All Our Bags Are Packed...We're Ready To Go

 Man, did I LOVE that song when I was a boy, though I only heard the Peter, Paul, and Mary version then, and much later realized John Denver was the writer and sang it better. The PPM version is harmonized and takes away some of the sadness of the tune, which Denver wrote sitting in National Airport in D.C. and thinking about all of his traveling -- that great vision of bags by the door, awaiting a taxi, and the coming sense of missing home.

Well, last night I finished shoving my clothes into a suitcase, and Wifey is about done, too. We thought we might share one checked bag, to lessen schlepping, but realized 14 days probably requires we each have our own. I felt better about our choice when I spoke to Eric, FAR better organized than I, who admitted that he and Dana also are checking 2 suitcases.

So I pre-ordered an Uber to be here at 5, to MIA around 6, and plenty of time for the crapshow that is Memorial Day Weekend there -- turns out MIA is a Top 5 busiest US airport for MD. The boarding passes show our gate is near the Centurion Lounge, where we like to begin journeys, and Eric and Dana are coming to MIA an hour or so after us. They're flying Delta, and are on the other side of the airport, and will likely do their pre flight lounging in either Turkish or a Delta Lounge. Hopefully we muster for our welcome champagne in Budapest Saturday evening.

D1 sent a video of Baby Man dancing at his pre school, and Wifey and I miss him and his brother already, and we haven't even left for the airport yet. They are truly the cherries on top of the ice cream sundaes of our life.

Wifey and I were both awake early today, and talked about our lives and marriage. We agreed we BOTH have quirks and annoyances, and when we can laugh about them, all is fine. Wifey gets a kick out of my OCD behaviors "checking for incoming mail, overbuying cleaning supplies, making us arrive EARLY for everything, etc..." I am guilty as charged. Wifey is a bit more prickly about being called on her, um, neurodiverse behaviors, and that's ok. I come from one parent who was VERY chill -- my mother. Neither of Wifey's parents were at all chill...I always commend her on not being even MORE messed up...

So we'll be in Europe for Memorial Day -- I'm guessing there won't be any "Thank you, Yanks!" signs about. I plan to summon the spirits of my forefathers and foremothers who lived for centuries in countries adjoining those we'll be visiting. Budapest to Czernovitz is less than 500 miles.

Our family chat was sad yesterday -- mostly about the terrorist murder of the 2 young Israelis in D.C. Some of us opined that they never thought we may have to leave the US in our lifetimes, but things may, in fact, become tough for our people. I joked that I would check on real estate prices in Budapest, Vienna, and Prague -- Wifey immediately said "No cold countries for me!"

So I guess it would be back to the future for her -- temperate Haifa -- where she was born. The good news is most Israelis speak English, so I wouldn't have to be like those sad 70 year old Cuban men who were exiled after Castro and came to the US speaking only Spanish. I can learn to say "Stoli martini, please" in Hebrew, if need be.

Jonathan's family understands the impermanence of family homes all too well. His grandma Judy had a great childhood in the Czechoslovakia, until her mother had to hide her in a Budapest convent to survive WW II. Then she found a home in Venezuela, and loved her life there, until the bastard Maduro made living there untenable, too.

Wifey's parents had great childhoods in Poland until they didn't. The decision to emigrate to the US was a quality of life one -- both my suegros had family here, and life in late 50s Israel was pretty tough. My father in law never really felt comfortable here -- looking back, as an Independence War veteran, he probably would have had an easier life in Israel. But my mother in law Rachel NEVER liked Israel -- too many bad memories, including the stillborn son she had 4 years before Wifey was born.

So who knows? I sure hope we get to stay -- after 3 generations, I really love the USA. I hope they keep loving me and mine.

But for now, the 777 300 ER awaits, and a hopefully fine fortnight along and near The Danube. I hear Richard Strauss playing in my head already...

Bad News On The Electronic Doorstep

 Loved that line from Don McLean about reading about the death of Buddy Holly in the newpapers he delivered. Alas, several years ago I gave up the print Herald deliveries -- all my bad news now comes electronically.

We got word from Steve yesterday that our friend Susan was at peace. She died in hospice. I had grieved the day before, when I learned her fight was over -- yesterday hit Wifey hard, as she recalled the great times they shared -- especially the fact that Susan had brought us Vienna, the strange rescue dog, and how the two of them drove to their favorite jeweler, Phillips House, on Miami Beach. 

