Strategies For Aging

 So this am I had a convo with one of my old man friends. Turns out...when you become an old man, lots of your friends are old men,too. His query: what was the best way to go forward? Accepting the limitations of age, the greatly decreased energy for doing most things, or resist? What would I do?

I answered with a song quote, since most of my thoughts come from lyrics, movie lines, or stuff I've read or heard over the years. The quote came with background about the writer -- since parenthetical discussions are fine for retired, or mostly retired people.

The writer was Randy California, of the group Spirit. Randy was an LA Jew, born Randy Wolfe. He was in Hendrix's band, with another Randy, and Hendrix kept confusing the two, and so named one Randy Texas and the other Randy California. When the world's greatest guitarist gives you a nickname, you keep it.

Anyway, Randy later formed Spirt, and wrote a song called "Nature's Way," and the lyric is "It's Nature's way of telling you...something's wrong." In other words, I plan to let my condition determine how I live -- if I'm limited, so be it. If I can push myself and do more, I'll do that.

Randy died tragically, in Hawaii, saving his son from drowning. I guess that was Nature's way of telling him to stay out of rip currents...

After the phone talk, I met Jonathan my trainer for a rare Friday session, since he was sick on Wednesday. I'm the second oldest person in the gym -- one fellow looks to be late 70s or early 80s, with a wife my age. It's nice when the younger folks move aside when I walk by with weights -- fearful I may drop them on their feet. Age has its privileges.

I then called the Lexus dealer, and they told me Wifey's SUV was ready. I turned in the loaner the color of her eyes, and went inside. My service rep was out. The manager, a pretty Cubana, said he would call me. What was going on? Had they lost the car? Crushed it by mistake?

Carlos called from home to apologize. The check up showed the computer was saying, unlike by Nature's way, that something was wrong -- with the AC. But Carlos checked -- I have the extended warranty I bought when we bought the car off lease from D1 -- and anything needed would be covered. But -- could they keep the car a few more days -- maybe until Monday?

Of course, I said, and then made believe Carlos was saying his "jefa" was simpatica and hermosa, which she was. She blushed. Carlos laughed -- I told her I was making things up. Old dudes can get away with that -- another privilege.

So I have the loaner for a few days. Only problem is, it has a new shifting system -- push button for Park, and you have to manipulate the shifter for the other gears. Zero chance Wifey finds it easy -- but she doesn't have anywhere to go. If she does -- I'll give her a tutorial and hope for the best.

And today is the 63rd birthday of a great man -- Dr. Barry. I asked him if he was going Denis Leary, or Rabbi Yossi. Leary says there comes a time in a man's life when he needs to realize his birthday is no big deal -- and that age is 8. Rabbi Yossi says our days are gifts from The Big Man, and failure to celebrate a birthday is an act of ingratitude.

I think Barry is choosing the opinion of His Holiness -- hopefully we meet for dinner tomorrow night -- and some Zoom cocktails tonight.

D2 and Jonathan are happily in Portugal, and D1 and the boys have a full day tomorrow at the beach -- I think we'll see them Wednesday.

So the days continue to run together, each to each as Yeats wrote, and they're pretty sweet.

Car Talk

 So Wifey asked Henry to visit early this am -- 730, in fact. It's funny since Wifey rarely emerges from our bedroom before 11 am, but I was up early to greet Henry. He has a mobile car wash service, and I noticed he had a new van. "Yes -- used some of my wife's life insurance to buy it." She died in her sleep 2 Mothers' Days ago, in her early 60s. Henry said she was in good shape and ate well, but it was her time...

As I was moving Wifey's car into wash position outside of the garage, I saw a message come up on the dash: "Service Required Soon." Wow -- talk about timing! Lexus of Kendall sent me a text -- special until 7/31 for oil change, tire rotation, etc...I called and asked if I could bring the car in at noon. I could.

Normally, I would drop the car, and have Wifey follow me in my SUV, and we would go for lunch while the car was in the shop. But things don't work normally here. Wifey WOULD, but my car was SO big, and the shifter worked differently, and don't be angry if something happened...

So I left her in her PJs on her recliner at 1145 and headed over. The affable service advisor and I chatted -- he was from Lima (Peru, not Ohio) and a huge Heat fan, so we got to speculate about whether old LeBron is coming to Miami...

He said the oil change was fine, but they couldn't do the rotation. He had photos on his IPad to show me why. Though the tread life was ok (22K miles), the tires were beginning to show age wear -- which happens in South Florida at 5 years or so. He said the tires were probably good for awhile, but he wouldn't take a long trip on them -- and their protocol was no rotation for these type of tires.

