Happy Birthday, Former Friend

 So I met one of my close college friends in the most early 80s, pre "Me, Too" sort of way: ogling a co-ed's enormous breasts. It was the Spring of 1981, and I was still pre Med, and taking Calculus. Knowing my strengths and weaknesses intellectually, I had as much business taking Calculus as I did trying out for the Hurricanes, but there I was.

Of course, I was soon lost and bored with the lecture of a kindly old professor named McDougle, who ended up giving me a gentlemen's C at the end of the class. But sitting next to me was a fellow Honors Student named Christine -- a Marine Science major who could have been Jayne Mansfield's sister. My gaze, no, stare, was upon her chest, and I looked up to see another face staring the very same way, from the seat on her other side. It was a comical face -- curly blonde hair, glasses, and huge nose. The fellow gave me the thumbs up, and we met after class.

"I see you're a man of similar tastes," he said, and I think I answered that any undergrad male who wasn't gay probably had similar tastes. We laughed, and a friendship was thus born. His name was Vince.

He had transferred in from FSU, where he partied too much and his grades were poor. His Dad, Vince, Sr. made him come home (he was raised in North Miami, back when they had a small Italian American section there -- now all Haitian) and gave him a final year of paying for college. "If my grades don't improve -- I have to work as a janitor in his clothing factory in Hialeah!" The parental pressure worked -- he got all As and accepted into UM's Medical School.

But first we had a lot of fun to add to our college memory list. We had a lot in common -- we adored our Dads . His was an Italian version of mine -- same high school in the Bronx, even, and like my late Dad, a self taught intellectual who prized education above all else in a man. His Mom was Irish, and less warm, but had a sharp sense of humor.

He used to spend nights at my campus apartment, and met his first wife Barbara, a pretty, smart girl from Chicago who ended up going to UM Law and becoming a US Assistant Attorney. Wifey and I attended their wedding, at Reflections at Bayside, and Vince's sister Lee remarked that it was filled with "pregnant pauses." Barbara's very WASPY Chicago family were no bunch of wacky funsters.

Anyway -- the marriage didn't last long, and Vince then married a Nurse Practitioner with whom he had his 2 kids, now grown with their own kids. His son was a troubled young man, and one of my worst jobs as a friend was staying on the phone with Vince as he had his 17 year old son "kidnapped" by a drug program which took him to rural Utah, too far to run away to anything, and tried to get him cured. I hope it worked -- at least according to FaceBook (tm), the young fellow seems to be doing well -- married and with a new baby -- never college educated but working, I think, in the marine industries.

And indeed it was FaceBook (tm) this am that told me it was my old friend's birthday -- I guess he is 63.

He had a pattern. When he was married, which was 4 times (the last 2 to the same woman, also a nurse) I'd hear from him infrequently. But when he was divorced, he was around -- a lot. Between his 3rd and 4th marriage, our friends Dave and Sandra were staying here from the UK, and Vince was there every day for 4 in a row. I recall Dave found that odd, but I was used to it.

And then came the schism. Vince asked me for a loan of $50K, to keep afloat a pain clinic he had founded. He had just paid 7 figures to his wife #3, who was later to become wife #4, and I asked why he didn't simply ask HER for the money -- since his ability to pay her alimony depended on his ability to make money. Oh no -- he said -- no way.

Well -- I had just completed a very bad deal with another college friend I'll call Jorge -- borrowed money for a donut business, and defaulted on several loans. Plus, I had a sense that many of these private pain clinics were headed for trouble -- audits for Medicare/Medicaid issues and the like, and I had zero desire to encounter the Feds as an investor in something like that. So I told Vince no.

He understood, or so I thought, and soon after married wife #3 again. And then I didn't hear from him for over a year, which was, I thought, the usual pattern. But then I reached out -- no, he said, he wasn't not talking to me because he was married again, but because I had broken his heart when I refused the $50K loan.

I thought long and hard about a response. Should I remind him of the laundry list of things I had done for him in his life? How I supported him through so many tough times -- represented him for FREE on two cases -- once when he was sued, and once when an insurer wouldn't pay for a sailboat destroyed by a hurricane? The legal fees for those two cases alone would have been more than $50K, and as I was reminded recently, lawyers often charge full price even to young people they've known since birth!

