A Monday Night Visit

 So we spent a high energy weekend with Little Man -- originally just going to spend Sunday night here, but his trip to Naples to watch the soccer team his uncle Bob owns got canceled on account of his Daddy's wrist. Joey went mountain biking and took a nasty fall -- compound fracture in his left wrist.

Luckily, my friend Dr. Lew is an excellent hand surgeon -- and saw him yesterday and is set to repair things tomorrow am. We figured we could simplify things by taking Little Man early, and we did.

The 2 nights proved again what Wifey and I already knew -- raising and watching energetic little ones is for the young. This boy is non stop -- movement, questions, what to play next? We adore him and had a great time, but by the time I re-homed him via a Morningside lunch with the Ds and their dogs, I was wiped out.

I came home and felt more of the darkness surrounding me lately -- 2 seriously ill people flying back to South Florida is a part of it -- one seems to be fine and is due today, and the other not so fine -- ICU to ICU transfer from Dallas to the 305.

The second, Susan, was truly a shock. We became friends with her and her husband Steve when D2 and their middle boy met in middle school. The young ones drifted apart in college, but we stayed friends -- dinners a few times a year to compare notes on how even adult kids these days seem to need their parents much more than we did at their age -- totally our fault -- and the joys of grandparenting.

Susan is my age and very much a healthy lifestyle person -- exercises all the time and eats clean, as they say. Still, she suffered a devastating stroke while grandson sitting in Dallas -- weeks have passed, and she is barely responsive. Hopefully the air ambulance gets her back today, under the amazing care of our neighbor and UM stroke maven Dr. Jose. We're hoping for good news, and will take Steve out.

When Wifey was recovering from her stroke, Joelle taught me something about friendship. It's nice to ask "What can I do?" as most people did, and this independent guy politely refused offers. Joelle, a law professor, said "You WILL be here for dinner at ..." and later "You WILL meet us for dinner at Titanic..." and when I arrived, realized how curative for ME, the caregiver, those visits were. So I plan to do the same with Steve, though I know he has a fine support system.

Anyway, I was sitting on my couch, and the gate ball rang --- a bit later than package delivery guys typically do it. It was young Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, and recent leader of our "Bible study," out doing his pre- Passover mitzvah of delivering the special schmura matzah eaten on the holiday. I knew he had a baby and toddler at home, but invited him in. Wifey joined us.

I asked coffee or a L'chaim, and he said he was never a coffee guy. I went to my liquor cart and was stunned -- my vodka was gone! What -- had fraternity or sorority kids sneaked in while we were in D.C? Luckily, Moshe spotted a bottle of Johnny Walker Red, which he knew was kosher, and I poured us a few fingers in glasses with the big ice cubes from the mold D1 had bought me as a Fathers' Day gift.

And we spoke -- joyously of our families. When his parents moved here, his older brother was a baby - Moshe is the next son. He's one of 9, and has emerged as the scholar, and Rabbi Yossi's true successor at the shul. He's a delightful young man.

I knew he was time pressed -- had to get home to those young kids and his wife -- they're living in an apartment 1 mile walk from his parents and the new Friendship Circle campus, but he was in no way rushed. When I told him it was his father who truly led me back to a strong belief in The Big Man -- he beamed -- that's the whole reason for the Chabad movement -- gathering the straggling Jews who forgot who they are.

And I told him the folly of my ways -- thinking I truly had control over all the sacred pieces of my life -- somehow unlike everyone else. He already knew this, but was comforting to me as we discussed this on our walk back to the car.

So I realize his visit can be seen as a mere coincidence -- a fundraising young man doing a nice deed for a donor before a holiday. But as I sat on my front porch, I felt deep down that his visit had more meaning. And that brought me succor.

Puffy White Clouds And Dust In The Wind

 And so it was a memorable weekend in D.C., for Scott and Sam's Big, Fat, Media wedding, as I called it. The weekend was a microcosm of life: joyful new beginning, in the form of the wedding, scary sickness, and recalling death.

