Goodbye, "Hare-ible" Portrait

 So before the Plague, Wifey hired some decorators, and they set about telling her what colors to paint, and what tchokches and paintings get to stay, and which to go. 

It seems to me that much of what they did was replace comfortable, clunky furniture with comically uncomfortable, stylish stuff, but what do I know? Our dining room chairs, heavy wood with soft cushions, are now apparently in the Nicaragua home of our painter Errico, along with a huge oak wall unit I called "The Great Wall of Wifey." The new one is laminate, with a workspace for me that barely fits my bulk -- but as the great song "When A Man Loves A Woman" teaches, if she says something gotta be, well, then he does it.

But anyway, after a long delay caused by the fact that the decorators are very busy, one of them was here last week to tell Wifey more stuff to toss. And one of the pieces has a funny history: a portrait of my late mother, along with the Ds.

It dates back to the late 90s. I was making serious money, and like many arrivistes, started spending on stuff I never would have dreamed. Our friends Rob and Becky, now divorced and Rob no longer a friend on account of he's a stupid idiot who exposed us all to Covid, were ALREADY pretty rich. Rob's Dad started a successful insurance business, and Rob was set up -- later to sell it for a small amount because, you know rich Dad and son stories...

But they had found a portrait artist named David Shore, who was a favorite of the Pinecrest and East Kendall set. He would take a picture of your family and use pointillism to create an "heirloom." He did one of Rob and Becky and their kids, and even added a dog who had died months before.

David was a nice guy -- he even took Rob and me out on his boat -- to thank Rob for referring me, and me for referring someone else. But the truth was -- he was no Rembrandt, even by Kendall standards.

He took Wifey, the Ds, and me to Mathesson Hammock for our photo, and then did the painting. It was ok, but had glaring flaws -- Wifey's hair is windblown, but not the Ds. Still, we proudly hung the work, which cost upwards of $1000.00, real money to us in those days, and when we moved to our new house, it came along. Somehow it survived the Decorators' cut, albeit in a more hidden alcove than the prominent Family Room spot it used to live in.

But back to the 90s. I was so smitten with our ability to create heirlooms, I decided to surprise my Mom. I got a picture of her, and asked David to create a smaller portrait of her, along with the Ds. Her birthday was approaching, maybe her 75th, and I thought it would be a lovely gift. I still remember paying $650 for the project, and David delivered.

Wifey, the Ds and I went to Delray to fetch my Mom for dinner, and we were so thrilled. I told her we had a surprise gift, and set up the artwork on her table, covered by a sheet, and unveiled it like at a gallery. We smiled, awaiting her expected "Oh David -- thank you so much -- I LOVE it."

Instead, her expression turned to horror. I might just as well have shown her a pornographic picture of her, or maybe something out of a Brian DePalma movie. "Oh my G-d! That is TERRIBLE. The WORST PICTURE OF ME I HAVE EVER SEEN! TAKE IT OUT NOW!!!!!!"

At first, I thought she was kidding, but she was dead serious. Mom was a beautiful woman, and like many beautiful women, somewhat vain. She was in her 70s, and I guess the portrait reflected that. Plus, one of her boobs was missing (actually hidden by one of the Ds's arms). But her reaction was something I'll never forget.

Wifey and I found it hilarious, and we complied -- taking the David Shore masterpiece away and putting it back in our minivan. We took her to dinner, and she kept bringing it up -- like she had seen a gruesome car wreck on the highway. "I hope you didn't pay much for that piece of shit -- it is the worst thing I have EVER seen!" Yes, Mom, we got the message -- and don't worry what we had paid.

We brought the offending thing home, and hung it anyway. Mom, once she had visited the upstairs of Villa Wifey, would never traverse the stairs again, so we placed the picture on a landing of the stairway. And it sat there for nearly 20 years, making me chuckle to myself whenever I went up the stairs.

Last night Wifey told me the news. It had to go -- unless, of course, I had strong feelings. I did not. I thought about sending it to my California sister, but then thought better of it. She wasn't part of the family joke, and really she would have no reason to keep it -- she is decluttering, anyway.

