Boo -- Dammit!

It's Halloween, and for some reason I have Eddie Murphy in my head, playing the grizzled old Jewish man version of Gumby. Maybe it's because he's a native Long Islander, like I am, and on this day my thoughts go back to childhood.

I loved Halloween as a kid, on Charles Lane. Autumn nights seemed truly spooky, and it was great to be scared and scare others. An early bad memory was being sick on Halloween, and one of the neighbor kids carried my plastic pumpkin for me, with the words "David is sick -- trick or treat" and then brought me back the candy.

In about 4th grade, my father bought me a truly chilling rubber mask --it was a darkened green version of a very ugly man, and I loved that thing. Neighbors would open the door and truly gasp. I think I kept it through high school.

My memory also triggered thoughts of the East Broadway Elementary School Music teacher, Mr. Lutri. He was a lovely, kind man, and taught us Saint-Sanse "Danse Macabre." I remember the story behind the sound poem -- on Halloween, all the spirits would be summoned by the death god for a night of dancing and revelry, until the bell of All Saints' Day would send them back to another year of mordant death.

I imagine Mr. Lutri must be long gone. I was in his band, and was the most talented flute player. He really encouraged me. But when I got older, I picked baseball over flute playing. I chose wrong.

We've lived here at Villa Wifey for nearly 18 years. Some Halloweens we get lots of kids trick or treating -- some fewer than 25. Wifey and I enjoy sitting on our front porch with the dogs and watching the kids.

D1 and Joey will have their first Halloween in their new house. They live in a gated development of 18 houses in NE Miami, and I noticed each one has decorations. I told them to be ready for a nice onslaught of trick or treaters...

D2 and Jonathan live in a national capital of Halloween -- Greenwich Village. The gay folks who still make up the foundation of the population there have an enormous parade -- D2 and Jonathan actually have to strategize their commutes so as not to get shut out of their tree lines street. But the costumes will be the best there, I'm sure -- particularly the ones for the many dogs of their 'hood.

When the Ds were little, we'd decorate the house. In our last place, we'd set up a haunted house in the garage. Last weekend, we were reminiscing about some folks -- the first renters we had in my in laws' house -- a place we kept as a rental property after moving back into our restored home following Hurricane Andrew.

Mike lived across the street, and together we set up a great thing for the kids. Our tenants were delightful folks from Texas -- Baptist missionaries. Their kids came dressed as Mary and Joseph, and I remember the Mom, Nell, sort of freaking out at all the satanic displays Mike had created. They sort of quickly left the party -- Mike and I felt bad about not realizing that maybe we went a bit far with the Devil and Witch stuff...

Our decoration the past years has become very lazy -- a 2/3 lifesize Frankenstein monster gets pulled out of storage and posed in a plastic chair by the front gate -- to let kids know we do give out candy.

I remember one year, I guess it must have been '08 or '09, D1 surprised us by driving home from college in Gainesville. She loved giving out candy with us.  This year she gets to do it as her own homeowner.

So may the day and night pass safely, with some laughter. And here's to Mr. Lutri, wherever he is...

Wonderful Family Weekend

So the friendly Uber driver came to the house, still in darkness, and dropped us at MIA and a breeze through security. Wifey LOVES the Centurion Lounge, and so we went for breakfast -- I begged off, since I knew there'd be breakfast on the plane. Then we were off, and in no time, landed at LGA.

I haven't rented a car in NYC for probably 15 years. It was a major hassle -- especially as they're building a new LGA while the third world one still operates. We had to take a bus to Terminal 3, and only there got picked up for a trip to the Budget office. It took a full hour. But, alas, we got into a Ford Explorer, and were soon making our way to Greenwich Village.

We packed in the Millennials, who were in great spirits, and brought the spirits from a local liquor store, and we crawled through the City to the Lincoln Tunnel and Jersey. From there, it was a trip up the Thruway to New Paltz. We passed Sloatsburg, a town of family lore, as my father used to tell my sisters, and later me, to look out for Sloats. It was a great distraction as we peeled our eyes looking for the mythical, slow moving tree dwellers.

Mohonk was stately as ever, at the top of a hill, and we checked in, unpacked, and regrouped on the lovely patio behind Wifey and my room. We toasted our family against the gorgeous Fall backdrop -- it was chilly but lovely. Then we went for dinner, which was delicious, but I was falling into my soup -- I headed to an early sleep, while the rest walked to a bonfire and s'mores.

Saturday morning we had a feast of a breakfast, but our hopes for walks in the Fall splendor were dashed -- it was a cold, steady rain. Instead, we read, and chatted, and had a family game room session where Wifey pretended to be Bob Costas as she called the progress of foosball round robins -- we laughed a lot and had an awesome time.

