Paperwork Memories

 So D has asked for some family documents, like passports and birth and death certificates, and  I set about doing a small historical dig through some file cabinets. In doing so, I realized it was finally time to consign some once important documents to the recycle bin of history.

There were thick files about my late Mom, Sunny. There were guardianship and trust documents, executed in May of 2012, when she entered the nursing home for the final 11 months she had left on this mortal coil. There was a quitclaim deed to my sisters and me for her condo -- it was comical what an awful investment that place turned out to be.

My parents bought the unit in the Spring of 1979 for $39K. When we sold it, in Spring of 2013, after Mom passed, I think the selling price was $48K. Had Mom and Dad bought a $40K house, it would have sold for close to $500K -- much more today. But Mom was SO happy in her condo surrounded by parking lots -- she lived there with Dad for 3 years, and as a widow for an additional 3 decades.

I decided it was ok to toss these old papers -- Mom's gone over a decade now, and I don't think anyone is going to question her final financial affairs.

I also came across files for other properties we owned. One was another bad investment -- a condo in Palmetto Bay. I made the mistake of listening to the advice of my friend Vince, who was worried that our kids would be priced out of the real estate market when they became adults. He was correct about that, somewhat, but he brought me to a condo conversion back in 2004. I checked out one of the units, and thought it might be worth $100K. Nope -- this was during the last bubble, and I ended up buying it for $235K. 

We rented it, first to a Burmese doctor and his family, and then for years to Lenny, a friend of a friend in the flower industry. After the first year of his lease, I made a deal with Lenny: I wouldn't raise his $1500 monthly rent, and he would take care of all small repairs. Also, we would each give each other one month's notice before he either moved out or I needed him to move out.

He was there so long, the market rate for rents had doubled. After my father in law died, we decided to move my suegra Rachel into the unit, with an aide. I called Lenny, and gave him two months notice. "No! You can't! This is my home! I can't afford any other rents!"

Sorry, Lenny -- I need the condo back for family. He mopishly agreed to move out, and then Wifey and I saw he really didn't keep up his end of the bargain. Toilet tank COVERS were missing! He was living like a fraternity boy. Whatever. Wifey hired Nestor, our loquacious Argentine handyman, and they got the unit into nice shape. My suegra lived there for a year, and then announced she was lonely. "Each day I look at the four valls."

We sold the place to the fellow who lived upstairs -- a retired teacher. He loved living there, but bad knees made the stairs a problem. We sold for, I think, $150K. I just got a notice that he's finally selling -- 6 years later. He's asking $295K. It appears that the unit is FINALLY worth more than I paid, or overpaid, in 2005.

But investments aside, the papers bring me back -- to events that were recorded. I kept all our family's passports -- they return them with holes punched in them when you renew. It was lovely to see the Ds as babies, and then little girls, and then young beautiful women.

D1 and hopefully D2 will get that thrill someday.

Speaking of grandkids, the adorable toddler said something yesterday that made me a bit teary eyed. He was playing on his slide, and was going to push his rubber llama down. He looked at me, and said "Grandpa Dev -- watch this!"

I'm not sure why that moved me so -- I guess because he was acknowledging me as his abuelo -- truly becoming a little boy from toddlerhood. 

His baby brother turns one in just over a month. THAT I can remember even without looking at the legal paperwork.

Learning To Be A Better Friend

 I joke with a close friend that he is Mr. Impressionable. He'll see a movie, or read a book, and proclaim that is was "life changing." That's rare for me, though I am very gratified when I do learn a truly resonating lesson.

When I thnk about my identity, about who I really AM, I unhesitatingly proclaim that number one, I am a father. It is a role I sought, and give all of my heart and head to, and though am self deprecating about much else, am NEVER selling myself short as a Dad. I know my Ds and their men will agree.

Next, I pride myself on who I am as a friend. If you are in my inner circle, well, you know I will go to the mat for you. Years ago, Rabbi Yossi taught me a lesson about friendship, and I think about it constantly.

He asked me to define friendship, and I answered it means being there for your friend in a time of need. No -- he corrected -- that is ANY decent person. According to the Rabbi, and his knowledge of the wisdom of we Chosen -- a true friend is one who wants you to soar -- in the way we want our kids to soar.

Many people have friends, and when they hear about them winning some life lottery, have private misgivings. "Why did THAT lazy bastard get so rich? How did that meishkeit score such a successful man?" It's human nature to envy. 

