Going Up to Gainesville

The first time I visited Gainesville was September, 1982. I went with Drs. Barry and Eric, and we slept on our friend Mark's friend Debbie's apartment floor. We were there for a Canes-Gators game, which the Gators won, as I recall. The thing I remember most is how long the drive was, but we didn't care, as we chatted and played 8 track tapes in my '79 Firebird. We arrived late at night, and got huge biscuits at Skeeters -- long since closed. Since then, I've visited many, many times -- for football games, and a 2 week trial with my old boss Frank. We lost the trial, too. D1 went to UF from '06- 10, and so there were plenty of trips, including a triumphant one when she graduated in May of '10. Now D2 is a junior there, and this weekend it's her sorority's father/daughter weekend. Eric's girl Jen is a senior, so this is the last of this kind of trip for him. What lives he and I have been blessed to have over these last 3 decades. Eric graduated at the top of our college and his med school classes -- and he went to Harvard to become a cardiologist. Most importantly, he married his true life partner and best friend Dana, and they've raised 2 amazing kids. The youngest, Josh, is a freshman at Ga. Tech. I always call him Eric with a better personality, because he got his Dad's keen smarts and his mother's sunnier disposition... I've made a fee bucks as a lawyer, and been amazingly blessed with Wifey and the Ds. And today I get to head up to see D2 and her terrific friends. When I awoke this am, I remembered right away that I was going on the trip, but for the first moments thought I was still 21. I hope that stays a part of me forever. The trips to Gainesville are all about being around the young. Wifey and I have had more than enough of the very old lately -- between my mother and now her Dad going into a nursing home. It's ben about transferring accounts, and social workers, and caring for 80 and 90 year olds. I plan to savor these next few days, surrounded by the vital and beautiful 20 somethings. The world is theirs...and I look forward to sharing the energy. I'm still 21 at heart -- right?

Y 1 K

And so this is Yom Kippur...and what have you done? It's funny -- the John Lennon song about Christmas is far more appropriate for the Day of Atonement... I usually go to services in the shul the night before --Kol Nidre -- when we Jews declare all vows we made in vain to the Big Man, or will make next year, to be null and void. I always dug the melody of the chanting that night. Comedian Lewis Black says it's the creepiest music ever written. And I like the solemnity. Last night, I skipped. I was in shul July for my father's death's 30th anniversary, and I felt, well, nothing, except a strong desire to leave. I'm friends with the rabbi, and like many of the guys who go well enough, but it just doesn't feel right to me deep down. Maybe it's the language problem. I don't speak or understand Hebrew. So last night I found a live streaming Kol Nidre service from a humanistic Jewish synagogue in Cincinnatti -- Temple Beth Adam. I liked it well enough. The messages were poetic and poignant -- how we wish we could capture time like we capture images in photos -- keep our children young -- keep our aging parents from dying -- but we can't. There was beautiful music -- a violinist and guitarist played -- but the camera panned the crowd, and there was not a single yarmulke. The female rabbi avoided the word "God" in all her prayers and sermons, saying crap like when we sin, we "go against LIFE." In the end, I might as well have been watching a bunch of Unitarians at a Save the Forests rally. There was nothing Jewish about it. On the one hand, my birthright from my father causes me to be agnostic. But something deep down pulls me the other way, too. On the other hand -- something compels me to stay home today, and even plan to visit a body of water to symbolically toss my sins. I guess, like Tevye, there are a lot of "other hands." So I'll fast today. I can sure miss plenty of more meals anyway -- it would do me good. I envy my friends who are people of belief. It's easy to scoff and adopt a George Carlin approach -- "It's all bullshit," but I'm not comfortable with that either. What's the higher meaning -- if that's the case? Family? Ha. As if. I'm blessed to be close to my kids, but the majority of families I know have so much pathology -- with members truly hating each other -- then if that's the basis of your existence, you're pretty well screwed. I still hope there's a path I'll find. But for this year, at least, when it comes to the organized side of the Jewish thing -- I'm sitting on the sidelines. Cheering for the team, yes, but still on the sidelines.

