My Clean Well Lighted Place

I've always liked Hemingway's theory about that -- a place where a man could go for a cocktail and seek out his small bit of sanity in an otherwise crazy world. And last night I was there.

I spent the day at the office, working on cases with Stu and Vince, coming up with strategies for obtaining justice for our clients while getting paid for our efforts. Around 5:30 I told them I missed Victor, our barkeep at Trulucks downstairs, and wished to visit him. Convincing my co workers to join me didn't take much of my persuasive skill.

The western corner of the bar was open, and Vince and I grabbed some stools. We ordered. Victor beamed -- I hadn't seen him in some weeks. As we drank our adult beverages, I realized something -- Victor may not have heard about Alan's death. Alan romanced many a lady there at Trulucks, and Victor was his man.

So I asked Victor if he had heard about Alan -- he said he hadn't been in in weeks. I told Victor he would be in no more, and his face dropped. He grabbed his water glass, and we toasted to our fallen friend.

Stuart joined us, and by then Mike the pianist had arrived. He's been there for years, and we dig each other -- I always tip him well, and he plays the Sam Cooke I request. Stuart asked him to play Bill Withers' "Sunny Day," and Mike did, though the lady singer didn't really know the song. No wonder -- it came out 30 years before the millennial was born.

Vince and I shared some bar food, and we talked. The place filled up, as it always does. We saw some young SunTrust bankers at the bar -- the next generation of patrons.

My office has been at that building for 22 years now. Changes are coming -- SunTrust sold its interest to a group of Brazilians called, mysteriously, "The Brothers." We had early negotiations about staying -- they want to raise the rent to high market rates, and initially everyone refused.

Stu and Joel, the true stakeholders, have been looking to buy office condos Downtown. But now Joel has asked me to sit in on a meeting with the Brothers realtors -- Joel has an idea about bringing in new tenants, including a hot shot lawyer originally from Italy, and see if it can be a go. Politically incorrect Joel told me I'll love this new guy: "He's VERY Italian and VERY New York -- the kind of guy who made you love guineas when you grew up on Long Island."

So we'll see. Over the years, my other haunts, like Tobacco Road, and Fox's, have, like Joe Dimaggio, left and gone away.

Trulucks remains. It's wonderful to have it in the building where I still work, at least some of the time.

Victor is my age, and not retiring any time soon. He still has alimony to pay, to a "beautiful Midwestern girl" who married him for her financial future.

We laugh about that, as we do other foibles about being a man. I really, really dig the place...

Taking the Hint

I have an old friend, someone I've known since I lived in NY many, many years before. We were close, sharing each other's tales of life, but over the years we grew apart.

Part of it was we had less and less in common --my kids dominate importance in my life -- not so much for my friend. And we were also close with each other's parents, and now they're all gone.

Still, I kept up with the friend -- cheerleading through seemingly never ending rough patches. Our talks became more and more surface -- about weather, and current events.

It occurred to me that the friend had stopped calling me -- the last several calls I initiated, and some were not returned. When we did speak I had the sense that the friend wanted to hurriedly end the call. I obliged.

I guess one of my last remaining areas of naivete involves friendship. I used to think close friends lasted forever. The years have taught me otherwise -- most friendships are situational -- you have things in common, and enjoy each other's company and counsel, but when people move, or change jobs, or no longer have the same people in common, the friendships fade.

I had one close friend since college -- he had a pattern: when he was married, he'd sort of blow me off, but when his 3 marriages ended, he'd follow after me like a puppy dog.  After paying major alimony for his third time, he asked me for a loan, for a business that I knew would fail, if not attract criminal investigation, and so I refused.  He ended up re-marrying his third wife, and I figured we hadn't spoken since he was focused on her. But it turned out, he was so hurt that I wouldn't loan him the money (as I expected, the business failed) he could no longer be my friend. Oh well...

I have another friend, also from college, who always had an air of superiority about him, and he rose high in our legal profession. But he pulled some bad stuff, including an infamous case where he took advantage of some working class people whose interests he was supposed to protect, and I sort of decided I didn't want him in my life anymore.

So I know a little something about the end of friendships, and I guess it's happening again.