I recalled learning this in the past -- tires age even when not worn -- and the LAST thing I wanted was a pleading call from Wifey from the side of the highway...

I told him I typically got tires from Tire Kingdom, and he said that was fine, but they WERE having a "Buy 3, get one free" sale. While he took a call, I went on the TK web site -- sure enough the non sale price there was about the same as the sale price at the dealer.

And then Carlos tried to DOWN sell me! I told him I wanted Michelin, and he said that Kumos were 30% cheaper, and fine for mostly local driving. Nah -- give me the Michelins -- nothing but the best for Wifey!

He wrote me up and said I would get a loaner since they would take a bit to get the Michelins. Another fellow led me to a new SUV, in a gorgeous metallic, dark blue.

I drove home with a plan. I walked inside to find Wifey, still on the recliner, and told her I had done an impulse buy: I traded in her 2022 Lexus for a 2027 model because the color was the same as her blue eyes -- come look.

Ah -- she didn't buy it. She knew it was a loaner, and was amazed that the dealer gave loaners for oil changes. I told her the whole story, and made sure she was happy with today's service -- get your SUV washed, and then taken for service and 4 new tires all without having to open an exterior door.

She said she did enjoy the service.

So I shall await the call and retrieve the 22K mileage SUV. Wifey ended up getting up to see the loaner and indeed fell in love with it -- the interior was a gorgeous sandy colored leather. Now she wants one!

Not happening. I reminded her of her propensity to get into accidents -- even the lovliest blue vehicles don't look so great all dented and scratched.

Speaking of which, I haven't heard from my own carrier about Wifey's collision in Aventura, but suspect the young man IS bringing an injury claim, despite the slightest of contact. When I spoke to the Geico adjuster and asked, she said "HIPAA prevents me from disclosing that info." This tells me there IS info.

Hey -- it'll be up to Kin to deal with it -- and then I await the doubling of the premium from a claim. But hey -- what are ya gonna do?

As Henry's wife's fate shows, any car we have may well be our last. So for now, Wifey will have to endure her charcoal grey Lexus...maybe someday the blue metallic will be hers...

A (Pause) Mazing Weekend

 So Wifey did some of her nervous pre-gathering puttering -- realizing hours before guests arrived that she needed to rearrange photo frames, plants, etc...but happily went upstairs to get ready, leaving me to reflect in the living room. The caterers arrived, and I had set out the ice and Stoli Elit, and though I thought I might wait for the party, I poured myself one, sat alone in the living room, and let the alcohol do its work -- just enough to give Petty's lyrics more poignancy.

The guests started arriving right around 630, and it was delightful. All ate VERY well and drank as they wished, and later on there were gummies -- I had 2 with little effect -- story of my marijuana life. And as the party was in full swing, and I was a few in and loving life -- well -- I looked up to see Kenny and Joelle -- what the hell were they doing there? They made a special change of planes trip from Maine to be part of the party. I mean -- who leaves a beautiful Maine lake in July to come to tropical Miami? Folks who truly love you is the answer.

So Jeff and Lili were in from CT - though they come home monthly to check up on things and just made it my party weekend -- and Scott and Sam flew in from D.C. I felt like some big shot for whom people travel.

Years ago I learned my name means "beloved" in Hebrew. Turns out...

D1's friends Harley and her sister Alexis tended bar well -- everyone enjoyed their youthful energy. Old friends connected. Laughter was created.

At the cake, I made sure to make faces to "Happy Birthday," to make Wifey, the Ds, and Jonathan laugh. And then I told everyone what was in my heart -- I was the luckiest son of a bitch I knew - and how Saturday proved it. Paul spoke beautifully -- noting how all in attendance were there since they owed me -- not money, but a return on the friendship I had given my entire life.

And Wifey, not one to enjoy public speaking, said how remarkable it was that many there consider my their best friend. It's true. My identities in life are great father, great friend, mostly acceptable husband, and mediocre but financially succesful lawyer. Oh -- and Canes fanatic -- that got mentioned a lot, too.

The last to leave, around 10, were D2 and Jonathan, and Joel and Courtney -- more great tales, and talk of the futures of their wonderful sons.

It was the kind of party that folks like to relate conversations afterward. And Monday, my trainer Jonathan told me how Wifey had cracked up him and his lovely lady Lesley. Lesley thanked Wifey for hosting, and noted how beautiful our home was -- it must be delightful to live in such a place. Wifey said "It is -- and you know -- we USED to be poor!"

