Show a Little Faith...There's Magic in the Night

Well fatherhood has some banner days, and D1 gave us one last weekend. Wifey and I drove to Gainesville to watch her perform in the UF dance club, the Dancin' Gators (what else would they be called?).

We arrived Saturday evening, and met D1 and her boyfriend and our neighborhood friend Elizabeth for dinner. Elizabeth is Wifey's good friend's daughter, and one of the most impressive young women I've ever met. She spends vacations volunteering at camps for diabetic kids, or picking up IV needles in inner cities. She's also beautiful, and funny, and brilliant. She's going to medical school in Tampa this Fall, and I can't wait to see her blossom as a physician. I may do a terrible thing and introduce her to Dr. Barry. I have a feeling these are two kindred spirits, and may end up working together someday. It's a terrible thing, because Elizabeth might well succumb to the lure of academic medicine, instead of the easier and much more lucrative specialties like Dermatology. It's a way off, though...

Anyway, after dinner we reconvened at the Phillips Theatre, and watched the show. The theatre was packed, and the show was terrific.

D1 choreographed her first dance, and picked one of my favorite songs, "Thunder Road." The dance was beatiful, of course --8 Gator women all dancing on point. As D1 spun and whirled, I saw her as an 8 year old up on stage, at one of her many early performances. She was so graceful and lovely even as a small child, and now she has the poise of a 20 year old, as well.

After the show, we met out front, where several more of D1's friends brought her flowers, and her favorite cupcakes. I've known most of these girls for 3 years now, and I remarked how nice it will be to meet again next Spring, for graduation. "Not so fast," they remarked, 'we're really happy here and now!" They seem to have a lot more wisdom than my friends and I did --we couldn't wait to finish college and get on with our lives. These girls realize how precious are these days.

We then went to the cottage D1's going to move to for her senior year, and met some more friends. We agreed to meet for breakfast at "The Flying Biscuit," a Buckhead (Atlanta) famous breakfast spot that opened in Gainesville.

Breakfast was more laughter, and good and lovely conversation. There's such an energy among college students.

Wifey and I drove home, and were greeted by a hardworking D2, in the midst of the toughest academic period of HER life.

So, I thank these two little girls of mine, who have somehow become young women. They're sacred to Wifey and me. There truly was magic in the night.

Time to Go to Sea

As I recall from Freshman Honors Literature, in 1979, Ishmael of "Moby Dick" knew it was time to go to sea when he realized he was spending too much time dwelling on the sadness of life on land, lingering at funerals, as I think he said.

Maybe I need to go to sea.

Yesterday I went over to JMH to sign up a new client, and wandered over to see Dr. Barry in the Pediatric ICU. Now, this is never the cheeriest of places, but yesterday things seemed pretty quiet. I asked Barry to go to lunch but he declined --a new patient was coming to the unit. Sure enough, I watched as a beautiful 11 year old girl was wheeled in, following a hysterectomy. She had cervical cancer!

Due to the state of the art treatment at JMH, she has a decent prognosis. But still -- I thought about that girl all afternoon.

On my way home, Wifey cheered me up with a story about some folks who live about 10 minutes from us. Wifey's friend told her the tale. Apparently, the family's 21 year old son, a happy, normal young man who was having some academic problems, but seemingly nothing more serious, killed himself.

And he did it by hanging himself from a large tree in front of the family home. His father discovered his son as he left for work. I don't know these folks, and I happily didn't witness the event, but I spent last evening mentally picturing, and trying to understand, that family's grief and misery.

It reminded me of a suicide I heard about years back, involving one of Wifey's distant relatives. The victim in that case was also a young man who had a tortured relationship with his father, a rather gruff Holocaust Survivor. The son mailed a letter to his father, and then killed himself. The letter arrived several days later, and the father opened it. It was a blank sheet of paper.

As I said --I need to stop dwelling on these examples of sadness and misery.

Yesterday did have a highlight. While I was having lunch, at an outdoor restaurant, an enormous man walked by. He looked like William "The Refrigerator" Perry. Although he was just walking, and it was rather cool and shady, he was covered in sweat. A pretty young Latina at the next table looked up as he passed, and said, with perfect sarcasm "Wow --now THAT'S attractive."

