Mothers And Daughters

 I've long noted that relationships between adult daughters and their mothers can be the most fraught. Fathers and sons can always talk sports, and mothers and sons can either have healthy or oedipal relationships.

As for Dads and daughters, for many of us Dads, it's simple: our girls are our princesses and can rarely do wrong.

Luckily, the issues between Wifey and the Ds have evolved more to the humorous than the serious. Oh -- there have been tears and issues, of course, but the routine lately often involves the Ds taking Wifey's stuff, like jewelry and handbags, and home furnishings, and seeing how many months, or years, if ever, go by before Wifey notices. Wifey has LOTS of stuff.

As far as I'm concerned, the Ds can take anything material I own, and I wouldn't care. But somehow they don't seem to require XXL shorts and Canes T shirts. My expensive stuff WAS a couple of watches -- one Rolex and one Breitling -- and I already gave those to my sons in law.

Well, recently D1 had a new office build in her house -- an elegantly designed and built space that took some closet room from Baby Man's oversized bedroom. She and Joey now have a perfect office at the stair landing, where they can do business calls quietly despite the tumult of their house.

D1 had a torch lamp, but it was too big. She noticed that Wifey had recently gotten a smaller one, at the suggestion of our designer friend Allison, and asked Wifey if she could switch out the lamps -- since the one we had was in a much larger space.

Wifey has zero confidence in making any decorating decisions. Piles of patio furniture cushions have been in boxes on our front loggia for months -- she won't decide which ones to use -- and Allison has been too busy to come over to make the call.

Wifey told D1 that once Allison came over, if she okayed the change, then D1 could switch the lamps. But, alas, D1 has very bad OCD, and wanted her office "finished" right away.

So she committed a rich, white girl crime: she switched out the lamps last Sunday while Wifey and I were playing with the grandkids, figuring that Wifey would never notice, and when finally the issue came up, Allison would just say the bigger lamp here was ok.

D1 did tell me, and I had zero Fs to give -- I told her to go ahead. And so the great torch lamp caper of 2024 was on.

It should be noted that these lamps cost, I think, $150 each -- but I think D1 sort of wanted to just get it done.

And she nearly pulled off the crime -- she and Joey left Sunday afternoon, and Wifey was none the wiser.

But then D1, NOT a good burglar, make a mistake -- she filmed the boys singing in the SUV on the way home, and when Wifey watched the video, saw the stolen lamp behind the boys.

She was PISSED. I tried to keep  straight face, but Wifey wasn't having it -- this was emblematic of the lack of respect we all have for her and her things, she was NEVER buying D1 or D2 for that matter, another gift, ever.

I figured D2 should be included, and so I ratted her out to Wifey -- she knew about the whole switcheroo, too, and did nothing to stop it.

And then D2 went into her family mediator mode -- demanding her sister apologize, and letting Wifey vent about her feelings  of lack or respect.

I fell on my sword -- telling Wifey that it was all my fault. Last year, Wifey's friend said that I, along with all of my friends with the possible exception of Dr. Barry, were assholes, and I agreed. I never should have allowed D1 to take the torch lamp without permission.

And then I pulled the card: I made Wifey scrambled eggs, and a perfectly toasted bagel, and brought it to her as she sat in her recliner -- sort of her family room throne.

Wifey tells us that her "language of love" is when people bring things to her, particularly coffee and food, in bed or on her recliner. At first she refused the breakfast, but soon enough I heard the scaping of the fork on the dish.

Several hours later, I ordered her dinner, from Wu's Kitchen, at Norman's suggestion, and she loved picking out the won tons and veggies from the "Special Soup." I also reminded her what mushu was, and she made some delicious pancakes.

Talk of the lamp-gate had faded away. I think D1 is ordering a new small one to replace the one she purloined, and the too big torch job will either be given a new spot, or given to Miriam, like the tons of stuff that's been leaving our house as the 23 year decluttering continues.

I'm thankful these are the First World Problems we deal with.

Thursday, Joey is taking Little Man to Colombia -- along with Joey's Mom and younger brother. Joey wants his boy to see a favorite uncle on his 70th birthday, as well as visit Joey's grandmother, still doing well at 90.

Wifey is moving in with D1 and Baby Man for 4 nights. I have a feeling it'll be a lovely stay, though if I were D1, I would check Wifey's SUV for stolen stuff before Wifey leaves...

Scenic Campus

 So one of these news aggregators published an article in The Herald this am saying that my beloved alma mater is the "9th Most Scenic Campus" in the US. Their methodology is apparently how many photos are posted on Tik Tok or X or some of the social media I have no idea how to access.

The accompanying article brought me back, though, to the changes I in fact saw as an undergraduate.

When I got to UM in 1979, I fell in love immediately, with the palm trees and people. But the truth was, the campus was NOT very attractive. Building 22, where I lived for 3.5 years, was an ugly white 3 story building built after WW II. The back of the building was rock and dirt, with some patches of grass -- we called it, of course, "The Outback," and tossed frisbees and balls there despite the many skinned knees. 

There were some grassy areas, but over by the classrooms -- and most of the buildings were accessed by bland blacktopped roads. And then Tad Foote became our president, in 1981.

He may have been the WASPiest man in America. His wife was nicknamed Bosey, and she was Senator Fullbright's daughter. I'm talking WASPY all around, but Tad had sechel -- his best friend, who came with him from Wash U in St. Louis, was a Jewish Holocaust Survivor named Luis Glaser -- sort of the brains behind the Foote operation.

Jim Ash, the Honors Program Director, called me -- Tad wanted to see the Honors Dorm -- would we host him? Of course -- after a quick tidying up. He was gracious and smart, and SO VERY WASPy. And the truth is, he set UM on its course to academic rise, although he sometimes clashed with the football program, which earned him anger from my Canes fan friends.

And Bosey set about turning the campus into a "Tropical Garden." Landscaping went in everywhere, and the ugly roads were replaced by brick paved paths. The campus, not at all huge, is indeed a beautiful place -- I still enjoy walking it and showing it off to visitors.