The funeral is set for Mt. Nebo -- set to be Wifey and my final resting place, in Kendall, followed by a memorial service at UM, in the same Lakeside Pavillion Dr. Barry was in for the Provost's Teaching Awards. It's Sunday, and I texted Steve that, but for our Europe trip, we'd have attended, of course. I said I would remember Susan to Budapest.

Steve wrote back that nearly a year ago, he and Susan were in Budapest, and loved it so they vowed to return -- they took the land version of the trip we're on -- Budapest to Prague. I told him indeed Susan WOULD return, though in spirit as we spoke her name.

I spent a lovely day with D1, dropping off the Special Needs/Now Elderly Spaniel Bo. We left with Betsy and Bo to fetch Little Man from pre school, to take him to Legos at the Community Center. On the way he explained to us that "some teachers are EXPERTS." Yeah -- the kid has his Mom's vocabulary already, and would never be called taciturn.

When Legos ended, we fetched him and then fetched Pura Vida in Downtown Miami Shores -- D2 pointed out all of the 100 year old houses in this old Miami suburb. We went to D1's house, and later D1 came home with Baby Man, and there was brother joy and the eating of quesadillas. I savored my time with those precious boys before dropping off D2 and her regular dog and visiting dog and heading for home.

Neighbors emailed me: more bad news. Their son, who I tried to refer to my friend Joel to fight some murder-y charges, was found guilty of arranging the revenge killing of a car customizer guy. The parents were "Shocked." I wasn't -- the evidence was solid, and then you go to trial in Federal Court in Miami, you lose, I think, 98% of the time. Joel would have gotten the kid a better deal -- he's going to now get "launched" as they say in the trade -- probably get life. I feel for his parents -- two lovely Guyanese CPAs.

But the bad news was not to end -- I awoke during the night to pee and read about the murder of the lovely young Israeli couple in D.C. They were beautiful -- the fellow bought a ring and was about to pop the question to his fellow Israeli Embassy employee next week. The creep is from Chicago -- I hope they destroy his whole family -- as Israel has learned with terrorists, that seems to be the only thing with any sort of deterrent effect.

So it's a downer day -- and I think of Melville in "Moby Dick," whose narrator Ishmael said that when he got down, he knew it was time to go to sea. Wifey and I and Eric and Dana are choosing to fly OVER the sea -- but I look most forward to these 2 weeks away.

And Sunday, if we arrive as scheduled, I WILL toast our friends Susan and her beloved Steve from that beautiful Hungarian capitol.

Praying for Peace In Jville

 So my friend Steve had been texting daily updates about his beloved wife Susan, who suffered a devastating stroke in March, while visiting their eldest son and his family in Dallas. After Steve got Susan airlifted back to Miami, I shared a dinner with him and his middle boy Spencer, who I hadn't seen in probably 15 years.

Susan was under the care of our friend Jose, the Chief of UM's Neurology Department, and a world class stroke expert. We were all optimistic that Susan's relative youth, 63, and VERY healthy condition before the CVA, would let her recover.

After a month at Jackson, she still wasn't waking up enough to move to Lynn Rehab, where Wifey had her stroke recovery in 2021. The options were limited -- turns out there are only a few rehab hospitals that take on deep brain injury patients -- and one, Brooks, is in Jville. They transferred Susan there.

The daily updates continued, until a few weeks ago -- Steve said there was relatively little to report, as Susan took, at most, baby steps. Her blinking and maybe saying her daughter's name was a major improvement -- Steve promised to update us with significant developments.

The text I feared came today. He told us all that Susan had been moved to hospice care last night -- despite her long fight, she had nothing more left. He asked us to pray for a "peaceful and soon" transition.

I guess I expected this outcome, but was still shocked. At Steve's last text, I responded that I was more and more into visualization -- focusing one's mind on a hoped for goal -- visualizing my problems from a camera rising far above the fray has been helping me a lot lately.

I told Steve that I was visualizing Susan and him and Wifey and me out to dinner at Captain's Tavern -- not for awhile, but eventually -- debriefing on this nightmarish Spring Susan had suffered, but looking ahead to the manifold blessings brought by our combined 5 adult kids and 4, so far, grandkids.

I guess deep down I feared the outcome that is now upon us -- and I'm very, very, sad.