Mohonk is like a huge stationary cruise ship -- with much better food. But eating is paramount -- and we had dinner at the smaller, more formal setting than in the main dining room. Afterwards, we sat in the bar while a trio played old Fleetwood Mac and Paul Simon songs -- Wifey and I stayed up the longest.

Sunday it was still damp, but the rain had stopped, and after a quick breakfast, we did a decent hike -- up the mountain to the observation tower. The Ds were impressed at my new found cardio abilities -- I scaled the hike and steps of the tower rather well -- sweating, but not feeling like I was dying. And the view was amazing -- like an old American folk artists view of the lovely village below our vantage point -- the Mohonk House looking majestic across the lake from the tower.

We descended, and walked -- including an ill informed stroll across a soaked lawn that left us all with cold, wet feet. But -- warming them by the fireplace cured that problem quickly.

It was 11:30 and so time again for -- eating. We had our farewell brunch. The smoked salmon, we all agreed, was as good as Russ and Daughters -- our benchmark for fine lox and nova. And then we repacked ourselves into the Explorer, for a longer trip home -- City leaf peepers were clogging the quaint town of New Paltz, and we had to wend our way through them.

It took 2 hours, but we were soon back into the gridlock of City traffic -- even on a Sunday afternoon. I was reminded of how miserable it is to drive in the City -- but soon we made our way South on 9th Avenue, and found a spot to sort of safely park and let out D2 and Jonathan.

Then it was the reverse schlep to return the rental car, though this time it went a bit smoother, and we were soon at LGA in the packed terminal waiting for our flight. I remarked to Joey that El Dorado Airport in Bogota is far superior to Laguardia. I guess if they ever finish the new terminal, things can improve, but the place is tightly packed and filthy.

We arrived back to the heat, and a friendly Cuban Uber driver trip later, were back home.

It had been, outside of our sacred family, an awful weekend. A loser psycho in Pittsburgh killed 11 in a synagogue. Then, we read that a 737 Max, the same model plane we were on, crashed in Indonesia, killing all on board.

I thanked the Big Man for keeping us all safe. And more importantly, for giving us the ability to celebrate our lives together.

The Ds have chosen their men very well. D2 finds it hilarious when she catches them reverting to their native Spanish when talking alone. "Latin men time," she notes.

We all truly enjoy each other's company.

And best of all, D2 and Jonathan are due home in just over three weeks -- for a packed November. First, D1 is turning 30, and hosting a party at her and Joey's new house in Shorecrest. The next day is Thanksgiving here -- we're having a party of 14. Saturday night, both Ds and their men are going to a friend's wedding at a local shul -- we're hosting one of D2's best friends, Ashley, and her boyfriend.

So we have a good deal of more sacred family time coming.

As Wifey enjoys it when I summon the Boss -- I am one lucky, rockin' Daddy in the USA...

Leavin' On A Jet Plane

John Denver was my guilty pleasure -- his music considered so lightweight that listening to him made you uncool, but I always enjoyed it. And his "Leavin'" always struck me -- so simple and poignant, especially when covered by the harmonious Peter, Paul, and Mary.

And so it is for us today -- though I'm not leaving my girlfriend behind. As I write, she's upstairs getting ready -- I'll be summoning Uber in about 45 minutes.

Wifey has taught me many lessons about personal comfort, and one is taking later flights. Yes -- there's a greater chance of delay as the day burns on, but being able to leave leisurely sets the tone for vacation trips. Alas, today it was not to be. D2 correctly pointed out that if we left NYC too late on a Friday afternoon, traffic would crawl as we made our way Upstate -- so our flight is due in noon, I fetch a rental car and then 4 Millennials, and we should be on the GW Bridge no later than 2.



In my nearly 40 years living in the Tropics, the only season I miss from living in the Northeast is Fall. Winter -- you can keep it. Spring is nice, but Miami Winter weather is the same. Summer can be just as hot and humid as it is here. But Fall, with cool, crisp temperatures and changing leaves -- now that's something.

We always try to get away for a Fall trip. Sometimes it's an out of state Canes game. But this year it's a Full Squad, as Joey has named the six of us, Fall weekend escape.


So soon the Uber driver will be arriving, but not blowing his horn, as I plan to greet him or her on rhe street. And we already wear each other's wedding rings -- it'll be 32 years this coming January. And we hopefully know when we will be back again -- Sunday night.

Still, I enjoy hearing Denver's song in my head as we prepare for the trip. And I enjoy his "Back Home Again" as well, as we re-enter Villa Wifey.

Dadber Classic

I really, really don't like picking up people at the airport, and have given up that job, mostly. In the age of Uber and Lyft, I think it's unnecessary for anyone to ask for a ride anymore. An exception is some of my friends and their kids -- the kids are still living at home while in grad school, and so are called upon to do "man Friday" chores -- like when we travel with Mike and Loni, and Chris is our personal driver.