And as this semi-retired, overweight and gray Jew from LI ponders all of this, I am comforted by, of all things, a song from the 70s and a view of the sky yesterday as I drove north on the Palmetto. The song is Kansas's masterpiece "Dust in the Wind," which borrows heavily from Genesis and Ecclesiastes, reminding us that, in the end, all of our anxieties, accomplishments, and heaviness of life is in the end, vanity -- dust in the wind -- and we return to dust as we came from it.

And the clouds were huge, puffy cumulus, set against a beautiful sky. It brought me back to my first time driving back to my parents' condo in Delray from UM in Coral Gables, on the Turnpike, and realizing that skies on LI rarely looked this way. I was dating a girl before I left New York who told me that she always wanted to live where she could see mountains, unlike our flat LI, and it occurred to me we had them in Miami -- just hanging in the sky. It was nice to feel 18 again, if only in my memory.

So after a lovely shabbat dinner, and South Florida themed rehearsal dinner, where the grandsons danced and had the time of their lives, ending in Little Man taking an uncharacteristic nap, Sunday was great. Saturday afternoon, too, as Eric noticed a heaviness about me and asked to meet before the rehearsal dinner.

We sat at a Starbucks and talked, deeply, for the first time in awhile. We've been brothers since 1979, but Eric is not a talker like Barry or Paul are. But that afternoon we were, and it was a conversation that meant the world to me. I recalled another great talk in my life -- after Paul's daughter Tracy's wedding in NYC -- on a gray, misty day, Barry, Paul, and Paul's best college friend Frank and I sat for over an hour talking of life -- the two late 60s college grads and the two early 80s version. Frank died last year from brain cancer, and it brought home how all of the plans we make mean nothing compared to what the Big Man does.

Anyway, Sunday before the wedding, Wifey was SO tired, and so stayed in, and Little Man was recovering from a bout of "Gomitar" -- his version of vomitar, or vomiting, from a quick bug, and so Lizeth the nanny stayed with him. Paul, Patricia, D1, Baby Man, and Jonathan and D2 and I walked from the hotel to the White House and then to the GW campus, where Paul showed us where he and Frank had lived back in those heady days of the 60s in D.C. We ended the walk at the corner of our hotel, and I spoke about how Patricia was the finest woman Paul ever had in his life, and how much I appreciated her caring for him, and next thing I knew the scene reprised the final episode of "Mary Tyler Moore" where we all met in a tearful hug -- thankful for our friendship and sorority and fraternity.

And then came the wedding, well, after a mass tefillin wrapping in the lobby with Rabbi Yossi, fresh flown in from Miami. It was a big ask -- Rabbi is SO busy with many projects, including the final opening of his and Nechama's gleaming new Friendship Circle. I asked him about taking off 2 days to officiate at a wedding a 2 hour flight away. His response: "With what Barry has done for my family, as a trusted health confidante, and all he does for the community -- if he asked me to fly to Europe to marry his son I would have done it." And so it proved that Barry, ever humble about his accomplishments and station in life, truly is one amazing and powerful man.

Speaking of which, he balled the entire time under the chuppah -- watching his oldest son start the next phase of his life as a true man -- one with a wife.

The party was terrific -- great band -- and Scott actually got on stage and rapped to Pitbull, his favorite. D2 noted she had been to many weddings and thought she had seen it all, but now she really had.

And poor Barry -- always the Horton of the medical world. His brother in law Marty needed middle of the night hospitalization, and so he Ubered to GW Hospital with him and his wife/Barry's sister Phyllis. Marty should be ok, though had to spend the week in the hospital -- coming home this weekend, hopefully. Barry did many of the simchas on 3 hours' sleep.

