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...

The World's Most Interesting Kindergartner

 This is the nickname has given her first born, and it is indeed apt. Yesterday was a lovely one -- I fetched Scott at MIA on the way to Aventura. Scott usually flies into FLL, but with F1 here, flights to the cheaper airport, for crew, were double to MIA, and so he came to the field 25 minutes from our house. We joked that typically, for a fetch or pick from an airport from this old grumpy dude, DNA connection is required, but Barry and his family are exceptions.

There he was, the gentle giant of a nearly 30 year old man, and we delightfully caught up -- matters Miami and D.C. I showed him the stupid soccer team located stupidly, and we both lamented the fact that if they were going to build it anyway, why not double capacity and invite our beloved Canes. The idea apparently never grew legs.

We met his parents at Mo's, and feasted. It was delightful -- they sort of like having him home. His wife had tons of work -- she just switched from CNN to NBC and is getting up to speed. We chuckled at many of our fellow Aventura diners -- average age 50. The men were 80 and the women were FAR younger, and quite heavily botoxed and plastic surgeried...Some jobs were great; others, sadly, clownish.

Around noon we said adios, and I drove down Biscayne to meet D1 and the boys at Diver's Mansion, a marine themed Chucky Cheeses, where a very loud birthday party was in force. We left, and drove back to D1's, where she packed an overnight bag for said interesting child. Donna had sent us from Mo's with enormous cookies -- chocolate chip and happy face, and Baby MAn got to choose -- he picked the chip one, the size of a wagon wheel.

Little Man and I talked the ENTIRE 40 minute drive home -- he is SO smart -- telling me about sea creatures and strange fauna I had no idea existed. Turns out his public charter school is ok. Wifey was thrilled to see him -- it had only been 6 days -- but we kind of dig him.

He requested Anthony's Coal Fired wings, which I ordered, and we fed the fish and lizard hunted in the strange weather -- hot and DRY -- felt like Vegas in June. The rains came this am -- cooler and wet. We watched some of the F1 Sprint Race -- Jonathan is going today, though I wonder if the rain may affect that.

And Wifey and I laughed -- this kindergartner has the vocabulary of a 5th grader, at least, and is SO funny and energetic. We swam -- first time in the pool this year -- and he swims terrifically, though spashing and hunting for floating bugs grab his attention more.

Wifey had taped "Minecraft," thinking it was a cartoon, but it was a live action movie with Jason Mamoa and Jack Black. Little Man LOVED it -- explaining to us who the characters and creatures were, and what they do. "Ok, Grandpa Dave -- this is crazy. These guys sneak up on you and EXPLODE!"

Bed time was some of his beloved IPad, as screen time with D1 is abridged -- here -- less so. And as he watched in bed with Wifey and me, we saw him drifting off, and so I took him across the hall and told him one Nightbird story before he asked to hear again about how his kindergarten aged mother demanded to sleep with D2 -- sort of a living teddy bear. Then he passed out.

This am, we didn't have to hit the bagel shop, as Tia Donna ALSO sent us home with rainbow bagels. "Grandpa Dave -- they LOOK so cool but actually, they taste just like normal bagels." Correct.

We leave around noon for the Marlins game -- today it's good they have a roof! Later, dinner with all of us -- with the world's most interesting kindergartner.

Busy Busy Busy

 I sometimes talk to a person who, objectively, has VERY little responsibilities, and ask what's up, and get the response "busy, busy, busy!" I chuckle to myself, since it's true to them and no one else.

And yet, sometimes I feel the same way. This past week I said goodbye with a brunch with my delightful nephew Henry, at Deli Lane. I hadn't been there in awhile, and know they are moving a block away since, as everyone knows, South Miami needs MORE high rise apartments. Long time server Carmen was there, as she has been for 35!!! years. We dig each other -- for awhile she took care of us at the Brickell location where we would lunch weekly, but they closed, and since then it's back in South Miami. I introduced her to Henry, and we caught up -- I asked if folks had moved into the massive building across the street, where a Winn Dixie say for decades. She said they had, in December, and many were customers, and already complaining that their 4 month old AC units were breaking. Ah, the joy of developers and builders in South Florida!

I dropped Henry at the Thesis, an upscale hotel they built across from UM, where a Howard Johnsons was back in the day. He had a gig at the Biltmore -- left yesterday am -- texting it went well and he loved his stay. We did, too, and hope to reunite soon.

Wednesday was a workout, and later the return of bible class! Barry drove his car to the Dadeland North Metro station, and commuted back to Jackson, and we met at an Italian place for an early dinner, some of which was spent with him on the phone with his Chair about an intern. Medical administration never sleeps! Class was great -- a study of the uniqueness of our peeps, and why Abraham and his monotheism truly changed the world. We got into a discussion about modern false idols -- money, power, stuff, and how we often worship these more than The Big Man.

There was a new couple in class -- handsome, early 50s, and I wise ass welcomed them by warning that they had to read their parts in Hebrew. The husband, a gringo like me, laughed and said "No problem for Karen -- she was born in Israel!" When we got to her, indeed she read the Hebrew part and smiled at me -- I dug her right away.

Driving Barry back to the restaurant lot, we talked about faith, and how great it would be to truly be men of faith. We're working on it...

Thursday was a sort of biz lunch -- fetching a check from an old friend who handles our smaller cases -- and Friday was a haircut, Roasters, and then home for a nap. Oh yeah -- I did some lawyering for D1 about an issue with a consultant she works with. Not to pat my own legal back, but I gangstered it -- worked it out to D1's complete favor, and tamed a bully with a JD from Harvard. Yeah, I guess I still dig that.

Last night, I met Kenny at Captain's Tavern for a farewell dinner. He and Joelle are leaving for Maine next week. They're also going to France in June -- Kenny wants to see Normandy. I told him it was probably my favorite historical thing ever on our Euro trips -- he'll love it, too, though the Bayeux Tapestry is closed for renovation for 2  years -- we got to see it with Loni and Mike and impressed D1 when we told her -- she's a Medeival History buff.

Today I shall walk, and await the call from Barry and Donna and Scott --to meet at Mo's in Aventura. From there, I fetch Little Man for an overnight, and then tomorrow we meet Barry and Co again -- for a Marlins game. And Wifey is attending! Often she blows off multi event days, but tomorrow she's in.

After the game -- dinner with, hopefully, BOTH Ds and Baby Man, too, then likely a tired drive home, F1 and Doral Golf traffic permitting.

So not much, but indeed busy, busy, busy. Nice to have these sorts of things going on.

A Lovely Stay

 So there is a VERY short list: those for whom I provide pick up or drop off at MIA, or any airport. I rarely get asked, but when I do, I remind people that I charge a LOT more than Uber. But I make exceptions for those sharing my DNA, and my nephew has, I believe, 25% of mine -- and so I agreed to fetch him Saturday evening.