I never harbor ill will -- I always wish people well. Well, not always -- a former friend who screwed us in business will forever be known as Fredo, after the treacherous brother in II. I don't wish him well -- in fact, I fully expect he'll get fired from the new legal job he wrangled himself into, and I won't feel at all bad when that happens...

But the latest -- I indeed do know how to take a hint, and I'll let the friendship fade away.

It's just part of life.

So This Is 30

Being a child groom, as I was, has advantages. D1 just turned 30, and I'm still relatively young. 

The big 3-oh. D1 didn't want a party, but Joey and I encouraged her -- it's nice to mark the decades. So Wifey and I gave her the gift of paying for her party -- and she had it the night before T Day, so D2 and Jonathan could attend.

Wifey and I and D1's suegros Ricardo and Jacqui were the only older guests, and we were supposed to leave early. Joey's folks did, but I enjoyed catching up with D1's lifelong friends too much, so we stayed a bit longer. D2 and Jonathan stayed over -- in the room called D2's room. They had a fine time.

Yesterday D1 was a bit under the weather, and I joked it was a good thing she got the party out of the way early. Still, we talked, and I wrote her a long email, which is my custom each year.

The decades truly fly by. I still clearly remember the day she was born. Wifey went into labor early -- it was a Sunday, and didn't progress for a long time. Her doc and I watched the Jets beat the Fins in one of those classic Dan Marino - Ken O'Brien shootouts, and watched the west coast game, too -- it might have been the Chargers. After there was no more football to occupy us, Dr. Strassbourg and Dr. Kenward went ahead with a C Section, and a petite baby girl was placed in my arms and I fell in love.

The only regret I ever had about D1 was that my beloved Dad never got to meet her -- he would have savored her intelligence and humor. When D1 was about 4, she had already heard a LOT about her late grandfather. One early weekend morning, she sat next to me on the couch as I read the paper. All of a sudden she looked up at me with her doe eyes, and asked "Daddy -- would Grandpa Hy have loved me?"  I grabbed her and told her through my tears that indeed he would have...

Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan made it home to chilly NYC. It was sad to see them off, but happy they're due back in less than a month. Still, this am Wifey and I sat on the couch and realized we missed D2 sitting there with us. We really dig our kids.

Tonight the weather is blissfully cool -- per my weather app, it "feels like" 50. I lit my first fire of the season in my firepit, and sat with the dogs, contemplating the cosmos. I gave a hearty thanks to the Big Man.

I recently heard a saying that resonated with me: the days are long, but the decades are short. It's certainly true.

So I wish a hearty happy three decades to my beloved D1. I am one extremely lucky Daddy in the USA.

The Busy Innkeeper

I really enjoy being an innkeeper, at least temporarily. I always have. Back when I was at the U, I loved having friends visit, even if they just sleeping bagged it on my campus apartment floor, or crashed on the naugahyde couch.

Later, in my first apartment, I was always a frequent host, though Wifey, who was dating me, often objected to my being so gracious -- especially then the guests were also single women. But afterwards, when we got together, we'd often have a crowded living room in our Kendall apartment -- especially at holiday times.

This T Day D2 and Jonathan were here, along with Ashley and Kyle. They came Friday -- there was a big Gator wedding last night at Temple Beth Am, right up the road. So yesterday am I was up early fetching bagels, and nova, and croissants for the guests.. They loved it.

T Day was grand, although it started off with a visit by the Avenue Q "Bad Idea Bears." I felt we ought to have my ancient suegra, and volunteered to get her at the Palace, while Wifey was finishing with the table prep  My suegra is a true freak of nature -- nearly 94, and still wildly obese. Wrangling her into my car was quite a chore. I had her wheelchair, but it's useless at my house -- too many stairs from the front driveway.  Somehow I got her to the front porch, and I recovered from the massive schlep with a martini. The guests came and we got her to the table.

T Day was delightful. Joey's brother and sister in law came last minute, with their beautiful baby girl. Everyone ate heartily, and I made sure they drank well, too. The hours flew by as we repeatedly laughed and gave thanks for being together.

Everyone left but D2, and she helped me with her Sabta, and we returned her to the Palace. The old lady did have a grand time -- she was beaming when we dropped her off.

Friday D2 and Jonathan and Kyle had happy hour with me -- I turned Kyle onto Middleton, the fine Irish whiskey. I really dig him -- he's a patent lawyer in SF, and Ashley is returning there from NYC to live with him. I hope they end up together.

