Dealing With Askholes

 I learned the term years ago and I love it: an askhole is a person who draws you in with a "vital life question," has you spend time and effort giving your best answer, but goes ahead and does whatever they were going to do in the first place, anyway. We all have lots of these folk in our lives.

But yesterday, until late, was a golden Wednesday, a Miercoles Gigante, as I named it. First, Wifey's back is much better, and she was able to drive with me to D1's house in the regular car seat, instead of curled up, lying down in the back. I much prefer having a wife to visit grandkids instead of a sack of potatoes I haul around.

We arrived, and D1 was flitting about as usual -- when the boys aren't home, the place looks like kids don't live there -- everything put away and organized and clean. To her credit, when they DO come around, chaos is allowed, even encouraged, but then her instincts kick in and she returns the place to Scandanavian standards.

D2 arrived with Betsy. It was 3 pm. D1 pulled out the Tito's and a glass, and said "Dad -- boys aren't coming home for 2.5 hours -- why not day drink a bit. It puts you in such a great mood." There are plenty of old Dads who would have refused. Drinking on a weekday at 3? But this Dad is not one of those, and so I did as offered. A few sips in, I toasted Wifey and the Ds -- after a rough 2025, may this time, between Purim and Pesach, be one where we thank the Big Man for all His manifold blessings, and ask for resolution of issues we face, going forward.

D1 suggested a walk, and so we loaded the special needs Spaniel into a stroller, leashed up the skittish one, and brought Betsy along -- she sticks near D2 like glue. It's just a 5 minute walk to Biscayne Bay, and it was a breezy one -- truly delicious as we chatted our way down 81st street in Shorecrest. Shorecrest is a VERY old Miami 'hood -- lots of houses with maritime themed decorations -- flags made of driftwood, etc. You hear folks say "Miamuh" a lot -- a dead giveaway for those here after several generations. Of course, houses they probably paid under $100K for now cost $2-$3M -- but such is our city -- not lots of young folks can afford to buy here anymore. Hell, Wifey and my first house, $86 K in 1986, would now go for $700K -- and it's tiny, and NOT anywhere near the delightful breezes of the Bay.

Anyway, we stood there awhile, and said our hellos to the spirits of  my parents --D1 brought a tear to my eye reminding me of when she was 3 and one stormy morning looked up with her doe eyes and asked "Daddy -- would Grandpa Hy have loved me?" Oh hell yes he would have. We also said a hello to D1's beloved Madeleine, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge and had her ashes scattered in the Bay, too, on a rainy, gray day.

Oh, I was the luckiest Grandpa and Daddy in the USA -- surrounded by my "surfeit of X chromosomes," as Barry notes, and knowing a couple of Y chromosome boys would be joining us soon.

We walked back, and the critical discussion about dinner was had -- settling on a favorite, Mykonos which now has a "ghost kitchen" in Midtown. The Ds hilariously described what that meant to Wifey.

The Ds and Betsy left to fetch dinner, and then the terramotos (Spanish for earthquakes) came via nanny. They were SO excited about their days at school, and what was for dinner, and Little Man got back a painted box he gave to a girl but gave it to a different girl, and, and, and...

The Ds arrived with food, and we sat around eating the delicious pitas, and Greek salads, and then Little Man spotted a neon lighted box on the counter. What was it? Ah -- Wifey bought them a karaoke machine. Just then, I got a call -- there was an urgent question. Could it wait -- I was in the middle of a Golden Wednesday. "Well how long -- this is critical?" 2 hours? Well if it must...

If there's something more adorable than a 6 year old boy and his sidekick 3.5 year old brother sing with a karaoke machine -- well -- I don't know what it is. Plus, this one has voice modulations, so the boys learned they could  have different voices -- low, monster sounding, to high pitched effiminate man voices. 

There was laughter. There was love. It was exquisite.

Around 7, we all left, as the boys were headed to baths and school night pre bed activities. And then I remembered -- I had told the inquisitor I would call back. I did.

The details aren't important -- but talking about harshing the mellow I had. The asker went on and on -- feigning interest in my advice, but prepared to tell me at each turn no -- she was going to do this. Poor Wifey didn't get the concept of the askhole, and she was on her Google search trying to get data about the issue. I over ruled -- it was clear to me that facts and data weren't being sought -- just affirmation for what indeed sounded like one of the stupidest things I had heard in a long while.