I also provide what I call Dadber service to the Ds and their men, and to Wifey, too. They're on my very select list of customers.

D1 and Joey were headed to NYC a few days before we come up, and the spoiled Spaniel needed boarding, so I told D1 I'd get her. But then, it occurred to me -- their outbound flight was close in time to Wifey's inbound flight from ATL. So I undertook a complicated pick.

I left Brickell, and drove up Biscayne, to see first hand all of the gentrification taking place. It truly is -- areas that were gritty and promenades for hookers now had young folks walking in and out of hair salons and restaurants.

I turned east on 82 street and made my way to D1 and Joey's place -- they're now totally unpacked and moved in, and the place looked terrific. It warmed me.

We loaded their carry ons and Spaniel into my car, and left for MIA. Even with evening traffic, it's only a 25 minute ride. I kissed them goodbye. As I entered the car, a text came: Wifey had landed. She had a bag, so I knew it'd be a bit, and so I drove to the cell phone waiting lot on LeJeune. Soon enough, another text came -- she had her bag, and so I drove back to the Delta area to fetch her.

She was overjoyed to see the granddog in the car, and shrieked happily. A lady waiting for a ride cracked up -- she must have been a fellow dog lover.

We drove home, and the three dogs cavorted and jumped around the house -- they have a long weekend together, under the care of Mirta.

A few hours later came another happy text --D1 and Joey had landed. But alas -- no Dadber at LGA -- they took a taxi to D2 and Jonathan's, in Greenwich Village.

But Dadber shall drive again! We have an early flight tomorrow, to LGA, and I will pick up a minivan from Budget. I shall then fetch the 4 millennials and head up to New Paltz for a Fall weekend.

The pay for Dadber is nonexistent, but the joy it brings to me, still being able to hang with my grown kids, is very high.

Old School Company

So Sears is bankrupt. I always liked their stores -- they had EVERYTHING. And for me, there's a very warm memory -- my Dad won a lottery promotion back in the 70s, for I think a few thousand dollars. The prize was credit at Sears. Two of the things we bought were a beige down coat for me, and one for him that looked just like it. We'd wear them together on cold days on LI -- I remember one in particular where we walked the Jones Beach Boardwalk, talking of future times.

I kept that down coat for many years -- I think I finally gave it to Goodwill just a few years back. So Sears to our family represented quality.

Today's Times has an article comparing Sears' generous benefits program to today's monster retailer, Amazon. Apparently many long time Sears employees retired with very generous profit sharing benefits. Amazon just cut off giving stock shares to employees. The article contrasted the philosophy of the old school company, which truly cared about employees, to Amazon, which cares only about shareholders.

When Paul and I started our firm, 24 years ago next month, we definitely believed in the old school approach. Our employees were paid above average, but as the firm did well, we generously bonused them -- according to our CPA, absurdly so given their lack of work product. But we believed it was the right thing to do -- we also set up nice pension plans for the full time employees.

Some years, our two lawyer firm paid the secretaries salary, bonuses, and pension contributions over $100K. I always was proud of that, and in fact, the secretaries left in good shape -- one used her savings to start a business with her husband, after losing a ton of money trying to flip real estate during Miami's turbulent aughts...

My sister of another mister, Mirta, always reminds me of how our generosity helped her -- she bought her beloved townhouse with generous bonus money we gave her one year. I feel good about that.

But I also learned that our longest, and highest paid employee, has said that she was paid "eh -- average."  This was laughable -- while she was good with clients, this secretary couldn't write a three sentence letter in decent English. But, to Paul and me, she was part of our team, and was to be compensated accordingly.

As the Who well sang...people forget. While we were paying the big money, we were princes. Years later, with that money long gone, we were, eh -- ok.

So I say -- bravo Amazon. I own a good deal of stock -- keep those share prices going up. Pay the employees decently, which they do, and give them health insurance, which they do. Let them buy their own stock, if they live frugally and save money.

Time really have changed. My father was a loyal and hardworking employee, and when he retired, after 17 years with his company, he received a lump sum profit sharing payout -- $200,000.00.  That would be about $730K today. Since bank savings rates were over 15% in the early 80s, that money lasted and lasted -- my Mom had money left when she went into the nursing home 34 years later.

My father was very grateful for what his company did for him -- he helped them do well, and they rewarded him when he retired.

But those days are long gone. We have to make things on our own, in this economy.

And, as I learned, employer generosity is probably unappreciated, anyway. So rock on, Amazon. You're soaring, and Sears is out. That's just the way it is...

The Finer Things

So yesterday my only plans were to watch the crappy Dolphins play, but my friend Kenny had a better offer: go with him and Joelle to see Seraphic Fire at the South Dade Cultural Center. I was in.