Then Elizabeth came over -- fresh from T Day at her sister's in the Grove. We talked about how some folks host T Day and somehow it's more miserable than joyful -- there's lots of tensosity, to use my late friend Alan's neologism.  But we went out for salads, and came home to some wine on our porch -- I told Elizabeth I would buy tickets for the final Rolling Stones concert next April -- the tour starts in Miami. She's going to come back and join us.

Saturday I was up as the innkeeper, and the young folks left after bagels and coffee, and at noon Mirta came -- the final Canes game. I brought a LOT of leftovers -- Mike was hosting the tailgate -- Norman decided, wonderfully, to take his Dad Max to the game, and so would miss a tailgate -- and Mike entertained us by deep frying a turkey.

That, along with the 6 lbs of leftover Shorty's brisket, and Sephardic side dishes, made for a nice spread.

My nephews from other parents were there  -- Scott is a senior at Maryland, and we were a bit misty eyed that his 4 college years flew by. He's interviewing for big boy jobs now, and enjoying his life, with a girlfriend we'll get to meet over Christmas break.

The game was boring -- though the Canes won handily, on amazing defense. But Pitt was the Coastal champion, which we should have been, so there was teeth gnashing about the season that could have happened for the Canes...

We drove home, and Mirta left to be with her boyfriend Jay, here for a few more days, and Wifey was watching TV. I had hoped to fetch D2 and Jonathan and Ashley and Kyle after the wedding, but my eyes grew tired, and I texted that Dadber was turning in -- maybe Momber would get them? She would not -- she was also tired, and they took regular Uber home -- I was up, though, and greeted them with my whiporwill whistle, which D2 laughed at -- it was from her youth.

Today the foursome has a post wedding brunch, and Wifey is seeing "Hello Dolly" with Cara and Linda, for Cara's birthday. They had made the plans a while back. I'm off to a lunch in the Gables, to celebrate Norman's 57th.

Ashley and Kyle will leave, and Jonathan will head back to Aventura for his last night with his family.

I get D2 for another morning -- I'll squire her around for some appointments, before I drop her at MIA where she'll meet Jonathan for their return to LGA.

It's always sad when we part, but less so this time, as she'll be coming back here in less than a month -- she already has her overpriced tickets for Xmas break -- she's coming 12/24, which is famous for being Wifey's birthday Eve. She'll stay until the second day of 2019.

I have a feeling the Inn at Villa Wifey might be in operation again -- their friends kind of dig being in Miami for New Year's.

It'll be my pleasure -- bagels and coffee and happy hours are my specialty -- with bell service and usually Dadber provided, at no extra charge.

Just Be Thankful For What You Got

So Tuesday night I swooped in to fetch D2 at MIA. Well, I was swooping, after midnight, when the Dolphin stopped me. I naively thought construction was finished, as it's been going on there at least since I moved here in '79, but I was wrong -- they funneled the four lanes to one before the new MIA exit, and so my pick was a bit late.

But there was my girl, with Jonathan who waited with her until his Uber to Aventura showed up. Thanksgiving week had begun.

We slept in, and then I took her to the optometrist. I enjoy driving her around for her Miami errands -- we get to catch up on our lives. From there we fetched a Nothing But Bundt cake for the feast today, and then headed to LOL for lunch. Wifey met us.

We got home, and D2 wanted to see, first hand, some of this fitness thing I've been crowing about, so we put on sneaks, and did a run/walk of three and a third miles though our 'hood. She ran more than I did -- my running is on a treadmill with Enrique threatening me, but I acquitted myself well -- D2 was happy her Dad is at least on the path to hopefully not dropping too soon...

Afterwards I took her for mani/pedis -- I got my first pedicure in six months, and we ran into Makenzie , the little sister of D2's old friend Harley. Makenzie had graduated UF, and was applying to grad school for PT. D2 felt very old, all of a sudden -- she remembered Mak as a grade schooler tagging along with her and Harley.

We got a call from D1, who was hosting an early 30th birthday -- there had been a cake miscommunication. Could we bring something? We could -- Milam's was right next door, and though the didn't have any dulce de leche huge sheet cakes just waiting purchase, I bought 3 nice looking cakes, and we fetched Wifey and headed to Shorecrest.

