Super Yawn

 I've seen my NFL team, the Dolphins, play in 2 Super Bowls since I moved here: 1983 and 1985 -losing both. We figured with Dan Marino, there'd be more, but one theory is that Marino was SO good, he always got more wins for the team than they'd have otherwise gotten, costing the Fins higher draft picks.

Well, the Big Game is tomorrow, and I'll watch, for the commercials and to support Bad Bunny (nothing like making a political statement from your sofa) but have no real rooting interest.

It's funny -- I DO recall some of the games. In 1981, we hosted a party at our apartment on campus -- 22Z, of blessed memory. We had several black and white TVs around, from other students, and chili and beer and a ton of fun. Barry and I were reminiscing about it last night -- the Raiders beat the Eagles, but the party was the thing. Man -- we were SO young, and life was SO simple. Relatively few plates had to be kept spinning in the air -- just grades, Summer jobs, and girls.

11 years ago, I was in Seattle to watch the Seahawks blow the game to the Patriots -- this year's teams. That was fun. Joelle and Kenny had a party I recall -- Joelle's African born colleague had never seen a game before, and it was fun explaining it to him and his husband -- also a neophyte. That's the one the Giants won with the famous helmet catch.

No parties tomorrow -- Mike told me he was watching with his boy Chris -- I could easily score an invite, but since Wifey will be home -- I'll hang with her and bore her with football trivia. Just this am I explained the history of NY baseball -- she thought the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn when she was a teen there -- nope -- she was still a toddler in Israel in 1957 when they broke all those hearts. She didn't even KNOW the Giants weren't always in SF -- and I explained to her how MY childhood team, the Mets, got their colors from the deserters -- Dodger blue, and Giants orange. "Like the Gators!" Yes -- Wifey got points for making that connection.

We're off soon to D1's, Spaniel in tow. We have an early dinner at The Citadel, a food hall, and then home to the special needs, very old remaining Spaniel, Bo. He'll watch the Big Game with me tomorrow, too.

Next week has some more doctor visits. Woooo. And some quiet on the roof front, as the second layer dries before tile is placed.

Valentine's Day will be grandson day -- Little Man has early release Friday, and I'll fetch him from school and bring him for the night. Baby Man still hasn't mastered the full potty thing, so no Dave and Wifey for him yet.

So off to the drive. Wifey is coming along -- will lay in the back for HER back -- but at least get to see her beloved boys. Now THAT's more Super than any football game.

With A Roof Right Over Our Heads

 The old English major in me can't resist a metaphor, and one I always lived was providing a roof over my family's head. It occurs to me that I am inordinately concerned with matters roof -- dating back to our first house when we had a skylight installed over our dining room, and it leaked. I took a day off from work -- rare for a first year associate -- just so I could be with the roofer as he fixed said leak.

After Hurricane Andrew, we rebuilt an essentially new house. The GC picked a new company, Fitzgerald Roofing, which was two Irish brothers who came to South Dade to make a killing on the post storm construction. They did a poor job on our Falls house -- the first rain after we moved back after close to 2 years of construction, rain poured in from a joint at the bottom of our atrium. I was livid. The Fitzgeralds blew off my concerns, and our GC George had gone out of business and moved out of state. I actually asked my friend Craig, a commercial lawyer, to sue the Fitzgeralds, which he did, and I got a judgment which remains, 32 years later, uncollected. Fortunately our talented handyman, Joe, a Canadian Jewish, former hippie from Toronto, was able to completely fix the problem.

We bought Villa Wifey when the house was 3 years old, and it has a clay tile roof. Somehow I thought that was a 50 year roof -- but turns out while the tiles last 100 years, the real roof, the membranes below the tiles, don't. I had corresponded with Richard, the architect and builder who, with his late ex wife, built the place, and he told me he hoped to get 25 years out of it. 

Well, after Hurricane Wilma, in 2005, we had to have the tiles refastened -- the Cat II winds loosened them. And since then, there were leaks, almost all on the outside over the porch areas, which I had repaired. Two years ago the roofing maven from Andrew Palmer told me I had another year or so left, and sure enough, at 29 years, the old roof is now removed. 