There was a stupid Inter Miami game starting near pickup time at the stupid stadium which, in the MOST boneheaded move (and that's saying something in South Florida) was built hard against MIA! Luckily, WAZE directed me in such a way that I only sat in a few blocks of LeJeune Road traffic, and then I only messed up Henry's location a bit -- confusing a sign saying which arrival doors were coming with the actual number. No big whoop -- I found him, and we were off to Carrot Express.

Henry is mostly vegetarian, and I figured a restaurant with the word Carrot would work, and it did -- we brought home some bowls and wraps, and had a nice reunion with his aunt, Wifey.

Sunday we walked, and then later the Ds and their men and dogs descended. I went HARD on the Zhyr, dragging Henry and Jonathan down with me -- I squeeze by hand Mandarin oranges -- giving the juice alone to the grandsons and the juice PLUS vodka and ice to the grown men. We had a terrific time -- laughter, comparing notes of the manifold examples of nuttiness in our families. I drunk FaceTimed Valerie, Henry's wonderful wife home in Boulder Creek, Cal, and told her she MUST join us next time -- she so agreed, and I know loved seeing her man with his cousins and aunt and uncle.

Apparently we ordered Thai later, though my memory of that is fuzzy -- but after the kids left, Wifey, Henry, and I played music together on Sonos as the ETOH processed away. It was a banner family day.

Yesterday, I worked out while Henry worked, and then I fetched him and Wifey, for brunch at Roasters, a trip for Wifey to get a scrip in South Miami, and then off to Matheson Hammock -- for Grandma Sunny's yahrzeit. We showed Henry where we  placed her cremains into the Bay, by the mangroves, and how white butterflies joined us, and how we returned a few weeks later where most of us were able to tell sweet tales of our departed mother and grandmother.

Henry had only warm memories -- how he felt she loved him, her sunny disposition, bagels and juice for breakfast...

We sat on the front porch later, after a dinner of leftovers, and spoke of many things -- ships and shoes and sealing wax -- cabbages and kings.

This am, after coffee Henry and Wifey said goodbye, on account of Wifey was "All talked out" and so I took Henry to Deli Lane, where 30 plus years server Carmen was there. She told us they were moving this Summer, close by, to allow another high rise to go on the land since Miami isn't already too overcrowded. Summon sarcasm emoji.

I dropped Henry at the Thesis Hotel -- his work is at The Biltmore, and he will put in long hours filming a corporate event and showing highlights each evening. I'd love to see him again -- but he will be literally working around the clock -- until a flight back to SFO Friday am.

He is a delight. So cool. So handsome. So wise -- I am proud he is my blood. He can teach a master class in overcoming the challenges of a tough childhood, making essentially ALL great life choices, and ending up a successful business owner, creative, married to his high school sweetheart, and seeing the world together. He surfs. He has dear friends.

He is the trustee for his never had a job father. He will likely end up in the same role for his mentally ill/drug addicted brother. At some point, he will be the caregiver for his mom - my sister.

The joke is he and Val have no TIME for kids -- though they savor their life with only the furry kind of those -- adorable Enso, a cute little dog, and other animals they foster.

Next weekend, another nephew comes in -- not a biological one -- Scott. We will meet for breakfast at Mo's, and then a Marlins game with Little Man Sunday. I just reminded them that F1 is in Miami this weekend -- so avoid Joe Robbie at all costs.

But the over-arching message is: young folks are where it's at. You pick up their enthusiasm; their energy. And when you truly love them -- well -- that's as good as it gets.

Two Events

 So after Tuesday night's Marlins game, where I said what I always do: "Boy -- I LOVE coming here," Wednesday was a lecture at our local very rich reform synagogue, Temple Beth Am.

Jeff sent me tix, and when I told Wifey she made a face, so I asked Norman to come instead. We drove over through VERY serious security. The first guy looked like retired Mossad, and sure enough, asked me in a Hebrew accent for our tickets. He was in full combat gear, holding an Uzi, and with a death skull badge the colors of the Israeli flag. Next, more cops, Pinecrest and Miami Dade. Such is the joy of being a Jew in America these days, especially at high profile gatherings. Inside, Norman noticed several US Marshalls -- the better to protect the speaker, Judge Roy K Altman.

So if someone started a movement to amend the Constitution to allow naturalized citizens to run for US President, I would join, to let this Venezuelan born fellow run. I was BLOWN AWAY. I had heard about him before, but meeting him in person -- Clinton-like -- he came to say hello to my row-mates, Randy and Laura, retired AUSAs who he knew, and then shook my hand asking if we had met. I told him no, but we had a few connections: young Mike Levine was a dear friend, and Roy BEAMED -- loves the young lawyer, And he also knew Jonathan's amazing abuela Judy -- a fellow Venezuelan Jew.

I'm a total schlepper, and as he talked to me, I was the only person in the room -- a room filled with true Miami machers. Yep -- born political ways.

He played quarterback and baseball for Columbia (before it was anti-semitic as his introducer noted) and then Yale Law Review. He clerked for judges, became an AUSA, and worked for Podhurst, a top old school PI guy. He's 6' 3", 230 lbs, and movie star handsome. D1 noted "Dad has a new man crush." She's correct.

He just wrote a book called "Israel on Trial" in which he handles, like a lawyer, the case for Israel. He has taken 10% of US District judges to Israel, sort of a judicial Birthright, and is going to start taking state Supreme Court Justices this Fall. As he noted, in small states, Federal judges are the most powerful people: "Ya got us for life!"

His mission is for 60% of Americans. As he noted, 10% are deeply anti-semitic -- on the right (Tucker Carlson) and the left (Ilhan Omar). They're beyond talking to. 30% are philo - semitic, many Evangelicals who LOVE Jews, and, despite what we have heard, he noted, NOT just to convert us -- they truly feel we are their big brothers and sisters. But 60% are merely uninformed -- tossing around terms like "genocide" and "colonialism" without having any real idea what history and the truth is.

It was a rare, life moving event for me. And, his wife, Rachel Silverstein, is a local environmentalist -- started Waterkeepers which works at reef preservation and keeping Biscayne Bay pollution free. Talk about a power couple!

Thursday we were supposed to visit grandkids, but Wifey was still recovering from a cold, and the boys had their OTHER abuela to visit -- her birthday. So we have minor grandson withdrawal, but should be cured tomorrow -- family reunion visit with my nephew Henry coming tonight.

As a cranky old man, I typically no longer do MIA picks or drops, but I told Henry I was free all day and would happily fetch him. And then...I got a WAZE notice -- the stupid soccer team is playing tonight at the even stupider stadium they built hard against MIA -- so getting there may be untenable. I'm giving it a try -- if the stupid soccer fans are in their seats, it should be ok -- if not - -Henry can Uber to some off site spot and I'll fetch him there. Man -- building a 30K person stadium right next to one of the busiest places in Florida -- no -- THE busiest -- height of absurdity -- especially for soccer, a sport nobody cares about. The team is part owned by David Beckham -- I mean, he IS good looking, but not enough so I have to be delayed...