The new casa D1 and Joey was sparkling. D2 was led to the spare room named after her. Guests arrived. A bartender served in the back. Wifey and I and Joey's parents Jacqui and Ricardo were the only old folks invited, and we loved it, though Jacqui and Ricardo bolted much earlier than we did.

I loved catching up with D1's friends -- lifelong ones like Alyssa, and Nicole, and Hannah, and the ones she's met as a grown up. The weather was gorgeous, and the happy guests flowed inside and out.

Alex and Danielle came -- friends who are like older siblings to the Ds. Alex looked around and joked that it was clear Joey was always the Colombian drug dealer he suspected. We laughed heartily -- I almost spilled my Tito's, and Alex his mezcal...

I was chatting with Mikaela, a young lawyer who works for my friend Mike, and Sari, an audiologist, when Wifey lowered the boom -- we had stayed longer than the old folks were supposed to, and we said our goodbyes and left. D1's actual 30th isn't for another 6 days.

I told Ricardo his son had married a woman with an inconvenient birthday -- her whole life we have to fit in a celebration around T Day. He said it should be their biggest problem. Wise man.

Wifey drove us home, like in Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight," and indeed Wifey did look wonderful. She had the glow of being around her beloved Ds, and the comfort that comes with their having chosen wonderful men.

We know from too close experience how a woman's life can really go to the dumpster with the wrong man. Our girls have chosen well.

Today we'll be welcoming our United Nations of guests. It occurred to me we'll have my ancient suegra, born in Poland, and Wifey and David, Jonathan's Dad, both born in Israel to Holocaust Survivors. Jonathan's Mom Lizbeth and her daughter Elisa were born in Caracas, and Joey and his parents Ricardo and Jacqui were born in Bogota. The Ds, of course, were born right up the street, in South Miami Hospital. Oh year, I'm the only native New Yorker...

The Big Man has blessed us wonderfully, and today we intend to celebrate that.  I always reflect on one of my friend Stuart's sayings -- if Bill Gates woke up tomorrow with ONLY Oprah's money, he'd have to jump out of a window. In other words, if we measure ourselves against what we lack, it's a depressing enterprise.

Today, and truly all days, I thank the Big Man for all he has given us. And today, with a big feast, we get to truly celebrate that grandest of all blessings.

One Full Saturday

I slept in yesterday, all the way up to 8:30. For me, that's the equivalent of a teenager sleeping until 2 p.m. I was awakened by Paul, who was on his way with Alex and the kids -- where would be a good venue to meet?  I suggested the Falls -- we could have lunch, and the kids could run around.

I got there and they were at American Girl, the doll store. Alex's little girl was loving it. I took a photo of Paul sitting her on a shelf at a tea party display -- Wifey saw it and thought they were ALL dolls.  I noticed a lot of activity at the Falls, and then figured it out: they were setting up for their annual Holiday Parade, which they call the Miracle on 136th Street.

We retired to Brito, and ate as the parade started. The kids loved it -- we did, too, especially the Junkanoo Band from the Bahamian consul. Guys on stilts performed stunts.

I felt wistful. When the Ds were small, we'd take them to the parade. The Falls were the social center of our old lives. It's the first public place I took D1, when she was only about 3 weeks old. We had cabin fever, and I put her in a Dad baby carrier. I still remember her wide eyes as we passed all the holiday display lights.

The parade featured local dance groups, and adorable little girls marched past. I remember one year D2 was in their number, and we yelled her name as she passed, and she blushed.

After the parade ended, we parted, and I came home to find Wifey happily working the yard -- cleaning the beds, and rearranging the rocks.

I came inside to watch the Canes, along with my crew, all on a text group. The earlier game was Ohio State/Maryland, as as my nephew of another brother is a Terrapin, watched with great enthusiasm. The Terps nearly upset OSU, but fell short. Still, our witty comments made it enjoyable.

The Canes finally won big, insuring a bowl game after the season. Still, they were a major disappointment -- supposed to fight for the championship, and instead only mediocre. There's always next year...

When the game ended, Wifey and I left for another space where we frequented with the Ds -- now Pinecrest Gardens, formerly the Parrot Jungle. We used to buy annual passes, and the Ds would walk the paths, and enjoy the playgrounds. Years ago, we agreed to tax ourselves and make it a Village Park.