And we got awful news: our friend Susan, a child protection psychologist at JMH, who Barry also knows, had a devastating stroke in Dallas, while visiting her oldest son and his family. Susan is my age, a health nut and clean eater. We've been texting with her husband and son Spencer, since we have some experience with stroke recovery, and hopefully Susan will be ICU to ICU medevacked home to Miami next week, under the care of our neighbor and Neuro Chair at UM Jose Romano -- a true maven in the field. We're praying for Susan, and will support Steve.

So I left for the trip with trouble in mind, as Willie Nelson and Leon Russel wrote, but days later, it has eased somewhat.

Boy -- talks with people you truly love and love you are the best therapy there is! And beauty is everywhere to see -- even outside the windshield while driving on the Palmetto in traffic. And in the end, all we are is dust in the wind...

Spring But Not Yet April

So today begins Spring, and we're off, most of my family, in a few hours to D.C. for what I've named the Big, Fat, Media Wedding. My nephew of another mother, Scott, is a writer and reporter for AM station WTOP and his fiancee Samantha is a producer for CNN, and so the guests will include lots of their friends from the biz -- none famous, I'm told.

Spring is special in DC because of the cherry trees in blossom, and I've seen it once, years ago. I was there for some depos, and I strolled the Mall, and later, met Kenny and his then new girlfriend Joelle who took me to a neighborhood in Bethesda which reminded me of Coral Gables where the trees are plentiful and beautiful as well.

We're taking the grandsons, and the Little Man is already excited about the Air and Space Museum and Natural History, where I told him we would look for the "Mommies" he learned about, but not to be scared since they're just "Dead Adyptians." I loved and adored him from the day he was born, and I love and adore his toddler brother Baby Man, but I sort of knew I would really relate to him after age 5, when we truly talk and I tell him essential things about life, like how orange goes with green and not blue, even though his Mommy, D1, Aunt, D2, and Tio Jonfin are all Gators.

The wedding has 4 events -- a Shabbos dinner tonight, rehearsal tomorrow at a sports bar at Navy Pier, the big event Sunday, and a brunch Monday am. The size and scope of this celebration gives great laughter to my family, as our dear Barry loves to fashion himself a populist and man of the people -- tends to disdain rich folk - and yet the 4 big events have the Ds saying this wedding weekend is like "Shahs of LA."

Paul and Patricia are coming up tomorrow, and many of the local guests are friends I have connected -- Paul pointed that out to me. Our partnership of now past 30  years led to his friends becoming mine, and vice versa. And our Rabbi, Yossi, adding to the Shah-like nature of this weekend, is being flown in specially to do the service Sunday night.

Yossi is the busiest man I know -- his enormous and shiny new Center just opened, and I asked whether giving up 2 full days was tough for him. It is, but he adores Barry for all he has done for his family and the community, and wouldn't have dreamt of refusing this big request.

So it ought to be joyful, and yet I've been in a deep funk over the past days -- ironically, as T.S. Eliot pointed out, precisely when the rebirth of the land takes place -- April in the epic Eliot poem.

There have been some deaths of friends' parents, and also some battles with life threatening illness, and some deep family issues -- I guess they just all got to me at the same time.

But last night, there was D2, who I've come to understand is the wisest, most level headed in the family, snapping me back to happy reality -- reminding me that this should be a banner weekend.

And hopefully it shall.

Young weddings, despite the drama surrounding them, are indeed symbols that, no matter how bad things are in a nation or indeed the world, we look to the future.

So my future is to get on a jet plane, like the great John Denver song, but knowing when I should be back again.

May it be a weekend of laughter and celebration, and not at all, as Eliot wrote, the cruellest.

Born At Night But Not LAST Night

So probably going on 7 years ago, maybe 8, I joined a local boutique gym -- prompted by a combination of the Ds imploring me to move more so I'd be around awhile, and Kenny and Joelle going to a cool place they had found that had exercise classes.

Kenny and I were the two oldest (and typically only biological males) in the class, and it was taught by one of the gym's co-owners, Enrique. I was the class dunce, as my out of shapeness had me comically tripping and finishing routines last. Enrique came to me one day and suggested, nicely, maybe I would benefit from private training. I agreed, and we began a long and happy time together, ending when he needed to focus on building the business and only training a few corporate type clients. I switched to Juan.