When Tad retired, in 1981, each of the Colleges held farewells for him, and the acting Arts and Sciences Dean, Dan Pals, asked if I would agree to hold the party at Villa Wifey. We had just moved in in February, and Wifey, with our friend Allison's help, scrambled to get the place ready. It was a delightful affair -- close to 100 guests, with UM supplied valet parking, and a piano player, and catering.

My Mom was there, and she was beaming. When I welcomed everyone, I reminded President Foote that I hosted him on his arrival to UM 20 years earlier, in less luxe surroundings. I also introduced him to my mother. He said "Mrs. S -- thank you for sending your son to UM -- it appears to have worked out well for everyone," and indeed it had.

Foote's replacement was the nationally known Donna Shalala, fresh off her long tenure in the Clinton Cabinet, and she did pretty well -- hired some good Deans and raised money -- though she also presided over a boneheaded purchase of Cedars Hospital, and let the Canes lose the Orange Bowl.

I met her a few times and things never clicked -- she lacked Tad Foote's charm and warmth. Her replacement, the Mexican Jew Julio Frenk, just stepped down, and there's a new search for President.

So in my time, they were Henry King Stanford, Tad Foote, Donna Shalala, Julio Frenk, and (watch this space).

People come; people go.

But to me, Tad and Bosey Foote deserve a LOT more credit for what they did than they seem to receive. Today's article was a nice exception to that for the long dead couple.

They're nearly finished knocking down "The Towers," the 12 story 4 Brutalist style dorms build in 1968. I first lived in the 11th floor of one of them, and had my first taste of college life, which I savored. The rooms were pretty prison-like.

I guess the "nepo babies" who largely make up UM undergrads today require more plush and modern digs -- and indeed they're building a new "Village" of apartments and shops there on Lake Osceola.

They also built a new music building that hosts "Wall casts" of the performances -- you can picnic outside while the players play inside. I plan on taking some of those in late Fall, when the temperatures allow.

I'll make Wifey indulge me in a walk around campus, with the same boring tales she's now heard many times.

Good thing the surroundings are pretty.

The Diseased Body Politic

 As I read about and watch the latest news about the upcoming presidential elections, all I do is hear in my head the great Rolling Stones lyric from the great late 70s song: "What a mess -- this town's in tatters."

I try to keep away from politics on my FaceBook (tm) posts, and it works best. Just last night, Wifey's friend Karen, a new mah jonng friend, was at our house, and told me I am " a great FB poster." She said she enjoys my humor, and friend and family pix. I explained I am a frustrated "Onion" writer, and FB is my outlet for silly creativity. She had zero idea what "The Onion" was, so Wifey explained.

But a few days ago, the FB "Memory" section came up with my post from 2016 in July, where I quoted HL Mencken and predicted Trump would defeat Hillary, even though the majority of my friends, educated and mostly Democrats, said the guy was a buffoon and the "most qualified presidential candidate in history" would win. I said I feared we would see a reprise of Trump winning -- Kamala is, to me, less likeable and less qualified than Hillary, and boy did that unleash a torrent.

Most of the responses were "I hope you're wrong," and I agree that I hope I'm wrong, but my friend Sandy from PA, a "lifelong Democrat," played the Israel card -- how can a Zionist like me support the Dems anymore? Funny enough, another UM friend, Pete, an old school Irish Democrat from Queens who worked on anti gun legislation for much of his reporter career, went after Sandy -- saying Kamala's snub of Bibi, visiting from Israel, was not unique -- many Jewish members of Congress can't stand the guy, either. Personally, I dig him -- I know he's corrupt, but think he's been a fine wartime consiglieri for the Jewish State.

Anyway, I had also mentioned that many of my Cuban friends see Trump as a dictator to be. I should have qualified that as "educated and smart Cuban friends." One who is neither responded with a LONG diatribe about how great Trump is, and how her late husband adored him, even though Trump's policies would have turned back her late husband's balsa before it made it to Miami in the 90s.

So I need to listen to my Ds, who implore me to stop posting provocative stuff -- well -- D2, anyway, as D1 is wisely off FaceBook (tm).

I got in one final nugget in my last political post. A pundit refers to JD Vance, who created himself and changed his name several times, and originally despised Trump before realizing he needed to kiss the ring if he was to succeed as a Republican, as "Shillbilly." Now THAT'S creative.

Closer to home, I immediately delete ANY political texts I get -- mostly Democratic, since that's my party, but a few from the GOP since I gave money to Ileana Ros Lehtinen a few years back. They ain't makin' Republicans like her no more.

I don't even read the flyers I get in the mail -- they get a quick trip to the recycle bin.

I told Wifey I had been telling people she was now a Trump supporter. 

She grew silent and angry. "I would divorce you if you did that!" So now I know that, if need be, I have a relatively simple escape route.

In the mean time -- let the chips fall. I refuse to devote any, to use a cool term I just learned, mental real estate to politics. 

But I hope the woman with the Jewish husband who unfortunately has a self hating, anti-semitic mishkeit daughter, wins. I guess we'll find out in a bit over three months.

Sunday In The Park

 So my nephew of another brother Scott was coming down for Dr. Barry's birthday, and we thought why not go to a Marlins game? This was especially on point, as the millennials say, as they were hosting the Mets, still Barry's team despite his moving to South Florida close to half a century ago. He is a loyal man.

I had discussed this with D1 and Joey, too, and so they thought Wifey and D2 might watch Baby Man while D1 and Joey brought Little Man to the game. Alas, the best laid plans of mice and daughters -- D2 had a conflict, a surprise boat birthday party moved, and Wifey really can't lift up Baby Man on her own, so D1 said they'd bring him to his first Marlins game. He is 2, of course. I scored an extra ticket for Wifey, and the day was set.

I LOVE going to Marlins Park, since it brings me back in time to the Orange Bowl. Wifey and I indeed parked at a house where they promised "no blockie," the words anyone who went to the OB learned to confirm, lest they find themselves stuck. Well, in fact my $30 spot was NOT "no blockie," but since we stayed until the end, the Dodge Charger with the nice biracial couple from Atlanta got there when we did, and we were able to get out. I also suggested they visit Cafe La Trova, and the Cuban house owners nodded in agreement...

