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.

The Blessing of Baby Man

 When our first grandson was born, 6.5 years ago, I was given strict instructions: ZERO social media! I have thus followed orders, and never mention his name or post photos of him of his little brother, calling them just Little Man and Baby Man. I think the prohibition is lifted, as I see photos and names on D1's Instagram page of her boys, but until I am explicitly given the go ahead, I shall keep them unidentified.

But today -- well -- it's a big day! Baby Man turns 4! He is celebrating well -- up in Disney with his big brother and Dad, and a pretty nanny -- a person I never grew up with nor had for the Ds.

We're getting  pix of them enjoying the HECK out of the place. Hmm...maybe the expression "like a kid at Disneyworld" has true meaning.

We get to celebrate with him next Sunday -- I reserved the Mitzvah Kitchen at Chabad -- there'll be activities for Baby Man and other kids, and they bake cookies, some to consume, and many to be brought to homeless shelters, in Baby Man's honor.

When Rabbi Yossi called me about the event, he asked if I realized what it would cost, and I answered "I don't know -- a few K?" "More than that -- $3300." I agreed and added $300 to bring the gift to a Chai multiple, and then was told by Jeff that when his other congregation's Brotherhood had an event, they got a "non profit" discount and it was $2500. I chuckled to myself -- my friend Rabbi Yossi always gets the financial edge!

But back to Baby Man. He is a delight -- sparkling personality, and adorable way of speaking. He has learned quite well to NOT be a shrinking violet, lest he be always in the shadow of his big brother, who happens to be, as his Mom calls him. "The most interesting 6 year old in the world."

Baby Man never becomes a background child, as Wifey says, and is joyful and fun. His friends at preschool and camp adore him -- we will fetch him there on Monday - and hear him adorably describe his day.

We'll then reunite with Little Man and watch the two brothers be brothers -- FAR more physical with each other than the Ds were. Jonathan and I predict Baby Man will turn out to be the tougher of the 2 -- the one big brother calls upon if he needs muscle in navigating life. We'll see.

I was gullible when Baby Man was born -- I was told that everyone with a 7/11 birthday got free lifetime Slurpees at the 7-11 store. Turns out everyone who visits on 7-11 gets them. We haven't taken advantage of this yet.

All I know is, a child is an indescribable blessing to a family. I have told Wifey that I love her most when I see her on the floor playing with Little Man and Baby Man -- she has more patience for that than I.

And when we get in the car to drive home -- Wifey is on a high -- asking me repeatedly how wonderful are our grandsons. The answer is infinitely wonderful.

So I wish for Baby Man another 116 years of great health, and laughter, and ask the Big Man to give me the years to be around to see how his life plays out.

For now -- well -- Disney and the following weekend of cookies are not too shabby. Boy do we love that little boy.

Travelin' Man

 I really feel little need to travel much anymore. Like Johnny Cash, I've been everywhere, man --Istanbul to Colombia. Wifey, on the other hand, always has wanderlust, so as is often the case in a long marriage -- we travel a lot, still.

But Wifey is savvy. She knows I always agree to go on trips with great friends. Joelle and Kenny are probably our best couple partners -- we've been with them to Wine Country to celebrate their 25th anniversary, several times to Maine - both their lovely lake house and coastal inn trips, a wonderful Rhone River cruise from Lyon to Avignon, and a Barbados to Miami cruise on Explora - a luxury line they discovered.

We became Explora fans right away - and last December (in fairness, this trip was MY doing) we went with Donna, Loni, Mike and Barry on a wonderful NYE cruise from San Juan to Miami -- watching the Canes beat Ohio State right before the clock struck 2026.

Donna and Barry now caught the Explora bug, and the next voyage is December -- to celebrate a milestone birthday for Wifey whose number cannot be revealed, or any reference points like her being born while Eisenhower was President being shared either. It's also our 40th anniversary in January -- so the next (our third) Explora cruise celebrates lots of stuff. We go from Barcelona to  Lisbon, with 2 days in Casablanca, where I can bore my friends with endless references to the great Bogart/Bergman lines.