Kenny always had a taste for finer things. When we were in high school, we actually drove to NY Tech to see a Shakespeare play. He is a music fan, and has catholic tastes.

I had seen Seraphic Fire before. They're a nationally recognized choral group based here in Miami. We saw them at an old church on Coral Way, and liked them immensely.  So I drove to the theater next to the old Cutler Ridge Mall, and met my friends.

The group was appearing with the American Brass Quintet, and they were terrific, too. The concert was some very old songs, from the times of the Crusades, when pilgrims would go through Europe on their way to the Holy Land, and stop along the way at local churches, where these songs were performed.

Of course, as I am low brow, I kept thinking about a spoof of this music I heard years ago -- Gregorian chanting of "Hey hey we're the monks."  But as the concert played, I was truly transported by the beautiful harmonies.

There was some unintentional comic relief, too. One of the singers is an enormous black fellow. He looked like he had a VERY deep voice. But he was a soprano. He sang beautifully, too.

After the concert, we drove to Black Point Marina, which was buzzing with people. They had live music there, too, a guitar playing singer. His first song was the Dead's "Ripple," so we knew we'd like him. We did.

The heat is still here, but there was a lovely breeze blowing off the water. Kenny, Joelle, and I toasted how lucky we are with our 4 kids. Lately we've been hearing tales of misery. We got very lucky with the Ds and their 2 sons.

I came home, and took the crippled Spaniel and strange rescue dog outside. I drank some tea while the dogs sniffed around. I heard some scurrying -- we have a pair of large iguanas living on our property lately -- the dogs made sure the big lizards knew they were NOT welcome.

There was a 3/4 beautiful moon. I thanked the Big Man. It was a lovely night.

This am I spoke to the Ds -- D2 conferenced in D1 and we caught up. There'll be some chilly temps for our upcoming NY state weekend, and D1 is non too happy about it. I look forward to actually needing a sweater to wear for a change.

We joked that Wifey might not join us -- she is having too great a time with her "Gem Tones" friends. D1 calls them that -- apparently after a certain age, women look better wearing gem tones as clothing, and sure enough, the photos show them all in sapphire and ruby colors. Who knew?

I think Wifey will indeed come home, and it should be a lovely family weekend.

Maybe I'll play some Seraphic Fire...

Short Lived Charity

So I have an acquaintance who has worked for government agencies his whole career, but has made a LOT of money doing consulting work as a side hustle. I mean a lot. Plus, he married above himself, financially, and is about to inherit millions when his O to Q suegra dies.

What is O to Q? Years ago, my friend doing medical residency training taught me the terms. An O is an elderly patient, who lies back with a mouth open like an O. They have a few months to go. Nearer to the end, the tongue hangs out, making a Q. They're near goners...

Anyway, this acquaintance retired from his government job, and thought he'd receive disability right away. Due to clerical problems, he learned there would be a delay -- maybe a month or so between his salary ending, and his disability payments begin. Plus, he'd have to pay for his own health insurance for a month -- for him, his soon to be wealthy wife, and failure to launch son, who still lives at home with no real job at 26.

They moved to their $2M house upstate. Really. $2M. I figure a $2M house upstate is probably a $3.5M house here -- at least. So they're surely not poor.

The dude called me, and asked me to look over something he had written for him. I agreed. I was shocked.

He had put up a page on one of these internet charity sites -- Go Pay Me or something. He posted pictures and asked the general public to send him money because of the delay from his regular salary to disability status.

I should probably have said -- good luck, dude, but I'm too old for inauthenticity when someone asks my opinion. I told the fellow that if his clients learned he was begging for charity, it would be fatal to his consulting business. Who would ever retain someone, who is supposed to project strength and competence, if they were out publicly begging?

He started to argue with me -- his public persona had nothing to do with his private "struggles." I wouldn't engage -- I wished him well.

He called me later and thanked me -- he had taken down the page.

What awful karma. Charity is a sacred thing. We help each other in need. But when people of serious means beg, because they choose not to move assets around to pay for stuff -- well, that gets my gourd.

A few years ago, the kids of some other acqaintances put up one of these pages, to pay for medical treatments. I wanted to call the folks I knew to ask if this was some kind of joke, but they were off on a European cruise. Really? You're cruising the world and your kids are asking strangers for money?

I don't get it -- I really don't.

I feel so uncomfortable being the taker in life. I guess it came from my Dad's pride -- you need something, you do it yourself.

Living in a multi million house, awaiting an inheritance of millions, and asking strangers to give you thousands, because you're annoyed about a bureaucratic mixup?

I guess I AM getting crankier as I age, but this latest really got my goat. On the other hand, as I age, I tend to cynically think I've seen it all. When something like this happens, it teaches me I really haven't.