So hopefully we have a MOST memorable day tomorrow. Henry sent me a pic of us together on the roof of the East Hotel -- drinking heavily at the bar -- and somehow this was 9 years ago. I told him we need to make new memories.

Next week, another nephew, this one not biological, Scott, is coming to town for the weekend. We have plans to take Little Man to see the Marlins, after a night here with Wifey and me. He told D1 he LOVES staying with us -- the "very few rules" vibe must be the trick...

Baby Man got a new cast for his broken finger -- poor little guy. But this, too, shall pass -- D1 joked that on her visit to the ortho yesterday, she purloined a few extra finger splints, figuring there may well be future finger injuries with 2 active boys.

Here's to a great extended weekend! Nice to be vertical these days...

Take Me Out To

 So Norman and I made some dinner plans tonight. His wife is off in Canada, and Wifey was supposed to be hosting Mah Jong, but instead is recovering from the cold I likely gave her. She can never say I don't give her anything!

We were deciding where to meet, and then Norman realized the Marlins are in town, hosting the Cards tonight at 6:40. And, I added to our chat -- they sell FOOD at Loan Depot Park! So he'll be here at 5:30 and we'll head off to Hallowed Ground.

I love visiting the site, where the Orange Bowl sat for many years. The memories always flood back like friendly ghosts, for me, dating to Fall of 1979 when I attended my first Canes games. For Norman, born and raised in the County of Dade, as the song goes, his memories go ALL The way back -- the first days of the Dolphins when he was a boy!

They have parking garages now, but I always avoid them. One time it took me 45 minutes to egress -- I prefer parking on peoples' front lawns for a fee, and hearing the classic "No blockee" guarantees.

Years ago, for an Opening Day, I paid a fellow, and when I returned to my car, it was indeed blocked in -- and the house was all shut up. It was 7th inning, and back then they had the in stadium club, so I feared I might be trapped for hours. I opened my car, and got out a legal pad, and wrote, just to let off anger: "I am a Gringo Palao Priest (Palao is the evil form of Santeria) and since you lied to me and blocked me in, I have put a CURSE upon your house." I slipped the note under the door.

Immediately, the door opened -- the Cuban fellow was there the whole time -- the car blocking me was HIS -- I needed only have kept knocking on his door. He moved his car, and said, in heavily accented English "PLEASE -- REMOVE THE CURSE!" I stood in his front yard and waved my arms -- and said something in Yiddish, telling him "Sorry about the misunderstanding -- curse removed!"

Hopefully tonight we don't have parking drama.

But I SO love baseball -- my first sports love of all. And the Marlins stadium is terrific -- truly the coolest in the MLB. D1 was the team dietitian, and that still makes me proud, though she's long gone from that gig.

I am sure Norman and I will solve all manner of world and personal problems as the game plays out -- Marlins are a scrappy young team this year -- in second place despite having a bargain basement payroll.

And each time the First Baseman makes a play, it'll take me back to my days in Little League, and later, to the MacArthur High teams, where I was a serviceable player -- until I quit in 11th grade for the far more important sport of girls. Being a baseball player in Levittown in the late 70s was no chick magnet -- may have had the opposite effect on the more hippie-type chicks.

But tonight it'll be root root root for the Marlins -- among great company, and the friendly spirits...

CLE

 Ah, to stay an active member of the Florida Bar. I'd a never thunk it -- I'd still be a licensed lawyer approaching my 40th year. Paul had his 50th anniversary in 2025 -- sent a nice plastic plate and certificate to my house for him, since my house is our official Bar address now.

It's funny -- Paul was chatting with a rich guy where he lives, and the fellow was telling us he has a 1.5 acre property in the Five Towns of LI. I KNOW that's worth serious coin. The fellow, who I think was named Irwin, asked where our office was -- and Paul responded -- "Down on Brickell." I chuckled to myself -- even though we've been mostly retired for years now, and if you try to get Paul on the phone, it may take a day or two -- he can't give up the image yet -- as if Irwin was going to refer a case to us.

We actually DO get cases, still -- late last week I was on the phone with one of our guys, David, on his way home from signing up a client in Broward -- truck wreck. I have ZERO problem telling everyone we don't have a staff -- just a couple of old guys who still keep an active firm. But, as Richie Aprile said on The Sopranos -- to each his own.

But anyway, to stay licensed and current, you have to take continuing education classes -- thirty hours over a 3 year period plus a 2.5 hour mandatory professionalism seminar. Since today was a slow day, and I got in my 3.5 miles of walking, I dedicated all afternoon to the effort.

I was bored stiff for 2 2 hour sessions about mindfulness and dealing with difficult clients, and another about changes in areas of the law I have zero to do with. But the Florida Bar class was something I looked a little forward to, since Norman gave me advance warning.

My old boss Ed's boy Bobby's disbarment was featured. Bobby never stole money, or comingled trust account funds, or was convicted of a felony -- the trinity of typical disbarment reasons. He just kept acting like an asshole -- in Court, in depositions. One of his escapades was video taped, and they play it for the lesson on how to NOT be an asshole -- Bobby reaching across the table and snatching some stickers from his opposing counsel, and telling a woman lawyer she must "be a dominatrix."

I guess Bobby had enough of the Law anyway -- I mean -- after the first 2 strikes, if he wanted to keep his ticket he could have -- but as Norman pointed out, his Dad wanted fame as a successful lawyer, which he had years ago, but his son is the TRULY famous lawyer -- for getting kicked out of the club.

The last section was a talk by a former Miami big shot lawyer now living in Miami, who came across SO smarmy, I wished I was good enough with tech to send it to Barry. The guy reminded me of James Lipton, the Actor's Studio guy Barry and I used to poke endless fun over -- this fellow actually ended his talk by suggesting we look up videos by his mentors, and "enjoy them with friends, or maybe over a glass of wine."

Yeah -- no thanks, dude. For me it would be vodka, and the LAST videos I would ever watch would be of self important lawyers.

Anyway, I have lots of time -- I'm current until October of 2027, and the CLE I'm doing now will get me there, and then I'll have until October of 2030 to do more -- or will I?

I kind of always thought I'd be a lawyer maybe 10 to 20 years, tops -- make and invest enough shekels to get me where I needn't deal with, well, assholes on a daily basis -- even now that the Bar is trying to tame some of the asshole behavior, it seems.

So 4 decades? Seems like plenty. Now I just have to get in some hours on "technology" -- maybe that will actually teach me something. I'll probably knock a few more hours off this week -- but next weekend is filled.

My nephew Henry is coming Saturday, and staying 3 nights. He has a video gig on the Beach -- last time it was a tech company from SF who hired him to film their daily corporate team building stuff, edit it, and show it each night -- cutting out the cocaine and hooker parts. Ha. I made that up!