Nah. I let it go with a simple "Sorry you feel that way -- I wish you the best." And that was it.

His wife #2 is a FaceBook friend, now on her husband #4 , and over the years has reached out to Wifey and me about getting together. We took a Pasadena -- plenty of couple friends. And I told her I was thrilled to see her kids soaring.

Still -- when I got the FB notification this am, it brought back mostly happy, warm, and hilarious memories of our times together. And it turns out I'm not the only one who Vince jettisoned.

He has a friend, Al, a fellow North Miam Italian guy. They met when they were 9 -- Al married his Catholic high school sweetheart. We all recall with hilarity the best July 4 party ever -- July 4, 1981. Vince's parents were in the Keys, and we hosted a huge blowout. It ended with random people, passed out from booze and drugs, sleeping all over the house. I was working that Summer at Boca Hospital as a pharmacy tech, and a group of pharmacists and fellow techs all attended. My girlfriend at the time, a rich Colombian Jewess, saw how "crass and loud" the party was and made me drive her home. She was proud to be Chopin and not Skynerrd. 

Anyway, a few years back, Al took a break from his lawyer life in Tampa, and moved back to the 305 to care for his declining mother. We had lunch, and of course talked about our mutual friend. He said that when he reached out to Vince as his wife Cristina was dying -- Vince totally blew him off. Talk about heartbreaking. So Al convinced me not to feel bad at all about refusing the loan - our old, mutual friend had some emotional screws loose, it seems.

Still -- I hope he's well, and gets joy from his grandkids. I think he's still practicing medicine. 

So happy birthday, old friend. We're long divorced, but I wish you only well.

Baby It's Cold Outside

 We finally got our first real cold front in Miami this year -- and it's a real one. Tomorrow am temps are to drop to 39 with wind chills into high 20s -- coldest in 11 years! Last night the chill winds blew into the guest room -- my decamped sleeping quarters as Wifey finishes the end of Omicron Covid. The room has two small windows facing East, and a large one facing West -- and the ventilation is seriously good. I slept and dreamt of my childhood on LI -- cold winter nights.

We had a lovely Zoom -- Barry and Donna and Eric and Dana with guest appearances by Barry's boys. Everyone asked for Wifey -- she refused at first, but ultimately came down for a cameo appearance. D2 and Jonathan were on Brickell -- I ate my Publix meatloaf and pasta -- and enjoyed a few Ketels.

Today the sun was bright and the temps still low -- 50s -- and I actually fell asleep in a chaise lounge out front -- guarded by Betsy, who hung with after chasing away some intruding peafowl.

Joey and D1 are at a birthday party close by with the Little Man -- they may stop by on their way home, but stay outside in an abundance of Covid caution. That's ok -- though Wifey seems completely recovered, and thankfully the rest of her Pinecrest Roommies are fine.

Tonight there WILL be a fire in the fire pit -- before the temps drop too low. D2 and Jonathan actually had dinner plans cancel -- they dine outdoors with friends, and tonight will be too cold! It's not too often that happens round these parts.

Last night, after the Zoom, and in the nice afterglow of the adult beverages, Wifey and I talked for a good long while. It was refreshing -- when you're married to someone for 35 years, you think you're pretty good at knowing how they think about things -- how they process life events they   know or hear about.

Well -- without going into the details, the substance was learning about another marriage, and the issues they face, and my discovering Wifey's opinions about its pathology were the exact opposite of my opinions. It doesn't affect us in any way, but it was as if we both looked at a painting, and one saw two horses while the other saw a ballet dancer. It just shows that if you truly listen as you go, as Tito Puente advised, you really DON'T know what you're going to hear. How about that?

Also last night, we talked about a possible trip -- which would be my first time on an airplane since December of '19. We have, or I do, some reason to visit D.C. and I think Wifey may wish to come along. Hopefully the trip can be arranged during cherry blossom time. I've been there two times during that part of the Spring -- and it's magical.

Once was the classic walk through the middle of the Mall. Another time, Kenny and Joelle took me to a residential neighborhood in Bethesda, MD, and it was lovely -- the blossoms fell like fragrant snow. I hope to experience that again.

