In a NY Minute, Everything Can Change

So it's a glorious day in Miami, as glorious as it can be in August. I awakened to a text from my old bud Norman -- LOL for breakfast. I replied of course. And we met and caught up, enjoying the company of Lori, our long time waitress. It was, as usual, my favorite way to start a weekend day. Tonight we have houseguests arriving at Villa Wifey -- my long time friend and professor Steve, and his wife Mary. Steve was a young professor at the U when I was an undergrad, and we developed the kind of bond I wished for the Ds to form at Florida, but they didn't get the opportunity. Steve and I even developed and taught a class together, and I watched his adorable little boys grow up to be fine, accomplished men. Only one of his sons has kids, and lives near D.C., so after Steve and Mary both retired from stellar careers at the U, they moved to Virginia to be close to the grandkids. They keep a place in Naples, and are passing through Miami on the way back North. We're having a little get together for Mary and Steve tonight -- including our neighbors Hilit and Alex, both UM Med professors who like me are Steve proteges...we've been meaning to have them over since they moved to the 'hood, now 2 years ago, and tonight seemed like a great excuse. At heart, I'm an innkeeper, as was my law mentor Ed. I love having people over -- entertaining them, and sharing life tales. Wifey is good at hosting, but likes it much less than I do, and so our parties have become rarer events over the years. But tonight we're on -- D1 is coming, too, as her boyfriend Joey is out of town for the weekend. I was driving home, thinking about placing my order for sushi and Chinese, and then nearly everything changed. A white pickup headed South and stopped at a sign decided to pull out right in front of me. I was doing about 35 -- maybe 40 -- and fortunately saw him out of the corner of my eye. I'm lucky as a driver. Years ago Paul and I had an associate who was also a professional race car driver, and whenever Albert and I would drive together, I'd have him give me professional driving tips. I learned about proper braking, and how sometimes you need to accelerate rather than brake to keep the proper center of balance to a car -- particularly when turning. I also learned about turning into an inevitable crash rather than allowing a pure T bone -- glancing blows cause less damage than head ons or T bones... So I JUST had enough time to brake -- fortunately my little girlie Caddy does it well -- and turn South for what seemed like the unavoidable collision. The truck stopped, and I ended up maybe an inch away. I saw right away it was an older man -- probably mid 70s. He looked terrified. He looked sad. He put up his arms and shouted in Spanish accented English "Ay -- so sorry." I just shook my head, and he drove away. I resumed my path home. And I thought of the great Don Henley song -- "NY Minute." That song was about a shooting, and how it changed so many things. But a stupid moment of carelessness nearly ruined my weekend plans, at least... I don't think the impact would have been fatal -- not fast enough. But there may well have been broken bones -- maybe worse. I assume the old man has a family who probably knows he needs to hang up his driver's license -- bright daylight moves like that show it's probably time. I well remember when we made my Mom and father in law do it -- it was traumatic for them, but they went pretty willingly... But for me, this am gave me yet another reminder about the need to savor each moment of life. In a NY or Miami minute, indeed everything can change...

