Still My Favorite Time Of Day

 For an insufferably upbeat and optimistic person like I am, I find beauty if ALL times of the day. Maybe not so much when I'm insomniacal at like 2 am -- but surely the rest of any day.

Still, last night as I made my last tranche of steps about a half hour before sunset, it returned to me that dusk has always been my preferred time of day -- dating back to childhood. I guess I was always drawn to the transition parts of life, and dusk connects the afternoon to the night.

I remember falling in love,as it were,with dusk on Jones Beach after a late departure with my parents. Something about the pre sunset light grabbed me, and it still does. Probably near 6 decades later, I walked last night through my 'hood -- only a car or two, and quiet until my neighbor Will was a block behind me, with his booming radio announcer voice on his speaker phone disrupting the serenity for awhile.

But I thought of Springsteen and his poetic "the shadow of the evening trees." We have many flowering trees, and last night there was a scent -- not the sweet night blooming jasmine, but small white flowers from a very tall tree -- we have them throughout -- I plan to use that Google thing that tells you what something is from a pic. But the scent is lovely, and subtle.

Also, the "Heat Advisories" we've had have passed, and the weather has been, well, tenable. Last night it was relatively humidity low -- in the 80s -- and the awful mosquitos were at bay. It was a truly lovely stroll, and I thought of all the dusky memories I hold so dear -- Halloween walks in my childhood in the chill Fall, Winter cold walks dressed in down parkas, and the many, many lovely strolls in Miami -- especially in the cooler times .When I was in Paris the first time -- with the Ds -- we were in Luxembourg Gardens at dusk, and the light was amazing -- it hit me like a falling acorn to the head why artists always painted there.

Probably the best dusk of all time, though, was when Jonathan and D2 were married on a roof top of the Betsy Hotel in February of 2020. The sun was getting ready to set over the Everglades, the Atlantic to our East, and the light looked truly surreal -- like a Hollywood lighting director had conjured it. Of course, The Big MAn was there -- smiling, I like to think, at the union of 2 grandkids of Survivors --- but the light kept catching my eye.

Anyway, I just returned from Walgreens and my second of 3 Hep A and B jabs. Next is 6 months away, and then I am free to do all the IV drugs and promiscuous sex I want and hopefully my liver stays safe. Ha. As if! But though I am not at risk other than being Old as Fuh, I am SO pro vaxx that I get whatever there is. The nice tech at Walgreens has come to know me and my Dad humor. Before I could say it, she said "What -- no Gardisil today?" Of course, Gardisil is for pre sexual folks to ward off HPV and the cancers they cause -- yeah -- that train left the Long Island Railroad station in the 70s...

And I picked up a new sleep drug Dr. Rigo wants me, and Wifey, to try: Ramelteon. Supposably (my friends tell me I use this spelling and pronunciation all the time now) it works differently -- some of Rigo's patients say it is a game changer; others, eh.

I joked with Wifey we should recreate the famous scene from the Madoffs -- when Bernie and Ruth were busted, and they decided to exit before bad stuff came. They each took a handful of benzos and said goodbyes -- but then just woke up the next day!

Bernie died in prison,and both sons (one from suicide, the other from cancer not helped by the stress of his Dad's evils), and Ruth likely wishes she and Bernie had taken a lot MORE...

So I don't think this will be the end -- hopefully it IS of insomnia -- one of my 3 causes of hypertension.

Which, by the way, is after just 8 days on Lisinopril and eating like a human instead of a frat boy, doing great. This am -- normal! Rigo bumped up my dosage just to "go for the gold" but it seems an imminent fatal CVA is less likely.

I sure hope so. I SO savor walks at dusk. I hope I get scores more of them.

Reaction to Meds

 I've always been lucky, I guess, in that my corpus responds well and fast to meds. I was told that at age 3 I got a bad rash when given penicillin, and so my whole life have claimed that as an allergy, though I've read that most older folks like me really DON'T have one -- but then again -- as I avoid Thailand and Amsterdam, haven't really needed to take penicillin.

The one drug that DOES get me is Advil -- man -- my otherwise iron clad stomach feels like ulcers develop instantly when I've taken it. So I stick with Tylenol and aspirin, when needed -- leaving the NSAIDS for others.