The company has been banging away, sawing, and working for 3 weeks now. They thought the job would last that long -- turns out -- not so fast. They have the two membranes mostly on, and will finish that next week -- and then the outer one needs 4-5 days drying in the sun before the new tiles are installed. Jose, the boss, told me they'd likely start the tile work a week from Monday, it will take 4-5 days, and then...new roof. He said he thought it would last 35 years.

Wifey, who prefers we move, got some good news. I told her I would NOT undertake another new roof, so that means we WILL move out before I turn 100. She smirked.

Meanwhile, Wifey continues to work on her bad back and hip. Vegas is now offering odds on whether she makes it on her mah jong cruise -- set to leave 2/17. I haven't checked the latest odds, but I know she dearly wants to go.

Tonight, a Zoom and a few vodkas and my beloved firepit await. The weather should be ideal. And tomorrow, we re-home Lemon, the spry Spaniel, who is really a better old person dog but D1 is insisting we bring him back to the boys. Harumph.

He'll have a roof over his head both places...

A Fine Birthday

 So the Uber fetched me -- low cost one since I'm cheap that way -- and no trafficked me to Gables. We all agree Miami is a GREAT place to drive when the traffic is light, which is VERY rarely. But I got to Jonathan's office, and was blown away -- probably the coolest, most modern one ever. While I waited, there was an art piece with moving images -- I could have sat and watched for hours -- with some ETOH, maybe all evening. But Jonathan came and got me, and showed me his world of high private equity finance, and introduced me to a few of his colleagues.

I was warmed. I would NOT have liked to do that with my late suegros -- Lord knows what they may have said. But Jonathan knows I CAN behave, be nice and charming, even in my dotage...

He drove us to Machiliana, which was totally renovated. We had a great table in that buzzing place -- even on a Tuesday night. We greeted D2, the birthday girl, D1, and Ashley and Kyle. The martinis flowed, The pasta and fish and other delicacies were brought. It was a feast - - great server, no less, who made sure I knew a 20% tip was included -- I was free to remove or reduce. Ha. As If! I popped on an extra $20 to thank her. Truth is, by Miami standards, the place is reasonable. By my Levittown, LI Blue Collar standards -- several months of mortgage payments for my parents...

Wifey was home nursing her pains, and so missed out. We felt badly, but as Tony S says, what are ya gonna do? She stands ready to cancel her cruise, but the smart money in Vegas says that won't happen. She'll rally rather than have her BFF have to cancel, too, and THAT cancelation won't be covered by travel insurance. We'll see.

Today the fun continued. Wifey was told her breath shortness was of no concern, so she didn't believe our Family doc, and got an appointment with an affable Venezuelan Jewish fellow. I drove her while she laid down in the back. Sure enough -- lungs just fine -- maybe pain was causing shortness -- but released her from any further care.

Tonight I see my crew -- it has been decided our pre Bible Study class meal will be sushi. Unfortunately, the place we chose is next to a gym with great sized windows and one that attracts younger Moms of Pinecrest. We are FORCED to look upon them on our way to dinner. We can then ask the Rabbi for forgiveness...for both the shellfish and coveting.  Pretty impressive that a single strip center in Pinecrest provides for two mortal sins...

D2 grabbed my phone to summon my Uber home, and I knew she was going to get a more upscale one -- it was a Mazda SUV, but a big one, and one where the driver caters to the passenger. Sure enough, I was profiled -- he played 80s music the whole way back to Pinecrest. Toto. Yuck -- I long ago stopped blessing the rains down in Africa. Wham? Really? Don't I dress schlubby enough to have NEVER been into Wham?

I had fun with it, though, giving a running text description of how I felt unseen as a late Boomer.

Finally, as he pulled into Pinecrest, he played Guns N Roses. Acceptable. And the last song was Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." I gave him a 20% tip.

So it was a delightful celebration for our delightful D2. May there be many more.

For now, analysis related to The Big Man, after some prohibited food...