Doing the Work

After several failed attempts, we finally found a guy who is actually doing the landscape clean out job we've needed for years. It amazes Wifey and me -- supposedly so many people want work, and yet she makes appointments for landscapers, and they don't show. My friend Pat suggested a fellow last year. He quoted $500 for the job, and left after making a pile of clippings about three by three feet. It appeared he hadn't even visited. Wifey asked the owners of the nicest looking landscaped houses in our 'hood, and got a few names. They quoted absurd amounts -- thousands and thousands of dollars for what needs to be, at most, a two day job. Well, salvation came in the form of Roberto -- referred by my friend who's building a new house. Roberto came by, quoted my $450, and after working most of yesterday, before the rains came, did an awesome job. We saw oolite boulders and bromeliads that had been hidden for nearly a decade. My pond was clearly visible. The "D2" trees, which we so named since they always bloom beautiful purple and white flowers right around D2's birthday in February, have been trimmed back to manageable size. Roberto is due back to finish today. He told me he'd charge $450 for the job. I plan to pay him more... Finding people to actually do the work is tough. It's no different in our law business. Everyone likes to do the fun part of things -- chatting up clients, sitting around with coffee or cocktails and stragegizing. But taking the actual files, and pouring through them to know them better than an Orthodox rabbi knows the Torah -- well, that's another story. And as a result, cases get bogged down, and the simple task of our office, turning white paper (letters and pleadings) into green paper (money for our clients along with fees for us) ends up taking much longer than it ought to. When my partner Paul and I were active, we launched ourselves into the process aggressively -- almost to the point of ridiculousness. We were once hired by a client who fell through an unsecured abandoned elevator shaft in a Miami Beach hotel, had the lawsuit filed and noticed for trial within 2 months. The defense lawyer laconically went to court and asked the judge for a continuance -- as a matter of course. The judge, friendly to the Plaintiff's bar, refused. The defense lawyer panicked, we mediated, and settled for close to a million dollars in less than 6 months from the accident date. The client was blown away, and thankful. Our referral lawyer was ecstatic. We happily earned our fee, and thought that was the way it ought to be -- no one was paying us to let the case sit around. In short, we did the work, and we did it fast. It escapes me why more people don't get that and do it the same way. For now, I'm just happy we found Roberto. When the cooler weather comes, I look forward to walking around the yard, admiring his work. There is so much nobility in actually working on a job, and doing it well. I wish it was more commonplace, in all aspects of life.

La Suegra la Vampira Emocianal

Poor Wifey. I really feel for her. She's engaged in a sysiphean task to make her ancient mother happen. It just gets worse and worse. The old woman proclaimed she was leaving the "cage" where she is currently "trapped," and is moving to a place up in Broward called Forest Trace. Her frenemy Dobka is there, and the old woman contrived an entire narrative in her head in which Dobka wanted her to move there, and the two of them would live out the final years together -- talking about their childhoods in Poland, the camps, family, etc... Not so fast. My mother in law met with the admissions lady there yesterday. The woman, Michelle, called Wifey and delivered the funny but not really news: my suegra was not suitable for admission, on account of her deafness. She'd be a liability, since the staff doesn't have the saintly patience Wifey does to write out everything, and also Michelle could see right away my mother in law would be socially ostracized. Apparently they took her for lunch in the dining room, which is upscale in a faint smell of urine sort of way, and she spoke so loudly it disturbed the others. When she was politely shushed, well, I can only imagine she reacted as she does when Wifey tries to do it in a restaurant...not well. The young driver Matteo is a sweet young man -- son of Wifey's friend. He felt bad -- reported that Dobka wasn't too nice either -- rushed them out of her apartment, and seemed annoyed at her cousin/former best friend's presence. I've long disliked Dobka myself. In 1986 Wifey and I bought our first house -- in what's now called East Kendall. It was tiny and rustic -- with great Dade County Pine open beamed ceilings. My mother had gifted my sisters and I each $10K, and we used our gift for the $8650 down payment. We were So proud of the place, and loved showing it off to everyone. Dobka came to see it, looked around, and gave the smirk that Eastern European Jewish women of a certain age have raised to an art form. I've really never seen any other variety of human make the same face -- part dog shit smeared on the upper lip, part scowl -- really something to see. Dobka gave a classic smirk and said to me, and I remember her words exactly even 30 years later "So -- you a lawyer, eh? Dat's good -- mebbe someday you buy a real house mit real ceilings." And Dobka is considered nicer and classier than my mother in law!!! Whatever. Tonight Wifey and I went to have the debriefing with her mother. I wrote out a letter for Wifey to give her -- kindly explaining that her deafness prevented her admission, and maybe she ought to reconsider a cochlear implant -- which would give back some hearing. Ha. As if! She read the letter, gave the Dobka smirk, and announced that she didn't want to live there anyway -- all the people did was play cards all day. No -- she wants to go to the Palace -- a place some card player friends moved to 20 years ago and loved. Yeah -- right. Even my mother -- socially the equivalent to Queen Elizabeth compared to my mother in law -- felt the Palace was far too swanky for her. It ain't happening... So the misery will continue. I'm emotionally uninvolved -- I long ago made my peace with my in laws, and don't really care that much other than giving the requisite care and respect to my suegra -- but Wifey will continue to suffer. And keep rolling that boulder up the side of the hole -- only to have her mother kick it back down...

