Hobbled

 Man, this knee thing is a literal pain. After a day of doing nothing but icing, resting, and remembering I can't tolerate NSAIDS, Wifey sort of noticed my limp. Wow, she asked, was it really bad? I told her the pain for me was a 4 on a scale of 10, which would translate to a 9 for her. She doesn't tolerate pain. 

The good news is it is fine when I sit or stand in one place. When I walk -- yow! The Ibubrofen helped, as it's anti-inflammatory, but I immediately felt that awful queasy feeling, even with food. Nausea is worse for me than pain -- so Tylenol will have to do. Luckily, Wifey had some Voltaren gel, from one of her multiple bouts of arthritis pain -- maybe that helps, too.

I figure tomorrow I'll have to call our family ortho, Julio Robla. He's seen all of us -- great guy, went to UF Med with Barry. He's VERY proud of Barry's academic accomplishments. Julio's practice, including owning a surgical center, has been more money focused. Also, like many Miami Cubans, he's a major Zionist -- he proudly displays an IDF shirt he has mounted in his office. Every time the IDF or Mossad pull off some really amazing feat, he sends them a contribution. Last time Wifey was at his office for HER knees, he wanted to know all the details about her Dad's service during the Independence War.

Hopefully Julio or his PA will see me and prescribe PT. I'm guessing I just gave myself, mysteriously, a bad sprain. But since I love to walk at least 3 miles per day -- I'm totally sidelined, and that's an annoyance.

Meanwhile, some sad news: my old friend Stu's father Bill has left this mortal coil. Bill was terrific -- after a career in Philly managing medical practices, he and his wife Mona moved to So Fla and Stu hired him as his office manager. Stu's an only child, and the two are best friends. Bill was the mentally youngest of any of my friends' fathers. He was a HUGE Springsteen and Dylan fan -- we went to a great show in Broward with him years ago. He adored his family -- his grandkids, particularly Val, a local tech bro, visited him constantly.

Bill and I got to know each other well -- long talks in the office -- Bill came in until just a few years ago. He cared beautifully for his wife Mona, who has Alzheimer's. She survives him, and I imagine the processing of her husband of probably nearly 70 years is awful.

Bill had a bad fall in January, and that really seemed to accelerate the decline. Paul visited him, and we FaceTimed. Bill said he had 2 final wishes: to make 90 and to see his Eagles win one more ring. The Iggles came through in February, and Bill made 90 in March. Talk about a life fully lived! I thought about him all last evening.

As Kenny said recently about the loss of HIS Dad Manny, Manny wasn't a great man, but more importantly a GOOD man. That describes Billy from Philly to a T.

Bill said something that always stays with me. When you begin a night out, preferably at a place like Anthony's Runway , his favorite Italian place, you order a martini. When you hear the sound of the shaker, you KNOW a fun time is ahead. Amen. Bill's memory will be a blessing.

It's a rough week for wonderful, long lived Dads of friends. Norman's father Max, 97 and last season still attending Canes basketball games, has been having health challenges, too. He was in the hospital, and is now at a nursing rehab place in the Gables, "porpoising," as Wifey and my parents did. I told Norman I hope there are more ascents than descents. Like Bill, Max is adored by his family -- a much bigger one than Bill had. I hope we don't lose that amazing man for a good, long while.

So yeah, compared to that news, my bum knee ain't a hill of beans. But I sure do miss my walks -- hopefully Julio  can get me back on the street sooner than later.

Don't Even Know The Cause

 Ah, aging. Last night on a Zoom with Dr. Barry and Donna, he lamented that much of our conversation was about age related health issues and death. It was a very pleasant conversation for our virtually shared cocktails. What -- would he rather talk about sex? We did, in comical, old people fashion -- but then it was back to health stuff.

I shared my experiences at Band Camp, which were, thankfully all positive. I go back July 9 for the second and hopefully last session of this Summer with the affable Dr. Shah -- last time I was much improved for 5.5 years - that would get me to near 70 this time. I'll take it!