So Wifey and I will gather later this evening, after I return from the Dolphins game with Mike and Chris. We will say a few words over the green trash container, as I consign the funny portrait to Mt. Trashmore in South Miami Dade -- the tallest point in the County.

But -- like most stuff -- the value was in the tale -- not the thing. I never forget that lesson.

I grow old...I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

 So this is 60. Time was, I had an opportunity to see TWO games at Joe Robbie -- Canes and Fins -- and that was a fun, special weekend. Now -- not so much.

My friend Mike's son Chris just completed a rite of passage -- he bought his OWN Fins season tickets. He always attended on his Dad's tab, but now as a 2 year lawyer, engaged and a new Palmetto Bay homeowner, he became a true adult -- and that meant his own seats. And he invited me to a Fins game -- this Sunday. I accepted.

But, alas, Canes are playing tonight -- against UVA -- the grapes, as the inside Hispanic Cane fan joke goes. At first, Wifey was going to accompany me -- she likes night games, when it's cool -- but alas, age struck again in Villa Wifey and she has a knee issue -- probably a meniscal tear -- and the doc told her not to walk for awhile. Also, I fetched the walker I had consigned to the garage and hoped not to see again for awhile. Ha. As if.

So -- if I attend the Canes, I have a 2 hour rush hour drive, alone, to make it to the stadium -- and the game is on ESPN. Eric and his crew are still avoiding the tailgates and games on account of Covid fears, and Norman texted he has a dog issue keeping him away -- so I bagged it as well. And did so accepting the fact I am indeed a senior citizen.

On that front, I saw my trainer Juan today. The last visits to him were torture -- trying to keep up with D2 and Jonathan -- 30 years my junior. Well -- the training is now me alone -- they have been offered free classes, to thank me for people I referred to the gym -- and so Juan and I had a talk. He knows I have zero plans to become an athlete of any sort -- if I can run after my grandson, and lift him, and play with him -- I'll be a happy granddaddy in the USA. So Juan modified my sessions -- I leave feeling invigorated instead of near death -- which is what was happening. And so I have committed to continue.

Six pack abs? Hell -- I'll be happy with a mini keg.

Yesterday, I spent the day with Paul at his resort living home, Williams Island. It was lovely -- he treated me to a stretch session with Flossie -- a nice Chinese woman converted to Judaism to marry a LI guy. She stretched me well -- last time my left knee was that far to the right was at a party in law school.

And outside, they were giving vitamin B 12 shots -- promising it would "combat age." The older ladies were lined up -- lots of plastic surgery and fake boobs there. Paul offered me a shot -- and I said I was happy with my 60 years -- I lived the hell out of all of them -- why combat them at all? The older ladies, most of whom were my age or older, sneered. Yeah -- I could never live at a condo -- my wise assery would wear thin, fast.

So tonight I'll be watching at 7:30. Tomorrow I have Dadber -- D2 and Jonathan to MIA for their trip to NYC. Then I have my usual Zoom cocktail party -- and -- the premier of the Sopranos prequel movie. I look MOST forward to seeing that.

HBO has been running Sopranos marathons -- and I watch 2 or 3 episodes at a time -- I told Wifey there really never needs to be any other show on. D2 disagreed.

No Canes game live for me tonight. I put my tickets up on StubHub, even though the last ones I sold have my money in limbo. Even Joey, a payments maven, couldn't free them from the website. I called StubHub and was told my call would be answered "within 3 hours." Hell -- I can wait. Just the time I save not sitting in traffic to the game will do the trick.

A Fine Weekend

 So we seem to slouch back to pre Plague normalcy -- and it's a fine thing. D2 was sick this week -- she attended a party at Alyssa and Freddy's place, which was infested with preschoolers. I keep thinking of the song "Turning 30" and it's poignant lyric "All my stupid friends have stupid children..."

Anyway, one moppet Beatrice, thrust her fingers into D2's nose and mouth, and sure enough, a nasty cold resulted. But, alas, per the at home Covid test, it seemed coronavirus-free, and so we were relieved. But it did keep D2 and Jonathan home Friday night -- whilst Wifey and I met D1 and Joey.