No City for Old Men and Women

So last night Wifey drove to Brickell, and met me at Trulucks. We had a little banking business to attend to, regarding her mother, and I had a martini and Wifey had a diet coke -- with lemon --it WAS a bar. Mike the pianist played, and came over to say hello, and then we walked over to the new Brickell City Centre. I wanted to show her the new rooftop bar, Sugar, and have dinner. We did. The view was magical. I told Wifey I wanted to renew our renewed vows there in January, at our 30th anniversary. She liked the idea -- we'll reassemble those members of our wedding party still important to our lives, and toast the past 3 decades and hopefully years to come. Of course, we'll have a few additions to that gathering -- our Ds, and their boyfriends, and Wifey's would have been matron of honor, Edna, who missed the original party on account of Erica, who was about to be born. We then sat around the parilla at Quinto de Huella, which I think means 5th of footsteps. It's a Uruguayan grill, and the food was awesome. And it struck us: we were, by far, the oldest people there. Now I realize it was a Thursday night, and most of us late Boomers tend to go out only on Friday-Sundays...but still. The suited men looked like young partners at law and investment bank firms, and the young ladies dressed like they were in salsa videos. Do they even still shoot videos? I introduced Wifey to Maritza, the assistant manager my office friends and I met at lunch a few weeks ago. She told us she was asked on a date by a new Miami transplant -- a young fellow who was charming and humble. Turned out he was the founder and now VERY rich retiree from his company Vimeo. Wifey asked her girlie questions, and Maritza giggled "You and my Mom would be good friends!" So the assistant manager of a $1 billion Miami real estate development is our daughters' age. We have really sailed past true relevance. We walked back the block to my building, and the streets were crowded -- Manhattan like, but the folks were all so young, and so well dressed. Wifey said something about Buenos Airees -- and the young Brazilian girl in the crosswalk giggled, too, as I told Wifey she was such a gringa. I never want to move. Living in Miami will truly keep us young. I don't wish to be surrounded by the old -- unless I get TOO old, like my mother in law. We moved her into a condo, and she's the oldest there by a good 25 years. She's truly out of place, but when you near 92 and have outlived virtually all of your friends and family -- are you in place, anywhere? I guess we'll find out when she moves to North Broward, and an ALF there. I remember when they were building Brickell Centre -- our former roommate Mark lamented it. Mark is nearing 70, and said the traffic from the project would be just terrible. I told him Miami was no longer a city for old men. He's up near Jacksonville now -- on a golf course. It's really no longer a city for old men or women...