So last Thursday, after the hypertensive scare, where my reading was consistent with "Get thee to an ER," my doc started my on Lisinopril -- old school BP med. By yesterday, at another doc's office, my BP was already back to the "high but you're not gonna die imminently" range, and my new adult toy arrived!

No -- not THAT kind of adult toy -- the far less fun one -- a state of the art BP monitor. My doc says he really doesn't trust ANY non office machines, and we got one for Wifey after her stroke 5.5 years ago, and it was always tough to adjust the cuff -- she NEVER took her BP without my help.

But now they have auto cuff machines -- kind of like the ones you see at Walgreens and CVS -- and I treated myself to a $150 model -- it arrived. The readings were pretty, pretty, pretty, good -- barely elevated, and one this am was actually normal. Wifey took hers -- low normal -- as is her usual state.

Wifey had really low BP, which is what started her journey to the stroke. She saw a cardiologist who gave her a Young Frankenstein-like tilt table test -- he moved her body all sorts of angles to recreate her hypotensive state. Wifey had fainted a few times, with a trip to the ER to stitch up a head wound after she convinced them I didn't do it...

Anyway, this doc, long since de-licensed on account of Medicare fraud, put her on BP LOWERING meds, and told her to put salt on everything. Problem was, Wifey got older and larger, and refused to pay the MDVIP charges for our regular doc, and instead saw her friend Elizabeth's sister's boyfriend irregularly. Harris, nice fellow, didn't notice the uptick in her BP -- accentuated by the raising meds and salty diet.

Alas, it led to the stroke in January of '21, which was, mercifully, a mild one from which she has mostly fully recovered.

But given the lack of fun it is to take care of a stroke victim, assembling Team Wifey and driving her to a seemingly endless number of rehab appointments, I really do NOT wish to become a victim. I'm a better caretaker than care receiver anyway -- so it would be far worse for me.

So for now, I shall enjoy this seeming fast effect of my new meds. I see Dr. Rigo tomorrow am and will see the true progress, if any. In consult with Dr. Barry, I realize now that shunning alcohol completely isn't really needed -- just cut down a bit. 

Tuesday old friend Ronni came by and I poured her 1.5 Hendricks and tonics, and myself a healthy Zhyr, and boy was it nice. Yeah -- gonna face the new challenges OFF the wagon -- I think that suits me better...

But the diet remains. Yesterday D2 and I , along with enormous Betsy, had a magical day. We dropped her Jeep off at Tires Plus, where it got the needed oil change, filter changes, rotation, and new wipers. The place really WAS magic -- everything was free to her, as was the next visit to the gas station.

Gas is free to the Ds in Pinecrest. I wish I had that deal when I was in my 30s...

We had lunch at Crema, and I had a healthy poke tuna bowl. D2 was impressed -- usually it would be a big sandwich there. Later, we brought in Shahs of Kebab, and I ate like a human -- half the portion. Wow. 

D1, an amazing dietitian, has long said that if you eat less and exercise more -- you lose weight. Wow -- all of those years of higher ed I paid for meant something -- and  -- turns out -- she's correct!

So I plan to stay the course as long as the course is there.

Speaking of which, Ronni told us a tale of her old friend, a women's radiologist. We met her years ago -- she did the amniocentesis when Wifey was pregnant with D2, on account that Wifey was just old enough to check for Down Syndrome (everyone adds an S). D2 was just fine, and we learned from the doc's office en route to Charleston, with 3 year old D1 in her car seat, that she had a sister coming.

Anyway,, this doc was married to another doc -- long marriage, kids, big house, wealth. But her husband was diagnosed in his late 60s with an aggressive form of Alzheimers, and even at a relatively early stage, planned a family trip to Switzerland where he, his wife, and kids had a great dinner and the next day said goodbye to them and hello to euthanasia.

Their friends were shocked. "I saw Tom in the gym last week -- he was FINE! Why would he do that?" His now widow responded that he was a brilliant man, knew what was coming for himself and his family, got got while the gettin' was good.

I must say -- I admire that. Part of being a real man, after a lifetime of taking care of your family, is being able to gracefully exit before you burden THEM.

I sure hope to only visit Switzerland again for the gorgeous vistas and Summer asparagus (the restaurants make a comically big deal about that).