Anyway, we found our seats, and just before first pitch Barry, Donna, Scott, and Josh arrived. I was already on Tito's number one, to make the day very festive. I had been suffering from some ennui around my birthday, and yesterday was the complete cure. We caught up with Scott, and his wedding plans for March, and about the third inning he shared the news of the month, from his fiancee Sam, who was covering Biden for CNN over the weekend -- Biden had dipped. What do ya know?

Soon after, D1 and her men arrived, with the younger ones already eating ice cream out of Marlins mini batting helmets. When Wifey greeted Little Man, he explained he "was busy." Josh scored some delicious kosher hot dogs, and my grandsons were off and running -- they killed two big ones -- and later Donna bought them a third and they killed it, too! There was popcorn, and grapes Donna had in her bag -- the boys had a blast. And I got to explain a little baseball to Little Man, too.

We drank and laughed and it was truly a perfect day with dear friends and grandkids. At one point, Little Man hugged his brother, and I asked Scott and Josh if this brought back memories. They said it did NOT -- no hugging for the Irish twins.

Wifey had handed me her phone before the Titos, and forgot. I had put it in my pocket, and Wifey asked me to call it, thinking it had fallen to the floor. We heard it, and asked the 3 young guys in the row in front to please check if that was where the ringing came from. After about 15 minutes, I realized the ringing was coming from my OWN shorts. Barry said he would remember this clear case of senile dementia forever.

As Donna was helping in the search, she found a Louis Vuitton walled beneath our seats. Ah -- must be D1's -- she would indeed have a designer wallet. I took it figuring I would give it back during the week -- she and her men had left a bit before us, and I came up with the good idea of dinner at Versailles, since Scott had never been, and it seemed like the perfect way to cap this perfect Miami day.

Josh had driven himself, and Wifey and I bought met him outside -- there was a half hour wait -- many Marlins and Mets fans had decamped to Versailles -- great minds, and all that.

I reached into my pocket and opened D1's wallet -- but it wasn't hers! There was a NY Driver's license, 2 AMEX Platinum cards, 2 premier Visa cards, and a BJ's Wholesale card. Wifey said the wallet was at least a $500 model.

Well -- modern times -- in minutes Josh and Wifey got the phone number of the woman and knew ALL about her -- she was a corporate lawyer for Assurion Insurance, in NY, and lived in a $1.5M house she had bought for $800K. Her last name was Simrun, with a vaguely Latin sounding first name. I texted.

During dinner she replied with "OMG -- thank you SO much. " She was indeed traveling, staying in the Gables, and could her sons come to where I was to fetch the wallet. Clearly, she couldn't have flown home without her ID. 

We joked about putting the dinner tab on one of her Platinums, but it was just joking.

So after we spent a combined half hour rescuing this ditz lawyer who dropped her precious ID and credit cards, her sons called me and I met them in front of Versailles. They said their mother INSISTED on paying our dinner tab -- it was the least she could do since my kindness saved her thousands of dollars in additional hotel fees, and tens of hours of time replacing all the cards.

Ha! As if! The boys took the wallet, offered a quiet "Thanks," and that was it.

Now I could simply have left the wallet at the restaurant. Wifey said we should have mailed back all the cards and kept the Louis. Ha. We would never do that.

But as I drove home, it DID bother me -- woman could have at least offered a reward -- I would have told her to give to charity -- to thank whatever higher power she believed in for her great fortune that I was the one to deal with her carelessness.

Years ago, I left a cell phone in a NYC cab, and Wifey tracked it down. The driver dropped it at my hotel while I was at dinner, with his card. When I got back to Miami, I sent him a thank you note with a $50 bill wrapped in it.

But I guess most folks just assume good things should happen to them, and show no gratitude.

No matter. Wifey drove us home, and I had tremendous gratitude for the day I was given --and the Marlins even won -- to Barry's slight annoyance.

Indeed, it was a banner Sunday in the park and Cuban restaurant. That's as great as it gets.

Is It Possible For Air To Feel Heavy?

 So we are indeed in the dog days of Miami Summer. Joelle and Kenny left earlier this afternoon, and just walking him to the car with a bag, since staying at Villa Wifey includes bellman service, the heat was oppressive. Kenny, ever the scientist, reminded me that in fact colder air was denser and therefore "heavier." But it's plain hot as hell.

Joelle's procedure went well, though poor thing is still in a lot of pain. Last night, Kenny ordered Di Napoli, and Wifey went and fetched it along with a pecan pie and some vanilla ice cream. We watched an episode of "Masters of the Air," which Wifey and I recalled we had already started, and then it was time for bed.

I arose early on the first day of my 64th year and spent it,unfortunately, age appropriately -- I went for PT for my "Old Man's Neck." The PT Jorge LOVES early soul music, and we dug Bill Withers and the Commodores as I stretched and built up the muscles that will hopefully decrease the feeling of a spider web on my arm.

Wifey left for the Ds -- pilates with D2, and an afternoon with our young men. I took a much needed nap -- I had thought Kenny and Joelle were staying through Saturday -- but Wifey reminds me Allison is due over tomorrow to help finish the front porch project.

Sunday I have NINE tickets to the Marlins, 7 of which I have distributed to Dr. Barry and Family, and D1 and Joey and their men. Baby Man's first game!

My first game was at Shea Stadium when I was 5 -- my grandsons are ahead of the curve.

Wifey and I spent some time last evening on a conference call with Eric and Dana -- planning a trip for next May. Wifey is savvy -- she knows travel holds little excitement for me, but if my dear friends are part of it -- I'll go to Cleveland.

So this trip starts in Budapest and follows the Danube to Prague. I did a Danube cruise with the D2 in 2011, while Wifey was home and not traveling on account of a bad back. But this trip is on a Tauk tour, which is supposed to be the Ritz Carlton of tour companies.

We booked air through them, which we can cancel up to January, but Eric found a pretty intriguing deal -- on Turkish Air. If you fly Business, they include 2 nights in a 5 star hotel in Istanbul -- and Istanbul is not too far from Budapest. We might opt for that -- tacking on a few nights in the former Constantinople -- this is still up for discussion.