I got another call, and had to flee. Wifey said "Wow -- that really set you off." It did, and for other, deeper reasons. But no matter - I asked Wifey for future help. If I'm having a great day, and any askhole calls -- please remind me -- wait a day until I answer.

Ain't nobody, with VERY small exceptions, have a right to rain on my parades anymore. Life has a way of doing that anyway -- bad issues, health or financial or social -- allowing people not essential to you that license is folly. I don't plan to commit that folly again.

But no animals were harmed in the making of the Miercoles Gigante. We have D1's skittish Spaniel -- D1 is off to Chicago for a week for a business opportunity that is MOST promising -- right up her alley in expertise, and making connections with the machers of Miami.

I used to be good at that. D1 is next level amazing at it. In fact, an old friend from ATL told her her daughter moved here -- would D1 have lunch with the young, single marketing exec and share thoughts about careers and life? She would -- I will take Mom and daughter and D1 out for brunch in a few weeks. D1 and D2 make me proud.

As for this am, I have "either a call or Zoom" with CPA Mark to work on 2025 taxes. I opted for Zoom -- neither of us is pretty enough to have to see each other. The bad news is my income was far down in 2025. The good news ought to be lower taxes owed -- we'll see.

And the askholes -- well -- they just have to wait awhile. And that's fine.

Envy of a Billionaire

 A dear friend says she thinks envy is the most toxic emotions. She can handle being hated by someone -- but envy frightens her -- she thinks the envious constantly wishes her bad -- she avoids anyone who envies her, like the plague, as my mother used to say.

I envy just about nobody. Well, Tom Brady for awhile, but even he suffered -- the supermodel wife taking multiple karate lessons a day with a studly sensei humbled him. So that's about it -- with the possible exception of Miami's best billionaire -- a fellow named Ken Griffin.

He was born in Florida, raised middle class in Boca, and then went to Harvard where he made connections and used his math genius to ultimately found the largest hedge fund in the US, Citadel. They were a major company in Chicago, and he would throw around millions in charity, like, as Barzini said about Don Corleone, so many nickels and dimes.

Well, Illinois taxes were tough, but despite paying them, Chicago's crime problem hit close -- his employees kept getting mugged, and the Chicago government seemed more worried about the creeps' rights than their victims -- so Griffin high tailed it to Miami. He's building a state of the art skyscraper off Brickell, bought crazy properties, led fellow billionaires in programs to recruit MORE billionaires to Miami (it's working -- the money coming here is crazy), and caused several major law firms to follow him here as well.

But most importantly, his charity here has been amazing. He gave the biggest gift ever to Nicklaus Childrens, and same to Baptist for a Neuroscience Center. He's donated to schools. And to my beloved UM -- $50M to build a new cancer research building -- it opened late last year.

Last night I learned he gave another $10M to UM -- to recruit a young, hotshot GI doc here from Emory. I read about this guy -- may have the WASPiest name ever: Dr. Field F Willingham. This was fodder for my friend chats -- I joked that he was coming here since the kreplach in Atlanta was from hunger. If it turns out this guy is Jewish, I have to retire my JewDar, which is usually pretty spot on.

But he is an amazing doc per my research, and a huge get for UM's med school. As I am an academic groupie, as Dr. Barry calls me, this is a big deal -- especially since it involves my alma mater, and the fact that my family are major consumers of GI related medical help -- D1 and Wifey get treated at UM -- D1's good friend Morgan is on faculty there, and her latest scope was done by a young hotshot who looks like she is still in high school, instead of the nationally recognized academic doc she is.

So I envy that -- being able to be a philanthropist that way. Paul and I have always been generous donors -- for years, we were in the chips with our law biz, as they say, and always shared willingly. Lately, on account of we're working much less and not making rain like we used to , things are skinnier at the shop -- this coupled with family financial needs that seem to go higher, not lower, on account of I spoil my adult children and grandchildren like no one else I know, except Paul.

As a result, my giving numbers were down in '25, though still more than half my early lawyer salaries.