The plan was for a food hall in Design District, but they were running late, and this old, everything is daunting guy wanted to avoid the craziness of parking there, so we audibled and met at The Citadel, another food hall -- this one on the true edge of gentrification - East of Liberty City.

It was terrific -- though, per usual in Miami, Wifey and I were the only Boomers I saw there. Still -- Joey and I had some fine burgers, and well poured martinis, and it was a lovely night. We came home to find D2 and Jonathan and their friend Michael watching TV. She had felt better.

Saturday, I fetched Mike, whose usual Canes crew had begged off due to our playing Central Connecticut State, and we got bagels and headed to Joe Robbie. We met Barry and Josh, and Josh had prepared a great breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancake strips, which, with our bagels, provided a lovely tailgate lunch. And there were a few adult beverages. Freddy and his cousin Ivan, who works for UM Med, came by, and Ivan was thrilled to ask Barry's advice about stuff. Barry has been there since before they had X rays.

The Canes went up 49-0 at halftime, and as the 3rd quarter was beginning, we heard the dreaded announcement "Due to dangerous lightning -- head for shelter." I convinced our group to head instead for dim sum -- and we reconvened at Kon Chau off Bird Road. It was delicious -- my first time inside since early '20. We feasted well.

Yesterday Wifey announced that her BFF Edna's oldest Lauren was coming over for an overnight stay. D2 and Jonathan were out on a boat in Biscayne Bay, where the Cuban gentlemen sleep all day... I got us some DiNapoli, and we caught up with Lauren, a young enterpreneur living in LA, but likely moving to Miami.

D2 and Jonathan returned, with Chana Thai, and we had a lovely meal together in the dining room -- with newly designer chosen chairs which are comically uncomfortable. The designers followed Billy Crystal playing Fernando Llamas "It is more important to LOOK good than to FEEL good."

Today Lauren is working here, accompanied by her adorable rescue dog Cocoa, who weighs 7 pounds and barks at Betsy, who weighs 80. It's beyond adorable.

Lauren will get Dadber treatment to MIA later, and Thursday night the Canes play again -- hosting UVA in their first ACC game. Friday DadBer will ride again -- D2 and Jonathan are off to NYC for several days -- Wifey and I have to ride herd on their enormous dog. I joked that I was going to send Betsy off to doggy boot camp in the Redlands -- like we did with Honey. It really worked --Honey came back the best behaved dog ever. But it's not in the cards for Betsy -- they adore the dog like we adored Midnight -- our willful black Lab. So they'll just endure a lot of scary loud barking and destroyed stuff.

But again -- nice to have a normal vibe returning. Our local mayor Joe said his Friday announcement on the state of Covid would be his last -- hopefully forever -- but surely for now as the numbers keep dropping again. Oh -- let this be in our rear view mirror.

Old As Fuh

 So two and a half years ago, as I was driving at night, I kept thinking the dome light of my car was on, but it wasn't. Wifey strongly suggested I see her retina man, Dr. Schimel, and I went. Her suggestion may have saved my sight -- sure enough, I had a retinal tear which was causing "flashers." Dr. S zapped my eye with a laser, and I was good to go. After a 6 month follow up, I see him yearly, to make sure all is well. And the visit was this am.

Dr. S's senior guy is a fellow named Lopez, a scary smart Cuban guy who was a year ahead of us in college. After Columbus High, he went to Harvard, then back to UM for med school, and then back to Harvard for an internship. Eric knows him well -- from med school and the Harvard training -- and said he's a great guy.

Today, as the tech was checking my eyes with the cool blue light contraption, I remarked about how smart these eye docs were. The tech mentioned that indeed they were, but that Dr. Lopez now only did injections -- he left the retinal surgeries to Dr. S. I asked why, and the tech said "Well -- he IS getting up there." Dr. L is a year older than I.

I saw Dr. S and he said the repair was great. I mentioned that my right eye took longer to get into night vision mode than the left. Sure enough -- I have the beginnings of a cataract there -- no surgery for years, but it'll be coming. Of course it is -- I'm old as fuh.