All I can do now is get lighter, keep the BP down, and savor each day.

August 24, 1992 - Before and After

 Today is a date I always recall, as does everyone who lived South of Flagler Street that Summer of '92. Before dawn, an Atlantic tropical typhoon commonly known as Hurricane Andrew stuck us -- and hard!

In the days before, it appeared it would hit farther north, and I couldn't imagine my elderly, frail mother living through a storm alone in her condo. She had just turned 72! As I approach that age, I don't feel elderly or frail -- but to a 30 something, I guess I am. So we brought Mom here, and ironically into the heart of the storm -- Delray was untouched. In fact, we moved there for a few nights after the storm, before my suegros were able to go home to their WELL built 1950s era house, with $4K of damages, and we decamped to an apartment on Brickell Key friend Linda , in a great clutch, secured for us, knowing that The Falls was no place to live.

Anyway, I've described the storm each year, but what was funny is that for years afterward, when a fellow South Dade denizen would describe an event, it was always "Before" or "After" and we immediately knew what they meant. "Remember that Miami Vice looking place in The Falls -- before?"

Well this season is looking to be a quiet one, thanks apparently to El Nino and Saharan Dust -- hopefully it stays that way. Andrew was a Cat 5, and we learned first hand what that meant -- we rode out Cat 3s afterwards (Wilma and Katrina) and no big whoop outside of no power and loose roof tiles. Of course, Villa Wifey is built like the proverbial brick outhouse, whereas the other house was literally one of cards -- no roof nails holding the deck -- only staples -- and the thing was, as 3 year old D1 said at the time, "mistroyed."

But 1992 was a microcosm of life. It was a major pain to lose most of our stuff and move 2 times (Brickell Key and then our suegros' house X mas night), knowing we had a third move when the house was finally rebuilt -- which took until March of '94. But D2 was born that February, and I made my first big money on a case I brought in -- coupled with the literal financial windfall from converting our crap into money, we went from doing ok financially to going next level.

In fact, I was comfortable enough to leave a great gig with my firm to start OUR firm with my brother on another Paul in November 1994 -- an enterprise which did great for clients, and financially helped many -- secretaries, managers, and our comptroller who was also and is still my brother in law. But the Firm is another blog post...

Anyway, the lesson this year is the point of view when judging age. We took Little Man with us Friday, to a Marlins game, and then for a sleepover -- amazing time with him, as always. He noted how fast the players run, and allowed as how he doesn't really enjoy running (another sign he is my spirit animal). Wifey said she didn't like to run, either, and he remarked "Ippi -- you're very old -- old people don't run!"

She still loves him.

But if we're lucky to be given many years, we must enjoy them. I started my BP medicine and will see Thursday if it's having any effect. I gave myself my own stress test this am -- running up and down the gym stairs faster than usual -- and I didn't keel over -- so I got that going for me.

The old, annoying English Major in me always looks for symbolism. When Wifey and I married, we borrowed some lines from Dylan for our vows -- we would always be each other's shelters from the storms of life.

After Andrew, we laughed at that -- we didn't mean ACTUAL Cat 5 hurricanes! But we weathered it, and other actual storms, and worse -- the metaphorical ones of parental deaths, illnesses, sadness, and all manner of suffering.

Each time, we rebuilt -- sort of like I hope to rebuild my circulatory system into one far less likely to burst. Yeah -- that for me would be worse than losing a Falls Area house...

The Downside Risk Became Acute

 So I have always tried to analyze things I have done in life using a very simple calculus: upside benefit versus downside risk. I learned this empirically, at first, and then as a lawyer, as a way to give clients a basis for deciding whether to accept a settlement offer or go to trial. Usually the settlement was the way to go.

Clients would ask me what a jury would do, and I would respond that I would tell them if they told me who the jurors would be. I also used OJ's case as an educational tool (putting aside the differing standards of proof in criminal v civil proceedings). One jury said OJ was a murderer - another said he was not.

And so it has been over the past years with my eating and drinking habits. I always tend to the zaftig, and over the years have tried the Adkins diet, and more exercise. Covid was, ironically, extremely healthy for me. We had a brand new grandson, and I feared this terrible pandemic might take him. I walked daily. A LOT -- most days near 10 miles -- all around the 'hood. And I ate little, and as a result, probably went "down" to 200 lbs -- still more than this 5' 11" guy should be, but comparatively svelte.