I overheard her, our glances met, and we both started laughing uncontrollably. It was one of those exquisite laugh attacks, like the ones that occur in junior high school, where you're trying not to laugh, and it just comes out.

Of course, it was cruel to laugh at this fellow's obesity, but it was just one of those things. Also, he didn't seem like a sad type at all --he was strutting, as a matter of fact, which made things funnier.

Anyway, the Latina left, as did I, both of us still chuckling.

Maybe life on land isn't all about sadness.

Young and Very Old

Well last nights prom went off well. As far as I can tell, no one was hospitalized for alcohol poisoning this year, nor were any threatened with arrest by the Miami Police.

D2 came home tired but with nice memories. D1 returned from HER fraternity formal in Daytona Beach which she discovered was "South Beach if it were run by white trailer folks."

Wifey and I said goodbye to our weekend houseguest Elizabeth, and headed for a visit with Mom, who turned 89 last week. Wifey had ordered her some outfits, which came in the mail, and we decided to take them to her.

What a contrast 12 hours make: vivacious, 18 year olds, and the elderly of Delray Beach.

I've always found Mom's condo one of the ugliest housing developments this side of Soviet Russia. The architects, if there were any, designed a retirement village with zero walkways and zero shade trees. My father hated it too, and only stayed at my mother's insistence. When he met a fellow resident, he'd ask "What cell block do YOU live in?" 30 years later, the barrenness of the place continues to amaze me.

Anyway...Mom is, sadly, declining. She can barely walk, and can't bend at all. Wifey and I have started to demand she bring in some help, but she won't hear of it. She has a cleaning lady who comes every 2 weeks, and that's it.

Wifey used her bedroom toilet, and found it wouldn't flush. We asked Mom about it, and she answered in her typical passive/aggressive way that she didn't mind. Under Wifey's skillful cross examination, it came out that simply calling the service company, which covers plumbing issues, is too daunting for her.

Wifey further interrogated her, and learned that she shops with the random help of strangers at Publix or Wallmart. She can barely walk; the thought of her schlepping in packages from her car is absurd. But again --she wouldn't hear anymore about our suggestion that she let us find her an aid. "I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

She really can't. Later, during lunch, she let on that she wakes each day, and wonders why. I asked her what she concluded. "I really have no idea."

Her mother, my grandmother, told me during a visit I paid her "It's no good to get this old." I really get it.

By the end of our visit, I think Wifey convinced her to at least have her cleaning lady come once per week, to take her shopping and for errands. Then again --she was probably just placating Wifey. That's the way my Mom is.

I plan to speak to a professor friend of mine, who's a nationally known expert on Aging, and ask him for some advice about when it's time to take over completely, and when it's ok to let an elderly parent have her way.

Of course I know there are no good answers.

Ah, youth. I hope my girls enjoy it fully. The golden years are nothing but rust.

Pretty in Pink and Blue and Yellow...

D2 was invited to her boyfriend's senior prom, and despite a rather untoward event at last year's event, Wifey and I decided to let her go. As I write, she's off at Parrot Jungle's banquet hall, hopefully laughing with friends.

There's a new tradition that seems to have evolved with high school proms, at least in our privileged neighborhood: the pre-prom gathering. This year, one of the girls invited all the kids sharing the stretch Hummer limo and their parents, and we gathered for a delightful event.

The host family lives in Snapper Creek, which is probably my favorite neighborhood in Miami. The houses are huge and on 2 acre lots, lushly landscaped. The house where we gathered tonight looked like a miniture Monticello, complete with white columns and a huge porch filled with 10 rocking chairs. There were platters of sushi and other foods, and wine for the parents.

But --of course the star attraction was our gorgeous kids. The boys, in suits and tuxes, looked uncomfortable in the way that generations of 18 year olds wearing tuxes looked. I still remember my beige 1979 polyester job, with light tan patent leather shoes.

The girls were truly gorgeous. As my sister Sue once observed --there is no such thing as an unattractive 18 year old girl. And the group tonight, all made up and wearing amazing gowns, were as delightful as any group ever.