Steve and Susan are that type of friends who you don't see often, but when you do, even after a year or more, you take up right where you left off. Their focus, like ours, was their family. And Susan was a leader in Child Protection -- along with her boss Walter, one of Barry's friends at UM Peds, they would evaluate and treat and recommend futures for abused children in Miami. Talk about a high calling.

At our last dinner together, Wifey asked Susan if she ever shared the most horrific tales with Steve. Leave it to Wifey to ask the probing questions... I don't recall her answers, but she did tell us that over her 3 decade career, she had seen it all. I thought of Springsteen's line in "Cover Me" -- "I've seen enough I don't wanna see anymore."

I stepped outside before and looked skyward and asked the Big Man to indeed bring peace to Steve, Susan, and their amazing family. The kids live in Dallas, NYC, and Chapel Hill, and Steve has NEVER been without at least one of them by his side. They are a wonderfully close bunch.

If I have to predict, it would be that Susan will pass soon, and her funeral will be after we leave for Europe. I will honor her when we return, in some way -- hers has been a very full life, very well lived, meaningful to many.

When her daughter Erin was taking a lot of time off her Peds Residency -- Steve made her return -- reminding her how proud her Mom was that she was becoming a Pediatrician, and knowing the last thing she'd want is to delay Erin's training.

I guess the only lesson I can take is the one I try to practice -- best said by the late, great Warren Zevon when he was given a terminal cancer diagnosis: enjoy every sandwich. I shall.

The Friendly Trooper

 Our neighborhood is a "Special Tax District," which means we all pay a yearly fee in order to have off duty FHP troopers provide un-needed security. It truly is unneeded -- Pinecrest's crime rate is akin to Mayberry's from the great show, but the residents voted to not only keep it, but actually increase the hours the troopers visit. We used to pay about $2500 per year -- last year it was above $3K and expected to keep rising so that we compete with the even richer neighborhoods like Snapper Creek to get our people.

I guess it IS a nice benefit, and the troopers are nice enough -- typically I just wave as I walk or drive by. But another benefit is that we tell them when we're leaving on vacation, so they keep an extra eye out. We heard about one Kendall house, owned by our neighbor Lori's father, where they actually brought a moving truck and cleaned the whole house out while the Dad was away. Hopefully that won't happen -- wouldn't want to lose our 5 year old desk tops or aging smart TVs...

Anyway, this am I walked over to the SUV painted black and yellow, and the fellow rolled down his window. And we talked --for a good 30 minutes. He was a Cuban guy, probably mid 50s, and we hit it off right away. Well -- half Cuban. I noticed his name was Scalia, and sure enough - -he had an Italian Dad who died when he was young (parents met in Havana) and yes, he's a distant cousin of the late SCOTUS fellow. Interesting Miami connections...

We talked of life -- he's married nearly 30 years and has an artist son in college in Milwaukee, and a 16 year old son in high school ("We got to travel a lot because of my wife's international job, so we started late.").

I told him we were going on a river cruise, and he and his wife took one last year -- the Nile. I asked if he saw any baskets floating by the boat -- he got the biblical joke. He noted that for a Miami Cuban working guy, he's seen a lot of the world.

We both have wonderful wives who, once in awhile, almost never, don't look at the bright side of things. He told me he awakens each day and thanks G-d and Jesus for another day on this planet -- I told him I did the same, but not the Jesus part. He got that, too...

He took down the information, and I wished him safety on his job. He thanked me, but allowed as he didn't do patrol work -- he was the DOT representative, and mostly inspected interstate trucks for safety issues. Ah yes -- much better than encountering maniacs on state roads...

Before my encounter, I reflected on life again -- something Dr. Barry and I discussed over martinis on Zoom Friday night. I've taken to trying to be like the great cinematic method, the one where the camera shows a scene of high drama, and then pulls away, sometimes all the way up to show the entire planet earth. Barry reminded me that was a fine shot in "Forrest Gump," with the feather.

English 101 students get the symbolism. What seems SO critical and anxiety producing while you're in it, is meaningless in the big picture.

Sometimes the painfully obvious brings me great comfort. I recall when my Dad died -- so many people said so many nice things, and yet only one conversation resonated. Jim Ash, the Honors Director and professor or Religious Studies, who went on to a life out of a Carl Hiassen novel, hugged me and said "Dave -- sorry about your Dad -- but we ALL do it." Yes we do, and it reminded me that though I was just 21, someday I would die, too, just like Dad -- so no big whoop, really.