My friend Kenny snapped a shot of me while we were walking after his shift at Baptist, and compared it to a shot of me with MUCH more poundage at his 25th anniversary in Wine Country. I truly looked thinner and better.

Well, Little Man survived Covid, and was joined by Baby Man, and I no longer had the existential dread of Dickensian loss. I kept walking, but now do 3 miles the days I don't train with my trainer. And I do THAT twice per week. The past few blood draws have shown pretty good numbers, even though the past couple of years I have been eating and drinking like a college boy. 

The upside was the pleasure of that 4th slice of pizza, and third (sometimes 4th) martini. I liked it. And since my health was pretty, pretty, pretty ok, the downside risk, while there, didn't seem acute. I happily called myself a fat slob, but a mostly healthy one.

And then...I saw a specialist and they took my blood pressure. It was high. Far too high. I saw the office in follow up, and laughed it off as "finger in the tush syndrome," a more serious version of being nervous in a doc's office, what they call "white coat syndrome." But I decided I'd better follow up with Rigo, my doc.

And I did, this am, and sure enough, the BP was high -- far too high. He put me on Lisinopril, which I shall start as soon as Walgreen's fills my scrip, and also, to the approval of the Ds, a GLP -- an oral one. D1 is an RD and wanted me to take a GLP for years -- she has MANY patients on them, and they all thrive.

Rigo has been on one for years -- he's probably down 50 lbs from where he was. So a new beginning.

He told me that where my BP was, if I didn't treat it, I wouldn't be around for long, at least as intact as I am. So indeed the downside risk is acute -- I hope to get 20 more good years -- and not as a stroke victim or cardiac cripple.

After 85 -- eh. With rare exceptions, it seems life isn't so great after that. My Mom was fine until 89, and then a comical car wreck (3 cars in a lot when she hit R instead of D) was the beginning of a sad, slow, 4 year decline. My father in law made it to 90, but could have done without the last 5 Alzheimer's ridden years. My suegra made it to 97 -- again -- after the late 80s, not so great.

So I may well drop, but at least I'm gonna give it the good ole GLP and BP med try.

Rigo says if I DO lose the weight, I may well wean off the BP meds. That would be fine.

And then other stuff stressed me today, and I FaceTimed with Barry, thinking maybe share an adult beverage. But then I read about alcohol and BP on a Mayo Clinic site -- until hypertension is controlled, stay off the booze.

So my plan is to get that diastolic number well under 100. Once I do -- one or 2 vodkas -- either at tailgates, or maybe on our December planned cruise from Barcelona to Lisbon.

Here's to reducing that downside!

That Bill W -- What A Guy!

 So the Summer Heat breaks records, but I walk early and actually get in my steps without sweating! But I spend most of my time, since I'm no mad dog or Englishman, inside this time of year, reading, "counting my beans," as D2 calls my working with my finances, and trying to learn new stuff.

Of course, nostalgia creeps in, and on FaceBook (tm) the other day, I was invited to join a group: Friends of Bill W. It brought back a funny memory...

I guess it was 1997, and Wifey and I took our first luxury trip -- a Med cruise from Istanbul to Rome aboard a small ship, long since broken: the Marco Polo. It was delightful -- we met way cool people, including a WW II hero named Phil Fouche, who was with his family enjoying a 3rd generation graduation from Texas A and M, and visiting a memorial put up for his crew in Cassino, Italy.

But the first night, as I read the itinerary of events on the small ship, I saw that at 5:30, there was a "Happy Hour for Friends of Bill W." Wow -- I showed Wifey -- what a dream. This guy Bill W had so many friends they all took an exotic cruise with him -- and this was back in the last century when exotic cruises were a thing! And I gave him no more thought, except to think -- someday I'd love to take a trip like this with enough friends to have our own Happy Hour.

Well, a few years later, we were with the Ds on an Alaska cruise, and same drill: the first night I saw again, at 5:30 "Happy Hour For Friends of Bill W." I was gobsmacked -- Wifey -- this guy Bill W is on another cruise with us! Amazing. Hopefully I run into him.