34 And So Much More

 So 34 years ago today, on a Monday, I took Wifey to South Miami Hospital for a planned C Section -- D2 was joining the band. D1 was a C Section, and Dr. Debbie spoke about a VBAC, which to me sounded like outer space stuff but was an acronym for Vaginal Birth After Caeserean, but it was not to be. So they epiduraled Wifey, while D1 was home with my suegros, and soon after we had a bouncing (biggest baby in her First Grade Class, it turned out) baby girl.

My suegros brought D1 and she kissed her on the head and said in her Minnie Mouse voice "My sister!" And so it was. Truth be told, D2 was NOT a pretty baby -- huge head, and bad skin. Wifey knew it, too, friends would visit and Wifey would say "I love her but I KNOW she's not a pretty newborn." Hmmm....and now years later, all the needed therapy...Ha. Just kidding.

By the time she was several months, she had indeed become beautiful, and as a toddler could have been a model, with a very shayna punim as my suegra often remarked. We think she's still kind of beautiful, as in VERY, and more importantly, kind and smart. In my email I reminded her she was the only Phi Beta Kappa in the family -- admitted as a junior, which was a big deal. I think, no, I know, I am more proud of this than she is -- she just somehow kept getting As in everything. 

And, as Dr. Barry, who adores her, used to point out, she was the worst kind of straight A student: complaining after each exam that she failed, she was dropping out, etc...only to go silent later, and have us find out MUCH later that she got an A on the test.

This past year, I have given her a new nickname: "D2 the Wise," on account of she is. She understands the "yooman nature," as Wifey pronounces it, of our wacky family better than any of us, and though I am the patriarch, we typically treat D2 as the Rabbi -- her advice is the most sound, almost always. Her beloved Jonathan knows this, adores her, admires her, and fears her just the right amount -- she kept some of the temper from her toddler years that led to epic tantrums -- some so bad, I'm convinced it prevented couples friends who witnessed it to refrain from having kids...

To tonight, I had planned to visit the grandsons for a few hours, and then from there to Miami Beach for Italian, but instead spent yesterday, with D2, fetching D1's boys whilst she returned from SF. It was a "golden day" -- with the boys, D2, me, and enormous puppy Betsy.

Wifey is on the IR (injured reserve) list for now with her back and hip issues, and hopefully will return to games this season. But for now, she's sticking close to home. Adios to my designated driver.

So instead, I think I'll Uber to the Gables, and Jonathan will drive me to The Beach, have dinner, and then Uber home. I figure it's a luxury I deserve -- especially since I pay the bills. D2's dear friend Ashley is in town with her wonderful husband Kyle -- staying at an old Beach Hotel while their toddler is home in Atlanta. Kyle's Dad is a MAJOR Gator, and minister, and I love giving Kyle the business about Cane superiority the past years, and getting to sing to the Jewish Ashley the Bobbie Gentry song. Yeah, annoying. After several drinks tonight the chances I DON'T sing "Son of a Preacher Man" are pretty slim.

Meanwhile, we still have Lemon, D1's sprite Spaniel, who went nuts before when we heard scratching at the back door -- it was an iguana seeking entrance and warmth. I went out with a shovel to pick it up and toss it over our stone wall, and Sarah, the tough little foreperson on our roofing job, saw me and said "Ay, no -- in Nicaragua we eat them." She then picked the creature up by its neck and tossed it -- spotting an even bigger dead one which she tossed as well. Brave woman -- which is required being the only female roofer I've ever met.

But D2 and I were reminiscing about past birthdays. When she was 25, and in NYC, D1 and I flew up -- Wifey was having another bad spell, I think. We had brunch at Sadelle's, home of the wildly expensive smoked fish tower -- now they have a spot in the Grove. Then we went to Sammy's Romanian, where there was MUCH drinking of vodka, eating of high cholesterol food (the dark joke is that heart disease from Sammy's food killed more Jews than the Nazis), and then MORE vodka. The Ds cut me off, but then Grant, D2's friend and Paul's nephew, tapped me under the table -- he had MORE vodka for me in a glass. The night ended with D1 herding me back into the Ritz on Central Park South, and being amazed I woke hangover free, though I had consumed as much as any frat boy she saw at UF. The key is ONLY vodka -- one whiskey or tequilla mixed in, or worse, wine -- I'd have needed an IV.

