The Track

 So yesterday Paul and I had some business in Hallandale, and afterwards decided to get some lunch. I know my man so well -- one of his favorite places in the world is Gulfstream Park, where you can gamble on the ponies, and eat great food at Christine Lee's.

He invited the Mrs, and I suggested we call our old friend Allison, who lives in Broward as well. I also invited Wifey, but knew there was zero chance she'd wish to fight Miami traffic -- but she DID want some dinner brought to her. And so it was off to the track.

Paul insists, and I support, a totally 1950s style, patriarchal system at the track. The men put up the money, and the women split any winnings. Curiously, even the most feminist guests we've hosted over the years do not object to this set up. So we funded our day with $100 each, and Allison and Patricia each netted $66 at the end -- the losses were reasonable.

But we had a delightful time. Allison and I were law school classmates -- we just celebrated our 36th anniversary of finishing up that less than fun course of study. We were in our mid 20s. I'm now knocking on 61's door, and a grandpa, to boot. I ran into Allison in 1990, when we tried a case against each other. Her then husband Mark, a kind of a schlumpy guy from LI, represented a homeowner whose dog attacked and bit our client, leaving a facial scar. I won the trial, but the homeowner, who had no insurance, declared bankruptcy, and the client never saw a dime.

A few years later, near Xmas of '94, Paul and I had just started our firm, and were attending the holiday party in our building. Allison was working for her divorce lawyer. We three clicked, sort of like the Mod Squad without a Black guy, and Allison came to work for us. 

Those were heady times, and Paul was with Allison at Capital Grille when he encouraged a well dressed attorney at the bar to ask Allison out. Steven became her husband, and their two girls just graduated high school. Alas, the marriage didn't last, and, for the record, as Wifey likes to say, I NEVER liked Steven. Ha. So there.

Anyway, we talked of days passed and those to come. Allison and I practiced the shoe theory of martini drinking: one's not enough, and you don't need more than two.

I brought home some delicious chicken to Wifey. She loved it.

Today is an Annie Lennox kind of  a day: Here comes the rain again. An early tropical storm, which was a hurricane that crossed Mexico, weakened, and is now again strengthening over the Gulf, is headed our way. Not much wind, but we're supposed to get a total of 7 inches of rain through tomorrow night.

Tomorrow afternoon dear friends Darriel and Paul are hosting a double graduation for their grandkids Marlowe and CJ. Marlowe finished UF's J School, and is off to the City for a Masters at NYU. CJ finished Palmetto High and is off to FSU, which is kind of funny since his parents are both Gators. His sister, too. It happens.

Darriel and Paul had to move to Virginia last year if Paul wished to keep his sales job with the medical supply company. Paul just turned 60,and wasn't keen on finding a new company at his age. So they're in Richmond now, and liking it, but missing Mary and Chris and the kids in Palmetto Bay.

Hopefully we'll be able to ford the puddles ok tomorrow for the open house. Other than that, we plan to stay high and dry.

Meanwhile, I cracked open the Beluga vodka I got as a thank you gift for agreeing to officiate a wedding, even though Covid kept me away. It is delicious -- I plan to make martinis for my sons in law Sunday at our early Father's Day get together. D2 and Jonathan are going to ATL on actual FD, since it's a 3 day weekend with the newly minted Juneteenth. I got a chuckle that they're going to the capital of Black America on that holiday. They didn't find it funny at all, just politically incorrect of me to even note that.

So, as usual, I lost at the track. I embody the old cliche: lucky in love; unlucky at cards.

And that's just fine.