We were in the former Parrot Bowl, now the Banyan Bowl, a lovely geodesic dome amphitheater. It seats about 1000, and was packed to see David Sanborn, the great sax player.

We were among the youngest folks there -- a rarity these days in Miami, where we tend to be among the oldest -- especially when we meet D1 and Joey in Midtown or Wynwood or Brickell.

Sanborn was excellent -- his band was very "tight," as Wifey noted.

He was also Midwestern charming -- noting he came to Miami a lot, and loved that we preserved the gorgeous venue where he was playing. He said he was so old, FDR was president when he was born. I checked -- it was actually Harry Truman, but he was among many of his 70 something contemporaries...

The show ended, and we got a final treat -- another night without A/C. The breezes blew though our room, and we slept like royalty.

It was truly a full, delightful day.

Enjoying the Weather

So I left for the office yesterday and asked Wifey about maybe having dinner outdoors -- it was too lovely to stay in. She loves Black Point Marina, and so do I -- it reminds me of Monty's in the Grove back in the day, before the Grove became so upscale.

She called Deb, but she and Norman were busy entertaining out of town family, and I called Jeff, who typically doesn't do things last minute. But, alas, Lili had told him they'd BETTER start going out more, lest they become that couple who people suspect are shut ins, and so they were ON.

We fetched them at 6:30 and crawled down Old Cutler, but in about 20 minutes we arrived. We parked far from the restaurant, and sat down by the water. It was lovely. A cool breeze blew, and Lili was glad she had brought a sweater. Wifey, always concerned about my physical fitness, purposely forgot one, so that I would get the benefit of walking the 1/4 mile back to the car to fetch the emergency sweater I keep in the trunk.

Now Wifey was comfortable, and so I enjoyed the double Titos they offer -- only $6.75. We toasted our families -- Jeff and Lili's oldest is getting married in January, and we recalled the more than 30 years we've sailed through life together.

Lili is one of our funniest and wittiest friends, and she gave us some laugh out loud moments last night. She was raised Catholic and converted to the Tribe, but admits she still misses having a Christmas tree. Their daughters, growing up, asked for one, and she gaily told them "When Dad dies, we can have our tree."  So we all agreed THAT'S something to look forward to.

Black Point has live music, but it didn't start until 9, and we finished our dinners at 8:30. We said adios to our waitress and left.

We chatted a bit outside of their house, which is 4 houses from Villa Wifey, and then headed home. I sat outside awhile in the cool evening, under what the Boss poetically called "the evening trees."

The pre T Day fun continues. I bought the last two tickets for tonight's show at the old Parrot Jungle -- in the geodesic dome they still call the Parrot Bowl. The sax man David Sanborn is playing, and I happened to see an ad in the Herald -- I called and got the last two tickets. I'll be sure to bring a sweater for Wifey tonight right from the start.

We endure the summer heat for this time of year. D2 can't wait for her visit home -- NYC has already had wet snow and chill temps. She's a tropical girl on an extended sabbatical, as I always say.

Tomorrow we'll visit ancient Suegra. The Palace is hosting an early Thanksgiving, so it will be packed with relatives waiting on line for turkey. I may just sneak outside to the lovely gazebo while Wifey and her mom eat.

The weather is just too delightful...

Like A Breath of Fresh Air

I think it's been about 7 months since Miami temperatures have dropped to the 60s. I'm not complaining, of course, as I love living in the Tropics, but it's still a lovely change when it cools off. This morning, as I write, it's a lovely 61 degrees in Pinecrest.

Last night it was transitioning from muggy to lovely, and I cooled down our upstairs bedroom, but then realized it was cooler outside than inside. I shut off the A/C and opened the windows, as cool night air blew through. I slept the sleep of kings.

I chatted with both Ds last night, and we're all excited about the upcoming week. D1 got some nice news: her biggest client renewed her for another year. The client made the news by unveiling a new design for their uniforms, with no mention of D1, but for us it means I 'll keep cheering for them, even when they play my childhood team.

D1 called while trudging through sleet in Hoboken, on her way to the train that takes her home. She'd prefer classic Miami heat for her trip -- and it's slated to warm up a bit next week, but is thrilled to get out of the early wintry weather.