Meanwhile, I continue in my study of human nature -- particularly relationships. My Florida sister always loves to quote Don Henley's lyric "Every form of refuge has its price" which explains why people put up with some awful things just to have a place.

I wonder, though, what price is worth it, sometimes. I hear more and more about fully crappy partners, who pull outrageous acts, and their partners stay with them for lifestyle, to not have to work, etc...I guess you truly have to get in another's skin and walk around in it for awhile, as Atticus Finch said, to even try to understand.

Meanwhile, the Little Man DID make his brief appearance -- playing with an inflatable dinosaur he apparently purloined from the party. We kept our distance, and all adored him, and then he and his parents were off.

D2 and Jonathan got out the old NYC winter gear and went to the outdoor dinner after all. I sat by the firepit drinking some gourmet tea D1 left for me.

I guess we'll actually close the windows tonight -- and tomorrow defrost the three dogs. Nice to have this weather for a brief bit -- but just a brief bit.

Cranky Old Man

 So the theme around here lately seems to be how I've become much more of a cranky old man. Ya think? Last January after Wifey's medical event, I began a journey of 6 months of being her caretaker, case manager, insurance coordinator, and butler.

I thought we were past it, and then Covid came knocking -- this time, thankfully, it was a mercifully short time of bringing meals upstairs, finding probably unnecessary Regeneron appointments, and mediating mask wearing issues amongst our Pinecrest roommates. Last night was hopefully the last of it.

D2 went to dinner with some of the fellow wives of Jonathan's company, and Jonathan and I ordered in from a great new local Peruvian place, 1111 Peruvian Bistro. Wifey had enjoyed a salad from there last week, topped with salmon. This time I ordered her tuna. Alas, it came with Ahi tuna, which she doesn't like.

When I handed her the bowl, she gave it the kind of withering expression she learned from her mother -- the one that says "I'm not complaining, but you should know I am VERY disappointed." She went outside to eat yogurt.

Now, I could have just let it go, but I know she's recovering from the plague, and ought to have a wholesome meal, so I whipped up some of my famous Daddy eggs (the secret is simply whipping them before the pan), toasted her some whole wheat bread, and brought her a custom egg sandwich -- even cut diagonally, which somehow makes sandwiches seem fancier.

So am I cranky? You're durn tootin!

The truth is, as I begin my 61st year, I came to an obvious conclusion. Throughout life, I have always had a tremendous grasp of the obvious -- which sounds demeaning to intellectuals, but puts me ahead of the mass of people who always fail to see the obvious. The conclusion is my time is far more precious than it was decades ago -- a price above rubies, as our Holy Books say.

And for this reason, when given the chance to go somewhere, or meet someone, or do something, I take the metaphorical step back, and ask myself if the opportunity is worth it. I love where I live. Each time I step onto the streets for a walk, surrounded by the lush tropical foliage, I can't believe how lovely it is. Should I leave this for dull conversation, or a crowd of people at a sports event where my team likely loses?

And I guess that comes off as cranky. And that's ok.

I feel obligated to fewer and fewer people as I age. Recently there was an issue about a friend's stepson's wedding -- I assumed Wifey and I would have to attend, since the friend was paying for some of the party -- even though the young man is marrying a way rich girl. I guess her parents realized that you STAY very rich by being cheap ass with your kids. Anyway, fear of my crankiness had the friend reluctant to invite me -- lest I go, have a crappy time, and talk about it for months.

At first, my reaction was no -- we SHOULD go -- I can be a mature boy and keep my annoyances to myself. But then, I took the step back, realized I truly do NOT wish to go to the wedding of a young man I barely know (in Philly no less) and said simply "Probably for the best -- barely know the young man -- he doesn't need me there."

Cranky? Yes. Preventing resentment? Yes, that as well. And, if the plague subsides by Fall, maybe I'll be ready to go to some alternative leaf peeping place -- maybe taking the Full Squad along -- like a memorable trip we took to Mohonk Mountain House in Upstate NY a few years ago.

Then again, I guess I was less cranky then. We'll have to see if the Squad wants to come along now.

The State of Banks

 I remember when banks would give you stuff if you made a deposit. My Dad even got our second color TV as a gift when he opened a $10K CD -- in the late 70s. My how things have changed.