But a true friend truly wants you to do better. And in a Top 10 compliment, Rabbi Yossi told me he sees that in me -- I KVELL about the accomplishments of my true friends. When one of them soars, I soar with them. I'm just waiting for one of them to become truly wealthy -- and thereafter pick up every tab we encounter! Also, private jet travel would be nice...

Anyway, I reflected on this last night, as Joelle and Kenny came by for pizza, drinks, and watching Kubrick's first movie, "The Killing."

A little teary, I told Joelle she had made me a better friend. Poor thing had already heard the tale several times, but last night I shared it again.

When Wifey was in the hospital and then rehab following her stroke 2.5 years ago, all of my crew were there for me. I assembled Team Wifey, consisting of Drs. Eric, Barry, and Kenny. Any decisions I ran past them, and Wifey knew she got the best advice available.

I was invited out a lot, of course, but Joelle did something unique: she FORCED me to get together with her and her family. She would call, and I would beg off, and she would say "Yeah -- be at our house at 6. No excuses."

And those evenings with her and Kenny and their amazing sons meant everything to me. I needed company more than I had realized.

Joelle also showed her colors when D2 got married. D2, surrounded by her amazing friends, sought quiet on her actual wedding day -- wanted to get her mani/pedi done alone.

That same day, another guest, from out of town, called her. The hotel wasn't honoring the room discount, and what would D2 do about it???? D2 was too polite to summon her Logan Roy, and say Fuck Off, but instead told the guest to please contact her wedding planner -- she really couldn't help her on what was supposed to be a hassle free day of a young woman's life.

Coincidentally, Joelle was at the same salon, getting her stuff done for the night. She hugged D2, and said "I have a sense you want to be alone, or else your bridal party would all be here." And she walked away.

When D2 went to pay the large tab, they said the other lady had taken care of it. Now THAT is a friend.

Hopefully, we continue to learn each day of our lives. And when it comes to learning human nature, love, and friendship, I love to be a perpetual student -- especially when the lessons run so deep.

A Fun Impromptu Saturday Afternoon

 So D1 and Joey and the boys were busy all weekend, and so it appeared we'd wait until Tuesday to see them. But D1 texted -- they were bringing the boys to MIA to watch planes takeoff and land. Would we like to meet? We would -- and Wifey and I drove the 20 minutes to a spot off Perimeter Road.

The toddler was fast asleep. The adorable baby was up, taking it all in. We caught up with the latest news as the big jets came and left. Finally, they awoke the toddler, and we distracted his post nap crankiness by showing him where he was.

He had a blast -- watching the planes and tossing the rocks from the adjoining old railroad tracks. Even though it's a seldom used spur, my head was on a swivel looking for the slow moving freight trains. I can't remove the plaintiff's lawyer in me.

After an hour or so, D1 suggested maybe we get dinner together. What was close? Wifey remembered Stephen's -- the throwback deli in Hialeah. I thought they were closed for dinner, but was wrong, and so we met there -- the oldest deli in Miami Dade. The restauranteur Matt Kuscher took it over a few years back and restored it to its former glory -- a time when Hialeah had lots of Jewish schmata industry owners and worker, and several great delis.

We were the only ones there at first, and D1 and Joey got a kick out of all the Kuscher kitsch -- Bar Mitzvah photos and all. The toddler seemed to enjoy his grilled cheese and chips, and the little guy devoured some vegan meatloaf.

D1 was knackered, but came around with her adorable boys. Joey and I got a beer and a Sky vodka and toasted.

We each left for our homes, and Wifey reminded me of the joy of grandparenthood: we enjoy the little ones, and then retreat to the quiet of our own house. Yep -- nice gig we have going.

We tuned into the Heat, and I knew they would lose by the second quarter. They mounted a furious comeback, though, and had it won with 3 seconds left, until Boston got an impossible second shot to go it. Game 7 is tomorrow night, and I fear our boys will become historical -- in a bad way -- the first NBA team EVER to be up 3-0 that goes on to lose a Finals series. We'll see.

Meanwhile, on the impromptu scale -- we're having Joelle and Kenny over for some Memorial Day pizza this evening. Their boys are in Spain. Our D2 and Jonathan are in the Bahamas. But things in the 305 are ok -- the oppressive humidity and heat haven't hit yet.

So sometimes the unplanned is best -- that was surely the case yesterday.