I'm headed to the office today. We actually had a few nice cases come in, and I get involved in their early set up and strategy. I also like to remind the folks that we don't get paid until the case ends, so maybe the correct way to handle them is to prosecute them aggressively.

It should be a quiet weekend, though we'll probably host Paul and Alex and Alex's two kids, and then the Canes are on TV. Sunday I'll visit ancient Suegra with Wifey. We're going to bring her over for TDay, though last time we took her out of the Palace things got dicey fast -- she made a scene while stopping for a bathroom break, and I had to convince nice bystanders that she would be fine -- no need to call 911.

We'll see -- the Palace is close enough that I can return her there if TDay proves to be too much for her, but I have a feeling she'll be so overjoyed being with her daughter and beloved grandkids that she'll be ok.

All I know is, I thank the Big Man for my family's doing well, and we even get an official feast in six days to raise our glasses with our close ones to do it together. And for today, well, the exquisite weather is a fitting prelude.

Seeing Results

So yesterday I had my old school-type annual physical exam. Wifey and I pay a yearly fee to be members of MDVIP, which essentially gives us the level of medical care everyone used to get in like the 70s. In other words, a doctor we can call, appointments the next day, blood draws without having to go to a lab, etc...

And one of the things they do is take like 6 vials of blood and give you absurd amounts of information -- the Cleveland Clinic does it.

So yesterday I wandered over to Dr. Mary, and had my 2.5 hour exam. The EKG was fine, as were my hearing and vision tests. Neuro -- good. My lung capacity was ABOVE average. But the best part:  all of the blood markers for pre diabetes and inflammation were in the LOW risk category. Turns out the exercise had actual, objective benefits.

Of course, the warranty, such as it is, is only for one year. That means the predictors of my low risk of dropping only last for a year. And, of course, the physical findings do not take into account such things as being hit by a truck, or being in a group where a loser psychopath decides to start shooting...

Still, it was good news, and I shared it with Enrique, my training guru. He was very happy to hear.

So I plan to keep it up, and try to stick around awhile.

Last evening, Stuart called -- he was signing up a new client who was referred to us. It was out kind of case-- commercial truck totally at fault caused a crash. He was in the 'hood, and so we met for dinner at Shula's.

We sat at the bar and were taken care of by Melissa, the young bartender who has been at Shula's for years. Stuart and I toasted his daughter, who had a Bat Mitzvah the past Saturday, and we toasted to our lives -- just the exquisiteness of being around.

The Canes had played, and won big over a Texas team. Coach L was at Shula's, as he is many post games. I walked to his table and congratulated him. He wished me a Happy Thanksgiving.

I plan to keep giving Thanks. Good news with the blood tests is a fine way to start.

Veteran's Day

So today the government celebrated Veteran's Day, which my parents were old enough to remember, used to be called Armistice Day. I remember it's celebrated on the 11th day of the 11th month (at the 11th hour) and that in the 70s the US government made it a 3 day weekend by calling the closest Monday the holiday.

I tell the tale each year, but I guess that's what holidays are about -- remembering and retelling our tales and stories of our culture. And for me, that recalls my Dad.

I wasn't born until decades later, of course, but I envision a 22 year old Bronx boy named Hy pushing dress carts through Lower Manhattan on December 7, 1941. Some time before then, my father was actually excited about a new, potential career. He had watched a young fellow decorate one of the fancy store windows in Midtown, and thought he wanted to do that, too. Unlike me, my Dad had artistic abilities -- he could draw, and had a keen eye for the visual.

He chatted up the fellow, and learned there was a union to join -- he ought to, according to the designer, go to the union hall, pay dues, get a card, and then he would be assigned as an apprentice. After a year or so, he would be a full on designer -- and the fellow told my Dad it paid REAL well.

That night, at the dinner table, he told his father, in Yiddish, of his plans. My grandpa Simon, who died years before I was born, beckoned my Dad closer, and my Dad complied. Then came a zetz, or smack, to the head, and Simon reminded my Dad he had a perfectly good job at the factory where Simon was a respected pattern maker, and how dare my Dad think about doing anything else.