I've kept two low balance accounts at SunTrust for years -- they pay our annual life insurance premiums. We let Wifey's insurance lapse years ago, on account of I figured the Ds were old enough that if something untoward were to happen to Wifey, I wouldn't need the money to hire an incredibly hot nanny for them. Yes -- life didn't take that tragic turn, fortunately.

I still have one whole life plan, which expires when I turn 65, and each July I deposit about $1100 into the trust account, pay the premium, and then leave a few hundred dollars until the following July.

Well Mike, my friend and trustee, got a letter. SunTrust is turning to Truist, which is one of the stupidest names in corporate history, in my opinion, and Truist said the salad days were over. Any accounts with balances less than $1000 would be charged a $6 monthly maintain fee. I keep a couple of rather substantial money market accounts with SunTrust, which pay peanuts in interest.

So I call my "private banker" Eric, and ask him to please waive that $72 yearly fee -- explaining that it's a 2 transaction per year account, and, come on...

No fewer than 10 emails have been exchanged. I guess being allowed to waive that fee is something that must be decided at the corporate level. I finally got a bit Karen-like, and told Eric if they said no -- I would close all my accounts with SunTrust/Truist. That got his attention, and by the way, would I be interested in talking to their wealth advisor? Insurance specialist? No I would not, but it occurred to me that they had become car dealerships -- trying to sell useless undercoating, or maintainence plans.

But there's more! I followed my banker friend Carole around since 1992 -- from SunTrust to Bank of Boston, to Gibraltar, which got bought by Iberia, which is now changing to New Horizon -- a less stupid name than Truist but still stupid. Carole wants us to close our accounts and come to her new bank -- a local place -- with promise of a free safe deposit box!

I really dig Carole, but making this change would require mustering the Ds, Wifey, and I at the new facility in Kendall, on a weekday. Also, I'd have to change all the auto pays linked to the account -- so not going to happen.

So I emailed my NEW "personal banker" and asked for a free safety deposit box -- they cost $120 per year. Same thing as the other bank! He has to ask permission.

He asked me if a discount would make me happy. I told him it would not -- if they couldn't extend the courtesy -- I would indeed close my accounts and follow Carole. We'll see.

I realize these are the height of rich white guy problems. But on the flip side of that -- our FREE Covid tests came in the mail today, courtesy of Joe Biden. We are firmly in the 25% of Americans who approve of his job performance. Until his weakness allow Russia to take back Ukraine and China to take back Taiwan, of course. Then maybe some buyer's remorse...

But for now, it's great to have these kinds of problems. Supposably, as Miamians say, the installer for the appliances is coming buy today for a "pre install inspection." The oven finally came in, and is sitting in our garage along with the new compactor, dishwasher, and gas stove top/exhaust system.

The fellow said he'd wait for the enormous fridge, but I told him that may never come -- could he please do what we had so we'd have an oven for the first time since October, when the perfectly working one was removed for the one with the stainless steel front.

We'll see how much of the quotidian gets done this week.

The Covid Week Continues

So indeed Wifey was probably the last, or one of the last Miami residents to get Regeneron on Monday, before the FDA said it was worthless for Omicron and the state, kicking and screaming, shut down the Regeneron sites. The tech had told her her symptoms would abate within 24 hours.

And guess what? She awoke Tuesday am feeling totally better! Of course, the science indicates that her improvement is coincidental to the Regeneron, and it probably is. But who truly knows? All we DO know is that Wifey feels like she had an exorcism -- and is resting with very manageable symptoms.

She remains isolated in our master bedroom -- I bring her meals and tea and supplies. Her doc and the CDC guidelines say she can come out of isolation tonight, albeit still masked up for another 5 days. She says to be safe she may wait until tomorrow for her emergence, as her symptoms began in earnest on Saturday am.

Meanwhile, if our house was a We Work and charged by actual work, I would be making bank! D2 and Jonathan both put in marathon days yesterday -- other than a quick lunch, both were on calls or screens for probably 11 hours. These millennials work far harder than I did -- and for the first 20 years of my law career, I DID work long hours.

But, in nice news, today is their 2nd wedding anniversary, and they have plans for a lovely dinner in the Gables. On our morning Betsy walk, I offered Jonathan a pre dinner L'chaim. I'll be partaking at 7.