But I look forward to catching up with Henry -- I think Sunday the Ds and grandkids and all dogs will join us -- Henry doesn't drink much, but he will. We will NOT, however, try to get him to violate his veganism -- even if we have that 3rd martini.

Speaking of which, maybe I'll take Atty Smarmy's advice, and go pour myself a Sunday night happy hour -- no videos, though -- maybe just some Tom Petty on the Sonos.

What's New, Dad? Nothing -- Just The Way I Like It

 I used to make fun of my Dad when he gave his inevitable response to my question when we would speak weekly on the phone, or see each other bi-weekly, when I was in college. Really, I would interrogate -- don't you wish ANYTHING would change?

I was in my late teens to 20, and each day brought a new experience, academic or social. Dad loved hearing about them -- living college (something he never had the ability to do) vicariously -- but for himself, he adored the status quo.

Well, now, as I approach 65, I get it. I have little desire to travel, and something has to really blow my skirt up to get me to leave my house -- a given at least weekly to see the Ds and grandkids. But other than them...

Last night we met Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- lovely time with them before they leave for Maine. They typically don't travel much once they're there, but this June are heading to France -- Kenny's always wanted to see Normandy, as I did (we were there 12 years ago) -- and as we heard about their trip, all I could think was -- nah, I'm good.

Today I resumed my long constitutionals after some downtime with my common cold. I got in my 7K steps, and later, when Wifey wanted to get in some steps, walked more -- nearing 5 miles. I ran into Dr. Jose, Wifey's neurologist and UM Neuro Chair -- he asked after her and we talked about our mutual friend Barry. Later, we saw friendly Persian neighbor Mohammed, whose superstar daughter, in Peds residency in D.C., just married her neuro resident fiance, in Portugal. We were at their dual med school graduation party from FSU, and Mohammed and his wife hoped they would stay in Miami for a couples match residency -- didn't happen. But, he hopes, they're return to work here , someday.

We saw the house next to Lili and Jeff sold -- Wifey's friend Libby lived there -- a years ago book club. We looked it up -- Libby sold for a bit above $1M -- latest sale, for the 1/2 acre property was $3.6M -- to a company that bought it from a disbarred lawyer and really spruced the place up. Still -- that much for a .5 acre house? I guess living next to our friends has cache...

We returned home, and I watched the final episode of "The Pit," which was amazing. Wifey watched last night as I dozed off. We started "Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead" and got 45 minutes in before seeing why it was a flop. Now Wifey is watching Coppola's first film, "Dementia 17." I lost interest after an hour.

But the point is, we're doing lots of nothing today and tomorrow, and loving it! Come Monday (as Buffet sang), there'll be more errands. Wednesday night I'm going to see Judge Roy Altman speak at Beth Am's "Hub" their attempt at a local 92St Y which is indeed doing great -- terrific events there since it opened. Altman wrote a new book about Israel, is probably the smartest judge in Florida, and all around cool guy -- I look forward to hearing what he has to say.

Bible study, as I call our Torah classes, begins the following Wednesday -- Norman and Barry and I plan to eat and drink well before each session, even though Barry will have some serious driving -- looks like he may have some new duties for UM Med up in NE Lauderdale...

I was looking at old UM Law stuff before -- the 40th anniversary of our graduation is next month. I spotted several names: Balli, Bidner, Podesta, Snowden, who have left this mortal coil.

I hope they got to enjoy their lives. I know Charles did -- like my boys and me, ravenous Canes fan, and he got to see them soar.

So I savor each day -- even the uneventful ones. Sometimes when nothing's new -- it's how I like it, too.

You Have a Cold? I Vould BUY Your Cold!

 I'm lucky, particularly as the grandfather of a kindergartner and pre schooler: I rarely get colds. I checked -- my last one was last May, whereas typically folks get 3-4 per year. My Dad rarely got sick either -- strong immune system all the way until he dropped dead at 63.

Some friends seem ALWAYS sick. It's rare that Jeff isn't on his way to or from a pulmonologist, or internist -- and HIS grandkids live up North. I guess I'm lucky.

But late Friday, I started feeling pro-dromic, as the word goes -- like an illness is coming on. Mild fever, body aches, waterworks, sneezing. By Tuesday, it was full on (after "DTF St. Louis" I can never hear that expression again without thinking of another meaning). I had a rare, important business lunch with Paul and a former client, and I drove up to Houston's -- not shaking hands with my companions, and struggling through it. Back in the day of full working, DayQuill would have gotten me through -- now -- I just got to go home.

Wifey's mah jong crew was assembled, and I made one requested Cosmo, and was asleep by 830. I hid in the library while the cleaning ladies were there Wednesday, and ordered some chicken soup and a tuna sandwich via Uber Eats. I require zero care from anyone when I am sick.

I took it easy Thursday, as the symptoms eased, and today, mercifully, I am all better. Ahhhh. What a relief.

The experience brought back a funny memory of a very eccentric man -- my late father in law. His sense of humor would have made Andy Kaufman scratch his head. Once I was VERY sick with a cold when he visited, and I waved and told him no hand shaking. His response? "Oy -- you have a cold. I NEVER get a cold. I vould buy your cold from you. You vant to sell it????" To this day, well past a decade after his death, I don't understand his humor.

His other gem was when we attended Canton, and I ordered the "special steak," which came flaming, and "vas GOOD steak --- it's soft." The young server would ask if he wanted anything, and he would ask "Your mother. Your father. They're Chinese, too?" The server would glare and say "Yes they are."

I would get up and follow the young man into the back, hand him a $20 bill and explain my father in law was mentally ill -- please forgive him. Hopefully this prevented spittle, or worse, in our shrimp and lobster sauce.

All I know is, feeling crappy is, well, crappy -- even the classic common cold. I DID have a few cocktails last night with Dr. Barry, who has a family member with a far more serious health issue going on -- he needed to unwind a bit from dealing with that.

And tonight, we're meeting Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- the top restaurant in Pinecrest, which is a surprisingly low bar. We have very few good restaurants here -- Joelle proposed a new Key Biscayne place, but Wifey voted no with her arthritis -- could we stay closer?

Indeed, they have prime beef -- very soft. My late father in law would have approved. They also got their liquor license, so I can have a pair of martinis. We will toast to our friends upcoming snowbird flight to Maine -- they'll be there May to September. No wait -- that's a song. They may stay through November, as Kenny turns 65 then and I think he wants his big day celebrated there on golden pond -- which Thompson Lake truly is.

I'm still conflicted about my upcoming Medicare birthday, though yesterday I spent 1 hour and 20 minutes with the affable AARP United Health agent setting up all of my Medicare supplements -- I have been approved! So in June I get to call Florida Blue and tell them they've extracted the final $2200 monthly premium for me. So there.

