Ageism on President's Day

 So we had a delayed Valentine's Day celebration last night, based on the 800th episode of "The Simpsons" airing. My two dear law school friends and I were big fans, as were our wives, though truth be told, none of us has watched in a decade. But there was no school or court work today, so I took it as a sign -- ordered some pizza and wings and cannolis, fired up the firepit though it was kind of warm, poured adult and adulteress beverages, and we had a time.

Of the six of us, only one is still in what I call the "Old People Biz" -- caring for a 90 something parents. The other 11 of our beloved Moms and Dads have shuttled off this mortal coil -- and one remains -- and is the subject of tensosity between her friend and a brother who really only wants to "do what Mom wants" without taking control. I really feel for my friend -- this will only get worse before, blissfully, peace will come.

Wifey and I had three clients in the Old People Biz -- primary caregivers for my Mom and her parents. The relationship is fraught -- we were really deeply involved in raising the Ds,and all that entailed, and still had to coordinate care. We started out being deferential to their wishes, though they were often idiotic -- my Mother insisting on living alone in her condo, for example, when most of her day was spent trying to clean up the accidents she had on her carpet -- knowing if we saw them -- ALF was coming.

There's a bad twilight between stubbornness and actual incompetence -- when the latter comes, things go more smoothly. In Mom's case, one of her many falls landed her at Delray Hospital, and Eric said she was starving to death based on her serum albumin. Then we took away control -- down to Miami Jewish for the final 11 months, where she was cared for humanely and visited, mostly by my sister of another mister Mirta.

My suegra was the toughest -- staying in her Pembroke Pines condo for years while my suegro was at Miami Jewish -- and the day he died, it was "no longer mine home" and demanded to be moved -- but not to ALF. So Wifey and I kicked out the comical tenant Lenny -- a classic example of a word I just learned: beta. A beta is a loser guy -- the one who is dominated by the alpha. That was Lenny to a T -- made an ok living but we thing put a lot of it up his nose -- used to bounce the $1K rent checks all the time -- I'd have to meet him at a Starbucks for the cash. I kept his rent the same for 5 years, and when I told him I needed the unit back, he protested "But this is my HOME!" even though it was a month to monthe lease. The problem was by then any similar place was 2.5 times more expensive. When he moved, we found he had lived like a frat boy -- missing toilet tank covers, for example.

So Wifey worked with our handy man Nestor, and made the place lovely, only to have her Mother whine about how lonely she was there, despite Wifey getting her drivers to take her to the local casinos, and our many meals with her.

Before her final years, Wifey learned the lesson: YOU make the calls for the 90 something -- trying to keep them happy is a fools' errand.

This whole thing with the missing TV anchor's mother is absurd to me. 84 and sick? Hey kidnappers -- she's all yours! You'll get caught and put in prison for life -- but a national search and demand for $6M?

Again -- I know it's ageist, but I want my Ds to know if I'm in my mid 80s and in failing health, and some moron kidnaps me -- do NOT pay the ransom. Far more important resources by used for those with real futures.

And hey -- I'm 5 years into old age, so I get to say this, right? Like only old people can use the "O word."

We Boomers are TOO involved in the life our our kids and grandkids -- every one of my friends, to varying degrees, cares for their adult kids financially or otherwise. One relative has a hub-son, a great neologism I learned yesterday from Bill Maher. Her troubled boy is in his mid 40s, and they speak daily, if not multiple times per day. Ha. Hub-son -- a son who in many ways is like a husband.

But the point is, on TOP of these responsibilities, you pop that of ancient parents. Basta. Enough.

Wifey and I acquitted our responsibilities to our 3 olds with love and compassion. We have zero regrets. We loved them, and honored them until their Rewards. Do we wish we could still visit them in the nursing homes? No -- the grandsons and Ds have futures and need us.

Wifey remarked how old one of our group looked last night. She was right -- we're all mid to late 60s -- one of us could pass for mid to late 70s. So our time here is limited as it is. Let us focus on our kids and grandkids, and savoring our days.

Ageist, I know, but happy to be out of that business.

Everything's Quiet On Valentine's Day

 Ah, the Dia de Amor is upon us. Yesterday was National Mistress Day, which is apparently a thing, where you celebrate your side piece. I imagine more lingerie and fewer chocolates...

We used to celebrate, since I'm a hopeless (and helpless) romantic -- moonlight concerts at Deering Bay, nice dinners at Christy's, and for several years I set up a table in the front of our VERY romantic house and hosted dinners. The first was 2001, soon after Wifey and the Ds and I moved it. I brought in DiNapoli and we toasted our family in our new home. Later, we invited Pat and Susan, Jeff and Lili, Mike and Loni,and Dave and Maureen. I would buy nice costume bracelets for the wives and hide them under the dishes. One year the Ds were our servers. We all enjoyed it.