I remain a literary dilettante, and have a Zoom tonight with a company that does literary pub crawls. I take them whenever I visit a new city -- Dublin, Key West, NOLA, and when D2 and Jonathan moved to the West Village, one Saturday D2 and I took one. She was a good sport -- I thoroughly enjoyed it -- who knew that John Wilkes Booth planned his fateful act from a building in the Village? I also learned about Chumley's -- a pub that has hosted more Pulitzer and Nobel winners than any other -- F Scott and Zelda married there.

Anyway, I got on the company's email list, and last year attended one of the virtual functions -- their tour guides reading their original poetry as we all drank. It was free, but tips were welcomed at the end, and of course I supported their effort. That won me another freebie -- tonight at 7 - and I plan to pour some Ketel and tonic and maybe learn something.

Our family text groups are aflame with pictures and videos of the Big, Fat, Venezuelan wedding of two years ago. D2 sent a video of my friends and I doing The Worm, as we have done at parties since the early 80s, and wiseass D1 remarked that she was truly amazed my friends and I were able to get up off the dance floor from our supine wiggling. Actually, I was amazed as well...

So if all goes to plan, Wifey gets to unmask Monday evening or Tuesday am. And hopefully that's it for us, Covid-wise.

We all realize how lucky we are. If you have to be stuck, stuck in Miami in January isn't too bad. I just hope the virus is beating a retreat. 

Our Covid Journey

 Well, so much for my hopes for good health around here in the new year. Despite being boosted, and generally avoiding risks, Wifey came down with Covid.

We played the game of trying to figure out where - but the most likely culprit is her recent trip to Atlanta. She was in a limo for her friend Edna's daughter's party, and the birthday girl Erica came down with a nasty case, but that was a few weeks back. I'm guessing Erica passed to her Mom or step dad, who remained asymptomatic, but then passed it on to Wifey last Tuesday. That timing makes sense, as she started feeling sick Friday night. But then again, we were also with friends for dinner Thursday, including Mike and Christine from Tampa. I guess that window might be too small -- but who knows?

Saturday she was sick, like a bad cold, and a bit better Sunday. The problem is, Jonathan was due to fly to Argentina for work, and though he tested negative Saturday, in prep of his international travel, he was concerned he might turn positive while in Buenos Aires, which would trigger a long hotel room quarantine. 

Yesterday, Wifey, Jonathan, and D2 all got rapid PCRs at a great clinic Jonathan found -- they give you results within the hour. The millennials were negative; Wifey was positive. But the trip was still cancelled.

We got home, and Wifey reported she was "deteriorating," and so called her family doc. He's a nice fellow, and connected to Wifey through her dear departed friend, but I never got the sense he was a cutting edge practitioner. Sure enough, he told Wifey that given her age, which I can never mention but she's now fully on Medicare, he wanted her to go get the monoclonal antibody treatment, though he thought that might require a trip to West Palm.

I sprung into action, as I did last January for her stroke treatment and rehab. Sure enough, the state site at Tropical Park had an open appointment -- at 3:45. I bundled the Covid, masked Wifey into the car and headed there -- it was strangely uncrowded. She got 4 shots to her belly and reported they burned like fire.

I texted this information to some of the former Team Wifey -- Eric and Barry -- and they immediately seized upon something troubling: Regeneron doesn't work on Omicron, which Wifey was 99% likely to have! I kept the frustrating information to myself, knowing the treatment wouldn't hurt but likely wouldn't help either, but then, as if on cue, last night the state closed the sites after the FDA ruled that indeed Regeneron for Omicron was the proverbial tit on a bull -- useless.

When Wifey arises, assuming she's still feeling poorly, will attempt to get a prescription for the new Pfizer drug, Paxlovid, which DOES tamp down Omicron. Alternatively, she can just ride it out, which everyone with "breakthrough infections" seems to have done successfully. 

Man -- the freaking Plague is like the weather -- everybody talks about it, and nobody does anything about it. On March 12 TWO YEARS AGO we went into lockdown #1. Basta, as the Cubans say. Or enough, already, as the old Jews say.