Juan was great, too -- a Palmetto High grad who had made it to Triple A MLB, and he pushed me and I enjoyed our twice weekly sessions -- talking of life so the hour flew by. And then Covid hit, and I got into the best shape of my recent life having nothing to do with the gym, as they were closed. My anxiety about my family's survival and lack of anything much to do except walk 10 miles per day caused a 50 lb weight loss. I sent Enrique pictures. It was great, but when I realized the plague would spare my grandson and kids, and even Wifey who was hospitalized with a stroke during the throes of it, unvaxxed, my appetite returned. Now I like to say I'm fat but relatively healthy.

Juan left, and I fell to Jonathan, and we've grown closest of all. He plays guitar professionally, and is VERY single, and comes from a successful Sephardic family and we have tons in common, and the hour truly flies by.

There is zero I can't do on my own, but my laziness really benefits from knowing I have those Tuesday and Thursday appointments -- time I would otherwise be in LOL or Roasters instead of working on strength and mobility.

I got Wifey to go, too, and she is a bigger user of the services than I -- training with Bianca and taking private pilates with Joann. I bought an $1800 private training package for Barry, too, trying to push him into fitness like my Ds did, and he, after a long delay, started going to the Broward outpost -- loved his trainer. I think he renewed one or two times after the gift was used up, but then the trainer said she could no longer make it to Broward because of our local scourge: untenable traffic, and Barry has not re-upped . I hope he does.

Anyway, all was going well, and I was paying a lot, but figured with all my generosity to my family and friends, I could well splurge a bit on my own health. Training sessions are $85 per hour, and Wifey's pilates $100 per hour. Apparently these are typical for Miami private stuff.

But then (dramatic music) on Thursday Enrique handed me an envelope and told me to read it after my session. Ah, I figured I knew what it was. I had given him 2 solid hours of free legal advice -- he was going to thank my by offering a few free weeks to Wifey and me. I mean, we learned recently that 38 year lawyers can charge $800-$900 per hour to consult -- seems fair, right?

Ha. As if. It was an "offer of true partnership for health in the community" by having us pay, up front, just north of $16K, to "help in the health of the community with increased pilates classes, etc..." The offer would give us apparently a small discount, dropping the hourly rates to $75 from $85, and Wifey's PT (pilates) charges from $125 per session to $100 per session -- these discounts would last for 140 sessions, which works out to about 1.5 years.

When I read the "offer" closely, I really got annoyed. If it said simply "Pay a lot upfront, get a long discount" that would have been one thing, but trying to couch it in terms of "helping the community" - well --yuuuge turnoff.

Wifey said it reminded us of an email or FaceBook request years ago where friends who lived at that time in a $1M house (now worth $2.5M) had their daughter asking for funds so she could attend a private camp, or visit Israel -- I forget which. We laughed it off, but the girl, who went on to attend 2 Ivy League schools, was serious.

So this week I shall tell Enrique that no, there will be no checks or credit card charges coming for $16.5K. And Wifey and I may actually use this as impetus to check out the new LifeTime gym that opened in the Falls -- Wifey gets free membership with her Classic Medicare, and apparently the hourly costs for training and pilates are a good deal lower.

I really enjoy my time with Jonathan, and Wifey with Biance and Joann...but business owners need to read rooms better -- don't ask clients to "help the healthcare community" via paying your luxury business.

Wifey and I also debated whether our increased crankiness, that accompanies age, make this seem more annoying than we would have found it in our 40s. I have a feeling we'd have simply laughed then, and not insulted. And that's just the way aging works... 

Mentorship

 Maybe it's because I lost my life's true mentor, my Dad, when I was so young, but I often sought out mentors in life. And when it came to lawyering, the main guy was Ed, my dear friend Mike's father.

