a few small exceptions.

Wifey has 2 cousins we like -- Sandy and Mark -- sons of Wifey's late uncle Lou. We've gotten together over the years -- most recently about 5 years ago when we met Mark and his Boston born wife Susan for sushi in Doral -- but Wifey hasn't followed up, and just follows their lives on FaceBook. Her maternal side cousin, a lovely frum fellow from Baltimore, calls EVERY Jewish holiday -- Wifey never returns his calls -- and does it out of a sense of duty to his late aunt, Wifey's late mother. When Wifey asked how many grandkids and great grandkids they have, she heard "We don't count -- you don't count people like things." I kind of liked that.

On my end, I speak once in awhile with my cousin Steven, a lifelong bachelor in Queens. Often he calls for free legal advice about car wrecks, landlord/tenant stuff, and we catch up, but I no longer initiate contact.

And the other day, I reached out to my favorite cousin Jeff, and we had a long catch up talk, where I learned his older sister had died. I FaceBook (tm) messaged the surviving son, Isaac, but haven't heard back. I likely won't, since the middle aged man has only met me once, and he probably figures -- "ah -- who IS this guy?" And that's fine, too.

Jeff ended our call saying he very much wanted to get together -- I should call in a month or so to set something up. "Old Dave" would have -- I enjoy his company, and we have tales to tell of days past and future, but "New Dave" won't make the effort.

Wifey long ago pointed out the difference, when you speak to old friends or relatives, between "We should get together," and "How's next weekend?" I used to be the one to follow up and plan -- now -- not so much. I guess it comes with the crankiness of accepting old man status, but Wifey's right -- if I truly wish to see someone, I will make it happen. If it's "that would be an ok visit," -- why bother?

Last Spring, when we returned from a Danube River cruise with Eric and Dana (and the new Penn State friends they made), I got a call from my cousin Barry. He's, to quote Joni Mitchell, a rambler, and a gambler and a sweet talkin' ladies man -- a truly loveable scoundrel.

His lovely English wife died several years ago, and Barry, who has made tons of money and lost tons of money, called me in dire straits -- the IRS was a-comin', and he needed a few k to fend them off. Could he borrow a few thousand?

No -- he could not. I long ago got out of the lending business -- nearly cost me a close friendship - and DID cost a close friendship when I refused to loan a doc friend $50K to open a pain clinic -- Medicare and Medicaid fraud traps, it seemed to me.

But, I sent Barry a gift -- told him I never expected repayment. I made it clear it was a one and done -- he could ask me for anything in the future, but the spigot was off. Still, he sent a series of texts blessing me, telling me I was always the star of the family (apparently other cousins blew him off -- many of whom are broke ass themselves, I assume), and I deserved EVERY blessing I had in my life, and I suffer from an embarrassment of those, for sure.

Wow, as I told Wifey. Turned out it was a good investment. The charity we give to UM, FIU, Chabad, and others NEVER bestow blessings like that -- well -- maybe Chabad does. I was glad I helped him.

But going forward, I don't plan to have much to do with the cousins. The aunts and uncles are all long gone -- the Greatest Generation crossed their bridges.

And now, among the first cousins, of my Mom's side, there were 16 of us. Now there are 14. My sister Trudy is the oldest surving one, and she turned 81, I'm the youngest -- turning 65. I know from chats with Barry that many of the survivors are VERY sick -- dementia, various forms of cancer. So really it's just now a waiting thing -- who among our cohort will be next to meet the Grim Reaper?

And when they do -- will I find out about it closer in time than Gloria's passing months ago? Maybe; maybe not. May they all be blessed with many more years, and good health.

It's funny -- I don't like to think of myself as a grudge keeper, but I am. Back in 1987, after seeing most of the cousins at our wedding, I told Wifey I wished to rehabilitate the cousins' get together of my childhood. Most lived then in South Florida, and I invited all of them to our first house. This was pre-D1.

All accepted, and I fetched, I still recall, $200 worth of Canton takeout, and bought plenty of adult beverages. At the appointed time, Jeff and Lynn showed up. As the time went on, no one else did. So as Jeff and I tore into a 5th of Absolut, and ate lots of ribs and egg rolls, I started calling the other 12 or so who were due to come.