We had hoped to include more of our couple friends, but, as befit successful folks in the twilights of their careers, they have other travel/grandparent/kid commitments. 

Dana and Eric, who we Danube River-ed with last Spring, on Tauk, want in on the Explora thing, too, and found a trip for September of 2027 - from Istanbul to Athens. I applauded his optimism that we'll all be grossly intact 14 months from now, and I set about trying to recruit our friends.

Mike and Loni, alas, will be celebrating THEIR 40th then, with some other Northern European cruise - taking advantage of the fact that their boy Chris is a lawyer for MSC, which owns Explora, and they get a a friends and family discount.

We really wanted Joelle and Kenny to join us, but September is a bad travel time for them, as they enjoy the beauty of Maine Fall. I don't blame them -- it IS the best time of year to be there. They suggested other trips -- October into November. But, alas, we have a close friend's daughter's wedding 10/27 -- our first ever lesbian affair, in Orlando, as well as another friend's son's wedding, also in Orlando -- that one a garden variety hetero affair. And I'm not a fan of later November trips myself -- T Day is by far my favorite holiday, and we get to spend it with the Ds and their men.

But in an unexpected development, Barry and Donna want in for September of 2027. It will be their THIRD Explora voyage -- they're like me -- when they find something they really like -- they repeat it. So yesterday, enjoying a big discount for early booking, D2's friend Dara, the travel agent who owns Dara the Explorer, booked all of us. And then...

Patricia finally prevailed upon Paul to overcome his distaste for cruising. He's been on them, and felt claustrophobic -- but understands Explora is a much smaller ship, and maybe it won't be so bad. So as of yesterday afternoon, they were looking into booking, too -- so it would be 8 Miamians flying to Istanbul (not Constantinople). We'll see if that happens -- I sure hope it does.

Either way, the good natured ball busting on the text chat has begun - about Eric having to keep Paul alive for the next 14 months, and wondering whether he can make a claim under travel insurance for any medical care rendered.

These are amazingly wonderful First World Problems to deal with -- just wish Joelle and Kenny were free -- they would love this group of wacky funsters on the Bosphorus River. Hopefully we get to travel with them soon, too.

Meanwhile, today is another first -- first medical visit under Medicare. I see my man crush, Dr. Green, the Dermatologist, who Wifey and the Ds long crushed for, and then I met him and have the biggest of all. Most of his patients are women there for cosmetic stuff, but he is a HUGE Canes fan, and we talk football. I referred Mike to him, and he does the same. Often the PA will remind him he has other patients as we dissect the upcoming season's offensive line -- he just shrugs -- and then goes about the rest of the day.

I set other appointments for AFTER my birthday on the 18th, figuring if I had any dread disease, as our old Torts Professor and Dean Claude Sowle used to say -- better to not ruin the mood for the party.

And if that comes to pass -- well -- travel insurance! In younger years, I laughed that off. Once life got more moving parts, particularly declining parents, we always took it. Hopefully that remains claim free.

For now, have to hunker down in the heat and humidity, which is ok. The Marlins are looking like a playoff team, and Norman scored us tix for Sunday - it'll be my 5th game this season, and I plan to get to double figures.

And then come late in the year -- I get to sing, off key to Wifey, Come Fly With Me...

A Life Changing Gift From Beyond

 So cousin Steve died last week, and I keep thinking of Eleanor Rigby -- he was sort of a Queens Jewish male version of her. My new friend Stuart, of Bethesda, Steve's cousin on his father's side, said maybe 2 or 3 folks will attend his funeral. Stuart is the one handling Steve's affairs, and he is a mentsch. Even though Steve's strange personality was VERY tough to live with (never asked about you -- it was always about what HE was doing), Stuart and one of his daughters were there for our mutual cousin -- after his kidney transplant, and up until the end. Stuart was the one who told my Cali sister Sue of Steve's passing.

Sue was the only one of we 3 siblings who kept up a long relationship with Anne, our paternal aunt. Anne was a self taught intellectual, and would write beautiful letters to Sue, in old world penmanship, using great period words like "gal" and "dustup."