But D2 is the reason for this season, and we all celebrate the blessing she is to all of our lives. My goal, more than which college she picked, or how she did, or her career, was she choose the right life partner -- and she sure did -- a true gem of similar Ashkenazi stock, the grandson of Survivors, like D2, but here via Venezuela instead of South Miami Hospital.

I will toast him tonight, along with my precious Ds, and dear friends Ashley and Kyle -- with Wifey in absentia. I'm sure she'll want a full recap when the Uber driver drops me off later this evening.

And D2 begins her 35th year. Wow. As D1 likes to quote, now that she's a mother, the days are long but the years are short. May our beloved D2 have scores more of them, in good health, as her Grandma Sunny always added.

Shedding Ownership

 Wise, Buddha-like sages tell us to minimize our possessions -- particularly as we age. Well, officially as of last month, Wifey and I individually own two tiny plots of real estate anywhere in the world: a couple of cemetery plots at Mt. Nebo in Kendall, up against the Palmetto Expressway and near Dadeland Mall, where Wifey worked as a teen and I spent a lot of time roaming around as a law student.

Villa Wifey is now legally owned by a trust, in which Wifey and I are trustees. Also, the mortgages we gave to the Ds and Jonathan, so that they could afford houses in absurdly expensive Miami, likewise are now held by the Trust, not Wifey and me individually.

Fine estate lawyer Mark Grand has now completed his work. I still have to send the letters to brokerage houses to switch ownership there as well, but that's less important, since the Ds are already beneficiaries to all accounts and when Wifey and I spin off this mortal coil, ownership passes to them without probate.

It's simply a legal title change, of course, but I figure I can take Buddhist street cred now: "I don't even own the house where I have dwelt for 1/4 a century, it's owned by the Universe through a Trust..."

I really do get comfort knowing we've simplified things as much as we can for the Ds. Actually -- not true -- we still have a lot of CRAP they'll have to donate or toss when the time comes. I really stopped enjoying stuff after Hurricane Andrew, where I watched things I thought I cared about all waterlogged and strung with pink fiberglass insulation. I mean, I like SOME stuff -- TVs and my computers, a few books, and my firepit. But honestly, if a thief came through and stole about everything else -- I would laugh.

The point of the Trust was so the Ds automatically take the house "when the time comes." I was curious how professional death lawyer Mark referred to these events -- he said simply "when you pass." I thought that was nice but still accurate.

It still makes me chuckle when I encounter people who are in denial about mortality. Within a few weeks, I heard from 2 -- pretty old folks with a HOST of health issues that would prevent me from writing them any life insurance, saying "Oh -- I have decades -- it's in the genes." Hey -- I hope they're right, and live to 100. I think the chances of that for Wifey and me are the characters from an old Hollywood Western -- Slim, and None -- and Slim left town.

Hell -- later today I have to stop by Walgreens to pick up refills for two of my daily prescriptions -- a statin for cholesterol and drops that keep my creeping glaucoma at bay. Classic old guy stuff. Dr. Eric tells me the statins have truly revolutionized Cardiology -- he used to treat a lot of heart attacks and now far fewer -- these drugs truly prevent them. So maybe I'll get to leave due to something other than a bad heart -- which got my Dad at 63. Hell, this coming September, I'll have outlived him by 2 years -- playing with the House's money, as I always say.

The roofers continue in earnest -- here each day at 8 -- work until 4. Kevin and Jose, my two contacts, had said it would take 3 weeks -- today marks the end of week 2, and it seems to me it will take longer. I joke that this yuuuuge place Wifey made me buy for her is the reason. She rolls her eyes -- I fell in love with this property at first sight -- the whole thing was MY idea -- a true oasis for my young family a quarter century ago.

And now some Trust owns it -- hopefully the Trustees aren't jerks. If they are -- well -- they can be revoked.

Heartless Hens And Empathetic Spouses

 So yesterday I took wifey to see our family ortho, Julio Robla, but she saw his terrific PA Jason instead. Sadly, the third period of her bad back is, well, back. I'm calling it the Third Intifadeh, which Wifey asked me not to, but to me its apt -- living during a period of anxiety and pain -- normal things don't happen. Of course, even bad back pain doesn't equate to suicide bombings at Tel Aviv cafes, but I always DID have a flair for hyperbole.