Dr. S had his family photos -- he has young kids and his beautiful wife is expecting number 3 in November. I showed him photos of my beautiful grandson -- his son is just a bit older. Dr. S is brilliant and nice, and appreciated when I motioned to the photo of his wife and noticed he had clearly "outkicked his coverage," as the saying goes. He agreed he had.

I left -- happy that all was well. Sure enough, the waiting room was filled with folks mostly older than I. Retinal stuff is generally a problem for the older -- although my brother Norman started messing with it years ago. Unfortunately -- he needed surgery, where he did well, and I got to spend hours waiting for him with his wonderful Dad Max -- talking about life with that delightful and sage man. Max turns 94 next month, and is in terrific shape -- a very fortunate outlier in this aging business. He's a blessing to his kids, grandkids, and great grandkids.

Speaking of Norman -- I met him and his boy Michael for breakfast yesterday. As I waited -- I heard my name called -- Mike and his boy Chris were at the next table. We ended up having a lovely time -- celebrating Chris's closing on his first house, and Michael's return to Israel.

Afterwards, I joked that this breakfast was cheaper than the last -- where I bashed a nice lady's car. I spoke too soon. As I was getting into my car, I looked to see someone had nailed ME -- in the same spot on my bumper! It left a nice streak of yellow paint!

It wasn't too bad -- a touch of "Dent Doctor" got out most of it -- and I'm sure it won't be the last damage of the car's tenure. I'll probably end up buying it at the end of the lease -- I paid for 30K miles and will likely have half that amount at the end of the 3 years.

So -- all in all -- not really much complaint. Just the decrepitude of aging -- comes when you're old as fuh.

Career Advice

 I guess I just always got it -- helped along greatly by the lessons of my parents: when someone does something nice for you, or gives you a gift -- you thank them. I certainly taught the Ds -- they weren't allowed to play with any gift until a thank you note was given.

Sure enough -- the lesson was used as I entered my profession. My main mentor Ed gave me reams of advice, and placed me in my second and third job. Each time Wifey and I took him and his wife Joyce for dinner -- even though picking up the tab for an expensive place was a bit difficult back then. It was the only way I knew how to be.

Well -- a few weeks ago, I got a text from a young UM Law graduate who used to clerk for a friend.. She's nice and quiet -- and is the daughter of my friend's close friends. I hadn't seen or heard from her in quite some time, and then she texted -- she was offered a job by a local firm -- what was my opinion of them?

I Googled the firm, whose name I knew, but nothing more. I saw I knew no one who worked there -- not unusual as I age and it seems most lawyers are younger than I. But I saw the extent of their practice, and I texted back -- telling the rookie lawyer they had a fine reputation, and she would likely learn a lot from them. I wished her luck, and told her to let me know how things worked out. 

And her response was: nothing. Zero. As if I was just there on the buffet table of resources for this young lady, and no thanks were necessary.

I guess I forgot about it, until tonight, when my friend excitedly told me the young lawyer had taken the job and started today. My friend was drinking, and when I brought up the diss of not hearing back from her -- he tried to tell me that "doing tzedekah was its own reward -- I should do it without expecting anything in return."

I asked where in any holy books tzedekah included taking the time to give career advice to a rich girl who grew up in Boca Raton. Somehow I don't think it's the same as giving time or money to a college, or homeless shelter.

Whatever. I actually hope my friend mentions something to the young lawyer -- for her own good. When people are recognized for helping, they want to help again. It's just human nature. If a friend asks, some time in the future if I know of any lawyers looking for a sweet job with some defense experience -- well, no way I'd remember or recommend the young lawyer who ghosted me.

Again -- my Ds got the lesson -- D1, sometimes too much so. Whenever someone refers her a client -- she sends a gift. Often the gift costs more than the fee earned -- but she shows how thoughtful and classy she is. And that makes me proud.

I've been buying Stage Leap Petite Syrah by the case lately -- when the winery puts it on sale. I don't drink much wine, if at all -- but the bottles keep disappearing -- gifts when the Ds or we are invited over somewhere.

I just left a bottle for our new next door neighbors -- Jesus and Mariela. I got a text -- they LOVE wine, and know Stag's Leap well -- they SO appreciated the gift, and Wifey and I needed to come over to share "two or three good bottles" of wine with them. I'll ask for vodka instead.