I was far from Ed's only protege. Scores of young lawyers sought him out for career and life advice, and he relished that role. If a young lawyer had a problem with his firm, there was a routine. You'd sit in Ed's yeoman-like office as he chain smoked -- until 1989 when he quit cold turkey following a minor heart attack. He let you go on for a moment, and then he would start making calls in front of you, to the many lawyers he did work with: "Sutton? Ed here. I gotta a 3 year lawyer in my office -- smart guy -- boss being a greedy asshole. Give him an interview." Typically the lawyer would agree, and more often than not, it led to a great connection.

I got my first job on my own -- I clerked for an insurance defense lawyer who I'll call Dan Schwartz, since that was his name, and he kept me as a young lawyer after I passed the bar. Dan was a virulent anti-semite -- despite his name and being born and raised in Miami, he was Catholic, and openly couldn't stand Jews. He thought I was NOT a Jew -- my name could, I guess, be confused with German, too, and when he found out he laughed and said "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a Jew -- I can't stand Jews or Cubans." He had a Cuban associate, but found Lou acceptable since he was raised in Chicago and therefore was not "your typical Miami Cuban."

Anyway, Dan's firm was failing, and upon returning from our first vacation as a married couple in August of '87, I got a call from Lou saying the ship was sinking and I would be first fired. Dan had let his associate Vanessa run things, and he was also sleeping with her, and when Vanessa found out he was leaving his wife but for someone OTHER than her, things got cray cray.

I called in sick and went to see Ed. He got me an interview with Dick Thornton, and I was hired that afternoon. A year later he called to say there "was an open seat" with his biggest client Ratiner, a fellow I had heard about and went to law school with his daughter Randy. Although I initially turned down their offer, the senior associate Paul convinced Wifey and me I was a fool to pass it up, and after asking my present firm for a $5K raise and being turned down, I accepted.

In 1991 I brought in my first 7 figure case, and Ed was entitled to a co-counsel fee for the trial support he provided. When the case closed, Ed R handed me a check for nearly 7 figures -- truly life changing money. He was going to mail Ed's check, but I asked to hand deliver it. I called and asked if we could have a couple of vodkas -- he said of course. As we drank in his amazing sports cave in the house behind Baptist Hospital, I thanked him for his mentorship and then handed him HIS 6 figure check. The midwestern stoic man got teary eyed and we hugged.

I recalled this since today is Michael L's birthday, and I consider him my finest protege. Michael is married to D1's sorority sister, and while he was clerking for a federal judge, on loan from his white shoe firm, he asked if we could meet -- he wanted to become a PI lawyer, like me. We met, and I discouraged him -- top young lawyers like him made careers in the huge firms repping major companies. But Michael was adamant, and then I said the best he could do was apply at only select Miami PI firms -- the cream of the crop. He did, and was hired, and he soared.

He made partner in record time -- in addition to his legal brilliance, he is savvy, and has brought in a lot of business -- including from Paul and me.

Over the past half decade, by far the majority of our income has been fees from co-counsel cases with Michael's firm. And even when his firm won't take a case, he refers us to a firm that will -- we are awaiting a very nice check from one such firm -- it'll pay our yearly insurance costs.

I sent Michael an heartfelt email, and he wrote back -- we have a mutual appreciation club. Wifey asked the other day if he EVER disappoints Paul and me. I answered quickly: nope.

There have been plenty of other young lawyers I tried to advise. Wifey has a close friend whose daughter is an FIU Law grad. I offered to mentor her -- she politely declined -- and that's ok.

Others have asked for help finding jobs, and of course I did what I could, though the current Miami job market for lawyers is at a historic high for lawyers seeking jobs -- tons of big firms have moved here or opened offices, following the big finance companies, and most young lawyers I know get monthly offers of employment.

But I will forever prize all Ed did for me. He died in 1994 -- he was 63, like my Dad was. Like my Dad, I think about him all the time, and miss him.