Alaska was delightful, with a memorable event in which neither D1 nor Wifey could figure out a kayak, but they felt better since another fellow dunce happened to be, really, a rocket scientist from JPL in Pasadena! Both were towed around by the Viking looking tour guide -- D2 got stuck with me.

And then...fast forward another few years, and we were on a Baltic cruise, and...yep...Bill W again! This was CRAZY -- this same fellow had precisely our travel taste -- from the Med to Alaska to the Baltic! I HAD to meet him.

I found our Julie (Boomer reference) and asked her if she could point out Bill W at the Happy Hour. She laughed -- was I pranking her? Not at all -- but this fellow, popular with his crew, was now on the THIRD cruise we had taken! The Julie explained he was probably on EVERY cruise there was -- Bill W was the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, and the "Happy Hours" were a way for the drunks to get together sans alcohol and do what we've seen tons of times in movies and shows -- affirm that they are alcoholics and I guess, can take a cruise without falling either off the wagon or into the sea.

Ha. I told Wifey -- and then she recalled -- Oh yeah -- she saw the movie "I Am Bill W" but never made the connection!

I guess I got invited to join the FB group from some algorithm -- I order a lot on Total Wine! No thanks -- I enjoy my vodka now and then -- maybe a few times per week -- rarely alone.

In fact, Sunday afternoon I was watching the Marlins while Wifey was out with the Special Needs Spaniel -- getting him his Lubrella shot at a 7 day vet. Josh called -- he was in the 'hood before meeting Norman's boys at Flanagans -- did I want company? I did, and offered him a Zhyr and fresh squeezed mandarin orange. He accepted, and had one. I had a second.

Wifey came home in a foul mood -- the vet she thought was a bargain versus the one she used in years "Snuck in" a $70 "tech fee," and I was late ordering DiNapoli for her to pick up, and she had to wait 15 minutes for it! Worse, I ordered the chicken she does NOT like, and had to settle for eating only the mushroom pizza. We all must endure...

Anyway, the 2 Zhyrs made Wifey's hangri-ness tolerable -- and she popped back to normal after 3 slices -- and we watched "The Westies," my new favorite series.

So rock on, Bill W, but I don't plan on attending any of YOUR happy hours...

Duped

 So Paul has a late friend who died at 69, a disbarred lawyer we all knew as a loveable scoundrel. I mean, the clients he stole $1M from to support his gambling addiction didn't find him so loveable, but he tried, sort of, to make things right, and lived his disbarred life as a paralegal for the associate he trained, who took over his law firm.

I always felt badly for his son -- now nearing 50. His Mom was a piece of work -- lifelong drug addict, mentally unstable -- moved from Miami to points West, and died young, too -- Paul and I attended her funeral at that cemetery under the flight path to MIA where the services always have to wait for the heavy jets to pass...

But I recall one call, when the son was in college at USC, where the Dad was in our office, and the son was saying he needed a few hundred for books. The Dad said sorry, son -- all tapped out here -- and then caught a taxi to MIA where he headed to a weekend in Cabo with some lady of ill repute...

Anyway -- fast forward -- Dad died, and the son somehow fended off the IRS and HOA liens and kept the apartment in The Grove. He married a lovely Israeli -- he had lived there for years, and actually fought in the IDF, which I thought was way cool. They have 2 kids, and with his USC and Masters contacts, the son always seemed to be starting some business or another -- last Spring he sent me a prospectus for a start up and I told him no way -- I don't do startups.

And I didn't hear from him until a text chain yesterday -- he reached out to several people -- could he couch surf or stay in a guest room for 2 nights, or maybe 2 weeks?

That wasn't even a thought for us -- Wifey and I are VERY selective about overnight guests unless they share most of our DNA, or are life long friends -- one of whom is now off this mortal coil and another permanently estranged from me.

My first thought was to ignore the request, but sitting around, I thought -- hey -- I give to charities all the time -- I knew this guy's Dad -- what could have happened? Paul theorized his businesses were bust, maybe his wife decamped with the kids to Israel, and the HOA finally got him booted?