I got lots of "Wow -- was that TODAY?" and "Sorry -- something came up." So the party ended up being just 2 couples -- and a big waste of money -- back in the day when $200 was a big hit for our social budget.

I vowed to NEVER be the coordinator again, and I haven't. A few years ago, my cousin Linda's daughter Rachel, a sweet woman, now middle aged, as well, suggested we have a get together -- there are still plenty of us in the 3 county area. I responded that sounded great. But, of course she meant I ought to plan it. Nope -- homie don't play that game twice -- even decades later.

And so it shall be -- the cousins will float along, apart. And that's ok.

Planning MD 2026

 So last night I met Barry for pre- bible study dinner -- at a strip center we used to visit a LOT! It's on Ludlam and the Highway -- where our beloved Canton was located. Last night we got salads at a place I had vowed to D2 to never visit again, after I paid a LOT for a salad, years ago. But Barry wanted salads, and so we went -- and the Cobb was actually not bad.

But the memories! It was our go-to Chinese place, especially when Colin, our Hong Kong born and raised roommie, was a waiter there. He would give us extra portions, and one night was an unwitting part of a laugh experience that I truly worried caused Barry and Mark to go into respiratory failure.

It was a cool night, and the apartment windows were open, and I heard Barry and Mark walking back to our apartment. You couldn't NOT hear Mark -- the now big shot neurosurgeon was comically loud. As I awaited them, I spied Colin's red Chinese waiter jacket hanging from a door knob, and was seized by comic inspiration. I put it on (the cuffs came to my elbows), and when Barry and Mark walked in, greeted them in a way that would totally get me canceled today. "Welcome back to humble abode, most honorable students -- may your important studies continue." And I bowed, like Charlie Chan.

I still recall their faces. There was a beat or two of silence, and then both literally doubled over with laughter that, as I said, got me worrying I might have to call 911. Any time I need to cheer up Barry, I just go into the awful fake accent and call him "honorable." Yeah, 4.5 decades ago I was a funny and politically incorrect guy. Nothing has changed as the undergrad has transitioned into an old man.

But anyway, after  Torah class, which was terrific, by the way (a discussion and analysis of the basis of morality -- human created versus that given by the Big Man), I showed Barry my family's text chain about planning for this Sunday.

Jonathan has noted that we share TOO much, while his family probably shares too little. The details of Wifey and the Ds, plus D1's comically busy schedule made for more fodder. We finally settled on Platea, our local prime beef and ceviche place -- they have a MD brunch. We're going at 1, so D1 can make it to an am appointment in the Grove, and a birthday dinner/MD meet with her dear friend Nicole.

Everyone in this family knows, when it comes to Wifey, do NOT blow past 2 events: her birthday and MD. NYE, Jewish holidays, even T Day, which is MY favorite -- eh. But there damn well better be a note and a get together for her Big 2. And for good reason.

Wifey is the best mother I know. When we first married, I wondered whether, as an only, spoiled child, she would be very maternal when we had kids. Indeed, the plan was she would stay home for 3 months after D1 came, and then get child care and return to work. Nope. She fell in love head over heels for our baby girl -- and embarked on her life's work: a (pause) mazing mother.

Everything she did, she did for them, and now there is exquisite return: 2 beautiful boys from D1, and hopefully more from D2. The oldest, Baby Man, looks JUST like D1, so it's a wonderful recapitulation of her early years -- with an all boy switch. 

And now they're grown ass women, as I remind them, the Ds truly still adore and love their mother. And this brings me joy.

I don't really know bad mothers. Well -- at least not "Mommie Dearest" bad. Well -- that's not true either -- I DO know some crappy mothers -- but not many, in our orbit, at least.

But the Ds and I will celebrate Wifey this Sunday -- even though, like the ditty my Dad sang, EVERY day is mother's day for her.

And speaking of Barry...this is the first MD for him and his sister Phyllis without their beloved Bev. I know Phyllis, especially, is not looking forward to Sunday. Donna has her two boys, who adore her, too.

I remember MD 2013, after Sunny died. It was indeed a hollow day -- just the memories were left. It turned out her cremains were delivered the day before, and so the Ds, Wifey, and I went to Matheson Hammock to commit them to the sea that sad MD.

Her spirit is very much with us -- just a few weeks ago, we took my nephew Henry to the spot, during his 305 visit, and we told Sunny stories. We shall tell more Sunday, as well as Rachel tales -- those are funnier and more absurd. She was an adoring mother and grandmother, too -- Wifey got it from her.