So, as a dutiful son, my Dad kept on schlepping the dress carts, singing as he worked, until that day...he told me it was like a movie -- the city went silent, and my Dad ran to a store front radio. FDR gave his famous address "A Day that will live in INFAMY..." and my Dad knew his draft papers would come soon. They did -- in April, and off he went --nearly 4 years in the US Army.

While he was away, my Mom gave birth to my sister, and Dad didn't meet her until she was well over a year old. But he came home, and started a life that brought me into the world at the tail end of the baby boom.

And yet WW II was central to the tale. For Wifey, too, though her parents were in Poland, and the camps. Everything that shaped who they were came from those same WW II years.

So today I think of Dad, and I thank him, and all the others. I've been lucky. I owe it to them.

The Circle of Life

So on my way home yesterday, I called Mari, Alan's long time sort of girlfriend, who has been by his side during his final days. She said he was even more out of it, but seemed to be waiting for his daughter Ali before moving on. Sure enough, I got a text early this morning from Rabbi Yossi -- Alan had died at half past midnight. He was 69.

His body is being flown to Scranton, his hometown, even though he's lived here for 50 years. A few friends, including Paul, plan to go to NYC and drive the 2 hours to PA for the burial.

But on the happier side of things, my dear friend Stuart is hosting his daughter's Bat Mitzvah tomorrow. Stu got married later, and Ava was born when he was 45. His son came when he was 42, the age my Dad was when I was born. Stu had asked me what it was like to have an older father. I told him my Dad was my best friend, a combination father and grandfather who meant the world to me. Any downside, Stu asked. Yes, I replied -- you ever meet my father?

But hopefully Stu will have a much longer life than Hy did, and tomorrow we celebrate with a service at Aventura/Turnberry, where the rabbi grew up in Pittsburgh, and just returned from a visit to his hometown tragedy, followed by a lunch at Williams Island.

It'll be nice to celebrate a ritual of youth after all the death that seems to be hanging around lately.

Also this week, I texted with my brother in law Dennis about my law firm's taxes, and spoke with personal CPA Mark about personal taxes.  Given all the death around, I guess it was appropriate to deal with the only OTHER inevitability...

But on a happier note, a week from Tuesday D2 and Jonathan are due in from NYC, and Dadber will be at MIA. It's a jam packed week -- Wednesday night we celebrate, early, D1's 30th birthday, Thursday we're hosing T Day, Friday the Ds have a rehearsal dinner for a wedding at a local Reform synagogue on Saturday. Since the Ds will be busy, I plan to attend the last regular season Canes game of the year, and then Sunday get to celebrate my dear friend Norman's birthday.

T Day time always starts the most hectic time for us, and we don't even celebrate Christmas. D2 is coming back on 12/24 to celebrate her Mom's birthday, and leaving right after NYE. Then Wifey and I celebrate our wedding anniversary. By the time the first week in January is done, I'm ready for a vacation.

So we get to plan, and act, and savor the moments on the planet. Warren Zevon died of cancer, and gave as his final advice that we should enjoy every sandwich -- in other words, even the most mundane things in life.

I do, and am thankful I can. And adios, Alan...I'll think of him tomorrow as sparkle eyed Ava becomes a young woman...

The Vigil

I've known a fellow for 30 years named Alan, who I met through Paul. I call him the lovable scoundrel, and most who know him agree with my description. I once told Alan that's what I called him, and his eyes sparkled and he said to me "You're right!" Alan is dying.

Alan's from Scranton, and after Penn State went to UM Law. He built up a successful accident and injury practice using Yellow Pages advertising -- he always had the second or third big ad, and back in pre social media days, Yellow Pages were where folks found lawyers. A few years after I met him, he hired David as his associate. David is a real Queens guy who went to law school at Nova. David became Alan's little brother.

Well, Alan had a gambling problem, and used his trust account as his bank. He would replace lost funds with the next settlement, but like all Ponzi schemes, this one ended. He lost his ticket, as we call it, in 2000.

He then went to work for David, who took over the firm.

Alan had issues with women, and as a father, but when he threw a party -- you WANTED to be there. Back in the days before he lost his ticket, he'd host holiday parties at Mezzanote in the Grove. They were legendary affairs. When Alan turned 50, now 19 years ago, he threw himself a party at his Grove Isle condo. His girlfriend at the time was a stripper who looked just like Pamela Lee Anderson. Her friends were all there, very skimpily dressed.