Eric and I laughed. When we lived together in grad school, hotels meant, if at all, Holiday Inns. This trip will cost more than my yearly salary as a lawyer -- THREE years after I passed the Bar!

I asked Wifey if maybe we should spend less to leave more for the Ds. That was a hard "NO!" Of course I agree -- if the Big Man keeps us around for most of another year, it'll be a fine trip.

But the travel funds are NOT unlimited, and since we have an expensive LA trip for a wedding in October, and I'm taking 9 people to the Big, Fat, Media personality wedding in D.C. in March, I dipped on a Tampa trip to see the Canes and eat at Bern's in the Fall. I can watch the game on TV, and have a steak at the Palm afterwards...

Besides, Wifey is still on the travel hunt -- looking into more cruises for her and her friends where I will happily stay home and watch the remaining dog, Bo, the Special Needs Spaniel.

For now, though -- just nice to be seen. And poor Dana -- she knows my puns are coming on our trip. I already reminded her that if things go badly in Prague, we'll be bounced Czechs...

Yeah -- I need some new material.

My 64th Year

 Denis Leary said there comes a time in a man's life when he ought to realize his birthday is no big deal -- and that's probably age 8 or so. I used to agree with him, until I believed in the Big Man, and now I see things in a different light.

Since I truly believe my life is the supreme gift from Him, it seems graceless to fail to honor that gift -- and the time to do that is with the passing of each year. So though I don't want any big parties, or weekends away, I DO acknowledge today, and give thanks for it.

We're hosting Joelle and Kenny, and yesterday her reconstruction surgery went well. Paul was in Kendall on some step son car business, and Kenny was on vigil as Joelle got her procedure, so the 3 Ashkenazim, one pure Philly, one pure NY, and Kenny, the half breed, all met at Roasters for lunch.

Kenny got the call that all had gone well, and left for South Miami Hospital, the place both Ds were born, and Paul left for errands and I came home. Later in the evening, Kenny came home -- Joelle opting to spend a night the better to control post surgical pain, and Kenny is already gone this am to SMH. Hopefully she comes home later, and I'm guessing we bring in some dinner to celebrate, hopefully, the end of her long slog of treatment, and my birthday as well.

I spent some time grappling with tech, which I don't do well, and accomplished something worthwhile -- I transferred Marlins tix I bought to Barry, D1, Joey, and kept 2 for myself. Scott is flying in this weekend for his Dad's 61st, and I scored us some Fish tix -- close to the plaza, for bathroom ease of access as well as food.

It'll be Baby Man's first game! At 2 -- no ticket required -- I have a feeling he'll enjoy running around and eating a hot dog than he will watching the last place Marlins.

So as I was writing, and preparing to go to my workout, a text came in: the Ds had ordered a surprise Uber Eats breakfast from Boulangerie, a great local French place. Since it's Miami, the owners are Venezuelan Jews Jonathan knows -- but quite delicious. Since Wifey was fast asleep, I called my trainer and told him my birthday workout was not to be -- omelettes and croissants trumped that.

Shortly after the food, Kenny and Joelle arrived -- Joelle in pain but doing pretty well. We ate, and after we finished, Wifey made her way down. As D1 noted, the early bird got the nutella croissant, but Wifey was taken well care of, nonetheless.

I plan to spend this day doing pretty much nothing. Hopefully Joelle rallies and we can bring in some good dinner -- to toast another year, and, very critically, my dear friend's being past a nasty medical diagnosis. 

That would be the sweetest gift of all.

Death Day

 So yesterday, the anniversary of my Dad's death, turned out to be all about the hereafter.

First, Wifey and I met the affable Kenny the funeral sales guy at 1130 at Mt. Nebo, where her parents are buried. Kenny used to own sneaker stores in the area, and we have many connections. He sold them and went into sales for the dead. I suspect he does very well.

Turns out -- a traditional Jewish funeral is VERY expensive -- even one without any bells or whistles. The cemetery sells plots for $12K each. Luckily, resourceful Wifey found some on the secondary market -- for $5K each, from an ex pat Miamian named Leah. More about her later.

Ok,so far, not so bad. BUT...you have to buy a concrete liner, pay for the digging up and filling in, transit from the dead Jew depot in North Miami, where all bodies are prepared. I never knew "casketing" was a verb, but it is.

And then you have to pay for the markers, the service, etc, etc, etc...Even with the $14K savings, the whole in deal is about $18K per person. They let you finance about $10K of that for 5 years at zero interest. I typically pay off all debts, but I figure maybe not paying off this one cosmically guarantees us at least another 5 years on the earth.

The good news is, now, when the time comes, the Ds just make a call and all is taken care of. Kenny said we could "prepay" for the Rabbi. No way, I said -- freaking Yossi or one of his rabbi sons will OWE us -- they better be available.

I completely see why my father opposed this, and opted for a simple cremation, which runs about $1500 all in. But, my heart, and now Wifey's, tell us we ought to have traditional Jewish funerals -- and so we shall -- hopefully in many years.

So Leah, the seller of holes, is someone Wifey found online -- an Ebay for the Death Industry called, for real, gravesolutions.com.

Leah graduated Beach High in 1960, and lives in Harlem. What? White Jewish artists live there again? Apparently they do. Now THAT would have cracked up my Dad.

We spoke to Leah and then emailed her, and she is getting together all the paperwork -- deeds and such -- from her father's purchase of plots at Mt. Nebo in 1965.

She has a daughter, in her 50s, it appears, who is opening an expensive aromatherapy salon in Wynwood this Fall -- we already have invites, and Laura, the daughter, thinks I'm hilarious. She said she would give us free aura readings, and I asked her what happens if my aura reader flees in terror?

Funny how you can meet people and make friends -- over never used gravesites, it turns out!

So the other good thing, as Barry pointed out he learned from his brother in law when he paid for his mother's funeral --you get a lot of frequent flyer points. And so we will.