And if I had Griffin's money...man... I would NOT buy a bigger house, or art, or stuff, but would love to be able to call a college or hospital boss, or Dean, and say "So -- about that new building you need."

Years ago, I read about Sinatra when he lived in Palm Springs, He would read the Deseret News, and see an article about someone's hard luck -- maybe a waitress's trailer burned down. He would call his lawyer in Beverly Hills and have them arrange an anonymous gift -- warning the lawyer that "if this gets out, I'll replace you with some other big shot Jew lawyer."

Man, I loved his political incorrectness, but more importantly that he did that. I do, too, on a much smaller scale -- read about sad stuff, and typically go to a Go Fund Me site and help. I avoid "causes" where I know the people have well off parents -- I figure that those are their responsibilities -- but not many people have well off parents.

Anyway, I never met Griffin, but as D2 said when I shared the news of the latest gift -- he sure has been a nice addition to Miami.

Next week -- Rabbi Yossi and Nechama are hosting a 30th anniversary celebration of their Center. I bought 4 tickets --Wifey and I are going, and hopefully D2 and Jonathan -- if they can't, I'll invite other friends. It promises to be a fun night -- open bar, catered apps, and a comedian named Elon Gold, who is pretty, pretty funny, and is taking a fraction of his usual fee.

I was asked: how about a $5K table? Not this year, I had to say -- but maybe that will happen again, if the chips come back.

But I sure hope Yossi can somehow get connected with Ken Griffin. Griffin is Presybyterian, but might want to help out the special needs work Yossi and Nechama do. Man, I would happily envy that...

Seasons Change And So Did I. You Need Not Wonder Why

 Big Sunday for this old fellow. First, I took Little Man to breakfast with Loni and Mike and their grandson Teddy, and after some play time, it was off to Shorecrest with him and his skittish Spaniel Lemon for some re-homing. On the way, he figured out his IPad takes photos, and he took about 50,and since the device and my IPhone were connected on CarPlay, my photo library ended up with them -- hilarious selfies of his mischievous grin, and some shots of his driver, me, as we traversed the County.

We arrived to see the never downtime D1 and Baby Man hosting some friends from the pre-school -- really lovely Italian Jews --a Mom and her 2 adorable daughters. We talked of their origins -- rich grandpa in Rome who paid off a Cardinal to hide the family in Vatican Apartments. Their parents live in Miami, as does a sister doc at Mt. Sinai, but they're off to Rome after the school year. 

I left, and headed to D2's house, where a delighted enormous puppy greeted me. D2 and I headed to meet Jonathan at the Design District food Court, MIA Kitchen, for "the best sushi in Florida." It was pretty good -- poor Jonathan is dealing with the decline of a beloved uncle -- he was put into hospice at Miami Jewish last night. He's 79 and had quite a run, as Jonathan noted, but it seems his days grow short.

We went back to Casa D2, and watched some basketball, and in 2 hours it was time for me to head to Broward to meet 3 lady friends for dinner and the Guess Who concert. It was lovely, and supposed to be politics-free, but one friend, a lifelong GOP member figured she was in safe territory with the 2 Hialeah raised Cubanas -- but it was quite the opposite: they LOATHE Trump and everything now about the GOP. Luckily the cocktails let me re-direct the conversation, and an Uber ride got us quickly to the Seminole Hard Rock, which is probably the best place to see a big show -- NOT arena sized, but big enough.

At 65, 64, and 2 60s, we were among the younger ones. And Burton Cummings, now 78, and Randy Bachman, 81, were awesome with their VERY tight band. Their songbook is amazing, especially since they included the BTO hits that came later -- the show ended with a rousing "Takin' Care of Business."

In the row in front, there was a classically attractive, it seemed, blonde with very long hair, and very tight jeans. She was dancing along, but then I noticed she grabbed her back and sat down. What my reminiscing about seeing concerts as a 20 year old fox -- the term we used for attractive girls - turned around to show she was -- horrors -- late 60s or even 70! NOOOOOOOOO! It was a snap back to reality.

As we exited, an ever sterner reminder awaited -- probably 10 walkers parked, awaiting for their owners, the way motorcycles used to await their Easy Rider owners outside concert arenas. As I rhetorically asked in the Uber ride back to the restaurant: "Why was everyone SO old?"