Oh These Are The People In Your Neighborhood

 What a Martes Gigante we had yesterday! Wifey and I and Bo the ancient Spaniel fetched Little Man from school and gave him his expected honey yogurt, and Wifey put on his cleats and we went to his T Ball activity. Ah, the memories it brought back to me -- of my first day of Little League, at 7, nearly 8 years old.

The manager, Mr. Casale, who was my friend Bobby's Dad and later had to move to Queens after some illegal dips into the widow Mrs. Vukov's well (Mrs. Casale was none too pleased) told me to go warm up the pitcher. I squatted behind home plate, the pitcher bounced the ball on said plate, and said ball hit me square in the right eye. I bawled -- I was NOT a tough kid and not used to getting smacked in the eye. My Dad took me home, we iced the eye, and I announced I was DONE with baseball! Fortunately my Dad convinced me to give it another try, and it became my sport -- I actually made the high school team before dropping out in 11th grade on account of I found girls to be more attractive than daily after school practices.

But now they start them at 5! The coach, an affable Cuban guy, tried to herd 11 of them into drills. On the adjacent field were the older kids -- 9-11, including a girl who hit the hell out of the ball. I banished all thoughts of transgender issues from my mind -- she appeared to be a biological girl just much better than the boys.

I stood out on the field sort of helping the coach -- reminding the running boys to hit the bases as they circled the field. When it came Little Man's turn to bat, he hit a solid shot off the tee, but didn't realize it was time to run, so I encouraged him, and he made his way to first, talking to me the entire trip. Although he has good eye/hand coordination, he seems to run like me, which is to say, slowly. D2 picked that up in the video -- I was never fleet of foot. I guess we'll see -- Joey is pretty fast -- hopefully he got some of those genes from his Dad.

After an hour, he had totally lost focus, and we left. I told D1 and Joey that, in my humble opinion, maybe 5 is too young to start baseball. Joey agrees; D1 is taking it under advisement.

We brought in Anthony's Coal Fired, and there was soccer in the back yard, and a visit from Isabel, an adorable 9 year old who just moved in. She announced that her grandma said she wasn't allowed inside houses, so D1 and I walked over to meet said grandma, a hilarious Russian Jewish lady, probably about 70. She was born in Belarus, and lived in NYC. She was probably a looker back in the days of Glasnost. We liked her right away, and she dug us. She said I "vould drink vodka vith my husband Ilya," and I look most forward to that. I told her my parents always said their parents came from "Russia," but Ina pointed out that the cities, Bialystok and Czernovitz are now in Poland and Ukraine. Lot of shuffling back in the day.

And then we heard about the kerfuffle! D1 and Joey found a true oasis for their home: gated community of 18 houses. The people who bought them new paid between $700 and $900K -- since 2016 they've nearly tripled in value, and to rent one, it costs nearly $20K per month. So one of the owners did just that -- moved elsewhere and are renting -- to a good looking, childless couple who do something that lets them afford this high rent -- and the man, who I'll call Bobby, since that's his name, had a tragedy. One of the kids plastic helicopters, which weighs maybe one ounce, supposably (yep -- keep using that Miami spelling) fell onto his Porshe, "denting it." His wife Amy, not hard on the eyes but apparently not very bright, asked on the neighbor chat whose toy it was, and D1 and Joey's next door neighbor Sara, a lovely Alabama woman, said it was indeed her sons -- the toy got stuck in a tree on Xmas day, and just recently fell out in the wind (proof of how light the toy was). Amy wouldn't return the toy to Sara -- she said her husband needed a "convo."

Somehow D1, working on her balcony on this beautiful day, heard the asshole Bobby yelling at Sara and calling her a "fat ass" before breaking said toy on the ground. Also, Bobby and Amy are angry that kids play in the street (the very reason for this 'hood is the safety from traffic it provides) and refuse to drive slowly.

Hopefully a mediation occurs, or these people move, or get arrested from defrauding people, which would be the MOST Miami ending possible. Drama.