I joked with Wifey that this expensive funeral business means we can't take an expensive Danube River trip we're discussing with Eric and Dana next Spring. As I expected, her reply was "Over my dead body!"

Yes -- the jokes write themselves when dealing with this stuff.

After hours with affable Kenny, we went to Matheson Hammock, to honor my parents. Wifey walked through the mangroves to the spot we illegally put in my Mom's cremains.

I told Dad I had NOT followed his footsteps, and instead opted for a traditional Jewish burial. It got quiet, and maybe I heard the breeze through the tropical trees say "Schmuck!"

Nah. Like the rest of my religion, which makes me the total outlier in my family, it's in my heart.

I was telling my California sister about the purchase, and she told me in so many words that I was an idiot to spend this kind of money.

I didn't rise to the bait, and start auditing a list of questionable life choices we may have each made. Rather, I asked her plans. She had none. I guess that IS a plan -- let your kids worry about it.

I don't plan on ever buying any new real estate. If we DO sell Villa Wifey -- renting ought to suit us just fine.

So now, once the paperwork is vetted, including an affidavit from Leah's sister living in France, we will own a couple of pieces of land West of the Palmetto, between Miller and Sunset.

And I will ask the Big Man to please prevent us from having to move there for a very good, long while.

Bastille Day And Other Reasons To Remember July 14

 So today is Bastille Day. It's also my dear friend Mike's birthday -- he's up in North Carolina, and took Loni to see Journey and Def Leppard in ATL last night. He planned to stay at their vacation house for the month of July, but then his daughter in law dashed the plans by having a grandson. Loni misses the baby too much -- they're coming home to Miami this week.

Despite being born 4 days apart, in Queens and Miami, Mike and also have in common amazing fathers. Mine was a WW II veteran, Ed a post Korean War era veteran.

Ed was a great mentor and father figure to me, as well as to many of Mike's friends. Like my Dad, Ed died at 63 -- of cancer, instead of the heart attack that took my Dad.

I texted Mike today and said as much as we adored and loved our Dads, and followed their life paths as kick ass Dads -- maybe we ought to live longer than 63 -- especially since Mike is now and I will soon be...63. The Big Man decides.

July 14, 1982 was the worst day of my life, and I never cried or lost it at all. My job was to be strong for my Mom, who had lost her life's partner, and cried and lost it plenty enough for both of us.

I never "got over" my Dad's death. The Ds both texted me today, knowing full well this day of infamy in our family history. Both are sad they never met him -- but my oldest grandson bear's Dad's name.

I spoke so much about my Dad during their childhoods -- they feel they DO know him. And that gladdens me.

And, by coincidence, Wifey and I have an appointment at 11:30 with an undertaker, to buy some small amounts of Kendall real estate. Is it a coincidence? Rabbi Yossi would say it is not -- I picked this day to honor my Dad, even though he chose cremation and dispersal at sea.

Who knows? Maybe on our way home, Wifey and I will stop by Matheson Hammock, and talk to both Dad and Mom.

Man, those years fly by. I recall the Summer of 1982 in great detail. After a few days, I went back to my Summer job at Jordan Marsh, and then back to Coral Gables for senior year. I experienced chest pains, and got my first EKG -- at the suggestion of Bob Davidoff, family friend and neurologist. He suspected they were psychomatic, as they used to call it, and he was correct.

I then spent most of the year feeling detached. I would sit in class and feel I was looking down at myself and my classmates. Years later I learned this is a common psychological condition for post trauma people. Little by little, I "came to myself," as my Mother would have said.

I applied to law school -- just 2 -- UF and UM. I got into both right away, and actually was ready for an academic change -- Gainesville seemed like a cool place to study. But I knew my Mom still needed lots of help -- she had never paid a bill or balanced a checkbook, and so I took out loans for the private UM.

It's funny. My brother of another mother Eric had a grad school decision, too. He got into Yale! He asked me what I thought, even though we had plans to live together, along with Barry, a college senior. I said go to Yale -- what an honor!

Eric ended up NOT taking my advice, and stayed at UM with a scholarship. He grew closer to his girlfriend Dana, who became a third roommate for awhile, before her parents suggested maybe she spend weekends in her own dorm. But it worked out great -- they married and build a wonderful life together -- 3 grandkids, and a 4th on the way.

And Barry dipped on us, as the Millennials say, forcing Eric and I to find a different apartment than the 3 bedroom we were going to rent. And that led to me meeting Wifey -- so that worked out, too.

So today, I honor my late father. And I ask the Big Man to give me many more years than He gave him. I got lots of memories to make -- and lots to do!

I miss you Dad and love you eternally.

The DEAD Center of the Room...

 When your most beloved person in the world, your father, dies in your arms a few days before you turn 21, you MAY become sort of aware of impending mortality. At least I did, back on July 14, 1982.

Over the years, I have played a dark parlor game of being the first to tell my friends when someone dies, particularly if they're our age or younger. I guess it's my way of reminding us all that, as Jim Morrison wrote, no one here gets out alive.

Dad was an iconoclast -- raised Orthodox, but never felt it. He was proudly Jewish and a Zionist, but felt the religion part, the hocus pocus, as he called it, was silly. When it came to thinking about his burial, he was also a product of his hero, Ralph Nader, champion of the consumer, who wrote stinging exposes of the horrors of the funeral industry -- how they prayed on grieving survivors for great profit. He was correct, of course. Over my career, I have seen how funeral directors indeed exploit poor families -- having them give up life savings since the decedent "deserves the best."

So Dad acted -- he decided he wanted to be cremated, at the time by a newly formed company, the Neptune Society, which did the burning, and then spread the cremains at sea (supposedly), and then giving the family a certificate with the coordinates of where the spreading took place. When Dad died, at Bethesda Hospital, I asked the social worker to contact Neptune, and they did, and about a month later we got a bill for a few hundred dollars and a letter stating Dad was put into the ocean off Pompano Beach.

