When I Do Count The Clock That Tells The Time

I had a terrific morning/late afternoon yesterday. I met Scott and Josh at Greenstreet's in the Grove, and we caught up before Scott heads back for his senior college year at Maryland. Afterwards, we walked down to the water, and I taught them about some Grove history, including the sad (disappearance of Amy Billig) and the insane (what went on at the Mutiny Hotel in the 70s and 80s).

From there, we went to Panther coffee and enjoyed the blissful A/C, and then into Books and Books, which opened a Grove outpost a few months ago. I bought a couple of books for their Dad -- I always try to support B and B whenever I visit.

I went home, took a dog company nap, and was awakened by Stuart, who reported that Fredo had completed the move from our office. The cancer had been cut out.

I fetched Wifey at MIA, and admitted to her that despite my playing at a bachelor for a week, I was truly happy to have her home. I thought back to my Dad's advice about choosing a wife.

Growing up, marrying someone Jewish was never emphasized in my house. My sister married an Irish Catholic guy, and my other sister married a Jew, and their marriage lasted barely a few years. My friends and I never gave it a thought. But then I met my Miami brothers, Barry and Eric, whose families taught that they MUST marry in the religion.

So I consulted Dad. He thought, and then said it was probably better to marry a Jewess, since her culture and values would likely be attuned to mine. But then he thought about the many shrewish women he knew, and concluded religions wasn't too important. His advice: marry someone pleasant.

And Wifey is. We have our quarrels, of course, but both of us are typically good natured and chill. We love to laugh together.

After Wifey went downstairs to let the dogs out for their final nocturnal pees, I reflected about the passing of time. Scott and Josh are the age I was when my Dad died. I thought how lucky they are that their beloved father isn't going anywhere for awhile.

I think of my Dad daily, and he's gone closer to 4 decades than 3.  Even my Mom, who lived so long, has been gone over half a decade now.

The years fly by, and the generations are replaced. D1's sister in law just had a beautiful baby girl, and my son in law's family is rejoicing -- first in her new generation.  That new baby, Layla, will learn far more than I'll ever know, to steal Armstrong's lyric.

We're in the dog days of a Miami August, and yet as the boys and I walked by the Bay yesterday, there was a lovely, cooling breeze. A hint of the future, hopefully.

All I know is, when I was finishing college, I saw life as a huge buffet line, and hoped to pick and choose and then devour the finest of the items there.

Now that I'm well past the halfway point in the buffet line, I admit to myself that I've done well in that regard, so far.