And I have to make my annual call -to Jeff. For reasons now lost to the fog of history, in law school I started calling him each MD to wish him a happy day. Probably it had something to do with the OTHER "mother" word -- as we were budding, bad ass (ha!) lawyers. But I shall call him Sunday -- his Mom Judy is long gone, too, but will celebrate the life work of Lili -- another awesome mother.

And in June? Father's Day. Ha. Talk about the po relation. In my case, truly EVERY day is Father's Day for me.

Skipping The Line

 My mother was one of  5 -- the eldest, Marty, then Dorothy, then my Mom, then Lorraine, and the baby Florence who was called Giggles since she cried all the time and we are ironic Bronx born Ashkenazim. Marty and the husbands of the 4 Goldsmith sisters were all WW II veterans, and the first born cousin was Arlene, born in, I think, 1944. Next was my sister Trudy, born in January of 1945, and then a bunch more -- all the way down to me. I am the youngest first cousin, born in 1961.

Years ago, I read that Boomers were akin to high schooler students, demographically. You had your seniors, born 1945-1950, juniors born 1950-1955, sophomores born 1955-1960, and then the freshman born '60- '64. All may go to the same school, but seniors have little in common with freshmen. I always found that description quite apt.

In my family, true to natural form, the first of us to pass was Arlene. She had a most challenging life -- in and out of mental hospitals, with movie-like episodes of psychotic breaks. Once she took a garden hose to the inside of her house. Another time she wandered naked in the Arizona desert. Her husband Bill, a handsome Irish guy, took off like a parakeet on fire, leaving the 2 boys for family to watch and raise. I still recall housing the little guy, Brody (now goes by Darrin) when he was a toddler. He grew up well --works for the Highway something or other in upstate NY. Gavin, the older one, who is nearing 60, became a full Army colonel and lives in Mass.

Arlene died some years ago. We joked with my sister Trudy that she was next oldest, and indeed Trudy turned 81 in January. Well today, I called my cousin Jeff, on account of a life connection, and learned that his sister Gloria died 2 months ago. She skipped the line, so to speak. She was 77.

The funny connection is that Jeff's son in law Josh is a cardiologist at Holy Cross in Lauderdale, and Dr. Barry is going to start doing some administrative work for the UM residents and students up there. He will surely cross paths with Josh. So I called Jeff to catch up -- he and I were always close, though the years without contact have a way of piling up. He told me the news about Gloria.

Gloria also had challenges -- mental health requiring hospitalization, too. The sad truth is it seems to be a Goldsmith trait -- and none of us have any direct Holocaust connections! But Gloria, a true hippie, met a man 14 years her senior, and lived a colorful life. Martin was a NY teacher, and truly an OG hippie -- so much that years later, after he friended me on FB, I had to unfriend him because of his virulently anti-Zionist posts.

But the two of them were married forever, and had one son, Isaac, who became a plant pathologist, with a doctorate from UC. They all moved to a farm in rural NC, where they raised goats and chickens. I think Isaac married and does botanical consulting from there -- apparently he inherited the land.

I last saw Isaac years ago, at Jeff and Lynn's son's wedding in Broward. He was nice and impressive -- got his Dad's intellect, but also the missing practicality his Dad never had. It's probably been 30 years since I saw Gloria and Martin.

Still, Jeff told me he went to NC for the memorial. Gloria and Martin, who died in '23, were both cremated, and Isaac buried their cremains on the land, and planted pomegranate trees there. Everyone took turns shoveling soil -- sort of a nod to Jewish tradition. Jeff's brother Michael, who became, I'm not making this up, a frum chiropracter in Monsey, NY, was there, even though he and Jeff were estranged years before. Their sister Janet, a non-frum chiropractor in Boca, skipped out.

Sadly, the family exploded apart after my uncle Abe died -- accusations over supposably (Miami spelling) stolen estate property was a cause.

I joked with Jeff that the days of the Kessler Cousins' Circle (my maternal grandmother's maiden name), where everyone was close and shared their lives -- were 2 generations gone -- coming up on 3.

In fact, when I texted the Ds after the news, D1 asked "Who in the world is Gloria?" I guess I spoke little of her, though she was a first cousin.