So today I'll try on jeans and slacks, for the happy reason that I've lost weight and many of them slide off of my smaller tuches now. I don't wish to give the upscale fellow Tauk cruisers reason for that kind of laughter...

I need to drop off the Special Needs Spaniel with D2 -- Bo will be bunking with enormous Betsy and skittish Spaniel Lemon while we're gone. And then Friday it's off to MIA, and a 777 ER across the ocean -- the only tensosity is whether we have enough time to make our connection to Budapest at LHR -- if not, we have an extra day to get there before the trip really begins.

Eric and Dana are flying through Paris on an even later flight --CDG is a mess, too, but I think they have a longer layover.

But one way or another, the two brothers of different mothers who started drinking cheap beer together at the UM Rat in 1979 ought to find themselves, with our long suffering wives, drinking top shelf stuff on a luxury boat on the Danube.

Yep -- plenty of reason to thank the Big Man -- I leave it to Trooper Scalia to say it to his supposed son...

Just A Pimple On The Skin of Human History

 So as we leave one week from tonight, across the ocean to Central/Eastern Europe, I've been waxing philosophic -- especially since the late Spring Miami heat is back and it's too hot to wax my car.

The plan is to fly back, Business Class, to the land my grandparents fled just about 120 years ago, on account of the Czar's pogroms were getting to be a royal pain in the tuches, stay in a 5 star hotel, and then cruise on what's supposed to be the top tier boat run by Tauk, which is supposedly as good as it gets before you get into the realm of private jets and renting out entire villas for your vacation.

In short, the journey East for us is set to be FAR nicer and more luxurious than the journey west was for my two sets of grandparents, who, I'm guessing, were just happy to be on a ship out of Rotterdam bound for the new world and life in the tenements of the Lower East Side of NY, before they moved to the relative affluence of The Bronx as part of that great group, White Ethnic New York.

120 years -- as Wifey said -- a mere pimple on the skin of time. And yet, our lives are SO important to us -- decisions our adult daughters make -- health issues of dear friends and family -- what to leave in; what to leave out, as Bob Seger sang.

Our grandsons never met my parents or Wifey's father. The Little Man, during The Plague, say across from my suegra outside of The Palace ALF and their eyes met when he was a toddler. His great grandparents (and his brother's) will therefore be mere abstractions -- talked about in stories, but not actual humans either can hug or be directly impacted by.

I was never close to my grandparents, though now, I WISH I got to hear more tales about "Russia," as they called the Old Country, even though for my Dad's family it was Romania at the time, now Ukraine, and for my Mom's people it was indeed what they called "Russ-Poland," now, according to Google, just Poland. The cities were Czernovitz and Bialystok -- also abstractions to me, although I DO enjoy the famous bread from the latter -- bialys!

So a lot's gone on in my family these 3 generations since that emigration, and I get to enjoy the fruits of the labors of the past 2 -- primarily that of my beloved father who returned from over 4 years during "The Big One -- WW II" as his beloved Archie Bunker used to say, to work 3 separate jobs to support his growing family, then 2, and finally a single well paying sales job by the time I came along as the tail end of the Boomer generation.

So many tiny issues of our rich lives take on outsized importance. As I admitted to my nephew of another mister Josh just the other day, I'm bothered that his Dad, who I love, is considering buying a Toyota Camry -- this for a man who spends 3 hours per day in his car commuting to his job where he teaches the future healers of children, and can afford a much more comfortable vehicle suitable for his large size. I'm bothered by the fact that this amazing man takes such amazing care of those around him and does so little for himself. And is that really something of my concern, or truly anyone's other than the fellow squeezing himself into a too small car? Of course not.

I guess my goal for the upcoming trip is to truly lose myself in the past. I've already visited all of the cities along the Danube save for Prague -- and I plan to keep my mind open to the spirits of the Ashkenazim forefathers and foremothers who were in that part of the world for hundreds of years, leading to my modern family. Years ago, a DNA test showed I had somewhat less "European Jewish" blood than the typical American Ashkenazi -- like 92%. The rest was Italian, which is funny, since my Dad, with his olive skin, was often mistaken for Italian. I got the milkier complexion of my Mom's family -- with lots of blondes. But I'll fantasize. Did some handsome fabric seller from Verona visit Bialystok and have a tryst with a great, great grandmother? Who knows, but it's funny to consider.

My Dad always said there was a "Goldsmith sickness" on Mom's side -- many of her uncles were major players, and the aunts had less than Puritan values. So if I have to guess -- the mix came from her side instead of the colder, more intellectual bent of my Dad's family...