Vintage Wifey -- filter between brain speech center and mouth is often porous -- and it's a line the young couple will always treasure.

Sunday we assembled at Chabad -- and Baby Man got a GREAT party with all his preschool friends and their parents. The main building was hosting a community Mitzvah Kitchen event -- 40 folks putting together meals for the poor. I was hoodwinked into sponsoring that, too, and when I wandered in, Yossi had the assembled sing happy birthday to me. 

If you're gonna be hoodwinked -- and it leads to feeding the poor -- well -- that's, I guess, a GOODwink...And so it was.

After D1 came back to the house with the boys, and we plotzed, as they say, so tired from the parties. But Joelle and Kenny texted -- their flight home via Philly was canceled -- did we have dinner plans? We were NOT going to let some fatigue prevent meeting them, after their monumental schlep to Miami, and we had a lovely time at Grand Kitchen -- a spot that held my least favorite restaurant - Planta -- a vegan place. We said so long until the Fall...

Meanwhile, on the other end of the social spectrum -- my cousin Steve's other cousin Stuart is cleaning out his Jackson Heights co-op. He found some of my grandmother Jennie's hair, with a note about her. Not just a few strands -- like a whole mop of strawberry blonde locks. I never knew -- she was always gray to me. My sister Sue and I politely declined his offer to send it to us.

But the message came through -- my cousin, who had no real friends, ended up as dead as the next guy -- as I will, though hopefully without the creepy hoarded stuff.

Through these 65 years, my possessions, such as they have been, are my people -- those nearest and dearest, all of whom gathered SAturday night.

And so I begin my 66th year on this planet as one VERY blessed, VERY lucky, cool rockin' grandpa and Daddy in the USA...

Shorter of Breath...One Day Closer to Death

 I prefer to think those sage lyrics are David Gilmour's, and not the anti-semite Waters. It's still an awesome song and album.

Meanwhile, the lead up to my birthday has made my insufferably happy self even MORE insufferable. It's funny -- I always expect the worst, but when that doesn't materialize, I get ebullient. There must be a DSM diagnosis for me.

So yesterday Paul asked me to meet him at His Holiness's office, and he presented the Rabbi with a fat check in honor of my birthday. Yossi showed me a check from Dr. Barry, too, and Young Rabbi Moshe told me Norman had made a nice contribution, too. I was really moved. If charity is done in my name -- well -- that's as good as it gets. And then things got hilarious.

Paul asked the Rabbis and Rebetzin what to do now that our firm seemed to be limping to the finish line. Yossi skipped no beats: "There's always time to include us in your will." Spectacular! It certainly never hurts to ask, and they didn't build the multi million facility they have by being meek.

We then went to lunch, and I got a call from the Dermatologist's office. I had prepared myself for the dreaded message: "You have melanoma," and strategized telling no one at my getty, but knowing I would be entering oncology world on Monday. The Big Man smiled. "My favorite patient -- biopsy is negative -- but DO use sunscreen." This time I was scared straight -- after 2 basals and a squamous -- time to protect before my walks additionally to my hat.

Last night, Larry David finally made me laugh with his new Series. The first 2 episodes -- eh. But last night he played Jonas Salk's VERY proud Queens Jewish mother, and it was LOL for me. "My son doesn't care about clothing -- he cares about HUMANITY!" Funny stuff.

This am, Wifey and I coffee toasted on our balcony, overlooking our amazing home, before the heat and humidity chased us back inside. I opened my email, and was brought to tears by probably the most beautiful email from anyone not my blood relation, ever. I responded to the young man that the weather folks were wrong -- the Canadian smoke DID come to Miami -- which explained my tears. I was moved -- especially when he said he bought a brick at UM and hoped someday my grandsons would show it to their Canes friends. Like Linda Richman, I fanned myself and got ready to go for ice.

But then -- Norman called. He had violated my request for no gifts other than tzedekah, and dropped off a large bottle of Stoli Elit AND a T shirt that said "What A Difference A Dave Makes," which I first heard at the Tartan Army game we attended. I told him both gifts fit perfectly, and gave the ulitmate complement: we could be faygellahs. Straight guys give crappy gifts to each other -- these 2 gifts were ON POINT. Again, I was moved.