The news, as I expected, was anatomically pretty good -- typical age related changes in her hip and lower spine -- and Jason ordered a hip MRI just to "make sure" before prescribing a course of physical therapy. As to her back, she gets another epidural injection in March, though now she may move it closer if she cancels a cruise she was going to take with her BFF.

Spinal pain and disability is a queer duck, medically. As crack radiologist Dr. Kenny reminded us last night, before we learned about the heartless hen, MRIs of ALL older folks like us will show some bulging, herniations, etc... and yet some of us are fine while others are left essentially homebound. Even Jason told us about patients he sees who are "big, tough, young athletes" literally in tears from hip bursa pain that isn't even surgical.

I think the next step will be other modalities of therapy -- these seemed to bring ends to the prior 2 intifadehs, um, periods of bad back pain -- hopefully they work again. 

And as for me, well, I need to work on better empathy, it seems. MY spinal aging is, per CT scans of my neck, FAR worse than Wifey's -- the last report showed "moderate to severe" stenosis. My GP said technically that meant I should get a neurosurgical consult, but I declined. I opted instead for some PT, and in a month or so, under Jason's and his boss Julio's supervision, the pain went away, mostly.

And I tend to adopt the philosophy of Dr. Barry -- at least YOUNG Dr. Barry, who always reminded me that if you weren't undergoing a bone marrow transplant for awful cancer (apparently one of the worst treatments there is), or your child wasn't terminally ill from leukemia -- well then, as the Millennials say, STFU.

Turns out this is not good marital advice, as Barry has learned from his OWN wife, who like Wifey, suffers from a litany of health complaints -- all of which limit her greatly, but none of which are terminal. Barry and I discussed this last night -- we BOTH need to be more empathetic -- at least so long as we wish to ensure a greater degree of , to quote the great document, domestic tranquility.

Anyway, after the visit, I dropped off Wifey and then left for Ghee, a local Indian-ish restaurant, where Barry, Norman, and Kenny and I met for wine (or wine based cocktails -- I really prefer a restaurant with a proper liquor license) and some tasty apps. We talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings -- a great fraternity of students pre-class.

Rabbi Moshe led us in a discussion of how Rabbis ought to "get into the real world" along with mere Talmudic/Torah reasoning before offering advice. The humorous example was a chicken brought home from a kosher butcher, and prepared by a young girl with her pet cat nearby. Although the chicken had been robust and healthy before it met its ritual slaughter, the girl claimed it had no heart.

An investigation began -- was the thing kosher for eating? Maybe the heart dropped to the floor and the cat ate it. No, the girl testified, a spleen had done that, but there was no heart. The rabbi consulted a university anatomist -- could there be such a thing as a living, heartless hen? Well, the unsaid misogynistic thoughts of most of the men could say sure -- look at my ex girlfriend or ex wife. 

But the discussion remained at a higher level -- in addition to Barry and Kenny, there's another doc in the class -- an older eye doc at Baptist. There are also Norman, an active lawyer, me, a mostly retired one, and Jeff, one not a lawyer since 1994.

Our group of 5, as Norman noted, sort of hijacked the class, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, even the puns (Rabbi Moshe said some info was in the appendix -- I noted the appendix was NOT a vital organ like the heart).

We also discussed a form of RFK, Jr. quackery that arose in Europe in the 1700s -- the thought that many people were buried alive, and to fix this, authorities mandated waiting periods where the community had to wait for putrefaction (love that word -- haven't used in a minute) -- and these "mortuary houses" turned up no actually living corpses. Of course, these decrees went against Jewish law, which says we bury as soon as possible after death. THAT led to great discourse as well -- I reminded Kenny of the Munchkins' proclamation of the Wicked Witch -- she wasn't MERELY dead, she was really, most sincerely dead.

Of course, the main draw of the class for me (akin to Canes football) is the bonding with my posse.