But the music was still fine -- the ballads still sad: "I didn't see you were LAUGHING" at my heartbreak. No -- no one's sharing any land or appearing to "all live together" as their song from the hippie era went. Still, "She's Come Undun" still resonates as a great song about people, especially women, losing it.

And it turns out "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" was a favorite of all 3 of my lady friends -- back before they were married and they enjoyed that aura of feminine power over men.

Now, in our 7th decade, we all appreciate the power of still being able to attend dinner and a concert, and get up and dance along.

The years march on -- so I don't wonder why.

Grandparent Privilege

 So every generation thinks the way the one following it raises their kids is nuts. No exception here. As late Boomers, Wifey and I were pretty helicoptering, but we gave the Ds plenty of down time -- other than school, they had a few planned activities, but that was it.

Of course, when I was a kid, there was Little League. Just Little League. And much of what I learned about life came from just hanging out with friends -- making our own fun. Some was dangerous, like the period we experimented with explosives in our teen years -- luckily the only lasting harm was some permanent hearing loss my friend Eric has from a too close exploding firecracker -- but generally we got through unscathed.

D1 is very different -- she thinks the boys need CONSTANT activities -- sports, lego building, etc...

When she leaves Little Man with us, she is sure to tell me all of the things going on in Pinecrest. This weekend there was a car show, for example. Wifey and I nod, kindly, but already know the itinerary for Little Man will be a LOT of doing nothing. And he loves it.

Yesterday she brought both boys, and they played and rough housed, as boys will. We tried to get them to watch "The Little Mermaid," a favorite of the Ds in their childhoods, but after an hour, Little Man wanted to switch to "Sponge Bob" -- sort of nice, mindless content.

D1 left with Baby Man for a party near Dadeland, and Little Man, Wifey, and I settled in for a quiet evening -- his beloved IPad, some drawing, and an epic bath in our comically huge tub, which he loves. We listen to him fantasizing about being a pirate on the high seas. Ah, kindergarten.

After, some bed time snuggling, some more IPad, and then his eyes grew heavy. I took him to his futon bed, and told him a Nightbird story -- always about the heroic bird who flies around rescuing children and animals. "Grandpa Dave -- that was a short one," and we agreed I would tell him the tale of his Mommy's birth. By the time I got to Wifey's labor, he was out.

This am, we decided on another trip to Roasters for pancakes, instead of the traditional BAFL (bagels at first light). He suggested we invite "our friends from last time" -- Chris and Mike. I did -- and this time Mike and Loni showed up -- Teddy the toddler in tow -- his parents in Naples at the brand new Four Seasons for a weekend.

We had a lovely time -- Teddy fascinated by the older boy. It occurred to me that the boys were 3rd and 4th generation Canes -- assuming they attend. 

We came home, and Little Man began building his new Lego blocks -- Wifey bought him some new ones. Wifey came down, and enjoyed her Language of Love matzah brie and bialy, and is now hanging with our beloved grandson.

I have to leave in an hour to re-home him and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel who also spent the night. There is, of course, an activity planned -- some animal show in Aventura.

I plan to have lunch with D2 and Jonathan, and kill some time before leaving for Broward and The Guess Who with some friends -- trip still too long for Wifey and her bad back and hip.

So another chill time with Little Man -- we love and adore him and his brother so. I always make the same promise to D1 --  I will do my level best to return him in one piece. As for activities? Nah -- that ain't grandparent duty, at least for Wifey and me.

Crossing Counties

 As my friend Norman well knows, I don't often drive north of the Miami Dade-Broward border -- let alone all the way to Palm Beach. Yesterday was an exception -- a cheer up visit with dear friends Boca.

My sister of another mister Dana broke her wrist while playing on a slippery wooden floor with her grandson, in Atlanta. She had it reduced in the ATL ER, and they flew home. Her smart as a whip grandson said "I don't think we should play soccer in the house anymore." His Dad is an engineer -- clearly he inherited those analytical skills.