More Old News

Wifey and I are "blessed" to still have 3 of our 4 parents alive. My mother in law, approaching 87, is the sharpest and strongest, though now almost completely deaf. My ancient Mom hovers on, and my father in law descends more daily into the hell hole of Alzheimer's. The best metaphor, or cliche, when dealing with the very elderly is "waiting for the other shoe to drop." You just know something bad is coming...My mother has gone through many shoe drops, in the form of falls, crises in her condo, etc...but is now safely in the Miami Jewish Home. I visited her yesterday, and noted a negative development. Her hallucinations, previously happy, have darkened. She's starting to now think that her floor is a hotbed of intrigue... some of the staff is against her. Shortly after I left, my friend Mirta stopped by. She noticed my Mom's sad and scared affect as well... Meanwhile, up in Pembroke Pines, the fun was continuing. My father in law fell and was knocked out for awhile. My mother in law called 911. Wifey had been calling them all afternoon, and knew something was awry. I told her to forget it -- they were probably just asleep. But Wifey called their local hospital and sure enough found that her father was there. She drove up late Friday night. No fractures -- just bruises on his legs. Still, the ER doc and the hospitalist agreed -- time for "rehab." Wifey spent yesterday making calls, and, sure enough, the best place is where my Mom is -- good old Miami Jewish. It's a far trip for my mother in law, but Wifey found a driver who will take her for frequent visits. They're transferring him today, and my mother in law spent the night here -- she and Wifey will go over to help him get settled in, and Wifey has already begun the arduous process of getting him Medicaid eligible -- lest the $8k per month cost break my mother in law in a short time. Ah -- extreme aging. It's like the fun never ends...

Nothing is Easy

Fortunately we had only one small casualty as a result of Tropical Storm (and briefly Hurricane) Isaac. The security light installed by FPL, which sits outside my front gate, stopped working, apparently when a tree limb hit it. I emailed FPL the day after, and within a day, had an email response that the light would be fixed within 5 to 7 days. FPL installed the light, and we pay about $10 per month for its electricity. It's nice to have, as it illuminates the entrance to our house, and lets me fetch my morning Herald without tripping over something, or worse, stepping into the omnipresent dog crap that comes with having a dog infested house. Wifey, who's the Chair of Crime Watch in our neighborhood, is a strong proponent of these things. She copied and pasted the FPL web site about them, and emailed it to all our neighbors, since the Village doesn't provide any other lighting, and everyone says light at night means decreased crime. Since we have no crime, I guess the lights would create a crime vacuum -- but you can never be too safe. Anyway, after a week or so, I noticed the light wasn't fixed, so I called again. The nice phone person promised they would really fix it this time, and call me. Another week -- still no light. I called again. The nice person said this time they would REALLY REALLY fix it, and then call me when it was done. That was about a week ago. Well, this am, I went to fetch my Herald at 6 am, and still no light! Now I was angry. I called and asked for a supervisor. Mrs. Lopez came on the phone, and investigated. She figured out the problem: I had reported a malfunctioning STREET light, but in fact my problem was a malfunctioning OUTDOOR light. Oh, of course! A schmuck like me should realize the difference -- one is installed and pointed to the street, the other on my dog poop soiled property. I felt the sarcasm and irony welling inside, but I could tell that Mrs. Lopez would not appreciate it, nor would she wish to debate the logic involved -- aren't all streetlights by definition outdoor? Whatever. She showed on her records that it WAS fixed. No, Mrs. Lopez, I assured her the contractor had lied like a rug -- as of this am, no light. To spice things up, I also told her a sweet, elderly neighbor had greeted me this am by the front of my house, and tripped and fell because of the lack of lighting. That seemed to get more attention -- did she break anything -- was she taken to the hospital??? No -- I assured FPL -- no catastrophe here -- just a poignant reminder that little ommissions can have big consequences. One little heat tile can bring down the Space Shuttle, as I reminded Mrs. Lopez. She tells me I'll have my out door light up and lighting the way to dog crap free mornings within 5 days. We'll see...