This made last week even more special. The Ds have only 4 first cousins, on account of Wifey being an only child, and of the 4, only Henry and the Ds have any contact. Such is the American modern family.

But for now, I'm sure my sister is happy that a younger cousin skipped the line to eternity. She has lots of living to do. And as for me -- hell -- no way the youngest is next, right? Only the Big Man knows...

Cinco de Mayo en El Torito

 Today is Cinco de Mayo, the fake Mexican holiday created to sell margaritas and nachos in the US. It drove me down Memory Lane.

Mike used to LOVE El Torito, a Mexican place in the Falls shopping center. We would go often, and back then I wasn't a margarita guy (still aren't), and so I would drink Kahlua and creams. I was The Dude before The Dude! Cinco de Mayo Mike would arrive early, to secure us a table, and Wifey (before she was Wifey -- she was just bottom, um, girlfriend, would arrive, as would Jeff and then girlfriend Cheryl, and maybe Dave S, and other UM Law stragglers. Every once in awhile, Eric would come with some of his Med School buddies, too, and we would eat and listen to mariachi music and have a gay all time, as the Flintstones theme sang.

But Mexico has a far deeper meaning in our lives -- it was where my family truly began. In May of '84, Cheryl and Jeff invited me to go with them to Cancun -- and this was way before Cancun became a Spanish speaking Ft. Lauderdale. Cheryl's step dad Roger (pronounced Ro-HAIR) owned a villa right on the sea, and we could stay there for free, and Mexicana had a $150 round trip flight from Miami. We would go for a long weekend, check out Tulum and Isla de Mujeres (Jeff re-named the place Isla Mujeres Facil), and shake off the mental stress and harm done to us by our 1L year. Cheryl told me to invite proto-Wifey.

But there was a problem. Pre-Wifey had broken up with me for the second and FINAL time weeks before, on account of she was 27 and I was nearing 23 and she wanted us to be EXCLUSIVE (a term that never fails to crack up the Ds) and I wasn't ready. 1992 was a rough year for me -- the college girlfriend I thought I might marry dropped me like I was hot, and far worse, my Dad had died in my arms. So I planned to date for, oh, the next 17 years before marrying when I got to be 40.

Fine, said Cheryl -- pick another date. And I tried -- asking no fewer than 10 ladies I had either dated, or were just old college buddies, and each and every one had a conflict -- ranging from "sorry, dude, working on hooking a Mt. Sinai doc -- last thing he needs to hear is I went away to Mexico with you" to "Oh man -- would LOVE to, but had plastic surgery to fix my broken nose from a bike fall and can't get sun" (my friend Edee the neuroscientist in training then.

I called Cheryl and said I would just come solo -- probably find myself a seniorita like the Jay and the Americans song. NO! Cheryl, always with bad energy, though it took decades to realize that, was adamant -- there would be no third wheel interfering with her and Jeff's romantic time -- get a girl, Dave, or stay home.

So I called Wifey, and got the expected chilly response. "I told you NEVER call me again -- what is it?" I talked fast, like the guy in the old FedEx commercial: "Mexico -- like the Against All Odds movie we loved. Beach. Pyramids. Xel-Ha underwater park..." To my shock, she said she would call me back.

I learned later she called her at that time BFF Linda, who had correctly called me a creep and warned her friend about STDs I must be carrying. I wasn't. Linda, my largest detractor -- said to Wifey, who happened to be on vacation the week of the trip "Go with him. Have a great time. You broke up with the creep 2 times -- why not a 3rd?" And Wifey agreed to come along!

Well, the trip was where I fell in love with her. I loved her before, I guess, but 5 days of pure romance, away from the rigors (and multiple classmates I was dating) of law school were intoxicating. We played Trivial Pursuit, drunk on tequilla (and kahlua for me). We climbed the pyrmamids of Tulum. We snorkeled Isla Mujeres -- except Wifey, who, comically could not because of TMJ.

And we 2 couples laughed -- deep, belly laughs -- the kind that these days cause me to lose my breath. It was magical.

When we came back, we got together, even though Wifey had moved to North Miami to get farther away from me. She was killing it as a flower marketer. I interned at the law department of Key Pharmaceuticals. We had money -- plenty for our needs of going to dinner and concerts. We house sat for 3 weeks for my professor friend Judy and her now late husband Bob -- in the UK for a conference. It was a cool house in the Gables -- we hosted Jeff and Cheryl and Mike and Loni -- pool parties.