This year Mike and Loni invited us to dinner at Platea, followed by a trip to ZooMiami for Ron Magill's wildly entertaining "Sex and the Animals." We went years ago -- terrific. A talk on the exotic mating habits of exotic animals -- presented by the wonderful Magill, sort of a Neil DeGrasse Tyson of Zoology.

Alas, Wifey's hip and back keep her from attending, and instead I fetched Little Man after a lunch with D2. We just came from breakfast with Mike and Chris, followed by a visit to Mike and Loni's house, the closest thing there is to the Addams Family mansion -- he was fascinated by the tiki bar with mummies and skulls, and a visit with Mr. Tortoise, the large pet who ate a green pepper to Little Man's delight.

I may bring him to Greer Park later. We invited the super genius neighbor girl, but haven't heard back. At some point, I shall re-home Little Man, and maybe have a cocktail with D2 and Jonathan -- they've learned that dinner on VD is amateur hour -- paying double just because.

If the timing works, I may stop in the Grove on the way back, too -- to see Joelle, Kenny, and their cool buddy Claude, a retired Navy ortho surgeon. His wife, a retired Navy eye doc, had to attend to a family matter, and so missed the trip to the Grove for the Arts Festival, which I joke has gotten far too crowded and so no one goes there anymore. Does anyone even know who Yogi Berra was?

But last night, after Little Man finally fell asleep following some snuggle time, Wifey and I agreed this was the BEST type of Valentine's Day -- one celebrating the true love that led to beloved grandchildren. I truly hope all of my friends get to experience it -- turns out being a grandpa is a nice gig.

Wifey was supposed to leave on her Oceania mah jong cruise Thursday. She hasn't canceled yet, since her trip insurance said she didn't need to file the claim until departure day. I joke the odds from Vegas as to whether she goes keep shifting. Latest: no go, as she told Barry and Donna last night on our FaceTime call.

I hope she does get to go -- I think a week at sea woud be good for her psyche -- but totally her call. I remain DaveBer, available to schlep, or not. I just want to be given 5 stars after the journey.

So I hope Cupid has drawn back his bow, as Sam Cooke sang, and let his arrow go. Nice to have a day recognize love -- in all its manifestations.

Mental Real Estate

 So The Donald -- craziest president ever! I long ago kicked him out as a squatter taking up free real estate in my head -- but clearly I remain in the minority.

Yesterday was roof tile delivery day -- a pretty big project where a team using a long conveyor belt moved the thousands of heavy clay mix barrel tiles up to the various elevations of the roof of Villa Wifey. Affable Jose of Andrew Palmer called to tell me of the progress, and than said Sara, the cool manager, would be stopping by -- did I still have the paint colors from the last repaint job -- they wanted to touch up some areas where they installed the new copper flashing and damaged the walls. I honestly wouldn't have noticed -- too high to see -- but Palmer, on the top end of prices for roofing companies -- does details like that.

I told Jose I would call Errico, the nice painter we use -- maybe he had the color mix number that Sara could use to buy the paint. I got him on the phone and asked how things were in Miami and Nicaragua (I swear I was going to sing my question to the Broadway tune "How are things in Glocca Morra") and Errico said fine EXCEPT... he HATES Trump so much, and can't think of anything other than that villain, and how could his Latin friends possibly have voted for him, etc... I let Errico vent -- when he did work here he realized he had kindred spirits in Wifey and our designer, a Hialeah Cuban who also loathes The Donald -- and so went on and on. Finally -- we got to business -- no -- he didn't have the colors, but recalled where he left the remaining paint can in my garage, which I gave to Sara and all should be good.

Later, I got a response to my light political satire post on FaceBook (TM) where I noted that I commented rarely on politics but if I had a Dalmation, I would keep it away from Pam Bondi. Old law school friend Cheryl, a classic limo liberal ( commenting continually about social justice from her multi million dollar homes in both West Hollywood and Maine) took me to task -- I SHOULD be more forceful on FaceBook in these horrid times.

I responded that I would wager that the number of peoples' opinions ever changed from FaceBook posts was exactly ZERO. People comment politically to either agree with their side of chastise the other -- often nastily. Nah -- I'll keep to old music videos and Dad jokes -- and, of course, the truly essential: the fate of the Miami Hurricanes! By the way, Cheryl didn't get the Dalmation reference -- I had to school her about Cruella De-Ville...

The pendulum will swing back away from the craziness, as it always does. Or it won't, and things in the USA will become untenable, and my tribe will have to re-locate. As Bill Murray's character said in "Stripes:" All Americans are here because we've been kicked out of every other decent country on the planet!

Where shall we go? I'm a fierce Zionist -- but really have zero desire to live in Israel -- never felt the vibe there on my trips. I guess if forced, it would be Haifa -- the most chill city. Jerusalem? Sacred and holy, of course, but FAR too much tensosity for me.

Jonathan fantasizes a return to Venezuela, and the halcyon days of his childhood in Caracas, where things were pretty good before Chavez and later Maduro took the richest Latin nation and turned it to crap. We'll see if regime change really happens.