Hell, if we found a similar class at UM NOT taught by a Rabbi, where we could all meet, that would do the trick, too -- we'd just switch restaurants from Kendall to The Gables.

So I have my work cut out for me as the first month of 2026 draws near a close. Think more deeply about The Big Man and His laws, versus healthy discussion and debate, and be more empathetic with Wifey on her journey back to health.

Good thing I'm mostly retired. How would I have the time for this otherwise?

A Happier Anniversary

 Ten years ago, we buried my father in law -- of course, very sad. But 6 years ago, we married off D2, in a weekend celebration that was truly magical.

D2 and Jonathan chose the Betsy, on South Beach, which was where Wifey and I spent our 10th year anniversary, and where, by the sea in front of said hotel, I asked Wifey to marry me in 1986. Since then, the property got a major upgrade, and the rehearsal party was one SERIOUSLY alcohol fueled get together, in a room that apparently, at one time, housed Meyer Lansky's boiler room operations.

Our guests drank doubles and triples, and what was budgeted as a $5K event turned into one for $15K. Luckily, D2 negotiated a major discount, with promises that her husband's private equity company would consider the venue for future events. She did some FINE lawyering.

The main event took place on the roof -- Atlantic to the East, Downtown Miami with the sun setting to the West. The light seemed artificial -- like a Hollywood lighting director contrived it, but it was natural. I like to think the Big Man smiled down on the union of two Holocaust Survivor grandkids...

Wifey and I told D2 and Jonathan to go have a nice dinner on us -- I think they may wait until the weekend on account of a LOT of dinners out lately. But the memory of 6 years ago still brings smiles. Based on my study, 99.7 % of the guests had a terrific time...

Meanwhile, last Friday I was faced with a choice: to grind, or not to grind. In our law practice, Paul ALWAYS ground the people, and I was the sweet one -- the "good cop" in the age old scheme that, amazingly, still works. But over time, I became more like him, and he more like me, and so I chose a grind -- over an incompetent employee of FIU.

In 2010 we started a scholarship there, to help Dietetics MS kids get over the internship hump. Over time, the fund grew, with annual contributions and a healthy, tax free stock market growth, and all was well. In 2024, the woman I worked with, Smilka, left to take over at St. Thomas -- replaced by a, well, an idiot.

The first thing the new person did was ask if we might split up our gift to the FIU Art Museum -- she was friends with the Director. Nope, I told her -- not art patrons. And FIU did a VERY nice thing all the years of our gifts -- they gave us free tickets to the South Beach Wine and Food Festival -- biggest in the US. We'd take the Ds, or friends, and always had a great time -- a few years in a row we went to TrishaYearwood's barbecue event and she played a few songs -- the more famous husband with the cowboy hat was hidden away.

Another year I was to share a table with the legendary Sam Cooke -- an FIU Music consultant. I was WAY excited, but he was home with an injury and instead we met only his nasty wifey -- a Jewish lady -- and her daughter and son in law. The son in law was the lead singer from "In Living Color," and the fellow acted like HE was Sam Cooke. Still -- great afternoon.

Anyway, when Doreann called, I asked about the upcoming Festival tix -- she said she'd get back to me, and never did -- even with more emails and calls. So we just sort of forgot the program, and never heard from them -- until last December, when I got a report from the Giving Office showing me how the Fund had grown.

I emailed them, and asked if Doreann was still even employed, and a month later, she called me, all happy. "It's been a minute!" she said. No, I corrected her, it's been years -- I wondered if I offended someone. She realized she had ignored me, and tried to blame the fact that she did more corporate than individual donor work.

So I subtly ground her, like Paul would have, and told her we just gave more to other charities -- Rabbi Yossi NEVER forgets to call. Also, we gave gifts in memory of Dr. Barry's Mom -- including to the Jackson Foundation, even though that money was probably stolen by a criminal director who just pled guilty. Ah, charity...

Anyway, we did our part at FIU. And certainly, UM -- my decades of giving there led to NOT getting tix for the Natty game -- which was actually fine -- we had a great time watching on TV without the hassle.

So my curmudgeonliness continues. But man -- 6 years ago -- still in my 50s -- that was one HELL of a great weekend...