So I texted him -- no guests allowed, and I don't loan money, but I would Zelle him $360 -- at least that would buy him a low priced hotel for a few nights in our low season of August. He thanked me, but said he really needed to borrow $5K while "Waiting on a second mortgage" -- maybe Paul was interested and he was NOT like his Dad who skipped out on debts, and Paul could keep a painting of a courtroom he always admired...Paul wasn't interested.

And then I called Dave -- the lawyer who took over his Dad's firm -- did he know what was going on? He sure as hell did. The son was arrested last Sunday -- Domestic Violence and False Imprisonment -- and Dave had bailed him out -- an office suite mate of Dave had gotten the False Imprisonment charge dropped, but the DV remains. Dave told me that unlike the Dad, the son "has a temper" and it flared with his Israeli wife.

Wifey, herself Haifa born, sort of observed this entire affair, and I asked her what it was about Sabras that drove men to such anger and violence. She smirked. Wifey has a world class smirk...

So I was duped. I give lots to charities, but when the objects are Dudes who hit women, or worse, abuse animals or kids -- no way -- they can all sleep under bridges, for all I care.

Paul thinks the son will try to drink again at my trough. Yeah, no, to use Miami speak -- the trough is empty.

I hope for the kids' sake he gets his act together -- maybe he and the Israeli can work things out. But I'm out -- no more help for old time's sake. Tessio asked Tom to get him off the hook for old time's sake -- didn't work for him, either.

So back to my small version of what Sinatra did -- see tales in the news and give help there -- Go Fund Me is an easy platform for that -- but never when the requesters have any family money -- that disqualifies them.

And no mas for DV dudes...

State of Florida v. Wifey

 So in June, Wifey was on the phone with her lunch friends waiting for her at the Aventura Mall, and as she drove looking for a spot, made a wide right into the building and gently scraped a Honda to her left. The young man and she pulled to the side, and Wifey called me to handle it since I handle EVERYTHING, and I tried to explain to the fellow we would pay his damages, he could photo the Lexus tag and Wifey's license to show we were legit, etc...

He was in his 30s and said "I have to call my Mom!" Turns out -- he was Jamaican, and I kind of dug the fact that that group can have failure to launch, men/boys, too. At any age past 20, I would NOT have called my mother about anything like this, but, hey -- different times?

The Mom wasn't having me, and insisted that police be called, and Aventura sent a numbskull PSA who gave Wifey a ticket, even though he didn't witness the accident, and had no video proof. Note to self: when my friend Paul becomes Mayor, which will happen in a few years -- get him fired! Ha. Not really. Maybe.

Anyway, we learned the other day that my new insurance settled the property claim, and I realized I hadn't heard from the lawyer I sent her ticket to, who shares the name of a dead comedian from Philly, about her ticket. I had paid him and sent him the ticket, and he said he'd get it dismissed. So I texted him, and he texted back that the case would be set for trial, we would get the notice when he did, and he would handle it, but I could check the progress on the Miami Dade Clerk's website.

Since I'm OCD, I did, and saw Wifey's license was suspended as of 8/6 for failure to pay the fine! The lawyer forgot to send in his notice/plea of not guilty, and the case was treated as if Wifey were a scofflaw. I reflected on this for a few beats. If I did nothing, and Wifey got stopped again, the cop would see she was driving with a suspended license, and would have arrested her. Hilarity would have resulted, as Wifey would have gotten to spend at least a few hours with, as the Standell's  song says, with the "muggers, lovers, and thieves." Also plenty of whores and drug types.

Nah -- I couldn't let that happen. So I called David, keeping my cool, and he of course apologized. NOT! He started telling me he got the ticket the day he was home from vacation, and his WIFE was supposed to handle it, etc... I politely told him I gave zero bowel movements about his life -- fix it!

Late last night, he sent a form showing Wifey's license would NOT have been suspended until 9/1, and he would file his Notice and Plea. So we'll see.

Wifey makes MUCH fun of my OCD -- how I double check anything official. She's right -- once I hire a lawyer for her, for example, I should just let things play out. Great stories would have resulted...

Well next time, I go back to the Ticket Clinic, owned by Paul's law school friend Mark, himself a character who dated multiple escorts and strippers. So I guess traffic ticket law doesn't attract the creme de la creme...

Hopefully Wifey stays our of the hoosegow. I guess we'll see...