Anyway, she had a successful surgery Wednesday, and I decided to use the Joelle approach -- something she taught me while Wifey was in a 3 week rehab stint following her stroke 5 years ago. Most caring friends say "Can I do anything?" Joelle DEMANDED I meet her and family for dinner, or come over for dinner. That's a lesson that will always resonate.

Eric and Dana have a TON of support -- their daughter and family lives close by, and even Josh made a special side trip from his business in Melbourne to check on Dana. But I know I am THE most fun and cheerful friend, and so I aggressively invited myself for a visit -- bringing dinner.

I planned to get there around 5:30 -- WAZE said it would be an hour, 45 minute trip. But for some happy reason, there was 1980 level traffic -- I made it from the Sunniland post office (my second trip of the day -- loafers open at 10 am instead of 9 like the rest of the biz world) to a Mexican place on Glades Road and the Turnpike in 1 hour and 10 minutes! Talk about back to the future!

I wanted Wifey to go, but she's still gingerly climbing back to normalcy. She DID go to Roasters to meet Boston friend Sheryl and happily reported she sat for 2 hours and drove back and forth pretty well. Baby steps...

Meanwhile, the drive up the TPK brought MANY memories. I made the trip weekly when I was in college -- it used to take 1 hr and 10 minutes from Coral Gables to Delray -- my parents comically brutal architectured condo, Kings Point. If there is an uglier complex than that, I never saw it -- essentially parking lots with squat, 2 story buildings where the view is either said lot or a narrow strip of grass with bottle brush trees never allowed to grow higher than 15 feet. Still -- my Mom LOVED the place -- lived there from 1979 until 2012 -- moving for her last 11 months to Little Haiti and Miami Jewish Home.

I conjured up the memories of all the life events -- parties, illnesses, just regular trips with my buds. After 1990, when my sister and bro in law and their kids moved to first Boynton and later Hypoluxo, the tpk trips were to fetch Grandma Sunny in Delray and then drive her up Jog Road to family meets.

Yep -- LOTS of Tpk memories.

The Mexican place, Tequila Something, was good -- I went in and ordered, and then drove into the gated Boca community. Dana, a true trooper, was in good spirits -- she showed me the lovely home improvements I only saw on Zoom meetings -- it had been pre plague last time I was there.

We talked of kids and grandkids and friends over the decades, and then Eric came home and mixed us some FINE Tito's martinis -- with refills from the big shaker. I told them I really liked that Boca bar.

We ate, and shared more tales of life -- how we all met as barely adults and traveled together into grandparenthood. Eric and I turn 65 this year -- I told them I plan a sunset sail in Biscayne Bay with just a few friends -- looks like they'll be in town mid July.

I left around 8 and drove home listening to the Panthers game -- poor Eric called -- he was called back to the hospital for a VIP patient he needed to see. Man, I don't miss work related emergencies -- Paul and I fielded plenty of those -- 2 am calls from clients on the cusp of multi million dollar settlements arrested, or about to commit domestic violence. Yeah, no, as we say in Miami -- that's best left for the young lawyers.

Today I meet my trainer, instead of Wednesday when the distempered raccoon kept me trapped, and yesterday when his Tesla tire needed a replacement.

Tomorrow D1 is bringing the boys -- she is taking Baby Man to a local party, and leaving Little Man with us. I think I may take him to my fish seller in The Redland -- time for some new cichlids -- the cold spells thinned their ranks. The koi did fine -- they can live in frozen lakes and ponds -- essentially prettier, hardy goldfish which are hard to kill.

Sunday after I drop off Little Man, I hope to see D2 and Jonathan for lunch, and then leave for Broward -- TWO cross county trips in 3 days! I'm meeting some friends for dinner and then a concert -- The Guess Who. Alas, Wifey's sitting it out -- so my drives will be solo. That's ok -- plenty of memories to keep me company.

And as Dana and I agreed, it is certainly possible to go through life without close friendships. We just don't see how...

Raccoons and Crocodiles, Oh My!

 So Wifey and I were on our typical nightly shifts -- she comes to bed around 2:30 am, and I awaken around 3 for a prostate pee break. I settled into the chair by the bed to read what major issues I had missed (I only made it through 30 minutes of the SOTU address, learned everything is terrific, and so went to sleep), and saw a text from Wifey. It was a photo of a mid-sized raccoon she had spotted by our front porch areas, walking in circles. She read that could be a sign of rabies, and we ought to watch out.