The Doggy Dog World of Negotiation

My American Lit professor at the U, an affable fellow named Guttenberg (no relation to the bible guy) used to share his favorite list of malaprops from exam answers, and his favorite was one student (probably a football player's) description of Naturalism: it's a doggy dog world out there... And so it is, in the realm of real estate negotiation. I thought we had a contract all signed and ready to go with a friendly Weston lawyer, on behalf of his clients, and in opposition to our broker, who was pushing a different deal that would have paid the broker a more then double commission. The signed contract came in yesterday, there was an inspection, and a closing before September 1. This damn condo has always been a burr under my saddle -- I was manipulated into buying it, and each visit reminded me of that. Part of the reason was my mother in law wanting a view "of de vater," and our visits there always showed the storm shutters on the screen porch rolled down -- her tacit admission to me that all of her whining and guilt throwing really had nothing to do with the view, and everything with her need to keep up with the Rabinowitzes... So I really, really look forward to being rid of this place... So then last night I got an email from the lawyer. His clients went to do an inspection, and it turned up the fact that there were loose tiles, which were no longer replaceable (of course not -- when's the last time anyone installed 12 x 12 white tiles other than in a bathroom) -- and so the buyers wanted $7000 credit. The lawyer said he proposed splitting it with me -- take $3500 off, and the deal would go through. I immediately emailed him and said, in my pleasant, skillfully passive-aggressive way, that there were no hard feelings, let's just cancel the deal immediately, and I would make my broker VERY happy by going with the other buyers, and though I preferred the cash deal of the present offer, I would ultimately net more. And, I puffed, the other buyers were putting down a new hardwood floor, so tiles weren't a concern. OK, I admit it. I LOVE the Godfather movies, and I just rewatched II last weekend -- probably for the 20th time. I was channeling Michael Corleone's response to the corrupt senator's demand for an inflated fee for a casino license and future skim. "Senator -- you can have my response now. My offer is nothing." That was MY response to the request for a $3500 reduction -- nothing. The lawyer's response came back in 5 minutes. He channeled Emily Litella from SNL, and said, essentially, "Never mind." So it appears the deal is on. But it brings home that negotiation is not for sissies. My law partner Paul is the Lebron James of negotiation. Just yesterday, a young attorney asked my advice about how to handle a negotiation on one of his cases -- I told him to hire Paul. The young lawyer declined. He wants to keep all his fee. He's making a huge mistake. He has zero experience in civil law, and is attempting to work out a 6 figure settlement with the Claims Manager of a Fortune 500 company. He'll end up toast. Well, at least my condo on the vater may be soon an annoying memory. And I don't blame the other lawyer -- as my old boss Ed used to say, after making outrageous demands on defense counsel -- it never hurts to ask...

Sleazy Professions

Throughout my 30 years as a member of the Bar, I've heard more than my share of anti-lawyer jokes, comments, feelings, etc...I've told more than my share of lawyer jokes, since the majority of lawyers are worthy of this opprobrium. By the way, that last word is one that you have to know to take the LSAT to get into law school. Over the years, bankers have joined the pantheon of negativity...seen in the past as boring, gray suited necessary folks, and post recession as agents of greed and corruption. When Florida Democrats ran a candidate against the despicable Rick Scott, they came up, lamely, with Alex Sink, and the Scott people lasered in on her banking career, to show she was someone all about Wall Street who couldn't be trusted. Lately, it appears, real estate brokers have joined this sad group. With internet sites like Zillow and Redfin, they are less and less useful, and the public sees them as charging large fees for doing little that's worthwhile. Typically, I'm behind the curve in learning trends, and so in February, when Wifey and I decided to sell the condo we own in Pembroke Pines, rather than act like we live in the 21st century and list the unit ourselves, we marched into the real estate office where we last visited when we bought the place in 2000. We retained a fellow I'll call Mark, since that's his name, and agreed, like schlomozels, to pay a commission of 7% rather than the formerly standard 6% (I've since learned few pay more than 3% anymore) to get the unit sold quickly. Ha. As if. Mark did little for the first 4 months, although in his defense, my less than lovely suegra was living there, and made showing the unit a bit troublesome. But we moved the old woman out in April, and painted and cleaned the unit, and Mark didn't exactly hop to it. Until July, when less than a month remained on his listing. All of a sudden there were TWO solid offers to buy. The first, by a lawyer/broker, was for $155K cash. The second was for $160K, but required a mortgage, which the buyers apparently secured. Mark agreed to cut his fee to 6% for the cash deal, but insisted on keeping the full 7% on the financed one. He sent both contracts, but implied strongly we ought to, of course, take the higher one. We did not, and today signed the contract for the cash deal. Still, I read the other contract, and realized why the broker strongly tried to persuade us to take it. The entire 7 commission was to go to his agency, and the buyers agreed to an additional $600 "additional brokers fee!" So the net to him on the second deal would have been close to $12K, while on the cash deal, he's sharing his commission with the buyers' lawyer/broker, and will net "only" about $4800. The difference to Wifey and me is just over $1000. Cash deals are better anyway, as we all know, as once banks get involved, complications rain down like, well, rain. So hopefully, we'll have our check by September, I can cut off the monthly fees, cancel the homeowner's and appliance coverage, and get my pro rata refund for property taxes. The appliance coverage was such a ripoff, but needed while my elderly in laws lived in the unit. They weren't able to vet plumbers, a/c guys, etc... and though the appliance warranty people got far more in payments than they ever paid out, the peace of mind was worth it. So there ought to be a check coming in -- the better to spend it on care and feeding of my mother in law, who has her sights on a $4000 per month ALF in North Broward. As my Mom always said, coins are round -- money rolls in; money rolls out. Or, as the Ds call it, beans... Now I need to develop some real estate broker jokes...