I thought initialy I might want a sunset sail with some friends, and dinner with the kids the following night. Now I'm not sure. I WILL celebrate somehow -- turning 65 I gotta give thanks to the Big Man for another year on this mortal coil...

All I know is, it sure feels great to not be sick!

Sunny 106

 So today would have been my mother's 106th birthday - or would it have been? She always celebrated April 13th, but years later when Wifey took her to an appointment for a doc, she learned that Medicare had her with a different birthdate -- I think April 11. We asked her about it, and she said "Oh -- who cares now? 13 is my lucky number -- that's my birthday. So there."

Classic Sunny -- not a fact based, worrying type of person. Luckily, she had my Dad, who WAS fact based and a worrier -- his taking care of life's business gave my Mom the freedom to be that type of spirit. After Dad died, I filled in his role -- making sure my Mom, who never managed stuff, learned about checking accounts, paying property taxes, FPL, etc...In fact, when it came time for law school, I applied to UF and UM, and sort of wanted to go to Gainesville for a change after 4 years in Coral Gables -- but figured Sunny needed me nearby, so I stayed in So Fla. It worked out just fine...

My Mom was loving and giving. When I made my first big money, and proudly told her about it, she answered with "Oh, that's nice, David -- you need anything for the girls?" She would never let me replace her furniture, which we joked would go to the mythical Wicker Museum upon her demise, nor pay for expensive things -- with 2 exceptions.

When she turned 80, and then 85, I took the whole family to SF and then LA to celebrate. She loved it -- having everyone together in places she loved. At the 85th, we drove to Colorado Blvd in Pasadena, to let her recall her WW II days where she lived as a newlywed with my Dad, who was on the Army base there -- and she worked for the Dean of CalTech. She recalled she would get coffee and a bun every am at Owl Drugs before taking a trolley up the hills to the CalTech campus. We stepped into the Gap store -- I asked the manager if he knew where Owl Drugs used to be. He laughed and took us outside -- we were standing in the Owl Drugs Building. What a moment across the decades.

I'm so grateful Mom got to meet my Ds -- into young adulthood. My youngest grandson has an S name -- after Sunny. He is sweet like she was. His brother's middle name, Hy, is after my Dad. We just learned that his graduation from kindergarten is set for May 29th -- great grandpa Hy's birthday. I take that as a happy message from The Big Man...

Speaking of Baby Man, he had a rough day yesterday -- a scooter crash where it landed on his index finger. D1 took him to urgent care -- sure enough -- displaced fracture. They splinted him up, and I called my dear friend Lew, a hand surgeon, and texted a photo of the x ray. Lew is in Ohio on a work gig, but said surgery IS needed -- a pin that will insure the bone heals the right way. He can do it on Monday -- but since his Broward hospitals have been shedding Pediatrics, on account of it's not a big earner, he'd do it at West Boca.

I think D1 will decide if she wants to wait, or possibly have it done this week closer to home -- Dr. Barry has a guy, but we needn't bother him for a finger...

The joy of parenting boys. Little Man already broke his foot -- the running joke is if you have active boys -- get to know ortho surgeons...

Hopefully Little Man swims through and gets back on the scooter...

But this am I looked skyward and spoke to my Mom. She was my first love. She was beautiful, and being loved by a beautiful woman gave me boundless confidence -- particularly with women. Of course, now that I'm near Medicare, I reflect how much easier life may have been as a gay man -- but like Jack Nicholson said, if I could just stomach the sex part.

It's funny -- I was always SO close with my Dad, I saw myself as a boy Dad, too. Turned out, I was to be a girl Dad, but now I have grandsons -- so I get more experience with orthopedic surgeons for issues other than scoliosis.

Back to Mom. She lived 30 years longer than Dad, and I'm convinced a big part of it was her ability to NOT internalize the anxieties of her family. She had moments, of course -- I remember her terribly worried when my sister's husband called to tell her that unless she sent $2000 to fix their roof, "your grandsons will be sleeping in wet beds." But it passed, and she came to realize all of her kids' life choices were theirs.

And oh boy, did she make us laugh -- often unintentionally. She had her own internal dialogue, and occasionally it would surface. To this day, 4:30 pm is "Grandma Sunny Time." Why? We were driving home, on Old Cutler Road, and out of nowhere she sighed and said "Ah...it's 4:30." Wifey looked at her -- was there a show on? Did she have to be somewhere we didn't know about? Was someone coming to our house to visit? "No -- I just looked at my watch." So -- Grandma Sunny Time.

I thank her for messing me up FAR less than most mothers messed up their kids -- particularly sons. I see a lot of that around -- well meaning Moms, who can't quite figure out how to cut the umbilical cord -- even well into adulthood.

Not Sunny. When I graduated 6th Grade, she wrote in my book "I admire you. I respect you. And mostly, I love you." I carry those feelings deep inside, now 13 years after her death.

And today I wish her, as they say on FaceBook, a happy heavenly birthday.

Bad Day At Pre Pinecrest Four Decades Past

 April 11, 1986 -- my friends and I were in the home stretch of our 3 year law school stint. We'd graduate the following month, travel to Tampa to take the feared Bar exam, and move on with our lives. But there was an awful tragedy that day near SW 122 Street and SW 82 Avenue, in what would later become Pinecrest, where we have lived since 2000. It was a tale beyond "Miami Vice," which was making our city famous then.

There were 2 owners of a landscaping company, Platt and Matix, who had met in the army. Later we learned they were white supremacists, loosely connected to the 2 creeps who brought down the Oklahoma City building. They raised funds for their "cause" by robbing banks and armored trucks -- all up and down the US 1 corridor in Miami. They shot and killed random people in the Everglades who were out target shooting to steal the cars they used. Platt was married to a French Jewish girl, Regina -- she was found shot to death in what was ruled a suicide. Matt's wife died mysteriously in Ohio, and he collected her life insurance. These were REAL bad hombres -- worse than the bogey man immigrants Trump warns about.

Anyway, the FBI staked them out that fair day -- meeting at the Home Depot on SW 136 Street that I visit all the time. They saw one of the stolen cars and trailed it -- pulling it over at a house on 82 Avenue, by an FPL substation on the west side of the Avenue. The FBI learned an awful lesson that day -- bad guys often outgunned them. The creeps had high powered weapons -- the FBI old school revolvers from the days of Melvin Purvis. A terrible shootout ensued -- Special Agents Dove and Grogan were killed, 5 other FBI agents shot, and finally, a true bad ass named Mireles, himself shot, took out the 2 pieces of crap.

Apparently the shooting is studied at length these days, and now the FBI is properly armed. It was an awful tragedy. And, this being Miami, the smallest town big city in the US, of course I had to have a connection.

When I was in undergraduate, I had a teaching assistant named Giselle -- she later went back to UM Law, Class of '85. We stayed friends, and a few weeks after the shooting, I saw her outside the law library, on a bench sobbing. Turns out, the French Jewish girl Platt married was her sister -- she told me the whole family knew the whole time he had killed her since she likely learned of his evil, double life, and after the Miami Shootout, as the event came to be known, the truth was finally out.