Sure enough, I awakened and was getting ready to leave for the gym, and the raccoon was still there, looking like the folks who used to wander away from The Palace or Miami Jewish Home -- circling, not foaming at the mouth, but not leaving. I called 311, the Miami Dade County line, and got Animal Services. The DEI person (Lord, Trump IS getting to me) took my info -- I said we may have a rabid raccoon, walking in circles. The person took down the info and I got an emailed case report. I asked when I might get a visit -- and she said "Within 24 hours you will get a call."

Yeah, no, as we say in Miami. So I recalled a company called Pesky Critters, owned by a guy named Todd Hardwick. His Dad Richard was a long time lawyer in town -- I actually met Todd on a case -- he was an expert when we sued WalMart after my old boss's client got bitten by a pygmy rattlesnake while buying a ficus plant at the Wal Mart nursery. We lost the case! The jury said hey -- it happens. I remember joking with Todd that he decided at a young age he liked working with actual animals as opposed to the wanna be animals lawyers were. His company's business is a-boomin', as Lt. Aldo the Apache says.

Jeff answered -- he could come by closer to noon -- he had to trap an 8 foot crocodile in South Miami. Wow, I said -- sounded worse than our maybe 10 pound raccoon. We laughed, and he called back -- he had the croc in his truck already (it was slow moving in the cool weather) and was on his way.

He pulled up, and I opened the window and pointed to the raccoon like the scared little bitch I was. I never liked raccoons -- they creep me out -- and the thought that this one might send me for the dreaded multiple rabies shots kept me behind the screen. Jeff, a big blonde guy, probably late 40s, said "Oh -- he's moving pretty well, and tried a snare which missed, but the second did the trick, and he caged our unwanted guest. Emboldened, I walked out and saw the raccoon. Rabies? Nah, said Jeff -- probably distemper -- lots of them were getting it in the cold weather.  I didn't ask what fate awaited our guy -- Jeff showed me another in a crate also in the back. 

And then he asked if I wanted to see his first visit's haul? Hell yes, I did, and there was a VERY huge crocodile tied down in the back, not moving. Jeff said he was to be relocated -- they're protected -- but it would be far from the South Miami street where he was enjoying his canal-side constitutional.

I snapped pix for my grandsons, and Jeff and I spoke -- he's a Jersey boy, here for 20 years, with the best job in the world. I told him I was a LI native -- his Mom is from Bayshore, and I asked if he knew about the famous Entenmann's outlet store there. He did. We talked sports -- he was wearing a Panthers jersey, although he grew up a Rangers fan. We talked early Islanders, and he said the Nassau Colisseum was the dreariest arena he ever visited. He was correct.

He left, saying he'd text me the Zelle info, and he did: $175 to remove the critter, which I thought was VERY fair. Of course, 10 minutes after he left, a County van pulled up. I greeted the nice fellow -- "So where's the rabid 'coon?" I told him he just missed him -- Pesky Critters got him, and opined it wasn't rabies, and why did the dispatcher tell me 24 hours?

"Well, they say that, but when we hear 'rabies', we roll fast." No harm, no foul -- for $175 I got to meet, as D2 noted, Crocodile Jeff. Also, Jeff texted me -- he was going to invite the boys and me to their company HQ which is sort of a private zoo of trapped critters. That alone makes the fee worth it.

Then I called Jose, the roofer. He said Final Inspection is Friday or Monday. I asked him about 3 areas where there are no tiles -- I figured they were left that way for drainage, and you can only see them from our bedroom balcony. Sure enough -- code changed -- the water drainage areas must be tile free. But Jose said after inspection, his guys will return and paint the area with terra cotta coating -- to make the 3 triangles look good without compromising wear or effectiveness. I really like Andrew Palmer Roofing.

So Miriam is here -- alone again -- cleaning. He usual helper is at the doctor. I wonder how long this can last with our septugenarian housekeeper.

Tonight is the final session of bible study. Kenny is at sea, so it's just Barry, Norman, and me. We're having some steaks and martinis at Platea -- and will toast to still being able to learn and acquire life wisdom in our 60s.