Memorial Day Weekend

 It astonishes me how few Americans know the difference between Veterans' Day and Memorial Day --Veteran's Day honors living vets and MD honors those who have died in service of their country. 

We're in Memorial Day weekend now, and it's a good one to avoid the traffic of Miami Beach. Over the years, MD has evolved into Urban Beach Weekend, with thousands of hip hop fans from around the world packing it in. Sadly, it resulted in violence, to the point that many residents high tail it out of town for the weekend -- D2 and Jonathan among them.

The City can't really cancel UBW, and so they try to sort of dilute it. They host the Air and Sea Show, in hopes of bringing in a different demographic -- and sending some of the raucous gatherings over to the mainland. The result is epic traffic -- the cops use license plate scanners to look for criminals who might be entering the Beach -- and it's a good area to avoid.

D2 and Jonathan are in the Bahamas -- celebrating their friend Michael's 32nd. 7 Millennials are there -- Jonathan sent pictures, and the house, in Harbor Island, looks gorgeous.

I began the weekend with an Uber to the Grove last night. Wifey begged off, but I met her friend Diane at the Commodore -- she wanted to pick my brain about what I knew about the law biz job market. I shared what I knew, and Joelle and Kenny joined us. They're off to Spain today, to meet their boys on a cruise out of Barcelona.

After my final martini, I got into another Uber, and spoke Spanish to the driver, who was a proud Nicaraguan. He thought, falsely, I was better at Spanish than I was, and talked the whole way home about politics in Managua. I faked my way through it, and realized that living in Miami, you truly do get to experience the world without leaving the 305.

Today we may meet the grandsons and their parents over at MIA -- the older one LOVES to watch the planes take off and land. His Dad and both grandpas do, too.

My thoughts this holiday season always return to a tale my Dad told about Fate, as he called her, or The Big Man, as I call Him. The tale showed how close a family's history comes to being completely altered.

Mom had gone back to The Bronx to have my sister, due in January of 1945. Dad had been shipped to a base in Texas for battle training before being sent into combat in Europe. One evening, before Dad was shipping out, he was at the post exchange, in a T shirt, and happened to meet a fellow NY Jew also there, also in a T shirt. The two Landsmen hit it off, and though the fact that the other fellow was a bit older and a college grad should have set off a signal to my father, it didn't.

The older fellow asked Dad why he was so down in the dumps. Dad replied that his wife was about to have her first baby, and he might never get to meet him or her (in those days the surprise came at birth). The other fellow said yeah -- that was why the War was so awful, and then the two men put on their shirts.

To my Dad's shock, the other fellow was an officer! My Dad started stumbling with "Sir" and honorifics, and the other fellow shut him down -- they were Hy and whatever the other man's first name was from NYC. My Dad went back to his barracks, to get up early for the airplane trip to Europe.

He lined up, and as he got to the plane, the soldier said "No -- order change came in, per whatever his new friend's name was. You're going back to Pasadena." Dad was relieved and shocked, but not as shocked as he would be several months later.

Back in Pasadena, a Texas comrade ran into him, and said "You're dead!" My Dad said obviously he wasn't -- he was standing right there. The fellow said that Dad's platoon had suffered over 90% casualties -- how was Dad fine? The reason was because of a friendship at the PX.

So thanks to whoever that officer was. He's long gone by now. He was older than Dad, and Dad would be 104 now.

But that one small bureacratic favor led to my entire family -- two sisters, me, 6 grandkids, and now 6 greatgrandkids.

Unfortunately, the family is not close, but everyone is living their lives -- and they have those lives because of an act in Texas in 1944.

So for me, that is Memorial Day.

When You Know It's Time

 So my brother in law Dennis just returned from Amsterdam and Paris -- a trip where he took his granddaughter. He's 80. I asked him about it, and he had a great time, but complained about the difficulty of navigating the many steps at the Paris Metro, and distances walking at Versailles. My sister, his wife, stayed home -- knowing the trip would have been far too daunting for her. She uses a walker and Euro things like cobblestones and long distances without vehicles would have done her in.

And it got me remembering -- back when we celebrated my Mom's birthdays, in her eighties. They were some fine times.

In April of 2000, I took Wifey, the Ds, and my Florida sister to SF. We met my California sister and two nephews there, and had a great time. As we boarded the plane at MIA, I told the flight attendant the purpose of the trip, and the Captain announced a happy birthday to a special passenger, Sunny. They brought us a bottle of champagne, which we drank later in the hotel.