I went to our local Kwik-E -Mart with a large cooler, to get a piece of ice (pun never leaves my head since probably 1976). The clerk wasn't the usual Arab guy, but a Cubano -- I told him I needed 10 bags and 5 Lotto tickets. I gave him my credit card, and learned 2 things. First, Lotto is cash only, and second, tickets are now $2 instead of $1. Change happened behind my back! I don't recall the last time I bought Lotto tickets.

Anyway, I popped the $3 change into his tip jar, and told him it was my cumpleanos. He brightened. I walked to the freezer to start the schlepping process, and he said "Senor --esperate!" And he rolled up with a wheeled cart, and insisted on helping me load and unload the ice!

I got Publix/Milam's service from the Kwik-E-Mart. I thought of a Brady Bunch episode where the kids recorded a "Sunny Day" song, in perfect 70s colors and saccharine lyrics.

The song basically summed up my mood. I will be totally UNsurprised if my Lotto numbers come in -- then it will be time to take charity seriously -- like as in full time job.

The Total Wine and Costco deliveries came -- an affable Venezuelan young man and happy Cubano -- I tipped them both as they brought in supplies for a party of 100. We expect 30. Hey -- soda and booze keeps -- T Day isn't too far off...

So each time I get news OTHER than bad, about my beloveds or myself, I savor it. And this 65th birthday is such a time. Hey -- I may even make 66 -- when I can get my kicks...

Virtue Signaling

 The Ds are SO right -- I spend far too much time on FaceBook -- by which I mean any time at all. A mentally ill, angry, former nephew scared me off it for awhile, when he reacted verbally violently to an in inadvertent friend request, but after a year's hiatus, my frustrated inner Onion writer and hunger for chisme brought me back. And one of the many annoyances is the birthday virtual signaling -- "For my birthday this year, I'm asking everyone to give to..."

Of course it's noble, and I also kind of enjoy seeing how popular folks are. If they mean a lot to people, their "goal" for the charity is quickly reached. If not, you see the poor, pathetic scale stuck on like $25 or so. Yeah -- I wish I were a better person...

I DID have the Ds put on the invite for my getty tomorrow No Gifts -- Please Give To the Charity of Your Choice" on account of I want NO more stuff, with the exception of booze, which I always welcome. In fact, my bro in law Dennis sent me a nice bottle of Ketel -- one of my go-to vodkas, which will be enjoyed in short order.

And leave it to Paul -- he takes things to heart. He wrote a nice check to Rabbi Yossi in my honor, and later we actually have a short time with His Holiness so Paul can hand deliver it. I joked that Yossi is so big now that he doesn't see givers of less than high 5 figure checks -- but for old time's sake, he'll still see schleppers like us. He got mine this year, too, in the form of a Mitzvah Kitchen birthday I'm sponsoring Sunday for Little Man -- supposably (Miami spelling) about the same cost as a Chuck E Cheese's event but turns out, close to double. But hearing my grandsons say "We're baking cookies for poor kids" shows its true value.

Anyway, for my birthday, I hope everyone I care about drinks. Heavily. If they don't drink, may they indulge in their inebriant of choice. If they're in "recovery," I think it's called, well then follow the advice of Professor Stills: "If you can't be with the one you love; love the one you're with. And if they're with no one, then comes the advice of Professor Allman: "Go on Downtown, baby,and find somebody to love."

Recovery. I always think of a T shirt popular in Key West years ago: "Rehab is For Quitters." I shouldn't make fun -- I know it's serious. I've seen lives ruined -- hell -- in my own family crystal meth has steered a tall, handsome man to a life of jail, homelessness, and MANY stints in rehab.

I've been lucky. My addictions, such as they are, have been functional.

So today, I have an early haircut with Dania, so's I can look pretty for the getty tomorrow. I've been going to Dania for nearly 30 years, exclusively except for one brief affair with a male barber, when Dania annoyed me and wouldn't squeeze me in before an event I had. Sure enough -- the older Cuban guy made me look like a character from "Que Pasa, USA?" and I came crawling back to Dania. 

During Covid, she even came to the house and cut my hair outside. We met when D2 and her girl were in early Elementary School. Now we're both grandparents. Life has a way of slipping by that way.

After the haircut -- the aforementioned meeting with His Holiness. My friend Jeff ritually bathed in the mikveh before HIS 65th, and asked me if I planned on doing the same. I told him I asked Yossi if I could bring a geisha into the pool with me, and upon hearing a refusal, took a pasadena...