It's funny -- my last visit to Anne was with D1 and her 2 English friends, Sorrel and Esther. After we left Anne's apartment, they remarked she was very much like an old English woman, in manner and style. Funny -- the daughter of immigrants from Romania had effected that mien.

Anyway, when Anne died, Susan took it upon herself to sort of adopt a relationship with Steven. His mother was everything to him, and Sue took that to heart. She would call him at least monthly, and always answer his calls. I kept in touch for a bit, and even had him here in a harebrained attempt to fix him up with my sister of another mister Mirta, but truthfully Sue was the champion with Steve -- though he never said so.

Well -- turns out Steve DID have some deep feelings about other humans, and through a phone call Monday from Stuart of Maryland, Sue was floored. Stuart is sending Sue a copy of Steve's will, and it bequeaths her Steve's car, an impeccably maintained and low mileage Accura, which Sue definitely needs, plus a SIX FIGURE cash award!

She called me speechless about it. I was overjoyed for her -- she always struggled financially, and this is life changing money. Wifey and I felt we had won a lottery WITH her.

Steve also left $100K to Stuart's daughter, who, like Sue, kept up as much of a relationship with him as she could. His other daughter was not remembered in the will, which was fair -- she couldn't be bothered with the strange cousin.

He left his co-op to Stuart, and significant gifts to NYC area medical facilities. He left all of his HAM equipment to the HAM Society, if that's what it's called -- his true avocation.

Stuart told me that the gay gentrified neighbors called him PROMPTLY -- they wanted Steve's HAM antenna removed forthwith. They also wanted the odd old Jewish guy out of their now trendy building -- they got that wish, too.

But the happy thing is that in death, Steve connected with the few people who truly cared about him, much more easily than he ever could have in life. He was comically cheap -- the times we were together, I always picked up the tab. My Dad used to joke that Anne still had lunch money saved from James Monroe High School from 1930. Steve probably had it, too.

All I know is, sometimes Karma works the correct way. Sue's kindness, with no real assurance it would be rewarded, WAS rewarded, in a big way.

Steve was giving in death in a way he never could have been in life. And my sister benefits.

Some terrific news for early July.

July 4, 2026 Is A Wrap

 So for most of the day yesterday, I exercised my freedom, guaranteed by The Constitution, by impersonating a sloth. I never even ventured out of the blissful AC until it was time to leave for dinner -- just before 6 pm.

We fetched our friend and neighbor Gloria, and headed to Bahia Honda -- the great and inexpensive fish place near FIU. I started the evening like the opening line of a joke, when I introduced Donna and Barry to Gloria: "So these 4 Bridge and Tunnel Born people, along with an exotic Israeli born woman walk into a Cuban place on July 4th..."  Wifey quickly corrected me, as she is wont to do, that "I was born in Haifa but I am totally culturally Brooklyn, Long Island, and Miami." No one would argue.

I always thought Gloria was a Bronx girl, since she went to Bronx Science High School, but turns out she was, like Barry, an Astoria person. Gloria's late husband's family are all Miamians, and so she LOVED hearing terms like "Grand Concourse, Garden Apartment, and Greek Diner..." We all got along famously.

At 9, we decamped for home, talking to Gloria about life and how the LAST thing she expected was to be an empty nester without Ben -- gone 7.5 years now. I told her my Mom was the same -- she expected to live for years with my Dad, but ended up only getting 3 years of retirement. Turns out - ya never know.

Wifey and I hugged in the kitchen, realizing this was the 42nd July 4 we'd spent together. The first was MOST memorable. Unlike these days, where I sometimes get inebriated at parties and events, THAT day I got very inebriated, though on wine and beer during an entire day on South Beach, instead of my preferred vodka. It was, last time I checked, still a record day for a band: the Beach boys played to nearly 1 million people on a single day -- half on the D.C. Mall early in the day, and on South Beach at night.