Back then, still in the chips, I paid for everyone and everything. The hotel was up a hill with a view of Alcatraz. Sunny was still mostly mobile, though the hills of that once beautiful city required some comical pushing at the tuches by her grandkids. We found a restaurant called Pat's Cafe, which was my eldest nephew's name, and had all of our breakfasts there.

We drove to wine country and toured a winery. We visited Alcatraz. The minivan I rented sat 7, and PJ good naturedly rode in the back -- we would laugh when we freed him each time we reached a destination.

Sunny loved it. One of my all time favorite all time photos of her was posed with two punk rocker guys with mohawks and lots of steel jewelry. One stuck his tongue in her ear. At Fisherman's Wharf, there was a street performer called Bush Man. He would hide behind a plant, and scare passersby. A crowd gathered to laugh. We laughed -- a lot.

After our SF stay, my California sister took Sunny to LA -- and they took a cruise from there. As I said -- I was in the chips -- and Sunny was to be treated like a queen. After that, they went back to Sue's house in Visalia and spent some more time. Sunny had lots of energy for an 80 year old.

At 85 for Sunny, I was still in the chips, and this time took everyone, except my Florida sister who was left off the free flight plan this time, to LA. Wifey found a hotel in Hollywood next to the legendary Magic Castle, where magician from around the world gathered. By then, my nephew Henry and his then girlfriend lived in SF, where they attended college. We mustered, and it was another lovely celebration.

This time -- it was more poignant. We went to Pasadena, where Mom had married Dad during WW II, and visited the Huntington Ritz Carlton, where the wedding took place, and had breakfast. We had Sunny direct us to places from her early wedded days, and ended up on Colorado Boulevard, of Little Old Lady Beach Boys fame. 

She recalled having coffee each morning at a place called Owl Drugs, before taking a streetcar up the hills to CalTech, where she was a secretary to the Dean. Hmm...where was it. We were standing at a Gap store, and PJ looked down. The mosiac tiles said "Owl Drug Building!" It was a moment of shivers across the decades.

We took her to the Ghetty, and Skirball Jewish Museum. My law school friend Chery and her husband Neal had the Ds and me to House of Blues, where a young man hung with us. He was the bassist from Yellow Card, a group the Ds knew well. Everyone had a great time.

Cheyl hosted us for dinner, and Sunny had a fall. Luckily nothing broken -- but it was a sign.

Her 85th birthday would be her last airplane trip. She knew it, and we did, too. She had reached the end of that line.

There were another 4 years of independence -- until at 89 she reversed her car instead of putting it into Drive, and wrecked two other vehicles in a parking lot. That was it for her license.

That seemed to signal the beginning of the long decline. Probably by 91 she needed to go into an ALF --but she resisted mightily. We compromised -- she had to leave her door unlocked, so visiting paramedics could easily enter to right her when she fell and couldn't get up, like the comical warning buzzer commercials.

I took her to Miami Jewish for an evaluation, and she was a candidate for full nursing care -- she had declined past ALF status. But she wailed -- no -- she would be just fine with her thrice weekly aide!

She wasn't incompetent, and so I followed her wishes, until finally, after a nasty fall in May of 2012, after she turned 92, she was taken to Delray Hospital. Dr. Eric, her doctor and additional son, told me something that changed everything -- her albumin levels were those of a starving person -- she wasn't eating, as she promised she was.

Well -- that was the "no more monkeys jumping on the bed" moment, and after fetching D2 at Gainesville for the Summer, stopped off and fetched Sunny -- to Miami Jewish Home for her final 11 months.

But the point was, we knew when the travel part of her life had concluded. And it was fine -- she had seen the world! She visited everyplace she ever dreamed about -- including two trips to her beloved China, a place she dreamed about since she read Pearl S Buck's "The Good Earth" as a teenager.

I feel like the lyrics of the Johnny Cash song: I've been everywhere, man. I've been everywhere.

Of course, I haven't really, and I thank Wifey for being the engine of having me overcome the laziness that would keep me in the 305. We have a big trip all planned for December -- Buenos Aires, Mendoza, and a luxury resort in Chile. Buenos Aires has always been on my list. I need to learn to tango. Ha. I DO need some of their fine steaks and maybe even some wine. I assume they have Argentinian vodka.