Years ago, a comedian I enjoyed said that manners are the lubricant of society. You can get by without them -- but with chafing and grinding and pain.

Thinking back -- I got to do a really nice gesture with my mentor Ed. In 1992, I was fortunate to bring into my firm a huge case -- and Ed did work on it. At the end of the case, there was a check for his firm for about $300,000.00. My boss, also Ed, was going to put his check in the mail -- the same afternoon he handed me a truly life changing check. Instead, I asked for it -- to deliver it in person.

It was a Friday, and it was too late to deposit my jumbo check in the bank. I recall driving past MIA in my Mazda 626 --with blue velour seats -- the two checks sitting on the passenger seat like little people. I looked up and saw a Varig 747 -- the old airline of Brazil. I looked at the checks and the plane, and had a Walter Mitty moment -- I could drive over to MIA, get on the plane, and start a new life in Rio. Oh sure -- I'd send money back to Wifey and the Ds -- then a baby and 3 -- but buy myself a Panama hat and...

Nah. Instead I drove to Ed's house, behind Baptist Hospital. He was sitting in his antique barber chair, drinking a vodka on ice. He poured one for me, and asked why I had come over that fine evening. I told him how much I appreciated his referring me for the job -- I loved it, and learned so much. And, I said, with a case I had brought in and he had worked on, I could finally thank him properly -- and handed him the check.

He looked at it, and got teary eyed. Sure -- he had earned the fee -- but I know it meant so much to him coming from one of his proteges. And it meant a lot to me, too.

Then I drove home to my house, and showed Wifey the check. A few months later, Hurricane Andrew would blow down our house and give us more big checks, courtesy of Prudential Insurance. So 1992 really changed our lives.

And I got to properly show gratitude for someone who helped my career a lot. I hope the newly minted lawyer, for her own sake, learns that lesson.

I Could Go To The Bathroom?

 Well, it's happened to me for the second time in my life. It was either a coincidence, or evidence of metaphysical activity from the Great Beyond.

I went to grade school with a boy named Ronnie Feuring. He was a nice kid, and had what they used to call a speech impediment. He got his words wrong -- instead of asking to use the bathroom, he would say, "I can go to the bathroom???!" Funny how I was about 6, and still recall this clearly.

They sent Ronnie to some kind of speech therapy, and it worked. By the end of our tenure at East Broadway -- he spoke just fine. I would see him over the years, but our paths diverged. I ended up on a more academic track, such as it existed in blue collar Levittown in the late 70s, and Ronnie, I think, went on a more vocational path -- likely something called BOCES, or Board of Cooperative Education Services. This was a program to train kids to become mechanics, or practical nurses. Many of them ended up with great jobs at places like Grumman, or Fairchild -- Long Island had serious industry back then.

I don't know that I saw Ronnie at all after junior high, though I have a glimmer of a memory we said goodbye our senior year of high school. Anyway -- I have certainly not spoken nor heard from him in over 4 decades.

And then -- last week -- his image popped into my brain. I guess it was triggered by our grandson -- just learning to talk -- and my mental file cabinet must have popped up about Ronnie. Or did it?

Yesterday I saw on FaceBook (tm) that Ronnie died last week -- 5 months before he turned 61. The obit didn't give much info -- but said he left a wife and 2 kids and lived in Sayville -- out in Suffolk County. Was Ronnie saying goodbye?

The first time this happened was back in 1980. I was a freshman at UM, and one day was awakening from a nap, and a strong image of a childhood friend came into my mind: Carl Berkowitz. Carl was a funny kid -- looked a bit, and had the schtick of Groucho Marx. In high school, he adopted as friends the jocks of the school -- he wasn't much good at sports, but became sort of their mascot. I think I last talked to him freshman year.

But there he was -- clear in my mind -- a memory of listening to records at his house -- we were probably 12 or so. His Dad worked for a record company, and would bring home demos -- I still have some of them, from groups like "The Purple Gang," and "Fat" -- they never became chart toppers.