Awesome Weekend

My California sister Sue came in late Thursday, her first trip to Miami in a year and a half. She hadn't yet seen ancient Mom in the nursing home. A day before her arrival, my friend Todd, a major Obama bundler, called with an offer: there was a private James Taylor concert at some lawyer's living room in Parkland, in FAR northwest Broward, and there were a few seats available at half price. Well, Wifey LOVES our swarthy president -- even volunteers for his re election, and we both dig JT, so I sprang some serious bucks for the event. Meanwhile, our friend and former best next door neighbor Diane got wind of it, and bought herself a ticket as well. In the mean time, Wifey's friend Eileen was visiting from Atlanta. She's a Miami native, and was here visiting HER Dad -- a retired Herald editor -- who is also on the decline and now in nursing home care, too. So Friday Sue and Eileen met, and our neighbor Rachel stopped by, and our house was its usual estrogen-filled self, even sans the Ds... I took Sue to see Mom, and then doubled back to the office for Wifey and Diane. Wifey had limped to my garage on a flat, but we had to deal with that later. First, some cocktails at Trulucks were needed for the trip to Parkland. And it WAS a trip. It's south of Boca, but seemingly in the Everglades. The houses were big on huge lots, but as Wifey noted, there's no tropical foliage, like we enjoy in our area. I guess that's what happens when you simply bulldoze some of the swamp and plant grass and big houses... What a night! We had some wine, and the best appetizers ever created (hot dogs in baked buns, aka pigs in blankets), and gathered in the living room of the PI lawyer. He seemed like a cool guy, with a poneytail and all, and he introduced JT. JT was charming and funny and in great voice, accompanied by a female singer, cellist, and squeezebox player. "Don't worry," James joked, "he has a license to play the squeezebox in Florida." He sang and sang, and the ladies swooned. The guys, too -- even the straight ones. I always did pretty well with the ladies, but all I kept thinking was how many more I could have had with a singing voice like JT's... After 2 hours, and as thunderous applause as 60 people can make in a living room, he left. My sister Sue was in tears. She was that happy. Saturday, she slept in, and Norman came to pick me up for the first Canes home game. We fetched Rob, and headed to the stadium after a stop at Bagel Emporium. Norman put out a lovely spread -- and we drank mimosas and ate bagels and lox. Norman's great friend and client Maria brought tamales -- so we had the classic Miami breakfast. The Canes won 38-10, and the game was still somehow boring, as their opponent was mediocre. Still, we laughed and spoke of seasons of glory, now long past... Sunday we had the first post nursing home Rosh Hashonah. My Florida sister Trudy and bro in law Dennis met us at the MJH, and we shared matzah ball soup, MORE bagels and lox, and more mimosas. We sat in the lovely gazebo. Mom had all her kids there, all her kids in law, and 1/6 of her grandchildren (D1 and her dog Madeleine). It was lovely, and D1 survived a near fatal encounter with a spider that Wifey brushed onto her lap...Well --it was near fatal in D1's mind, anyway... So the Jewish New Year is here. I plan to skip the office, out of respect for my heritage, but I also plan to take a pasadena on services this year. I truly wish I was a person who believes in the pageantry, but I'm so my father's son -- more so each passing year... Still, I know I took care of his widow -- we all did -- with our gathering yesterday. So here's to a healthy and sweet new year for all. If I get weekends like the one just passed, I'll be one very, very lucky guy.

Hardly Working

So things are heating up at the office lately, and I'm ok with it. An old client referred a case last week, in which a little girl was struck by a vehicle in a gated community in South Dade. Tragically, the girl has been comatose for 2 weeks, and if she lives, will be permanently brain damaged. The lady who struck her has little insurance, so today I'm off with my roommate Brian to the premises, to see if we can't hold some other entity accountable. At the same time, 2 cops called. One was shot and survived an investigation of a drug house, and wants to sue the owner of the place where the ongoing criminal activity took place. He may, in fact, have a case. Brian and I will meet him after the site visit. And yet another officer, on a motorcycle, was hit by an idiot making an illegal u turn in front of him. He survived, too, but is out of work for the better part of a year. We have to see whether it pays to sue the driver who hurt him. So I'm keeping off the streets for now, Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, and all. We'll see... If only something better came along for me, I'd jump and change jobs. But my dream of being asked to become a Mr. Roarke at the opening of some fantasy island doesn't seem to be materializing. So I guess I get to keep on chasing ambulances, for now.