Still -- things have improved. In March of 2020, we feared dying of the thing -- we really no longer do. Albert Bourla, the Pfizer CEO who I call the world's smartest Sephardic Jew, says the thing ought to be endemic by March -- and Pfizer will have a once per year vaccine to deal with it like we deal with seasonal flu -- and deniers will be free to die at their will.

Tomorrow marks D2 and Jonathan's second wedding anniversary. We were all gathered at the beautiful Betsy Hotel, in evening light out of a Hollywood lighting director's imagination, hearing the sage words of Rabbi Harlig. Somehow he brought up the Holocaust without being maudlin -- pointing out how those two grandchildren of Survivors were a testament to the future, the triumph of good over evil.

So I hope their anniversary marks the true beginning of the end of this damned viral disease. I am MORE than ready to get back to worrying about other ways to die.

Oregon in Miami

 So yesterday I drove up to Shorecrest, to help D2 babysit for the Little Man, who already HAS a full time nanny -- it truly takes a village with this kid. We had a terrific day.

First -- we walked the enormous puppy to a close by dog park -- and Betsy was shy. She usually romps with the dogs in the Grove, but we figured she was the new bitch in town and so avoided a chocolate Lab and mixed breed that looked like Petey from the Little Rascals. Afterwards, we sat on a bench in the late morning shade -- and the Little Man surprised us with some perfect English words -- even though he's mostly spoken to in Spanish.

After lunch, we took him to a true hidden gem, that his parents discovered. And I was amazed -- it was like being in Oregon in Miami. It's called Earth N Us Farm. I'm still not clear on the history of the place, but it's 5 acres in Little River, close by Little Haiti. The place is privately owned and open to the public.

They have a barnyard animal rescue -- pigs and turkeys and goats that were destined for the dinner table now live together in large pens. There are birds -- macaws and parrots -- and a pond with koi. They'll serve you a vegan lunch -- a fire pit was going with old style cast iron cooking -- and friendly cats abound.

We took Betsy, and she didn't bark -- in fact, it seemed as the goats were inviting her to join them. She wisely stayed back -- they DO have horns.

The place is totally rustic -- if it were commercial, it'd be shut down for tiny wooden steps and other unsafe structures -- but somehow they've been left alone by the city. They also have a large organic garden, and apparently donate a lot of food to the homeless. There are also washing machines that appeared to be available to any comers -- along with the Air Bnb folks I believe may rent some of the cabins and a treehouse located up in an ancient ficus.

The Little Man feels right at home -- he even did a happy dance in front of the "tugas" -- short for the Spanish tortugas, or turtles. They have two happy tortoises which were lazily sunning themselves.

I thought I really knew Miami -- particularly the quirky, atypical places -- and this showed I do not. I posted it on FaceBook -- anyone with little kids would totally enjoy the place -- and maybe lunch afterwards in MiMo.

We took the Little Man home -- he was a happy boy, and I took the enormous puppy back to Pinecrest. It was a chilly night, and I lit a fire in my firepit, and fantasized I was an ancient hunter, resting with my loyal dogs after a day securing food for my village. 

And then I watched the first ever Monday Night Football playoff game -- true genius in sports media, I thought.

Today I have some errands. I have to drop off a prepaid UPS envelope at the store -- hopefully the conclusion of a comically difficult attempt to transfer an investment account. I had kept it going because old friend Oui was at Morgan Stanley, but she left, and I decided to shift the funds to my Edge account, which I handle, sans management fees. I started this attempt in mid December, and it keeps being thwarted. My "relationship manager" in Jville thinks he has it figured out. We'll see.

Then I need a new FOB battery for Wifey's aging SUV -- the dashboard told me so. I'll drop into one of my favorite stores -- Batteries Plus. I really like stores that specialize -- I always think of the classic "Scotch Tape Boutique" routine from the old SNL. "Hey -- do you sell cassettes?" "No -- we're purists -- only Scotch Tape."

And then later the logistics begin. I fetch Wifey, and drive her up to Shorecrest. She tags D2, and I drive her home. Tomorrow evening I fetch Wifey from Shorecrest, and the Little Man's parents return from Colorado -- they're having a wonderful time.

I will definitely return, though, to the hippie farm. Seeing the Little Man happy dance -- well, that is just priceless.