Mom wanted the same -- she actually prepaid for her cremation, reminding me yearly of that fact. In her final, addled 11 months, a frum doctor tried to talk her out of it to opt for a Jewish funeral with burial. I stood up to him -- reminding him my Mom had her wishes, and his duties were to the living, not any afterlife. He backed off, when Mom died the Neptunes came, and a few weeks later sent me a FedEx with a wooden box inside of which was a heavy plastic bag sealed with a lead  seal. The following day, the Ds, Wifey, and I spread Mom's cremains into Biscayne Bay off Matheson Hammock.

I wanted the same, and Wifey agreed. First, avoiding the "final rip off." Also, Wifey liked the idea of our heirs visiting us at the beautiful ocean. I had converted Wifey, though her parents opted for a traditional service. A few weeks ago, we went for my suegra's memorial -- 2 years had passed.

But I had a change of heart. I guess the decades of Rabbi Yossi and Paul's entreaties got to me. That, and the fact that I had a change of heart -- why not do it the traditional way? Wifey said, in effect -- no way, buster. You convinced me, and into the ocean we're going. I was fine with that, but at a family dinner, the Ds and sons in law chimed in -- they all felt we ought to go traditional. 

And Wifey came around -- fine -- but she wasn't going to do any of the planning! I called Mt. Nebo the following day, and spoke to Kenny, the undertaker. Sunday Wifey and I have an appointment to maybe buy some small amounts of real estate.

Turns out, they're running a special: zero financing for 5 years. I never finance anything, but I figure if I do that, Wifey and I get to live at LEAST another 5 years.

We'll choose the simplest, of course -- just a graveside service, and plain coffins, and a small marker. I have an entire BAG of funeral puns that I am sure Kenny has heard thousands of times, but will from me just the same. "So Kenny -- everyone needs a friend to let them down one last time, right?"

The Ds are on their own -- too young to consider these issues -- and I am NOT buying a family plot -- they're like $40K! 

I'm not sure whether there is space near my suegros -- doesn't matter to Wifey and me where we go. It would be the supreme irony, though, if there was next world communication -- my in laws, may they rest in peace, were the most annoying people in my life. An eternity of questions and being talked AT by my father in law...

So the plan is to get 'er done and hope the Ds don't have to deal for a good, long time.

Our Baby Man turned 2 yesterday, and we're fetching him at camp today, with his dog Lemon in tow. We took Lemon to Homestead yesterday, to a doggie cardiologist. Cavaliers have heart problems, and D1 wanted her new, shy puppy checked out -- he is completely normal.

So Lemon will get some of  Baby Man's cake this afternoon.

Yes -- much better to do the living things in life -- but ya gotta deal with the death crap, too -- or someone does.

Down At The Capital Grille

 So Paul and I decided to celebrate our 30th anniversary as a law firm this November -- and one of two places would have been natural: Tobacco Road or Capital Grille. Well, the former is knocked down, and too casual, and so we decided on the latter. We had some business yesterday, and decided to meet there for lunch.

Paul has been telling everyone that this is "All Dave's party" - he is paying for half, of course, but has handed off all decisions to me. So I arrived at the Grille a few minutes late, on account of the stupid Brickell Bridge being up, and Paul had the event manager Beatriz at a bar table, and had already changed the location of the event, was going over menus, and negotiating for no corkage fees for some fine wine we plan to bring.

I love my big brother so. You really have to -- he can sometimes, as in most times, NOT be the easiest guy. As it turned out, he picked an awesome room, and of course the most lavish of the three catering menus, and I am in full agreement. I guess I should be, since it's MY party...

Anyway, we then retired to a 2 martini lunch, and a trove of tales over the three decades, nearly all happy and positive. One funny one that wasn't happy for a friend  came to mind.

Years ago, Joelle was in Miami interviewing for a job with FIU Law. She met Mike and I for dinner at the Grille, and the plan was for me to drive her home where she would spend the night at Villa Wifey.

We sat, and Joelle, a moderate drinker, was pounding cocktails like I had never seen. I figured that maybe the interview was pressure packed, though I knew FIU coveted her greatly. Even Mike noticed -- when Joelle got up for the restroom, he said "Man -- those law professors know how to drink!"

On the drive home, she called Kenny. He asked about dinner, and she said "The place was PACKED with them." Turns out, Joelle has a serious phobia of taxidermy, and the Grille has TONS of animal trophies. I think we sat under a moose head like the one in the great scene from "Arthur." Joelle was trying to mask her phobia!

I asked why she didn't tell us -- we happily would have changed venues -- but she didn't want to be THAT kind of guest! She survived, as does the tale -- I took a photo yesterday and asked her and Kenny to guess where I was lunching. Joelle said even the photo triggers her.

Another favorite tale was "Sweet Al," a young lawyer who used to refer us cases. The secretaries adored him -- he was so boyishly handsome and, seemingly, naive. He was married to a dentist, and one of his cases hit big -- we had a co-counsel check for him for about $250K. Paul invited Al and his wife to lunch -- we wanted to celebrate and let his wife know how there was big money in doing business with us.

Al asked for 2 checks: one for $240K, and one for $10K. I complied, and at lunch he proudly took out the smaller check and showed his wife. "Honey -- look! These guys gave me a check for about 1/4 of my salary! How great is that???" Paul and I nodded and smiled.

Another evening, which I recall each time I use the restroom, involves the old fashioned phone booths they used to have. In the pre smart phone days, the Masters of the Universe could duck into one, and handle major deals.

I walked out of the Men's Room and saw a woman I knew -- Jewish Kendall wife and mother. She was, well, hot and heavy with a fellow. I thought how nice -- couple married probably 20 years still so into each other. But then I recalled her husband had a full head of hair, and her phone booth partner was bald.

Her eyes met mine, and she put her finger to her lips in the universal "Shush!" sign. I did, but chuckled to myself whenever we would run into each other at JCC or other Jewish events.

In the same vein, one night I was at dinner with Paul's friend Alan, before he was disbarred. His live in girlfriend was a Professor of Philosophy at an Ivy League School. Ha. Just kidding. She was a stripper he met in South Dade. She had her sister and some friends along -- I think Wifey had canceled at the last minute, and I was hungry, and so tagged along. The girls were so loud after drinks, the manager asked us all to leave. I did, for home, and I think Alan and crew decamped to Tobacco Road, where noise is allowed, or was.