And the Next Generation Will Be Better

My Dad was an extremely warm and loving man -- to us, his family. When he held his grandchildren, you could see the joy on his face. I kissed him good night each night -- including the one before he died. But he wasn't raised that way -- his parents were very cold and standoffish...They weren't abusive -- they just never went in for any physical affection, or professions of love and caring. My Dad told me when he met my mother's family, he was struck by the contrast. My mother's family, much less intellectually focused than my father's, was very warm and loving. They often shared hugs, and spoke openly of their love for each other. My Dad vowed to be more like them with his own family, and he was. My mother in law, though a caring and loving grandmother to my Ds, is, well, difficult as a suegra, as the great Spanish word describes her. I've always liked that word -- it sounds less than pretty to me...as my mother in law is. Years ago, my mother in law realized that in her haste to move to a Century Village condo, she picked the less than "upscale" part of the development, and felt a bit socially inferior to her fellow Miami Holocaust Survivors who had all flocked to CV. So she approached Wifey and me and asked us to buy her a place which became infamously known as "on de vater." I refused -- in the manual of my duties as a son in law, I determined, taking care of my in laws' daughter, and being a great Dad to their grandchildren was listed -- paying tens of thousands for something silly was not. Well, my suegra embarked upon a long campaign of guilt throwing to Wifey: "Oy -- each night I soak de pillow mit my tears because I DREAM of de place on de vater." The ensuing years strained us -- a lot. Wifey agreed with me that her mother was being absurd, but still the toxic guilt leached into her soul. Finally, I gave in -- and we bought the damn place. Now, 16 years later, we're hopefully going to sell it -- as I lament what a $120K investment (say in Apple Stock) might be today -- instead of the less than $10K gain we're going to make. Whatever. My suegra got her way. Now, her ugly irrationality and selfishness are rearing their ugly heads again. After my father in law died, the suegra demanded to move -- too many memories of her loving husband. Wifey suggested she go to an ALF -- but she refused. Although she is 91, she is grossed out by seeing people of her same age -- she literally puts her nose in the air when she passed by ancients in wheelchairs when visiting my father in law at MJH over 3 years. So Wifey offered her living close to us -- in a rental condo we own less than 10 minutes away. We booted out our 9 year tenant Lenny -- a loveable but financially challenged guy who never wanted to move - and Wifey set about making the condo beautiful for her mother -- painting, new toilet, deep cleaning, lovely furnishings her mother has owned for years. And more, Wifey set her up with a busy schedule with drivers that took her to Magic City Casino to play the slots, to her doctor, just minutes away, and to shopping. We took her to dinner weekly -- Wifey visited at least 2 more weekly times. But now the "I soak my pillows mit tears" crap has started again. Her best friend and cousin, who was estranged from my suegra for years, on account of some slight involving their dying husbands, is now back in the picture -- living in an expensive ALF up in Lauderhill (her Boca daughter put her there). So the old woman stubbornly wants to join her -- illogically, of course, since she despises other old people, but has raised a ruckus, and Wifey is powerless against her mother's assault. So now Wifey will undertake another futile attempt to make her mother happy -- all because of that damned 5th commandment! It will end poorly, I'm sure -- major hassle moving the suegra there, she will end up miserable, and demand a new solution. And I'm already feeling stupid for leasing Wifey's new SUV with only 10K miles per year -- I didn't anticipate this new regular long commute for her. But the bigger point is, in the way my father learned what NOT to do -- I took a pledge. I pledged to the Ds that I will NEVER become an in law to them and their spouses like my suegra was to me. I will never manipulate them and cause grief for my own desires. I will be there for them and never stress their marriages. So even the negative might teach us to be positive...