Here, the funny drama is typically the creation of Riva, who has some screws lose. She had published an angry post on Pinecrest Neighbors, which I read since, like the Styx song, I have too much time on my hands. Riva was livid that a neighbor put a dog poop bag into her trash bin.

This am, I learned the culprit. It was the Doodle Quincy! Actually, Quincy supplied the poop, his dog Mom Elissa tossed the poop, was caught on camera, and received a classic passive aggressive VM from nut case Riva. "Hi. My cameras caught a woman who looks like you walking a dog that looks like Quincy putting dog poop in my trash bin. So you should be ashamed."

I don't know Elissa that well, or as she told the story I would have grabbed her and kissed her saying "It was YOU, Elissa -- you broke my heart!"

We just got a magazine from Pinecrest crowing that crime is at a record low. We had an incident where a homeless creep grabbed a woman as she was on an afternoon jog -- then fled on a bicycle. They arrested him up in Palm Beach County. The long arm of local product Jason Cohen, our police chief, proved too much for the pervert.

So things are pretty damned good. But drama seeking rich folks seem hell bent on creating drama. I hope Riva's show dog loses all his competitions, and Bobby and Amy's Porsche gets wrecked in a parking lot. There -- I said it. May time wound all heels...

A Delightful Voicemail

 So Wifey and I watched "White Lotus" and both are now hooked into how Mike White will take care of the colorful characters. It's nice to have a show you have to wait weekly to see an episode -- brings us back to "The Sopranos" and "Breaking Bad," the latter of which we dipped on a Broadway show in NYC to watch.

This am I got a call from a 239 number, so let it go to voicemail. I played it, and a delightful British accented guy said he was calling from FC Naples to report on the first game Saturday, the "greatest game in the history of humanity."

I called Reese back, and said he was from one of 3 areas: UK, South Africa, or Australia/New Zealand. He said he was indeed from South London -- I dug the guy right away. As an account executive, he was tasked with reaching out to all team investors, including, apparently, even little pishers like me.

He told me the game ended in a tie, tough Naples scored a winning goal which was nullified by a call of offsides, which Reese said caused the "ref to be banished to Botswana." He invited me to meet him when I came to a game -- I will definitely ask Joey to include me next time he makes the drive across the Swamp known as The Everglades.

I ended by telling Reese that the greatest college football game in the history of humanity was played in January of 1984 when the Miami Hurricanes beat Nebraska for our first ring. He answered: Go Canes! I really want to meet this guy.

Wifey's out -- getting a knee injection on account of arthritis, and then takes Bo to the vet for his monthly Lubrella, a stem cell treatment what is giving the old disabled guy some more mobility.

I'll walk my 3 miles, and then tomorrow meet my trainer Jonathan, followed by a drive to Miami Shores for our Tuesdays with Grandparents' day. Assuming no rain, I fetch Little Man at school, and drive him to T Ball. We'll hang around and then probably bring in dinner for the squad. Wifey and I really dig Tuesdays.

My Cali sister called this am, and I told her how much of my life follows the great John Lennon song where he sings about just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.

That said, I still have some case calls this week -- a matter I thought was nothing might actually have some worth -- a fellow playing soccer on a private, for fee field, fell and broke his leg.

I was on my investment site before, which was a bad idea, as the Super Genius president is clearly guiding us to a recession, and major loss of investment value. But as long as the billionaires don't worry, I guess the electorate thinks that's all that matters. What times we live in!

A week from Friday we pack 9 of us into an AA flight to Reagan. D1 reported this am that Little Man is fascinated by mummies. We plan to take him to the Egyptian exhibit at the Smithsonian to give him a look see.

I told her to have him watch "The Americas" on Sunday nights -- a great nature show narrated by Tom Hanks. Last night was about the Arctic tundra, which the native Spanish speakers at school call "Tooondra." Having him get to the stage where he wants to learn and absorb like a sponge is the best.

I'll be having the 5 year old explain soccer to me...