Three Julys ago, I turned 60. I decided to celebrate MY WAY, like the Chairman, and had those near and dear who didn't mind the cost meet for a weekend at the Key Biscayne RC. It was a banner weekend. That Sunday, the Ds and their men wanted to celebrate, too, and we met at the Grille. Alyssa, who's like another daughter, and her wonderful husband Freddy were surprise guests -- and the fun continued.

I began my 61st year of life as one lucky, rockin' Daddy in the USA.

So here's to the coming 30th. Three decades as law partners -- not too many firms last that long. We have, and continue to limp along.

Life is Short Even in its Longest Days

 The title is a lyric from one of my favorite's: John Mellencamp. I always dug the Hoosier Springsteen, and last night as I channel surfed, came across an interview Bob Costas did with him last year, from the Met in NYC where some of Mellencamp's paintings were being shown. Talk about talent!

Last year at the Grammy's, the small town Indiana Catholic spoke out huge against anti-semitism --saying he owed his career to Jews he had met along the way, as did the majority of those now hostile to my peeps. Righteous. And completely self deprecating, too.

Costas could NOT get Mellencamp to admit he was anything more than amazingly lucky. He said plenty of people write better songs, sing better, play guitar better, and are far more handsome.

Costas argued with him -- he had been to Mellencamp concerts and his songs "got me up to dance." Yeah -- so would a lit match to your butt" was his reply.

He is also at peace with being 70 - said it feels silly singing songs like "hurts so good now." They may have made sense in his 20s, but at 70? "What's it mean to me -- I chase my wife around the house with a fly swatter?"

One of my favorite law biz trips involved Mellencamp. My late boss had a Quixotic case against Mercury Marine -- suing them for failing to have a kill switch, which caused our idiot client to fall into the water and get chopped up pretty good by his own boat. The case holds many memories, including an evidentiary hearing in Ft. Myers about Ed's telling me to leave an inspection when defense counsel failed to show -- based on the fact that Indiana didn't follow Daylight Savings Time, and so defense counsel got the time wrong. One of the lawyers, Mike Buckley, died young a few years back.

But my Mellencamp memory was a drive. I had flown into South Bend, and had to drive miles in late afternoon rural Indiana in October. I noticed the previous renter of my Hertz had left a cassette in the player -- it was Mellencamp! So he was with me for hours as I drove those shadowy two lanes in the fading sunlight -- amber waves of grain indeed. I still think about that drive.

So his new song "Longest Days" comes from something his 102 year old grandmother told him as he was dying -- "life is short even in the longest days."

It reminds me of the line D1 loves, and understands now that she has 2 young sons: "The days are long but the years are short." Amen.

Mellencamp said that when he was a small child, he and 4 other kids got surgery for spina bifida. The other 4 died -- Mellencamp survived.

He explained to Costas he NEVER forgets he is the luckiest son of a bitch in the room -- and his "charmed life" proves it to him each day.

He wrote "Jack and Diane" in 10 minutes when he was 25. Costas praised its universality. Melencamp said "It appeals to the lowest common denominator."

So humble. So cool.

Paul and I spoke today, about an upcoming trip he has, and it's "obscene cost." I reminded him, not that he needs reminding, that his best college friend, Frank, and second best law school friend, Alan, are both long dead. Does money matter to them?

Wifey and I are due to leave here around 5, for a stop to see the boys before they go to sleep, and then a pregame at D1 and Jonathan's house, and then dinner at The Palm.

Jonathan turned 32 the other day, and I turn 63 in 12 days -- tonight is our combined birthday dinner.

Yep -- like Mellencamp, I am the luckiest son of a bitch I know -- even luckier since my Mom was not in any way a bitch -- but it's a great term. I guess the Spanish Hijo de Puta is more powerful, but son of a whore always struck me as too harsh -- better a bitch.

I plan to savor this Saturday night in hot, sweaty Miami. As I walked this am, I ran into neighbor Gloria -- who asked what the hell we were doing here -- we both have friends who have decamped North for milder weather.

But the truth is -- no place on earth I would rather be -- even in these long, dog days of Summer.

Fourth of July

 So I began my Independence Day with fine workout with my trainer, Jonathan, and we talked, as usual, about everything. He's a great young man -- Dad is Israeli Canadian and Mom Israeli. Jonathan was born in Miami, and did NOT follow his Dad into medicine -- he wants to own a gym someday, and I believe he will.

And then I drove home, and put on some patriotic music on Sonos -- to get into the mood. Because for me, July 4th really IS a big deal. I'm third generation American and have not lost the appreciation for the US my grandparents had when they crossed the ocean in the early 20th century to escape Czarist Russia.

It's easy to become disenchanted, given our current state of affairs -- an upcoming election between 2 narcissists -- one probably less senile than the other. And Biden, in refusing to drop out of the race, is no less a narcissist than Trump, in my opinion. Both of these assholes clearly care about themselves more than the US -- but as we learned -- all things pass.

Dr. Barry has an interesting angle on how great the US is. When he was the director of his Residency Program, he got thousands of applications from all over for the 22 spots -- and many had heartfelt tales of wanting to be in the US more than anything. We used to joke that he ought to take some of these baby docs instead of the spoiled US trained ones -- so he could get daily car washes. He took the high road -- and has a dirty car.

My early memories include July 4th. First, school was out, and I got to play my beloved baseball all the time -- Levittown Little League, beginning when I was 7, turning 8.

On July 4th, my Mom would pack a delicious picnic basket, and we would spread a blanket at Salisbury Park, later Eisenhower Park. I got to take a friend or two, and we would laugh each year as my Dad gave his Dad descriptions of the amazing sky show: "That one is spaghetti. No -- maybe more linguine!"

As I got older, my idiot friends and I did our own shows, typically at my friend Mark's house, where we would make our own VERY powerful explosives -- using hoses and gunpowder we'd extract from slicing open hundreds of firecrackers. But for the grace of the Big Man, none of us were hurt or maimed, though my friend Eric G still has hearing loss from one firework exploding right my his head. Again -- idiot boys. My poor daughter has 2 to deal with...