Giselle and my path, or at least life paths, would cross again, in 1993. Giselle married a FHP trooper. We were living in Wifey's high school house, while our Hurricane Andrew house, "mistroyed," as D1 adorably malapropped, was being rebuilt. One night I got a call from Manny, a neighbor. Any reason guys would be taking away my AC compressors at 9 pm? Nope. Another neighbor, Doug, a tough biker dude married to a Jewess who looked and seemed like Katey Segal in "Sons of Anarchy," followed the pickup truck with my stolen compressors as he told the cops where the truck was. Metro Dade and FHP pulled the truck over next to Killian High -- it was a Cuban guy from Hialeah who owned an AC company and figured he'd steal components from Andrew construction houses.

I went to the scene. His 11 year old son was with him, balling in the back seat of the trooper's car. The trooper, Rivera, said to the thief in Spanish "Dad of the year you are, eh?" Anyway, Rivera recognized my name as he wrote the report -- did I know his wife Giselle? I did indeed! He told me she worked for the Attorney General's Office and they were moving soon to Tally.

Meanwhile, Dave being Dave, Prudential paid for new compressors -- better ones -- and as part of the thief's plea deal, he had to pay me $3K! I agreed he needn't go to prison -- it was a first offense. But turned out crime indeed paid -- for ME -- the victim. Another Miami twist.

Back to the Miami Shooting. Last night, during my 2 hour break from sleeping, I read about the details again, and decided to look up my old friend Giselle. Turns out she died in December, in Tally, at 69. I don't think she ever had kids, and the death notice listed her maiden name again, so I assume she and the trooper were divorced.

I drive by the scene of the shooting at least several times per week. We may even go to Platea tonight, the great restaurant located right there. The Village named the part of the avenue after Dove and Grogan, and there is a placque there.

Our old accident reconstruction expert, Bill Fogarty, had his office just South of the substation. When I visited once, he walked me over to the substation and showed me the bullet marks -- still in the concrete. I assume Bill has passed on -- if not, he's nearing 100. 

But man -- how did 40 years pass since that fateful day? In October, those of us still living from Class of '86 will be 4 decade Bar members. If there is a reunion, which I'll skip on account of I haven't enjoyed ANY reunion since my high school's 10th, it'll be 40 years.

Wifey and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary in January. I have often fallen short as a husband, but never killed her and tried to make it look like a suicide like the white supremacist felon Matix did, right? At least I got THAT going for me.

I shouldn't joke, but at least after 4 decades, no one can claim, as my nephew of another mister Scott likes to always remark: "Too soon."

40 years is in no way ever too soon...

Through The Red Tape, It Appears

 So the company, Vitals, that works with the NYC Board of Health (must have been some sweet kickbacks there) was on point, as the younguns say, and they shipped my birth certificate in less than 48 hours. I made an appointment at the SSA office today, and then, like Petty said, the waiting was the hardest part.

But last night, we cruised up to The Palm, and had a stellar dinner with the Ds and their men -- 2 martinis, shared steaks, and a fish, and sides, which always makes me think of the late, great, Rob Reiner playing Jordan Belfort's flummoxed CPA Dad in "Wolf of Wall Street" when he audits a $20K dinner bill, and the Jonah Hill character said "the sides were expensive," and Reiner retorts: "What -- do these sides cure cancer???"

We drove home happy and blessed, and then this am I awoke, and did not go to Innisfree like Yeats, but rather to Cutler Bay. I arrived at 9:50 for my 10:10 appointment, checked in on my phone, and barely had time to sit my tuches in the plastic chair when I got a text to report to window 11.

A nice young Cuban American guy was there, and was completely competent, courteous, and professional. I showed him the certificate from Queens, and it seems we killed off 7/12 DOB Dave and replaced him with 7/18 DOB Dave. He then registered me for Medicare beginning July 1 -- the very reason for the season, and I was off -- he even asked me as a Queens native if I was a Mets fan, and I bored him with tales of my childhood when they won the '69 Series, but now I was all Miami Marlins. He was, too, though for 5 years living in Baltimore he went to Os games. Ah, baseball. To American Jews and American Cubans, though we may love football, basketball, and hockey (soccer --  yuck), baseball is our birthright...

I celebrated with a Greek omelette at LOL -- realizing I hadn't been there in months. I texted Scott, who LOVES the place, and he asked me who I had been cheating with. I replied Roasters, mostly, and a few trysts with Crema, and First Watch, and House of Bagels, and the newly opened H and H Bagels. Hey -- I got one wife going on 40 years, can't I have variety with my breakfast spots?

Tonight I plan to Zoom cocktail with Barry and Donna, and hopefully Eric and Dana if they're free -- probably the best lasting change from The Covid Plague -- our Friday pm get togethers without having to leave the comfort of our homes and battle traffic.

Oy, traffic. Last night, as we drove home around 10, we came upon the biggest boondoggle in Miami highway history -- the new double decking of the Dolphin. At 10, they close it and I thought it was only Eastbound -- so Wifey and I got stuck having to exit at 12th Avenue, and go South. I drove down Flagler, though old Miami, and then to The Trail, finally back to The Palmetto. Note to self -- after hours, avoid the Dolphin until completion in 2029, if alive -- take the Airport Expressway instead.

But tomorrow, traffic warrior Barry is driving to the 305 on a day off -- meeting us for dinner at Bahia Honda, a great local fish place Kenny turned us on to -- near FIU. It's actually right off both the TPK and Palmetto -- so only 20 minutes for Donna and Barry, and a tad less for Wifey and me.

And Sunday, we're seeing Wifey's friends at Miami Shores CC, and then a visit with the grandsons.

Some stuff is worth driving for. And next week I shall go online, as Rey suggested, and confirm my electronic admittance to true elderliness -- Medicare. Wooo.

Persia Endures for Now

 So our, um, colorful POTUS, The Donald, really outdid himself with the rhetoric: threatening to "fucking blow Iran back to the Stone Age" if they didn't reopen the Strait of Hormuz by 8 pm last night. Since the guy says so many outrageous things, probably high level geopolitical leaders didn't really take him seriously, but, sure enough, what's left of Tehran government came to the table, brokered by Pakistan, of all nations, and agreed to let the oil flow again. No end of Persia last night.

For me, who cares about #1, while trying to avoid stepping into #2 (an underappreciated hilarious Rodney Dangerfield line from "Back to School), the stock market futures are flying as high as Artemis II. Hopefully my family gets to recapture most of the losses this latest adventure cost us -- on paper, anyhow.

Who knows what the future brings in the formerly united states. It may well be that the absurdity wrought by The Donald and his lap dogs will cause an even greater pendulum swing to The Left, which in many ways I fear even more than The Right. Oh boy. My Ds and grandsons (2 here and hopefully more to come) will have to deal.