I DID like the vibe in Puerto Rico, but turns out it's part of the USA -- so probably makes no sense to go there, though comically we all noticed fewer Spanish speakers in the airport there than at MIA.

Maybe I can claim birthright from my grandparents origins -- Bialystok and Czernovitz. Nah -- they're Poland and Ukraine now -- not garden spots.

I guess this is a benefit to getting older -- less time left to have to worry -- except for my kids and grandkids. Ultimately, they'll have to find their ways.

But for now, I predict November will show The Donald that his act has worn thin. As Tom Petty sang: he went just a little too far.

But for now, I have some serious business today -- fetching D2 and probably Betsy and then Little Man at school -- lunch together, and then back to Villa Wifey for the night. Hopefully he gets to play with Amelie, our next door neighbor who is his age, lovely, and a super genius. Really -- kid is in kindergarten and already winning international coding contests against Middle Schoolers. She adores our boy -- I plan to tell him to hang with her -- she'll tutor him in Math someday.

And if not, just a break for him from his hectic schedule -- downtime from his many after school activities -- probably a trip to Greer Park, and maybe a hunt for downed iguanas.

But ZERO talk about politics...

Down Kindergarten Memory Lane

 So this am we tuned into a Zoom video from Little Man's school -- he got a certificate for getting a perfect "A1A" record the last quarter. He and some classmates were called up and handed a certificate -- parents and some grandparents Zoom messaged, and at the end everyone waved goodbye. Wifey and I were a bit proud.

Later, D1 got a note -- telling her that Little Man was EXTREMELY bright, but needed work on not always talking and sharing so the shyer kids got a chance in class. The teacher suggested working on games like Red Light/Green Light and Simon Says, to better teach him to, well, STFU when he's not called upon.

Sardonic D2 wondered on our family chat where on earth her sobrino could have gotten these characteristics, and wondering whether we ought to play Red Light/Green Light with D1 as well.

I think we all realize that quieting a wildly self confident and ebullient kid is a much easier task than enlivening a very shy and taciturn one. We all agreed to work on the exercises as the teacher suggested.

And it triggered a memory -- when I was in high school, I recall looking over my grade school report cards, before tossing them. I still clearly recall what my teacher Miss McNamara wrote: "David is a very bright and curious student, although he IS a VERY talkative little boy." How about that. Little Man is indeed a lot like me -- and kindergarten teachers 6 decades apart have confirmed it.

Ah, Miss McNamara -- nice lady, a spinster as we said back in the day. Years later, I learned that she came out with Miss Dempsey, my 3rd grade teacher, another spinster. I guess Levittown Schools in the 60s and 70s weren't ready to accept the love that dare not (then, anyway) speak its name.

Cubans call lesbians "tortilleras," or makers of tortillas. I'm not clear why, but I wonder what Irish American tortillas are called. Anyway, I guess they'd both be in their late 70s or 80s by now -- I like to think of them happily living on their big NY Schools pensions, maybe with a place in Provincetown...

Since it's Wednesday, Wifey and I are camped out in the library, and all of this nostalgia had me reach for a plastic box with some of my old academic records. Sure enough, Wifey's favorite was there -- a letter from the Levittown Optimist Club inviting me to dinner as a winner of the 1979 award -- I guess since I volunteered a bit at a local hospital, and had good grades. I recall the night -- Rae Ann Caponi was my co-winner, and we both spoke and got free Italian at Caruso's on Hempstead Tpk -- our proud parents in attendance, but the Italian Caponis telling us later that the food wasn't very good. Man, how memory works!

Speaking of nostalgia, on Monday Paul convened a dinner with Barry and me, and after I pointed out to Barry that his choice of an Aventura restaurant meant a 1 hr and 40 minute rush hour drive for me, settled instead on Capital Grille on Brickell. I had a martini and swore I saw ghosts -- Paul's friends Frank and Alan, both of whom loved the place with us, and Wifey's friend Elizabeth, who ate there with us many times.

The bartender Joanne was still there -- she started out a young, right out of high school girl, and now has kids starting college. The food was delicious as always -- I brought home some of my ribeye, and Wifey proclaimed it delicious later that night. And we talked of old times and current times and times to come.

Tonight, Barry, Kenny, Norman and I have dinner before Bible Class -- where Jeff joins us. Jeff always asks our plans, but can never make dinner on time as he's commuting back to Kendall from the Beach. I think we may go classic tonight -- Captain's Tavern -- just for the halibut. Ha.

Friday I'll fetch Little Man from school, take him to lunch, and then back here for an overnight, which means BAFL, or Bagels at first light. We'll spend Saturday together, and then back to NE Miami for Valentine's with his first love: D1.

It's true how much power a Mom has over her son's future -- Dads, too, but likely less. I always felt adored and loved by a beautiful woman, and that gave me the confidence to go as far as I wanted.

Even if I talked too much, sometimes...

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...