Wifey just shared with me a long talk with an old college friend yesterday whose life is chock full of difficulty, and has been for decades. She said they had planned a family trip to the UK, but canceled it after the spate of plane crashes. Really? The couple is nearly 70, as is her husband, and they're putting off a trip they truly want for fear of meeting Destiny that way?

I don't get it, but again, it points to the outsized sense we have of our own importance -- a few decades from now, it'll be totally irrelevant if this friend left this mortal coil slouching into decrepitude or falling into the sea -- the latter would provide, at least, some fat stacks for any survivors.

I have my inner marching orders -- embrace the positive -- embrace the peaceful, easy feeling the Eagles sing about -- leave my worries behind in the US as I journey to the Old World.

Sooner than later, in the scheme of things, Ecclesiastes proves its age old wisdom: all is vanity.

I Learned My Lesson Well

 What a Mother's Day 2025 we had. We laughed, we cried, we ate, we drank. It was a TWO order meal in day -- Pura Vida for lunch, and Mister01 Pizza for dinner. As D1 said in her thank you text: thanks for the unconditional love for our family and the carbs...

We got to talk -- a lot -- and much of it was about my nagging problem in life: I feel I need to fix everyone and everything I truly care about. The good news is that as I age, those lists have gotten far shorter -- for most -- I just cheerlead and well wish -- but for my true inner circle I think I have the power to repair.

And I know I don't. For example, Wifey has made clear she wants to live closer to the Ds -- not to necessarily babysit more, but to avoid the drive that used to be typically 35 minutes and now is over an hour. I thought, fine -- I can fix this, even though I have truly zero desire to move from this paradisical property we bought in late 2000. I kept trying to talk myself into a move -- Miami Shores has a beautiful Bayfront area where I can walk -- cool new restaurants -- closer to most everything than Pinecrest is -- a/k/a casa carajo. But when I saw that a downsized house will still cost over $2M -- the proverbial hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Ok -- maybe a workaround -- we lease a 2 BR condo at Quayside -- we keep stuff there -- and keep Wifey happy. But after our family discussion Sunday, I realized something: there I went again -- trying to fix OTHER family members' problems. And so I made another proclamation: no moving, no rental condos, no downsized houses.

Of course, this proclamation is subject to change. I like to joke that many of my life's proclamations aren't worth the paper they're not written on. After our Hurricane Years -- 1992-1994 -- where we moved, with 2 small kids, one small dog and one jumbo dog -- 4 times -- I made a proclamation. When the contractor came by for the final payment,  I told him he had one more task: dig a hole in the backyard for my burial, since I was NEVER going to move again. Well, 7 years later, we did indeed move, to Villa Wifey, where we've been ever since.

So I guess we'll see. But I DO have a thick skin and think I can take advice, and when my family tells me to change something, I usually listen. And if they don't want my fixing, just my love and support -- well, I can work on that.

Meanwhile, Europe draws closer. I can tell Eric is getting excited -- he called me at 730 this am to discuss a few details. He actually woke me -- he knows I'm an early riser, but this am my 2 part sleep was 10-4, and then 5 until, well, 730.

I pulled 2 suitcases off the garage shelf -- this weekend Wifey and I will see if we can share one big one and make due with 2 carry ons. If not -- 2 big ones. Supposably (using the Miami spelling), Tauk is famous for handling EVERYTHING, and so from the time we check the bags at AA, Tauk does all the schlepping. We'll figure it out this weekend, but Wifey has a deep fear of being cold, and though Central Europe temps in late May to early June don't seem frigid, she tells me "50 degrees IS cold!"

Earlier I drafted and sent the "Bad News/Good News" email to the Ds I always send before we go on an overseas vacation. The bad news would be if something untoward were to befall Wifey and me. The good news is the money they'd inherit. I fully realize our chances of dying in the Uber on the way to MIA far outweigh the chances of dying due to AA or BA or Danube-related disasters, but my strange brain works in strange ways -- I'd have comfort in a 777 hurtling towards the Atlantic if I knew the Ds knew what's what with all our earthly details.

Yeah -- I DO probably need some more professional help.

In the mean time, we're off to see the Ds and their men as soon as Wifey returns from her PT. We'll fetch Little Man from his Lego camp at the Rec Center. Poor kid is one of us. Wifey asked him Sunday if he worries about anything, and he said "Ippi -- I worry about everything." He's 5.5.