In the Blood

So Wednesday night I got a call from MJH saying that Mom's blood tests showed she was dangerously anemic, and they wanted to move her to the hospital part of the complex. Not so fast, I said. I had learned that since she's not yet approved for Medicaid, the Home didn't have to keep her room for her. I spoke to the frum doctor who follows her -- nice guy with an Israeli/Jackie Mason accent, and he truly had no idea about that. But I respectfully told him that he might fix her anemia, but then essentially kill her, as she'd have no place to go. A series of calls later, we agreed that she would pay, out of her dwindling funds, $275 per day to hold her toom. The doc assured me she's need " a day or two" at most in the hospital. Wait, I thought, why not just give the blood transfusion in her current room? No -- procedures prohibited blood being given there. So they could TAKE her blood for samples, but not give a transfusion? Exactly, came the response from the nice Jamaican nurse, with no appreciation for the irony. Well, 2 days turned into 5, and yesterday I visited Mom. It was Labor Day, and I asked the nurse to unhook her IV, which was just giving her sugar water, and took her to the gazebo for fresh air and an ice cream. I asked when she would be leaving the hospital. They didn't know. When we returned, a miracle happened: the doctor had called, and ordered her back to her regular room! Clearly, with the meter running at Ritz Carlton rates, no one hurried to get her out of the hospital. But the good news is, she's now back to "normal." The whole thing just proves the obvious -- Springsteen was so correct in his observation: "In the end what you don't surrender, well the world just strips away." Today, my partner Paul and I are meeting to renew our marketing efforts for our firm. We plan to meet with folks and offer the services of our legal group -- Stuart, Brian, and the two of us. The truth is, the four of us offer a combined experience of over 110 years of injury cases, so we can truly do the job. So ultimately, we hope to make some more money. I'm sure some nursing home administrators in the future will applaud and appreciate our efforts...

The Light and the Dark

Saturday afternoon was a banner one. I filled a cooler with ice, brought out the beer, and welcomed Norman and his 2 fine boys, future professor Michael and future musical educator (my guess) Benjamin, Mike,Jeff, and Rob, and we all hunkered down in the football room to watch our beloved Canes. Wifey met Rob's girlfriend Monica at the Obama headquarters, to volunteer at the phone bank. This is funny, as Rob is a pretty solid Republican, and Monica, a Colombian American beauty, is as liberal politically as anyone I know. Wifey really digs Monica -- wants to spend more time with her. Rob's take is that it's because they share political views. Wifey's reply: "No, Rob, I like you but hate your politics." Anyway, we ordered pizza after the Canes went down 14-0. The arrival of the pizza and Michael's rally cap seemed to do the trick; our boys took over the game, and won impressively. D1 was at Sunniland Center, selling mezcal for her part time employer, and Wifey and Monica stopped in to buy a bottle. They joined us in the football room, where Mike and Michael sampled the mezcal, in honor of the Canes victory. It was a terrific Saturday -- capped off by my visit to see my effervescent D1 at Vintage Liquors. Then Sunday, Wifey and I picked D1 up and drove to the condo of dark shadows, to see my in laws. My father in law continues his downward spiral -- barely leaving his bed, and becoming more and more needy towards my mother in law. She's finally at her breaking point, but maintains a stubborn refusal to bring in the help she needs. Wifey found her a terrific nursing aid, who will be a tremendous asset, but wants to be guaranteed 15 hours per week at $10 per hour. My in laws have the money, but my mother in law's pride is such that she wants to "leave something for the grandkids," and doesn't want the aide for more than 5 hours per week. After lunch, as we drove her back, I lost it. I called her some unpleasant names -- specifically a stubborn old C word. It wasn't so bad, since she can't hear me, and my words hopefully had the effect on Wifey I wanted: she has to give her mother an ultimatum -- either accept the help and advice, or go it alone. My mother in law reluctantly agreed to hire the lady for the 15 hours, but I'm pretty confident things won't go smoothly. When the time comes that my poor father in law will need to go to a nursing home -- things will get truly ugly. He told Wifey clearly he was NOT leaving. As they approach their 90th year, I see a bad moon rising for my in laws, and, necesarrily, Wifey, their only child. Meanwhile, my ancient Mom remains in the on site nursing home hospital, getting blood transfusions, to combat a life threatening anemia. Since she's not yet on Medicaid, we had to pay the private room rate to make sure they keep her room for her -- $275 per day. It looks life there's going to be a 10 day "pathetic vacation" with the Miami Jewish Home -- so nearly $3k to keep a room empty. My mother would have NEVER paid that much for a hotel room. She loved to travel, but was always practical and budget conscious. So ironically, at the time past when she can appreciate anything, she had to pay Ritz Carlton prices for a sparse nursing home room. Eric and Dana, who after very humble upbringings, DO travel luxuriously, have booked us into a Kimpton Hotel for the Chicago trip to watch our Canes play Notre Dame. The rooms are about $300 per night. I'm not complaining...