Back to #1. Per UPS tracking, my certified birth certificate copies are on their way -- due here later today -- so I can make another appointment and hopefully convince the Brazil-like folks at SSA that I am indeed who I have claimed to be since July of 1961, and not some other guy born 6 days earlier, as their records seem to show. Free Dave's Medicare! Maybe I'll get a T shirt made.

In other domestic silliness, Wifey got her new phone yesterday and got it up and running, so my Man Friday duties have ended, mostly. Cara was late to get the message and asked me to coordinate the Old Ladies Lunch, as I am calling it, set for Sunday. Cara, Ronnie, and Wifey negotiated a series of issues probably as complex as the Iran War deal -- driving distances, time, location, etc...They seemed to have agreed on the Miami Shores CC, so we'll get to see the grandsons early, before D1 whisks them to their typical event packed non school day.

Ah -- driving distances. We have a family dinner tomorrow at The Palm, since closer Christy's was full. Wifey didn't believe me -- I had to show her the web site to prove that yes, we MUST drive the extra 20 minutes each way as I claimed. Jesus Christ, as Paulie Walnuts said when seeing Big Carmine with his urine bag in South Florida -- "kill me right fucking now!"

Still, as Barry and I reaffirmed whilst FaceTiming the other night -- we are blessed with First World Problems, mostly. He told me how some new trainees, faced with three deaths in the PICU within a week, cried that it was "unjust." Yep -- sure is. Where is the justice when a precious child gets diagnosed with a dread disease, or drowns because an out of state AirBnb user forgets that most houses in South Florida have swimming pools, or gets hit by a car -- the unholy trinity of child tragedies.

I told Barry to remind the fledglings that there's a building right across 12th Avenue NAMED for Justice -- and it's pretty rare one finds justice there.

Still, we get snatches of exquisiteness. Yesterday I picked up, right in my back yard, a small coral rock with a clearly defined clam or oyster shell fossil attached. I'm keeping it to show Little Man, who is already learning about fossils -- to blow his mind with the fact that his native land is essentially a drained coral reef, and the limestone mostly the shells of ancient marine creatures. He and his brother are sponges -- walking through life taking in so much. Our job is to make as much of what they absorb good, and happy, and strained out of the bad and evil -- they'll learn of that soon enough.

But for the next 2 weeks, at least -- no bombing Persia back to the Stone Ages. And maybe the normal folks will indeed finally overthrow the mullahs...AND faddahs (I can never escape Alan Sherman playing in my head).

So steak tomorrow night. And CC food Sunday. I remain well over fed. Let's see if the stock market gets fat today, too.

My SSA Adventure

 So I had a 9 am appointment with the Cutler Bay SSA office, to get my birth date changed from 7/12 to 7/18. Turns out, even though I have been on SSA.Gov for years, when you actually want benefits, like Medicare or SS payments, they double check, and my online account was locked out to to the discrepancy -- so I had to go into the maw of the beast.

I got there at 815, and there were already 30 people on line. My "Brazil" fears were becoming real. But at 850, a guard asked for people with appointments, and 5 of us raised our hands. We got a different line, and by 8:55 I was seated by cubicle 31 with a drawn curtain. At precisely 9, the curtain raised to a nice young Black fellow asking if I was there for a new SS card. I laughed and showed him mine "older than your parents, I bet." Turns out he didn't have much of a sense of charm or humor.

I told him the issue. Did I have a birth certificate? I did -- the one they gave to my parents in Queen, NY in late July while JFK was president, and my mother mailed to me in 1986 so I could apply for a marriage license. I handed the darkened document to him, and he frowned, and then headed off to a "specialist."

"Nope -- you need a CERTIFIED copy." I told him it was the only one we ever had, and here's my passport, and SS card, and even my latest income tax return (I thought I was over-prepared).

Not happening, he said -- what I gave him had no seal! I tried to argue they didn't have seals back then, in Queens, a blue collar borough! I got nowhere, and he told me to go online with NYC Vital Records and they could send me a certified copy, or I could visit the office in Queens personally.

I recalled one of the most hilarious things my conseugro David ever said. When we gathered at City Hall in Manhattan, for D2 and Jonathan's legal wedding so D2 could go on Jonathan's health insurance, our fellow citizens were, well, let's say diverse. Turbans, saris, feathers -- you name it. David said "Wow -- this looks like the Cantina in "Star Wars." He nailed it! I imagine the Queens Vital Records office would be that to the nth degree!

So I moped out, and called D2, and interrogated her about Wifey's latest phone issue, which they were keeping from me. I'm not sure why -- so long as my wife isn't affected, Wifey's foibles don't anger me at all. D2 wasn't spilling the Tea, but it turns out Wifey has misplaced the phone AGAIN somewhere in our house. She has a new one supposably (Miami spelling) tomorrow via FedEx.

And D2 found the site I used to order my certified birth record, which should be UPSed here by late April. Assuming it comes, I will again travel to Cutler Bay, knowing an appointment really helps, and maybe be let back into the system ahead of July, when Medicare should start, and I can say adios to the $2200 monthly Obamacare premiums.

I'm thinking I WILL start getting SS when I turn 67 instead of waiting until 70. Might as well get SOME of the money back I paid in since my teen jobs in the 70s, and invest the proceeds rather than leaving it with the government. Probably when I apply, they'll ask for my Bar Mitzvah proof. Ha! That didn't happen until I was in my 30s, right here in Miami. I'll just bring Rabbi Yossi to the office if that happens -- they dig him in Miami Dade County -- he's a police chaplain.

Stadium Memories

 So we've had a fun first part of Pesach -- avoiding any actual seders the first night and having a VERY fun non seder, seder on night 2. The Ds, boys, Paul, Patricia and I all met at Casa D2, and Jonathan and I had a few Stoli Elit martinis -- Patricia had some  Harvester wine. No one else was drinking -- Paul's been teetotaling it for FAR too long, the Ds and Wifey....ugh.

Anyway, D2 read from her IPhone, we ate delicious Turkish take in, and had a terrific time -- even though Betsy kept shark-like appearing and stealing food from Baby Man, not to his happiness...

Last night, D1 dropped off Little Man on her way home from a Palmetto Bay dinner, and he spent the night. It was already late and he crashed -- I re-homed him early, and then  D2 came by, I drove her back to her place, and we had coffee with Jonathan -- deconstructing the holiday, of course.

And tonight is the grand opening of Freedom Park, the new soccer stadium butt next to MIA, and all I can thing of is its absurdity. First, I'd rather watch paint dry (my favorite metaphor for boring) than soccer, and the fact that the Mas family and Beckham built this thing exactly where you have to enter already too traffic choked MIA shows the power and corruption in our town. A neighbor was just complaining how it's taking months to get permits for an outdoor kitchen -- they slapped this 27K thing up in no time.