When we were 17, using our fake IDs, we went to Beefsteak Charlies and drank a lot of beer and sangria, and then ambled to the aforementioned Eisenhower Park looking for Long Island-esses. I don't recall we were very succesful.

When the Ds were little, the best July 4ths were at the Biltmore in Coral Gables. Some years we'd stay over, to have easy access to the great fireworks and Pops concert on the golf course. When I was really in the chips, we leased a cabana, too. I recall D1 being way impressed that I knew the Miami Dade Mayor Alex Pinellas -- we were law school mates. His career as a politician never really took off after the mayorship.

This year, D1 is due over with Little Man in a bit -- a July 4th brunch at her friend Nicole's Mom's house is luring her here. Joey is watching Baby Man, and then they'll switch off -- Joey is taking Little Man to Miami Shores CC to watch fireworks later -- with his parents, my wonderful consuegros, in tow. 

Wifey and I bowed out, since we'll be seeing both boys Saturday, before the combined Grandpa Dev and Jonfin birthday dinner at the Palm.

Ah, the Palm -- that's a nice memory, too. Our dear friend Elizabeth was in town, and the Palm offered a NY Strip for $17.76 to celebrate the day. We went with Norman and Deb, and drove to D1's Brickell apartment to watch fireworks from her balcony -- that must have been '11 or '12.

Speaking of Dad jokes, I always get to tell a tired one: Wifey is unimpressed by the holiday, since being married to me, she sees fireworks every night. Ha. As if.

So maybe as Little Man runs around, I'll get to tell him a little something about the birthday of the USA. Of course, when he hears "birthday," he'll ask about cake. I'm guessing he'll be getting some at the earlier brunch.

I also well recall the Bicentennial, in 1976. We watched fireworks at Jones Beach, and got to see some of the "Tall Ships" as they sailed West, towards NY Harbor. I guess 2026 ought to be a big deal -- 250 years old!

I hope to be here, and see what changes happen in the next couple of years. 

In the mean time, I am proud to be an American, and wish my dear nation a happy birthday.

A Quirk Of The Calendar

 Yesterday I spent a classic, semi retired, old man's day. First, I worked out with my trainer, after sharing with the CT scan finding about my "old man's neck." I then came home to meet Jorge, the PT who also does "needling."

Turns out, there's an American form of accupuncture, and it's called needling. A trained PT does it, and Wifey bought a package of 4, and it helped her. So Jorge let me use the 2nd two, and it seems to help. The funny thing is Jorge was also the guy to do my regular PT, and so at 3, I drove back to the old 'hood in West Kendall to his clinic.

He gave me an evaluation and is confident he can stop the pins and needles that annoy me during the day. I hope he's correct.

Later, I met Barry and Norman for a great dinner at Luna, across from our Adult Ed class. The class was interesting as they all are -- when does the Torah permit abortion. Cut to the chase: there are 2 schools of thought -- and one is when the mother's health is imperiled. We had lively discussion teasing out the subtleties of the arguments -- and of course Barry is the ringer in the group, as he navigates these issues all the time.

The final class is scheduled for July 9, but Rabbi Moshe told us he was going to NYC for a Rebbe related meeting, and so we would have to move the final class to July 16. I will likely miss it, as we will be hosting friends then, but I guess the schedule is fluid.

But tomorrow is July 4, and with the holiday falling on Thursday, I was taken back to one of the best bits of lawyering of my career. It began with a tragic car crash in June.

An aunt of a beautiful 4 year old girl put her niece in the front seat, essentially right under the visor sign that said "Don't put little children in the front seat -- in English and Spanish." Sure enough, there was a crash, the airbag deployed, and the little girl was left a quadriplegic. Her parents, a South American born mother who, I recall, looked like the actress Sonia Braga, and her Asian American husband, who was out at sea as a merchant sailor, hired us.

Mom and the little girl lived on one side of a duplex in Little Havana, and the aunt the other. Both shared the same street address, but one was "Unit 1" and the other "Unit 2." Tia had a $10K liability policy.

The $10K maybe paid for one day of the niece's care. My goal as a lawyer was to try to set up a bad faith claim -- asking the carrier to pay, and hoping they wouldn't. I explained the strategy to Mom and Auntie -- Auntie was of course willing to get sued for millions to help her beautiful niece -- I can imagine the guilt she had for her negligence and its tragic consequence.

So I prepared the demand letter, noting that July 4 was a Thursday, and demanding the company tender its limits on Friday July 5. I knew well that was NOT a legal holiday, but it was a de facto one -- most people would decide to take a 4 day weekend, and NOT work on the 5th.

I was one of them -- we shut down the office until Monday July 8. And when I arrived, sure enough -- no $10K check! I immediately prepared a lawsuit, served it on Tia, and a few days later got the expected paternal sounding call from a senior partner of a leading defense firm -- I'll call him Dan, since that's his name.

"I see what you're trying to do, David, but it won't work. We properly paid the $10K policy." I employed the jiu jitsu I often used with great success. "Oh Dan -- all that complicated insurance law is beyond me -- I just know I told your carrier they were facing a mult million dollar case, with only $10K in coverage, and they decided not to pay since they assumed Aunt and Mom shared a home? That's ok, but now I have to represent this little girl best I can."

Within a few months, after a few mediations, we settled for millions -- after some dark humor.

A key in assessing whether to settle the claim of a grievously injured child is how long the child will live to require expensive care. We hired the now retired Chief of Peds Neuro at a local hospital, and he testified that the child could live a normal span, WITH proper care.

Right after his depo, he called me back in to the office, savvy old salt he was, and asked if we had an offer. I told him we did, and he said "Take it. Poor kid won't last another 6 months."

We settled the case, and, sure enough, the poor, totally incapacitated child mercifully passed on.

Was I proud of my stategy? Hells yeah, as the hip hop guys say.

Paul and I had quite a few of these over the nearly 30 years (our anniversary is November) of our firm.

Playing legal chess made an otherwise ponderous career fun, sometimes.

And I recall that move each time July 4 falls on a Thursday.