The Blustery Saturday

 So I caved into Wifey's pressure, and agreed to spend the day at a beach hotel, with our whole, full squad. I really still have reluctance to encounter the public for events that aren't truly important, but D1 and Wifey, especially, wished a day at a cabana, and I went along. We had planned to spend today at the Key Biscayne Ritz Carlton, in a poolside cabana and beachfront umbrellas. We had a room, too, and Wifey was going to spend the night. I had drawn the line there -- no need to be INSIDE a hotel for no real reason, I thought. Wifey, like many women here age, needs "change" a lot, it seems, and absolutely said she needed a night away. I planned to come back Sunday to fetch her.

Alas, the Weather Fates had different plans. A tropical depression is passing, the the forecast was for a fully rainy day. We agreed to cancel. I guess the normally great service RC is understaffed -- it took me the better part of yesterday morning, and no fewer than 8 calls, but I got it canceled. But -- they had entered into "Dave's rule of service."

Dave's rule of service is that if the front line people you meet in a restaurant, hotel, or contractor, are poor -- never expect the experience to get better. When I encounter a nasty host at a restaurant, I turn around and walk out, figuring things will only get worse, not better, if the management can't figure out that your first impression, at least, ought to be good.

So when Wifey and D1 asked to reschedule the RC visit, I said that any hotel that can't even competently handle a simple task surely can't be trusted to follow COVID protocols. Dad the Santa Claus did a rare thing: told the children, this time, their wishes, at least on my dime, would not be coming true.

The truth is, I'm still skittish about doing anything in public until the plague passes. I've found my Zoom happy hours satisfy my needs to commune with friends, and my long walks give me plenty of time to catch up with phone calls with other friends and non nuclear family. I love where I live. I don't have schpilkes, as Wifey calls it, at all -- no ants in my pants about traveling anywhere.

So as the wave passes, and it rains all day, instead the Ds and their men and our wonderful grandson and granddogs, are coming over later. I'll pour cocktails. We'll bring in food from a delicious Peruvian place D2 and I discovered the other day -- we brought in their ceviche while D2 and Betsy were here working for the day so D2's apartment could be cleaned.

This should be my kind of day...

Speaking of Zoom, Stuart called yesterday afternoon -- did I wish a Zoom with him, his young associate Josh, and Rabbi Dovi? Rabbi Dovi is 28 and very wise -- he visits us on Brickell -- still does with Stu. He's the son of a Chabad biblical scholar, and has an intellectual's take on things -- discussing the meaning of time and space in the context of Torah. I truly enjoy his wisdom.

So -- at 4:30, I grabbed my herbal tea, the Brickell group drank aged single malt, and Rabbi gave us a wonderful sermon about the upcoming end of the Jewish year. A part of it is that each Jew much hear the sound of the shofar. But Dovi explained that is only a sound -- the context and meaning are much deeper.

He told the parable of the rich man who invited all the poor people in his town to a great feast. When they arrived, there was an empty table, and a bell. The rich man rang the bell, and servers brought forth a great feast. He invited each of his guests to take home whatever they chose -- dishes, silverware, food.

One simpleton said he would take the bell -- reasoning that by ringing it, he could get whatever he wanted. He rang it the next day and was shocked when no feast came forth.

The point is, the bell is just a sound -- it needed a powerful master to use it for actual benefit. And so it is, per Rabbi Dovi, with the shofar -- you have to hear it, but in a vacuum it is just the bleating of a ram's horn.

We joked that social media is rife with pleas for 2020 to end -- such an annus horribilis -- horrible year. I told the Rabbi I was telling my non Jewish friends to accept the new Jewish year coming -- 5781, as the end of the strife. 5780 can't be over soon enough!

But as for me and my house -- we look most forward to today. I am far more chill not being somewhere else -- at least for now. As Jonathan noted, with the money saved on the Ritz, there is more Stoli Elit. Indeed, my son in law is wise beyond his years -- like his 28 year old cohort, Rabbi Dovi...