Whatever -- so long as I don't have to leave MIA around game times...

But I AM going to a sporting event tonight -- Kenny got some free tix to see the Canes baseball team play, on account of he's a retired Navy man and vets get free crap all the time. He DID retire as a captain, but it's not like he got shot at while he was on the Saratoga during Desert Storm...

He's bringing a few friends -- I haven't been to Mark Light Stadium in a few years, and always love it -- especially the memories of watching games with Eric and Barry in the early 80s. The Canes were always great but never won a ring until '82, sadly the year my Dad died, and so I missed the excitement. They won 3 more, and typically make the World Series, though lately they've struggled.

But on a typical Spring night, Barry would be studying Chemistry of some such, and I would say "Hey - Neil Heaton's pitching -- let's go." He would protest, but even before law school I was a convincing guy, and we would go -- what, I asked, would he remember more in decades -- Organic or P Chem -- or Canes games. I was right -- and he got into med school nonetheless.

Back in the day, the Orioles would Spring train in Miami, and they would play at least one game at Mark Light. I recall standing next to Ken Singleton and being shocked what a giant he was -- baseball is a game we less than stellar athletes think we can somehow play -- like Charlie Hough, with a beer belly and a multi pack cigarette habit. Maybe not so much...

So I'm off soon to meet Kenny and his dudes at Titanic -- a favorite place. It was KC Cagney's in college -- before that it was The Flick Coffeehouse, where the house comedian was  Gabe Kaplan, and Fred Neill, who wrote "Everybody's Talkin" used to play. A fellow named David Crosby played there, too, and one night met a shy blonde singer from Canada there -- they went back to Crosby's sailboat in Coconut Grove and worked on their tunes, and decided the coming scene was in Laurel Canyon in LA -- the blonde was Joni Mitchell. She probably doesn't remember anymore -- poor thing looks like she belongs in a nursing home.

Or maybe she has her memories still. I have mine -- and will create a few tonight.

Elder Abuse And Triggering a Memory

 So the Herald today began what will clearly be a series of articles about how DCF "kidnaps" elderly folks and places them in crappy ALFs and steals their money. One tale was about a retired accountant living alone and a hoarder, who went for an evaluation and ended up in a place in Hialeah that he called "Devil's Island." His niece in California was apparently the only Power of Attorney -- the article doesn't say why he didn't have competent local help -- and he spent a few years in poor care before he was placed in an apparently acceptable ALF in North Miami that he likes.

The article brought back a bad memory from about 15 years ago, when I was a Guardian ad Litem for a teenaged girl. Paul, he of more bleeding heart than I, got heavily involved with the program -- he was GAL for several kids and became friends with the Chief Judge at the time, Cindy Lederman. Paul convinced me to take the certification class, which was over several weekends in some dated facility in Allapatah, as I recall, and I became a GAL, too.

My first ward was an unusual teen. She came from a terrible background -- coke addict Mom with a series of boyfriends who beat up Mom and C, the girl, and when I met her, she was living in a group home for teen girls over by ZooMiami -- actually a very nice house on a nice street. We got to know each other a bit -- but here was the thing -- she was tested with a genius IQ. I saw reports from her teachers, and she was a talented writer. She was pretty, and I watched as she switched her demeanor -- speaking "white" to me and changing to ghetto when one of the other inner city girls spoke to her.

I met her over several months -- explaining that with her talents -- she could probably got to Harvard on a full scholarship -- just keep on the path she was on, having escaped a hellish childhood -- and she could be a female Obama. I even brought D2 with me on a visit -- home from UF -- to share happy tales of college life -- in hopes that would inspire C.

It was not to be. She got pregnant with her boyfriend, a convicted felon, and decided to keep her baby since "I will finally have someone who loves and needs me." Turns out, that's what's behind many teen pregnancies...

This led to a case management conference, which I attended by telephone. There were, no kidding, SEVEN paid DCF and fellow traveler people on the line -- psychologists, case managers, social workers, and their aides. All I could think of was my growing property tax bill and now knowing why it was growing. 

It was decided that the trailer C planned to move into when the baby came, with felon baby daddy, needed to be inspected. It was in DEEP Florida City. The 7 DCFers said to me "As GAL, you need to go check it out." 

I lost it -- reminding them of the group on the call, I was the only volunteer! Could one of them, paid nice government salaries, maybe make the visit? One of the bosses, a cool Black fellow I later met (he was flattered when I told him he resembled one of my childhood heroes, Walt Frazier) agreed, and asked one of the flunkies to make the visit. Lord.

Then C gave birth, and another conference. They told me they wished me to be GAL for the baby, too. I pointed out there could be no clearer conflict -- what if I decided the baby needed to be removed, but my existing client, C, wanted to keep the baby. The baby clearly needed his own advocate.

I got a call a few days later. They found someone who would be GAL for both -- my services were no longer needed. I got a copy of the Court Order relieving me of my duties.

Probably a better man and lawyer would have plowed on -- finding a new needy youth to help -- but my aversion to morons and moronic institutions won out. That was my last foray into the world of DCF.

Paul presses on, and I praise him for it. He goes bi-weekly to a grade school in Liberty City and helps out. He has befriended the principal, Lamar, and enjoys his time there with the kids. I am proud he does these things -- I plan to toast him tonight at our family's non seder, seder.

Wifey's friend Cara sold her condo a few years back for 7 figures and paid a huge entry fee into a concierge place in Aventura -- she lives in a regular unit, and is guaranteed admittance to ALF and nursing home if needed.

Cara is youthful and beautiful and I was kind of surprised at her decision. But she explained she has no kids or grandkids, no family (a younger sister in Arizona died of cancer) and she knew she needed to take care of herself in the future, assuming she declines. I get it.

When she moved in, the facility told her to invite all her friends for a dinner -- an obvious marketing ploy -- maybe one of us might with to cut an $800K check for admittance, too. We went, and the food and room were top notch. But then...as you walk to the elevators, there are a bunch of wheelchairs and drooling folks.

Recently, she invited Wifey and me to lunch there. I told Wifey it is my life's intent to NEVER set foot in a "retirement community" as the running joke on The Sopranos goes, again. So now Wifey is engaged in negotiations -- neither Cara nor her BFF Ronnie, who now lives where Paul does, wish to drive anymore, and Wifey and her bad back don't wish to drive to Aventura, either.

I imagine my former "client," C, must be in her late 20s now. When I was discharged, I told her to reach out to me anytime if I could help her. I never heard from her. I hope she is well -- her baby must be in high school now, himself. Hopefully his Mom's superior intellect has helped them along.

And as for Wifey and me? Hopefully we live right here in Villa Wifey for the duration -- bringing in aides if they become needed. As my neighbor the rich widow Judy said the other day: "As long as one of you is functional -- you're golden."

I guess we'll see...