One of the young ladies remarked to Wifey that she was cold. Wifey said "You know, you might try wearing some clothes."  Alan liked Wifey, but stopped inviting her to parties...

Some years ago, Alan was diagnosed with small intestine cancer. He was treated and recovered. He though he had beaten it. But last year, while Paul and I were having lunch with him, he lacked his typically ravenous appetite. He was worried. Sure enough, the cancer had recurred.

He went through a year of chemo, and was doing fine -- dating wildly inappropriate women, working at David's firm. But a few weeks ago he was hospitalized, and they tried surgery. The cancer had spread too much. He crashed, and was sent home with hospice care.

His son Max, who was living in Israel but moved back to Miami, reached out to Paul. He wanted his father to see a rabbi. So we reached out to Yossi -- he had met Alan years ago.

Monday night, we met the Rabbi at Alan's house. Alan was out of it -- the morphine had him drifting away. Still, he hummed along with the Shema, the Jewish version of last rites. Paul held his hand.

After we left Alan's bedside, we sat with Max, and talked about the challenges of being Alan's son. The rabbi was wise and helpful.

I can't imagine Alan will be on this mortal coil more than a few more days. It was pathetic to see him in bed helpless -- he was a big man, with a strong gait, who always looked like he had the world on a string, even when the world had him.

So I drove home from Grove Isle, once again firm in my life's philosophy. Our time is so limited here -- grasp the best you can.

The bell has tolled for Alan. It tolls for us all.

Another Shooting

It happened again yesterday in Tallahassee -- a loser with a gun and a grudge walked into a studio and killed two women and then himself. More are in the hospital, and a hero who tacked him got severely pistol whipped. It seems like every week lately. Springsteen's "Cover Me" lyrics play in my brain "I've seen enough I don't wanna see anymore."

Tally police released the dead victims' names. One was Wifey's age, a doctor in town and professor at FSU Med School. The other was 21 -- a Seminole undergrad.

I looked up the young victim on FaceBook. She was beautiful -- a Southern, WASPy version of the Ds. She was from Dunwoody, Ga, where Wifey's bff Edna lives, and where we've spent a lot of time. And she was taking a yoga class -- something the Ds do all the time.

I don't want to imagine the call the girl's parents got in the Atlanta suburb. Their lives instantly ruined.

My trainer Enrique and I were talking about the mass shootings the other day. I told him that statistically, it's the safest time to be a human being. Social media and constant news instantly report tragedies that 15 years ago we might not have even heard about, and it seems like there are far more of them.

Living has always been a dangerous activity. Our ancestors got eaten by animals -- frequently. In our society, the animals have been replaced by loser psychopaths with guns.

Of course guns are a problem -- mass shootings are uniquely American among supposedly civilized societies. Maybe the Dems will return to power, kiss off the NRA and its influence on simple minded Republicans, and there'll be fewer shootings. That's my hope.

But the loss, in the mean time, stings.

They had the funerals for the Pittsburgh synagogue victims last week. Last night, as Wifey and I drove home, past Bet Shira, the synagogue across from Palmetto High, we noticed there was a Pinecrest police car out front, with lights -- for a regular Shabbat service. I guess more security will be the thing of the future.

So I feel for people I don't know -- Tally victims' families. As time goes on, the loser's "motives" will come out, I'm sure. Early reports was that it was domestic. As a good friend of mine noted, it's too bad that murder/suicides can't instead be suicide/murders...

Well, today is Canes game day. Mirta will be here at 4, and we'll cruise up to Joe Robbie to meet our crew. We play Duke at 7 -- should be an easy game, but with our disappointing team, anything can happen.

But I plan to savor the time with my friends -- laughing, drinking, telling tales of yore. It's homecoming weekend, and yesterday my brother Norman returned to WVUM as Stormin' Norman, to perform as alumni DJ. He was terrific -- played tunes from our college years -- got to my request for Iggy Pop, which I appreciated.

They posted FB pix of him and his crew from the station. Wise guy Wifey said she wanted to see "Before/After" pictures. Funny, Wifey is...

So we'll hoist a few, and celebrate our friendships. For at least some Noles, today, there'll be no celebrating...