I guess the point is to do it now -- until I know it's time.

A Sad Anniversary

 It was May 25, 2021 -- two years ago tomorrow. Wifey had thankfully survived her stroke, and completed four days in the hospital at Baptist and three weeks inpatient therapy at Jackson. She was making nice strides -- some at home PT followed, and then some more outpatient held at the new hotel next to Baptist.

Covid was still around, but we were fully vaxxed, and less worried than we were months before. We had settled into a routine -- Wifey was still unable to drive -- I would take her to the PT at Baptist, and walk around the lake in front, along Kendall Drive. After PT we would drive to the Palace, and visit with her mother -- still in the ALF part of the Palace, but fading. After the visit, we'd stop somewhere for dinner.

As we were driving to the Palace, Wifey saw a call from Ruby, our dear friend Elizabeth's sister. Elizabeth was off on a hiking tour in Utah, and I assumed Ruby was calling to maybe set up a get together after her sister returned to Florida. We had talked about that for some time. Instead, Wifey shrieked "What??? She died????"

It felt like the temperature in the SUV had dropped 50 degrees. I pulled off the street into a parking lot -- in shock. Wifey put Ruby on the speaker -- Wifey was unable to speak. Ruby, calm in a crisis like I am, shared what she knew: Elizabeth was having the time of her life hiking those glorious trails. Indeed, she had posted on FaceBook (tm) and we were all enjoying the shots. She was due to meet her group for breakfast and never showed. The staff opened her room's door, and our dear Elizabeth was in bed, gone during the night.

I don't remember what we said to Ruby, other than we loved her and were shocked and devastated. Elizabeth was an inner circle friend -- we adored her, and had shared so much of life together. And now she was gone.

I recall we turned around and headed for home -- Wifey peppering me with questions, as she does when she is anxious, and of course I had no answers -- just speculation.

Later, an autopsy showed she had a completely occuded major heart vessel. She had been to a cardiologist for a possible rhythm disorder, which checked out. But I guess the Orlando specialist never looked further -- later, Dr. Eric said a calcium score test may well have turned up the coming problem.

Last year, Wifey and I had dinner with Ruby and Harris, Ruby's long time boyfriend. We met in the Grove, and celebrated our dear friend and sister. After, we placed our SUVs next to each other and transferred the items Elizabeth had left for Wifey -- some paintings and art pieces. She was very detail oriented about her possessions. 

I tend to want to get rid of stuff and would normally politely decline any gifts of that sort -- but there was no question we would accept Elizabeth's bequests -- Wifey just had a handyman hang a painting last month. Also, there's a part of our yard in the front, where Elizabeth did some gardening. We honor her with a placque that says "Elizabeth's Garden."

Wifey and I discussed it earlier today. Her death still seems unreal to us. She was the closest friend we lost, and, ironically, the most healthy. She ate clean and worked out like a fiend. She worked full time -- at 63. But when the Big Man calls, as we know, there isn't negotiation.

Tonight we have dinner with Joelle and Kenny, in the Grove. They met Elizabeth over the years. I plan to toast her. The Grove was her old stamping grounds. In fact, she had an apartment there in the late 70s, when she and Wifey were classmates at FIU.

The two young coeds were at the pool, and a long haired guy was blasting loud rock music on a boom box. Elizabeth got up and asked him to turn it down -- she and Wifey found it annoying. The fellow laughed -- he was playing his own music, and one record had just gone gold: it was Pat Travers.

He became Elizabeth's first and only husband, and when I met her, in 1983, I met Pat, too. He and I hit it off, and I loved when he regaled me with his tales of the music business. They stayed over at our first house, for New Years of, I think, 87, and Pat played for our guests. He also played with the Borscht Belt type wedding band we had at our wedding in January of '87, along with Wifey's friend Eileen, who was quite drunk and sang "Gimme Some Lovin'" while Pat and the band played "Good Lovin.'" Pat -- the professional, got it sorted out and we all danced and laughed.

After they divorced, we stayed with Team Elizabeth, of course. Ruby called Pat to tell him of Elizabeth's death -- he was shocked, too, of course.

After Pat, there were other loves, including a long term one with Mauro, an OB/Gyn she met when she was a Pharma salesperson for Ortho. There was another guy I liked a lot, Doug, whose cousin is married to Marc Shaman, the Broadway composer. We got to meet him at the preview of "Hairspray."