Wifey noted we're still the same people we were 4.2 decades ago, but with "many more wrinkles, much more gray hair, and many more pounds." Well yeah, plus, our 3 parents are long gone, we have 2 awesome girls and son in law, and 2 amazing grandsons. Oh yeah, too, my net worth then was MINUS probably $10K. These days it's on the positive ledger...

We always think about a lovely, warm scene from the end of Fargo, where Margie and Norm are in bed, following the drama of the kidnapping and murder. They're expecting their first baby, and Margie comforts Norm's disappointment that his drawing for a new stamp only won third place. She says "Ya know, Norm, things are going pretty good for us now."

Indeed, Big Man thanks, they are for us, too.

So today hopefully we get to see BOTH Ds and their men and OUR men -- the grandsons. Hopefully both granddogs come, too -- to perk up our elderly Spaniel, who mostly sleeps these days.

We can UberEats in some good food, and maybe I squeeze a few Mandarins into some vodka. 

These are my favorite types of Sunday.

Next up big event -- my 65th, on the 18th. It's looking like fewer than 30, which gladdens Wifey, whose motto is "the fewer; the merrier." The Ds seem to have all in hand. I have to make a trip to Total Wine -- going top drawer for the drinkers -- Stoli Elit, and maybe some Johnnie Walker Blue. There'll be fake beer for the teetotalers who USED to drink. 

I always loved July. It meant Little League -- later beach days with my crew. July 4th, and my birthday a fortnight later. Lazy and languid -- and that was on Long Island -- the Tropics of Miami are even more so.

Nice to be a slow moving, but still rockin' Daddy and Grandaddy in the USA.

Rest In Peace, Cousin Steve

 I'm the youngest first cousin on both my mother and father's side, and I'm old, so the inevitable is that my Boomer cousins more frequently leave this mortal coil. Both my parents were Greatest Generation types, and their kids Boomers, raging from a 1943 birth (my cousin Arlyne, now gone years) to me, in 1961.

Dad was one of 3, and so fewer cousins there. Anne was the oldest, who died at 99 in, I think, 2015, then my Dad, and the youngest, Uncle Harry. Harry died in his 40s, and his 2 sons Russ and Gary became Smiths, when adopted by my Aunt Elayne's second husband Ben. My Dad's 3 of us remain. And Aunt Anne had a single son, Steve, who turned 74 in March. Alas, he had seen his final Independence Day last year -- my sister Sue shared the news that Steve died yesterday morning.

He was an odd duck. Today we all know he's on the autism spectrum, but back in the day there was never such a diagnosis. Rather, he was just shy, and strange, and not social, though he did get a college degree and work for years as an accountant.

My years as a boy, when we would visit Jackson Heights and the building my grandmother lived one floor below Steven and his parents Anne and Jordan, were not sunny memories. Steve was 9 years older than I, but always seemed socially younger -- even as a late teen more concerned with model airplanes and HAM radio than talking to us.

His father Jordan, a Caspar Milquetoast if ever there was one in our family, repaired vending machines, and was so quiet and humble, he never shared his part in history. One day, on a visit, he was showing some WW II pix, and sure enough, there he was on an island in front of a plane, with his fellow mechanics. The island was Tinian, and the plane the Enola Gay! My Dad was shocked. "Jordan -- you were part of the Hiroshima Mission?!!!" He was, but had never mentioned it.

Poor Jordan dropped dead of a heart attack on Miami Beach, while attending a convention for his company. I was 8 and I recall Anne calling Dad and asking him to come over when she broke the news to Steve -- Dad said the 17 year old took the news terribly. An early memory is Jordan's funeral -- his Knights of Pythias provided service had an officiant who kept calling him "Gordon" with Anne loudly and angrily correcting him. Yep -- early "Curb" in my family.

Anyway, Anne and Steve lived together in their co-op the rest of Anne's life. When she died, of pneumonia, Steve called to ask me if we could sue the hospital. I said "Steve -- she was 99." He replied, in his high pitched, Queens accented voice, "Well she COULD have made 100!"

We kept in touch over the years, but weren't close. He would come to Miami for cruises, and sometimes I would see him. We were pretty sure he wasn't gay, but never dated that we knew. This led to my having an inspiration -- maybe my sister of another mister was right for him! Mirta was single, and struggling a bit financially -- her sons were grown. I romanticized maybe the Cubana and strange Jewish bachelor were besheret.