So there'll be love, and support, and enough trying to fix anyone other than myself. I ought to have listened to the Ricky Nelson song and taken heed long ago. I guess it's never too late.

Thursday Fun Day

 So my trainer Jonathan texted early -- could we move our session to Friday, to accommodate other clients? We could indeed -- and so in 1.5 hours I'm off to get my flexibility and strength dose, to hopefully avoid the falls that come with age. Meanwhile, yesterday I got in my 3 miles on the street, encountering the friendly neighbors, including Karen, our new HOA VP. She told me her duty is to plan the holiday party -- what did I think of a progressive party this year. I told her I thought, like many rich areas, we had a lot of Trump voters -- not sure about the progressive thing. As a lifelong Democrat, she scowled.

But then I told her I liked the idea -- probably a decade or so ago, several of our neighbors had a NYE progressive party. Our next door neighbors Diane and Charlie, long divorced and moved upstate, had the apps and some cocktails,and Ann and Mark hosted dinner. They've also fled, to North Carolina, because of a VERY funny reason. Back to that in a moment. The night ended at our place -- nice champagne, and dessert as the bells for the new year chimed. So Karen is now recruiting 4 or 5 neighbors -- not sure if Wifey wants in.

We hosted the a big Devonwood party the year we moved in, and Wifey announced we would do it again in 80 years -- that's how many houses we have, and Wifey figured after everyone else took THEIR turn, we would do it again. Ha -- she's into equity...

But back to Ann and Mark. Ann was a bit of a looker in the 60s on Long Island, but, alas, somehow aged into her late 60s. Unlike many women who accept that, Ann had it with Miami, and the, well, many non appearance challenged women. At lunch at Greenstreet's in the Grove, with her husband, they were surrounded by hot young women at the other tables. "That's it!," Ann announced -- "We're off to Raleigh, NC -- women are frumpier there!" And indeed they listed their house, and made their way to the land where her cohorts wear sweatsuits instead of revealing outfits. Hey -- different strokes...

Anyway, after the walk, Wifey and I motored up to the Shores, and spent time with D2, and then loaded all 3 family dogs to go fetch Little Man, who is in the final weeks of preschool. Wifey waited for him -- no Little Man. A bit of tensosity followed -- where was he? Turns out his after school Drama group had decided to work late, and apparently some of the parents didn't get the email saying dismissal would be at 430 instead of 330. The very friendly Miami Dade Deputy Sherriff who is always at the school assured us our grandson was NOT lost -- just late. And indeed he came skipping out, to be greeted by a car full of dogs and his favorite honey yogurt.

We hung with both boys, and D1 came home, and D2 ordered us in Pura Vida. At 6, D1 had a babysitter coming to spell Lizeth the nanny, as she had a challah bake at Baby Man's preschool. Unlike her mother, Wifey, D1 IS a challah back girl...

Wifey was on her phone, which told me she was tired, and we dropped off D2 and Betsy at home -- I wanted to by at my desk top by 730, for a Zoom Memorial for Kenny's Dad Manny. I made it with minutes to spare!

About 25 folks were on, telling tales of Manny, and Manny's friend and co-worker of many years, himself VERY old, was one of them. He couldn't figure out the camera, and so just participated verbally, and he commented, in a pitch perfect LI accent, about EVERYTHING that was said.

Afterwards, Kenny and I texted, and agreed it was like having the Muppets' Statler and Waldorf on the Zoom.

But mission accomplished -- lovely tales were told of a very good man who was beloved by many, and brought his gift of music to students, and later to residents of his ALFs. He died at 92 in his own bed -- not a bad run, as all agreed.

So today I have my training, and then a trip to Total Wine. Wifey hosts mah jonng every Wednesday, and Lili LOVES my Cosmos, which are just pre-mixed Ketel One Cosmos, but I need replacements -- along with vodka, which somehow seems to go fast. I'll need some for Sunday -- Jonathan and D2 are coming for Mother's Day, and that means some martinis for us...

D1 is bringing the boys tomorrow afternoon -- Wifey and I are babysitting -- as D1 has a local birthday sushi party. We'll bring the boys to Chill 'N -- the local ice cream place with all the smoke that supposedly makes the ice cream better. I have a feeling the boys will appreciate the science lab nature of the place...

And Europe draws near -- 2 weeks from tonight. A boat down the Danube. Talk about a progressive party...