There are a LOT of memories.

So on this yahrzeit, we remember our dear, lost friend. To our family, her memory is a blessing. 

A sad anniversary, indeed.

Summer -- Heart Time

 My Dad died, in my arms, of a heart attack, on July 14, 1982. By May of 1983, as a college senior, I had chest pains. I hadn't been to a doc other than the campus clinic for a few college related things during my entire college career, and so I called my friend and mentor Dr. Bob, a neurologist. He referred me to his primary physician, a nice young frum guy in the Grove, who gave me my first ECG. It was normal, though I have a variant called bundle branch block. The doc, who's name escapes me but died young, explained it wasn't a life threatening thing, but did make ruling out heart issues with a mere ECG difficult.

He diagnosed the problem with my 21 year old self --PTSD from my Dad's death, manifesting in chest pains. I realized one didn't need a PhD in Psychology to figure this out.

Thankfully, due to hopefully my mother's cardiac genetics and taking statins -- no problems. But the psychomatic symptoms return most years -- always in late Spring and early Summer.

In July of '17, two months before D1 and Joey's wedding and days before my 56th birthday, I felt chest pressure -- not pain. I called Dr. Eric and told him. Turns out pressure is more concerning to a cardiologist than pain -- and he ordered me to go immediately, without stopping or passing Go, to his buddy Harry Aldrich, in South Miami. I did, but Harry was on vacation. Miami being the schtetl it is, Harry is also close friends with Kenny -- their boys went to school together. The office got me in to see Harry's older partner, Yale Samole.

Dr. S ordered an ECG, immediately saw the bundle branch block, and gave me unnerving news: I had unstable angina, a non diagnostic ECG -- get thee to the hospital until a stress test could be performed. I begged off -- amazingly I never spent a single night in a hospital and wished to keep up my streak -- and so Dr. S made me promise to return the next day for the stress test. I went home and the next am got my haircut -- also a creepy coincidence, as my Dad died in the barber chair in Delray. The literary symbols were piling up on me.

And then, Dr. S's office called -- Av-Med wouldn't approve the test without my being in the hospital. What? How about I pay myself. The secretary said "Well it costs $3000." I told her I would be in, AMEX card in hand. There are plenty of fairly well off people who won't get the best medicine if "it isn't covered by my insurance." I am not one of those fairly well off people.

Wifey came with me, and into the room. I walked to tiredness as Dr. S watched the machine, and made verbal comments to himself. "Hmmm. Well. A ha." I then got the X ray with the stuff in my veins.

I had two thoughts. If the test was bad, they wouldn't have sent me out. But all those comments? I told Wifey I was done for. The receptionist said I would hear from the doc in a few days. Wifey begged her to have Doc make an exception -- we were due to meet D1 and Joey for dinner for my birthday -- and I would worry for days. She was right. No promises, the receptionist said.

We got into the car to drive to Brickell. Just past 27th Avenue, Dr. S called -- "David -- completely clear vessels. I guarantee no ischemic events for one year. Glad to share the good news!" I got a bit emotional, of course -- the Big Man decided I would get more time.

And WHAT time it has been! Both Ds married to great men. Two beautiful grandsons. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan buying a house near D1 and Joey, and adding to the grandchild roster. Trips that Wifey requests, and I reluctantly accept, and then end up having the best time! Wifey having a health crisis and recovering. D1 having an IVF related health crisis, and recovering! Big runs, all around.

Of course, I haven't followed up with the cardiologist since then, though get executive physicals each year, and several blood draws, all of which reveal the same diagnosis: "Pretty healthy for a fat pig." As my trainer Juan noted -- my balance and strength have improved with years of training, but I "eat like a king!"

Well -- this year I decided to avoid the birthday rush. I just called and made an appointment for a heart check -- with Dr. Aldrich. They gave me July 19 -- the day after my birthday. When the annual symptoms appear -- I'll already have the appointment! Eric suggests I get a calcium score, which I plan to before I see Dr. A.

Our dear friend Elizabeth followed with a cardiologist for a possible rhythm problem -- but they never checked her for ischemia -- and she died in her sleep after a hike in Utah. Hopefully I prevent that for myself.

If not -- no regrets. I never really had a bucket list, but it I did, the bucket would be not only empty, but missing its bottom.

Now will I get to see one or more Canes championships while I'm still on the planet? Hmm...