Tomorrow I have an early ice run -- to the same Quick-E-Mart on SW 124th Street I ALWAYS visit for ice. It's more than Publix, but I can back my vehicle right up to the door and load up the coolers. Plus -- it's tradition! And turns out tradition is important.

After that, the Ds tell me to be home to sign for the Total Wine and Costco deliveries. The caterers are coming at 430 to set up. The party is called for 630.

And then, I plan to immerse myself in the Sonos playlist my family came up with -- Jonathan is charged with running that as he has the App on his phone from the 9 months he and D2 bunked with us.

I plan to eat the Dave chosen foods -- pigs in blankets, coconut shrimp, skewers, maybe like ONE sort of healthy choice. D2 said basically Tailgate Food. She is correct.

And D1's young friends Harley and Alexis have been charged with bartending. I will help there since I have ALWAYS been and remain the guy who wants everyone at a party to drink.

This began in high school, with stolen Southern Comfort in syrup bottles, and beer bought by older siblings, continued through college and law school, and goes on to this very day.

I will be surrounded by most of the most important folks in my life, and I INSIST they all be in great moods to savor each other's company, since, as Tom Petty sang in his lullaby: "We're all right...for now."

So nearly adios, 65th year on this planet. A big part of me never really thought I'd live longer than my beloved Dad did, and I reached that milestone at 63 and  2 months.

As my brilliant friend Kenny used to say about his Dad -- living decades after a major heart surgery -- it's all playing with the House's money now.

I hope to keep playing a good, long while...

All Those Years Ago

 Ah, July 14th. My dear friend Mike's birthday. Bastille Day, which is apparently celebrated at Chik-Fil-et via a "Let Them Eat Chicken" promotion. But for me, it is the anniversary of the worst day of my life -- the day my Dad died in my arms.

It's funny -- Paul and I were discussing this am about how life is grand until it isn't. And it can be awful until it isn't. As Ecclesiastes, Pete Seeger, and The Byrds teach us: "To everything there is a season." My adorable Little Man, who is named after my Dad, was putting away his toys yesterday and remarked "Everything has its place." That kid...

So July 14, 1982 was a bright, sunny day. Dad was a week out of the hospital after a pretty serious MI. I was working at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall in Boca, and had plans to spend a beach day with some Delray girls I worked with, and their cousins from rural Wisconsin. My life was amazing. I had switched to English as a major, and gotten my first 4.0 the previous Spring semester. Dad was SO proud of me. My job at Jordan Marsh was selling glassware, which was Dad's job, and it tickled him, but only because I would NOT make sales a career -- Law School was in the future, where I could "hang out a shingle and be my own boss." That was his only wish for me, professionally.

All was well, and then Dad came to me. He had an appointment with Jules Heller, a chubby, not too bright Family Doc, for his post hospital checkup. Dad was concerned -- if Heller put him back in the hospital, would I please go along so my Mom wouldn't have to deal with that herself? I NEVER refused my Dad, though missing out on the beach with some girls who thought I was IT annoyed me. Sure I would go. Turned out he must have had a premonition.

We went into the exam room, and Heller listened to his heart, reminding him he had survived a big scare. He was already thin after giving up sweets following a Type II diabetes scare, but all looked fine. What about diet? "Eh -- maybe eat more fish and less meat," was Heller's reply.

We drove to Morrison's Cafeteria, and sure enough, while I picked the brisket, Dad said "Might as well start now," and ordered the fish, which he ate with little enthusiasm. To this day, I NEVER avoid the steak at a steak place -- MY last meal won't be "healthy" unless I choose it. After lunch, Dad wanted a haircut, and we drove to Oriole Plaza, where they had a place.

Mom walked to Publix, and Dad settled in with the one haircutter -- a blue haired punk girl about my age. She started her work, and I sat behind reading SI, and all was fine, until I heard "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over and was out.

I guess I was always good in a crisis, and told her "Call 911." She did, and knew CPR like I did -- she compressed his chest while I did the breathing. I smelled the onions on his breath from lunch. Delray EMT was there in just a few minutes, and took over -- put Dad on a thumper for chest compressions.

I KNEW he was gone. Mom walked into the scene of horror for her husband of 39 years. She started to shake and cry, and I held her tight, lying that "it will be ok." The lead paramedic said they were going to Bethesda Hospital, and we followed in Dad's forest green, 1975 Olds 98 Regency.

We parked, and a nurse led us into a private room. A doc came in -- young guy - a few years older than I was, and I asked how Dad was. He looked around nervously and stammered, and said "Uh -- he have to wait for a social worker." I was polite for a few minutes, and finally said "Look -- just tell me my Dad is dead, ok? I don't really care about your protocols."