Everyone clamored for pictures, and the parents talked about what colleges were in store for the prom goers this Fall. It was an unseasonably cool evening, and no one seemed in any hurry to leave.

But then, of course, the enormous Hummer limo showed up, with its booming train horn. Two of the moms interrogated the driver, making sure there was a zero tolerance policy for alcohol and drugs, as well as unscheduled stops (last year, the "bad bus" D2 was on left a similar gathering, and then stopped at a parent-less house where the kids loaded up on booze).

The kids posed for more photos outside the limo, and then piled in, laughing and joking with each other. D2's date is a thoughtful young man, and we agreed that he hated cliches --especially the one about tragedies on Prom Night. I really like this kid.

So off they go. They're spending the night on Miami Beach, and are due back tomorrow afternoon. Another rite of passage...

Meanwhile, D1 is attending HER boyfriend's fraternity formal in Daytona Beach. I guess it's prom weekend at all levels.

Was my prom really 30 years ago? I guess it was, including it's Seals and Crofts theme "We MAy Never PAss This Way Again." Well, I did pass this way, and I'm enjoying it more this time, through my daughters' eyes.

Hey It's good to Be Back Home Again

I used to love John Denver's songs when I was younger. I still do. He's one of my guilty pleasures --sort of like enjoying Neil Diamond, which I do as well.

Denver's "Back Home Again" always seemed, to me, to capture the feeling of a house that's really welcoming and inviting for friends and family.

Last night, we celebrated PAssover, such as it was. By popular demand, we have, over time, eliminated most, if not all, of the religious part of this family dinner. When the Ds were young, and we had them in Hebrew School, we felt some inexplainable compulsion to follow the religion more closely. (My Rabbi friend would say it WAS explainable --I was listening to God, and now I've covered my ears again).

Whatever. We had both grandmas, grandpa, my sister and brother in law over for dinner. There was matzah, and Jewish foods, but no actual seder.

If I'm wrong about this whole observance thing, I guess there'll be an audible "Oh Shit!" at the end of my life.

Anyway --we had a lovely time, and D1 made a surprise appearance! She flew in from Jacksonville, where she spent some time with her boyfriend. Wifey and D2 were thrilled. I was, too, but D1 had told me of the secret trip a few days ago, so I wasn't surprised.

Grandpa and Grandma Sunny are, sadly, not looking too good. When I walked my mother to her car, I circled her bicep with my thinb and forefinger. She's really shrinking and wasting.

For now, though, we're thrilled to have another holiday together.

Here Comes the Sun King

I just learned about a holiday that Orthodox Jews celebrate, which comes along each 28 years. It's a celebration thanking God for creating the sun, and comes about each time the sun occupies the exact spot the Talmudic scholars decided the sun was in at the beginning. This occurs each 28 years. Tomorrow am marks the latest date.

According to the article about this event in the NY Times, many observers use the holiday as a time of reflection about their lives over the past nearly 3 decades. I decided to do the same.

In April, 1981 I was still a pre med student at UM, struggling mightily with Organic Chemistry, Calculus, and Physics, while breezing through and enjoying my Humanities classes. I was clearly reading the writing on the wall about my future.

I was dating a South American student, convinced she would become my life partner. Ha! As soon as I decided to drop pre med, she dropped me like a hot laboratory experiment.

Two of my best friends today, Eric and Barry, were my best friends then. Barry and I were roommates and already sharing a love for the study of human nature that continues today. Both Barry and Eric were NOT struggling with Organic Chemistry, Physics, and Calculus, and they were reading their wall writings as well. (Eric DID struggle with some Humanities classes, but it seemed easier to edit a literature paper than it was to drum Calculus into my math challenged head).

Most significantly in my life, my father was alive and well and enjoying his retirement. We spoke twice a week, and I saw him each month. He reveled in my college stories, as if he were living the experience through me. He always seemed so wise.

I miscalculated one thing about him, though. I truly thought he would be disappointed when I told him over the Summer of 1981 that he wasn't ever going to say "My son the doctor." He laughed, said he knew I was meant to study English, and was frankly surprised I kept up the pre med thing as long as I did. Disappointed? "My son the English Professor or Writer or Anything" is fine with me, he said, as long as I was happy.