Like today -- now I know how to spot raccoon distemper versus rabies. The things you learn...

Who To Leave In; Who To Leave Out

 In my family, my Dad was always seen as the smart one, while Mom, who we loved and adored, was the Edith Bunker -- wise, but not the one you wanted on your "Jeapordy!" team. Dad was a self taught intellectual - very widely read, and prided himself on saying "I am the family psychiatrist -- come to me with your problems." Mom was the opposite -- she'd ask how you were and answer "Oh that's great, Sweetie" before you had the chance to get our your gripes.

Well, as it turns out, Mom's wisdom was the deeper one. There's a LOT to be said for insulating yourself from the negative waves of others, while people like Dad, who internalized the angst and sadness of those he loved, skipped off this planet a few months after turning 63 -- Mom made it to 93.

I had a talk the other day with a family member -- not nuclear -- who mocked my cheerful greeting by telling me all of her manifold woes. She has plenty, of course, mostly due to life choices that led her down a tough road, but on this day her sour mood was about insurance company premiums, and how evil corporations take advantage of regular people -- kind of like a mini Bernie Sanders speech.

I listened, and she asked about my issues, answering before I could -- that my cheerful demeanor MUST mean all was great --- and why wouldn't it be? I have SO many blessings, and money, and dear friends, and, and, and -- my blessings DO feel an embarrassment of riches to me. And typically I'd just go on cheerleading, as I do, but maybe there was something in the air: I was honest.

I told her she was actually in an elite club -- one of the few whose crap I endured based on thinking it's what my Dad would have wanted. But guess what? I had plenty of misery myself -- but choose not to spread it around like manure.

I was reminded of a small but poignant scene from "The Sopranos." Paulie gets pulled over by a local cop who was clearly on the take from Tony's crew -- and apologized to Paulie. Paulie asked how he was, and the cop started venting "Well you know, the wife's cancer is back, and my kid..." Paulie put up his hand, and said "Yeah -- we all got our freaking problems. You REALLY think I need to hear yours???!!!!" Both men laughed because it was true -- we DON'T need to hear the miseries of others, even though politeness demands we ask how things are; how they're going.

Meanwhile, Wifey continues to fight her bad back journey. Her luxury ship sailed without her Thursday -- she put in the claim with insurance for reimbursement. 

But last night, I got a bit tougher. I had told Donna and Barry about a neighborhood fish place, near FIU, Kenny told us about. He, Paul, and I went there last Thursday before we attended a Joelle Crim Pro lecture at the law school. It was delicious. It was VERY moderately priced.

Donna LOVES seafood, and they decided to go -- inviting us. Wifey told me to go along, but I chose not to be a third wheel, and nicely but firmly asked Wifey to come along -- it was only a 24 minute drive, and she could stand as needed. And she did, and we had a fine time!

I figured if she was on the ship, there'd be a nice dinner, and figured she ought to have that, albeit in less luxurious surroundings. We ate -- shared a paella and some ceviche. Donna and Barry LOVED their entrees -- I have a feeling this will become one of their go-tos, although it's a weekend 30 minute drive for them -- down the TPK and past FIU.

It was -- a regular nice Saturday night, with a dear friends -- we talked of our kids and grandkids -- their life choices, some wise, some less than wise.

Wifey told me when we got home she WAS in discomfort, but so be it. It was a needed night, and proved she could still be amongst the living, versus the shut ins -- the last place one ought to be until really much later.

Today the weather is gorgeous. I have some LONG walks planned. Hopefully tomorrow they finish our roof -- it appears largely done except for a few drainage areas near balcony and a stairway joint.

Hopefully I get to see the boys -- probably a fetch from school and maybe a late lunch with their beloved tia, D2. I so love those afternoons -- and now that Little Man adores D2's beloved enormous dog, she loves them, too.

And March draws nigh. The months truly fly by -- just yesterday we were ringing in 2026 in San Juan Harbor as the Canes were beating Ohio State. 

So my delayed New Year's resolution -- minimize the negative allowed into my head. Plenty comes with no choice -- that's life. But allowing non essential downers? Nah -- that was SO 2025.