And then I shared an even more absurd thing -- I have a sprained knee. This is nothing new -- I first had a knee injury from a baseball slide when I was probably 16. The pediatrician referred me to an ortho, who without even examining me, started a whole leg cast. I asked him if he needn't examine me first, and he angrily pressed on my knee, eliciting pain, and said "THAT hurts, doesn't it?" I learned then what my many doc friends have confirmed over the years -- surgeons are often huge assholes.

But I got better, and continued to have the occasional knee issue -- typically from sports -- once from trying to lift my corpulent suegra back into the car after T Day -- her last one at our house. I hurt my shoulder AND knee that time -- the shoulder took months to heal.

Each time, though, I at least knew the trauma that caused the sprain. Thursday night, as I left a Happy Hour , I just started to limp. Yesterday. I met Paul and visiting from Philly Lou at Coral Bagels, and the pain was so bad I joked that I needed 80 year old Lou's cane more than he did.

I came home, iced the knee, and kept it raised. My limp was so bad that even Wifey, who typically might step over my collapsed body without noticing -- noticed. I usually take Tylenol for pain, but Donna reminded me that it wasn't particularly anti -inflammatory -- better take some Ibuprofen. I took 2, and this am the aged knee seems much better -- I took another Ibuprofen with a good deal of food -- last time I took it high dose it really bothered my stomach - and NOTHING usually bothers my stomach...

But as Tony Soprano always said -- Yeah, but what are ya gonna do? The great James Gandolfini, who played him, is long dead from a heart attack -- so that keeps me thankful to be around to kvetch about bum knees.

Meanwhile, as delis are important to me, I must note Coral Bagels has gotten much better. I was never a fan, but used to go when meeting someone from up north or Downtown. Pre Plague, I met Dr. Barry there one Saturday -- the food was mediocre, and the waitress kicked us out shortly after our plates were cleared -- "people waiting!" I then banned them from my list -- until a few years ago.

D1 had a medical appointment at UM, and afterwards had a hankering for deli, too. It was a Tuesday, and our usual Bagel Emporium was closed. So she suggested Coral Bagel, and we went, and it was fine. Plus, they had rainbow colored bagels (it's in Coconut Grove -- very LGBTQ - TDYUB friendly) and we were happy. I always add letters to LGBTQ since I want to leave room for newer variants not yet identified by my WOKE peeps...

Yesterday our lunch was great -- we all ate happily unhealthy deli meat sandwiches, and knowing Wifey's "language of love," I brought her a tuna sandwich on rye toast. Her language of love is when I bring her food she can eat without having to get up from her recliner -- or coffee in bed in the mornings. The latter has tapered off since she tends to sleep late.

No grandsons today, so I'll just rest the knee, and maybe head out to fetch a new pair of glasses ready at ForEyes. Of course, the first pair was ready yesterday, and I fetched them. ForEyes started in the Grove in the hippie years, and sure enough the guy in front of me was in his 70s, wearing a Dead T shirt, and had a gray pony tail. He must have followed his glasses store to Pinecrest.

Tomorrow it's a birthday party for Jonathan -- he turns 33 on Monday. His wonderful grandmother insisted on catering the thing -- D2 was going to just bring in sandwiches -- and I'm sure we'll have a fine time, though D 1 is in NYC for a friend's wedding, and the boys will be with their Dad.

Venezuelans sing a comically long birthday song -- I guess we'll see tomorrow if we get to partake in that.

Speaking of D2 and Jonathan, after lunch yesterday at Coral Bagels, I drove past the fraud townhouse they thought they bought, which ended up being sold to 3 other buyers, too. It appears that people are finally living in them -- I guess the receiver and his minions churned the case enough. I called D2 and told her things happen for a reason -- I was MUCH happier with the street where she lived than had she ended up in the Grove. Part of the Grove, where Kenny and Joelle live, has ALWAYS been delightful -- much of the rest of it has been gentrifying for years, and the street of the townhouse still has old, crumbling apartments across the street.