I miss him terribly to this day.

I think it was in April of 1981 that UM had Spring Break, and a bunch of us took a beer fueled trip to Disney. Barry's sister recently found a photo of the two of us posing with a chipmunk. I'm easily 70 lbs lighter in the photo than today --Barry even more changed.

You can't coach 19, as the football coordinators would say.

So, April 1981 to April 2009. My mother seemed to be an old lady to me then. After all, she was retired, and lived in a seniors village. She was 61! She's still here, about to turn 89, and still living in the same seniors village, though most of her contemporaries have died. She's afraid these days to get "too much sun."

I'll probably be up tomorrow to greet the sunrise , as I almost always rise well before the sun does.

April, 2037? Who will be here then to greet the sun, and who won't? Mom would be 117. I'd be 75. Ds 1and 2, close to my age now.

I guess God and the sun will see...

Experts

Despite my best efforts at avoiding work, I find myself still handling some cases I find interesting. They're both fire cases, an area where I've gained a good deal of experience and expertise over the years.

In one case, a man died in his house due to faulty electrical wiring. He's survived by 2 very nice adult children.

In the other, a man was working on a job site when a gas powered tool exploded, burning him. He'll probably never work again in construction, and is scarred for life.

My partner and I have been interviewing expert witnesses for the tool case. In the house fire, we hired a terrific consultant, a fellow we've worked with on 4 other fire cases. He's probably the best engineer of all time --he checks out a scene, reviews all of the evidence, and then explains to me what went wrong, why, and how.

In the tool case, we need a mechanical engineer to evaluate the exploding object, to tell us why the accident happened.

As much as I complain about the practice of law, this is one pretty cool part of it --consulting with expert. It's very interesting to learn about their areas, and share their experiences.

The experts who are good in court also have to be great communicators. They have to speak well and clearly. Foreign experts almost never make the grade, though they may be brilliant.

Today we met with a materials engineer up in Hollywood. He's from Ohio, and spend a lot of his career in the marine industry, reconstructing boiler explosions. He had fascinating tales to tell.

In my 23 years as a lawyer, I've spent a lot of time with boating experts, aviation experts, traffic reconstruction people, econmists, rehabilitative consultants, and, of course, MEDICAL experts.

I guess this is why lawyers do so well on Jeopardy! We learn a little about a lot of things.

Anything Better to Do?

I just got an email from Dr. Barry in response to the fact that both Wifey and I sent him articles about UM and Pediatrics. It said, simply "I'm at Sweet Tomatoes trying to eat my salad. don't the 2 of you have anything better to do?"

Well, I thought about that. I awoke this morning at 5, and made myself coffee. I took the 2 dogs and one grand puppy outside, and observed the early morning. It was very dark (before the dawn, of course) and completely quiet. My friend Jeff has a supposedly Quaker refrain on his emails (he's a VERY liberal Reform Jew --I think they're close to Quakers) that says "Don't speak unless you can improve upon the silence." This morning I understood that deeply.

As I looked into the Eastern sky, the first hint of light appeared, and the birds started singing. One, a maccaw that lives in our neighborhood, flew over, squawked, and startled the puppy.

At 830 I took my bike and rode about a mile to a local ballfield, where I watched my friend Mike's son Chris play. He went 0-2, but hit the ball hard one time. I chatted with Loni, Mike's wife, about some mutual friends' divorce. I chatted with a nice lady, middle aged and gray, who recognized me from our law school class. I remembered her --she was VERY attractive in 1986. Ah, the decrepitude of aging. Good thing I haven't changed!

I biked home, and made breakfast in bed for D2, although I pointed out to her it was lunch --well past noon. She loves to sleep.

Wifey asked me to watch "Clockers" with her -- a proto version of "The Wire," which I love. I fell asleep and heard the rains start, and ended up taking a 3 hour nap.

I ate a frizen pizza with pesto which was actually very good --fed the pond fish, and played with the grand puppy.

The almost 89 year old called to tell me, in detail, about the installation of her new dryer.

Next will come a 1.2 mile walk.

So, Barry, the LONG answer to your question is NO --I really don't have anything better to do! And I like it that way!