He nodded affirmatively -- he was clearly new at the "telling next of kin" game. The social worker came in, a zaftig Jewish lady, and starting speaking platitudes, and finally asked "Do you want to see him?"

Neither my Mom nor I had any desire, since we weren't religious, and both knew we wanted our last memories to be joking about eating fish at a diner. I told the zaftig lady he had prepaid with Neptune Society -- she said they would contact them.

I walked Mom to the car, and left for home. I knew everything had changed, and it did.

Well, turns out, lots happened in the ensuing 4.2 decades. Good times and riches and son of a bitches, as Buffet sang. An a (pause) mazing life for this blue collar Jew from Levittown Schools.

I still miss Hy terribly. I joke that he died too young, whereas my Mom died too old (93 but the final 4 years -- eh).

But  I will honor him as I do The Big Man -- with boundless thanks for the life he gave me. And hopefully we get to celebrate a much happier birthday in 2026, this Saturday, than I did in 1982.

Lots of water flowing to the sea. Lots of years...

Good 'Ole Sunday Morning, Jazz is Playing Right Here

 It's funny -- I was never much of a jazz fan. I appreciate it, and have been to several performances -- Mel Torme at Gusman years ago, with George Shearing -- tix I bought for my mentor Ed and his wife Joyce and Wifey and me. And several shows at UM, which, I am told, has a top Jazz program in the US.

But Sunday am, it is my preferred background music. I put WDNA on the Sonos, low, and really dig it. They have different shows -- traditional Jazz, Latin Jazz. Monday I listen to their Blues, which I really dig. But something about Sunday seems appropriate for jazz -- goes back to my early days with Wifey, when we would put on WDNA and read the Sunday Herald and, later when we could afford the luxury, the Sunday NY Times.

I find the music sets the tone for a lovely day. And today one is planned. Norman is due over after noon, and we will then fetch his boy Benji, and head to see our Marlins. Up to a 2 loss streak this weekend, they've been the best team in MLB since June -- I think this will make my 6th game this year. Dr. Barry is meeting us there -- like me -- overcoming the inertia that keeps our ample tucheses at home on weekends.

We're likely going to a post game dinner, too, and Norman suggested a place near the stadium called Jon and Vinny's -- an LA pizza place that opened in yet another gentrifying 'hood near JMH -- Allapattah. The Ds have, of course, been, and both report it is good. Pizza with my boys after a Marlins game? Yeah -- smart money says it'll be good.

Tomorrow the plan is to fetch Baby Man at camp, and spend the evening with the boys. Tuesday I think we may see Mike for HIS birthday -- 4 days older than I. It's also my Dad's yahrzeit -- so nice to have the happy occasion of Mike's day to balance out the sadness. Dad's gone 44 years now -- much of my adult life -- and yet he's with me daily -- especially with Little Man -- who has his name.

Later in the week, I have a supply run to Total Wine, to provision for my birthday gathering -- looking to be around 30, which is nice. My best college friends, law school friends, and lawyer friends are all due -- with one exception -- Joelle and Kenny, who are enjoying the cooler climes of Maine.

Jeff and Lili and Loni and Mike were supposed to be away at their Summer retreats -- but the former couple pops home once a month while in Connecticut, and made it this week, and the latter are back from Western NC awaiting the birth of their second grandchild.

I really didn't wish anyone to schlep here, but my nephew of another mother, Scott, and Sam, are flying in from D.C. Scott loves an excuse to come home for a few days, and as he told me, "You are MORE than an excuse." So I'm honored they're coming here in the hottest time -- though I think D.C. has been pretty tropical this Summer, too. And Scott knows the martinis here will be cold -- like my Chicago bartender Marc said, in classic Chicago accent: "Colder than my ex-wife's heart."

So the Jazz plays. They just announced, on WDNA, they're having their Summer fundraising drive. I donate a few times per year -- and they give NICE swag -- hats and T Shirts. During Covid, the shirt said "Alone Together," and I just wore that one the other day.

Apparently I'm a member, which entitles me to see live shows at their studios on Coral Way. We used to go -- lots of fun. Maybe I'll drag Wifey out of her recliner in the coming weeks and attend one. It becomes SO easy to just stay home -- other than for grandkids and events. We must overcome. 

Right now James Suggs is playing -- some nice Sax. Sax on a Sunday am is lovely.