Well -- later that week, my friend Eric called -- to tell me the big local news. Carl had drowned.  A group of his friends and he used to play ice hockey on a local pond. Carl was the goalie, and fell through the ice, and his pads filled with water, and he was dragged to the bottom. By the time they rescued him -- he was gone.

I shuddered at the news -- first to hear about a 19 year old dying, and then because he had come to visit me in some way.

Cue spooky music.

Well -- I'm sure there are explanations for these two events -- I just don't have any. I just hope Ronnie lived a full and happy life before he was taken.

Speaking of death -- my beloved Hurricanes. I finally went to see a game -- first time in nearly 2 years. We had a fine, albeit early tailgate -- Mike, Loni, Jeannine, and Chris, and Dr. Barry and his whole crew, and Norman and 2/3 of his fine sons. Freddy and his cousin Ivan stopped by. We drank, and ate bagels and breakfast meats, and enjoyed each other's company.

And then the game. The team may be the worst in the 42 years I've been a fan -- systemically bad. Oh well.

If I had to predict, Ronnie Feuring was probably a Jets fan. They stink, too, and I bet Ronnie's family would happily have him back to watch his horrid team.

Strange phenomena, these.

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

 And no, I'm not referring to Sgt. Pepper. It was a sunny, Miami morning, and I was driving up US 1, and Wifey called to say "Boy -- I'm sure glad your office is on the ground floor. Some airplane crashed into a high story in the World Trade Center -- sounds like some Cessna off course." Well, we knew a bit later it was more than a simple case of Mayday for some errant pilot out of New Jersey.

Paul and I and our old boss Ed had a meeting with clients -- a family whose huge case had settled and we had worked on together, and they were coming to the office for the closing. They were some Tennessee folks living in Broward whose smoking caused a fire which burned one of their kids -- and so we successfully sued the landlord for not having working smoke detectors. The little girl was thankfully doing well, but scarred on her legs and body -- and we had won a very tidy sum for the family. The parents badly needed their checks, and the bulk of the net funds was going into a special needs trust.

We had a TV on, and watched the Towers fall. We got the closing done, and I spoke to Wifey -- by then she had fetched the Ds, from Palmetto Middle and Leewood Elementary - and all were safe at home. Paul's kids were safe in colleges, and Ed's kids and grandkids well, too. We sent the staff home, and Ed, the pragmatic gourmand, realized well -- we gotta eat. So we headed to Morton's on Brickell.

By now, it was early afternoon, and we sat in the bar watching the carnage on the big screen, while we drank martinis and ate steaks. I felt a bit Nero-esque -- but really -- what else could we do? Our families were thankfully safe, and even if the attacks somehow reached Miami, well -- might as well go out with a Stoli martini "colder than my ex-wife's heart" as a favorite bartender in Chicago used to say, and a good NY Strip.

Well -- the days afterwards were tense. President W launched a war which, 20 years later and tons of money wasted, succeeded in replacing the Taliban with...the Taliban.

Thankfully our family matured and prospered. Our then 4th and 8th graders grew into accomplished, wonderful women who married amazing men -- and there is, of course, the beautiful grandson who turns 2 in just over 3 months.

We lost my Mom 12 years later, and Wifey's Dad a few years after that, but both had lived long, full lives. Somehow my ancient suegra is still with us -- with a life that began in Poland and has spanned the 20th and now first 5th of the 21st century. Wow. Lots of years there.

Today the plan is a visit from D1 and the baby -- Joey will be golfing. Jonathan just left for his Gables office -- that young man is in major deal making mode -- he spent all day yesterday in Charlotte -- arriving home late to one of those very cold martinis.

D1 usually leaves in the early afternoon -- and then the couch will call me -- lots of college football to watch, including my Canes at 7. I actually sold my tickets online -- the majority of my group is giving the Plague a bit more time to subside here -- though we hope to regroup next Saturday for Michigan State.

The year after the attacks, I was in a mediation, and wise man Murray Meyerson described what the terrorists did as "a stunt." And it struck me how apt a description that was -- no bombs, no expensive materials, just suicidal zealots with box cutters who knew how to exploit the openness of the USA.

Still, the stunt killed thousands, and 9/11 is our generation' "date that will live in infamy." May we never see its like again.