So I fetched him at the cruise port, and Mirta, Wifey, Steve, and I spend one of the most uncomfortable 7 hours ever. We went to Tropical Chinese. Steve had ZERO interest in Mirta, and soon she felt the same way. We went back to our house. I suggested coffee. "I don't DRINK coffee," said Steve. Tea? "No -- how about ice cream?" So we went to Wall's, then Matheson Hammock to kill time. I tried to talk with Steve -- he just wanted to complain about how Trump had reclaimed his model airplane runway for a new golf course, and the gay guys in his co-op harassed him about taking down his HAM antenna.

Finally, it was time to leave for MIA. On the way, he called Delta -- it appeared his flight was canceled. We were horrified -- zero chance I was bringing him back to my house for the night, I assured him Delta would put him up at a hotel. Thankfully the flight went on, and after we dropped him Wifey and Mirta asked what the hell I was thinking, attempting that love connection. It went down as a Top 5 dumbest idea I ever had.

Anyway, when D2 and Jonathan lived in NYC, I called Steven and Ubered to Queens to meet him at his favored cheap Chinese place in a strip center near LGA. He dropped me at the terminal, and I asked him if he wished me to call him more often -- he never called me unless he wanted free legal advice (several car wrecks, all his fault, and the continuing harassment from the gays in his building who clearly wanted the weird old Jewish guy out). He said he would.

All during Covid, I called him every few months and struggled through our talks, typically as I walked the 'hood in anxiety about whether the Plague would take our first born grandson.

His conversations were always complaints about how much things cost, and how he had been taught by Anne not to give away money or let people rip him off. Once, he complained that Carnival wanted to charge him an extra few hundred dollars for a balcony room. I suggested maybe he pay -- he had plenty of money, and no one to care for but himself -- live a little. He reacted as if I suggested he give up an organ.

Which he did. He was diabetic and got a kidney transplant about 4 years ago. I thought they stopped giving organs to 70 year olds, but apparently the criteria changed to medical need alone. He never really fully recovered -- still needed dialysis, I think, and refused to pay for it on cruise ships, so only took short cruises.

But last year he did travel to LA to see the sights -- like the docked Queen Mary, which he reported was a lousy hotel.

We last spoke a few months ago, when he wanted me to call his auto carrier and tell them to NOT settle with 2 claimants he rear-ended and were claiming serious injury. I took the time to explain that it was a good thing his company settled, and his premiums would increase based on his fault, anyway.

My sister Sue kept in closer touch with him -- she spoke to him just last week after he got out of the hospital for an infection. She also met , on the phone, a cousin from Jordan's side, a fellow named Stewart who was closer -- he traveled to Queens to help Steve out after hospitalizations. Stewart was the one who told Sue Steve died.

Sue said she was thinking of sending flowers. I reminded her we were all Jews and we didn't send flowers -- food, for a shiva, yes, or a charitable contribution. I can't imagine anyone is sitting shiva -- probably just an Eleanor Rigby-like funeral in New Jersey -- with a Rabbi instead of Father McKenzie...

Early this am, Wifey and I shared insomnia, and talked about Cousin Steve. He never hurt anyone. He lived a quiet life -- friends, if you could call them that, in the HAM radio community and Model Planes. He DID travel. He loved driving to my old town on LI, to visit Kwong Ming, the locally famous Chinese place -- and he would send me pics of him dining alone at a table there -- I guess he had some warm memories of being with my family on LI.

My Dad used to joke that once Anne died, he would "come out of his shell," get silk shirts and coke spoons and acquire a persona like Budd Love in Jerry Lewis's "Nutty Professor" movie. Never happened -- just Dad's absurdist humor, which he passed down to me.

I said a prayer to the Big Man -- for Steven's soul to be comforted, and reunited with the souls of Anne and Jordan -- his people, as the saying goes.

Rest in peace, my first cousin Steven Greenbaum.