The next year, we visited Mexico again -- this time 3 couples -- Mike and Loni joined us, and the laughter memories multiplied like rabbits, including an incident where Mike ended up on the barrel tile roof in the wee small hours in his tighty whities following some squabble with Loni. The details have, to this day 41 years later, mercifully never been revealed.

There was one later, much later, trip to the Yucatan -- a stop on a cruise with Eric and Dana and their family -- to Cozumel. We ended up on a beach, and there was alcohol, and a misheard quote that turned into "What about Louise?" More great times.

So no Cinco de Mayo for us this year, but memories of the place I first read about in Malcolm Lowry's "Under the Volcano."

Their president is, of all things, a Jewess, but an embarrassment like Bernie Sanders -- a self hating Jew is anti Zionist. One would have thought Mexicans were smarter as a nation than tiny Vermont is as a state.

But that's their problem -- not mine. For me, memories of Mexico are as pleasant as the James Taylor song: It sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low. The moon's so bright like to light up the night - make everything all right.

Domingo Gigante

 So Little Man woke me at first light, as Wifey slept on. We fed Bo, the Special Needs and now geriatric Spaniel, and then him -- no going out yesterday, as Donna had sent rainbow bagels home from Mo's. He had a half, and some yogurt for his "growing food" as his dietitian Mom demands, and a fruit and half of an enormous happy face cookie, also courtesy of Donna. We hung about for several hours, and then it was time to wake Ippi, as he calls her.

It was 10:45, and we told Wifey to be ready to leave noon, and around 11:45 she called me on the cell (the comical way we communicate in this too large house now that the 90s era intercom is long ago broken), and asked -- would I make her a yogurt parfait and coffee, as she was "running late?" I chuckled to myself -- talk about a spoiled wife -- but complied, as I always do, and around 12:15 we were off to Loan Depot PArk.

About 5 minutes into the journey, Little Man's banter went silent -- he had PTFO'd, as the millennials say, in his booster seat. I found my preferred parking -- a city lot located right by our beloved, historical tailgate lot from days of yore, on NW 14th Avenue, and we let the boy sleep another 45 minutes, until he woke up "on the wrong side of the SUV," as Tio Barry later noted when he was cranky.

But we found our seats, and Wifey took him for ice cream as Barry, Donna, and Scott arrived, to much happiness, but Little Man, forced to wait until play stopped so he could return to his seat with his chocolate Mister Softee, was none too pleased. Still, he rallied and had a fine time -- climbing all over Scott and Barry and showing the multi decade pediatrician he has "no shortage of energy." Later, a nice surprise came to fruition: Mike had texted me asking where Barry's seats were, and ended up exactly in the row behind -- Loni, Amanda, Chris, young Teddy, and old friend Rebecca -- like Amanda now a transplanted resident of the City of Lost Angels.

It was great to catch up -- Teddy had a blast -- Little Man gave him his yacht hat -- a giveaway. Scott scored he and I a few vodkas. We got Little Man a kosher dog from Kosher Korner, which he ate sans bun and mustard, laughing that Barry said it was a "naked hot dog."

Mike's crew left at the 7th inning. The Marlins starter gave up 6 first inning runs -- the game was essentially over then, but that was ok. The park was lively, with many Philly fans who still love their team but have the sense to no longer actually LIVE in Philly -- and it was a delight.

We stayed until the end, got stuck at the 7th Avenue Bridge, which was up a long time to let all the yachts pass, as this was F1 and Doral Golf weekend, and plenty of machers were afloat. I impressed Little Man by cutting around the traffic -- back through Brickell where I worked for decades, and onto 95. We made it to Luna Pasta by 530 -- just as D1, Baby Man, and D2 and Jonathan were arriving.

At first, they gave us separate tables, and we made one the kids' table -- even though the kids were 37 down to 27, along with the grandkids. As the restaurant opened, Jonathan got us all to one big table, where we shared 2 bottle of good Italian wine, and feasted -- pasta was "top 5" to everyone. It was a truly awesome meal of 2 families -- as D1 noted, our "chosen relatives."

Everyone left, and at home we shared the photos and texts all appreciating the day.

Getting older is fine -- so long as there are days like Domingo gigantes...