Miami Shores has always been lovely -- and as a Dad -- am happy they live there, even though the drive is double. 

That's ok -- for now, my aging tuches can handle the drive -- until some other body part inexplicably fails.

I've Seen The Lights Go Down on Broadway

 When I came of age on LI in the late 70s, NYC was a mess. My Dad's company was there, and he loathed having to travel in -- it was dirty and crime was soaring. We DID visit -- my sister lived in the late 60s on the UWS, and we had many fun family days, and my favorite childhood memories were visiting Greenwich Village -- my Dad's favorite part of the City.

But by the mid 70s, NYC was on the brink of bankruptcy, and though the Yankees were getting good again with Reggie Jackson, it was the time of "The Bronx is Burning" and Son of Sam picking off lovers in parked cars in the outer boroughs. The city leaders appealed to the Feds for help, and the Daily News famously captured the response from then President Ford. "Ford to NY: Drop Dead!" Billy Joel was inspired to write his "Miami 2017" about the exodus from his homeland to South Florida as NY descended into a dystopia. I also recall the movie "Escape From NY" about Manhattan becoming a feral penal colony as maybe not too far off.

Well, things got better -- a lot. Grown ups took over government, and the cops started their "broken windows" policy -- zero tolerance for even petty crimes, as these contributed to an overall feeling of lawlessness. Later to lose his mind Giuliani was an awesome mayor, followed by also effective Bloomberg. When D2 and Jonathan moved to the City in 2015, I was happy. It seemed safe. Wifey and I visited every few months, and I saw stuff like never before: literary pub crawls in Greenwich Village, Chelsea Market, way cool restaurants -- "Book of Mormon!" I maintain that is the finest Broadway musical since the likes of Rogers and Hammerstein...

But alas, things shifted. Maybe the cops were a bit heavy handed. Economic losers wanted free stuff. So they elected Bill DiBlasio, who I called the fake Italian on account of he really wasn't, and the guy was a disaster -- single handedly wrecking stuff that had been fixed. COVID hurt, too, but there was a major exodus of the economic winners -- Miami benefitted greatly.

Our hood, for years a landing spot for rich South Americans, started getting finance and tech bros from NYC and LA and Chicago. Recently, a house on 1.5 acres sold for a record $5.7M -- the buyer was a trust from Nevada, but next to it neighbor Walter tells me it was bought by a tech bro from LA -- moving his family and business here, to escape LA's dystopian government -- I just read their mayor Karen Bass was indeed a big fan of Fidel back in the day. Enough said.

Anyway, you would have thought NY voters would reject any candidate who promised, in effect, to "Make NY 1977 Again." They didn't -- yesterday the primary was a shocker -- a 33 year old with zero real life experience other than being the rich son of successful Muslims won. The Dude is openly anti-Israel. He promises free busses. Free stuff for everyone. Yeah -- this will work out just fine.

The opponent was Cuomo -- a warmed over former governor who campaigned with hubris like our local Donna Shalala had -- just assumed folks would vote for him. They didn't -- and it appears like the radical Muslim will be large and in charge come November.

The only benefit will be for South Florida -- plenty of rich folks will now REALLY escape from NY.

I truly fear for friends and kids of friends in the City. Sunday night we had our neighbor Gloria over. She owns a studio on the UES, which she uses to visit her son and his husband. She said the last time she was there, some mentally ill creep harassed her right on 5th Avenue -- in front of cops who did nothing!

As she said -- she's not young anymore, and able to run away. In our mid to late 60s -- we're true marks! She plans to limit her visits there -- the son and son in law can come here.

HL Mencken said it best years ago: "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people." Or maybe he was just paraphrased. But either way -- Leftys have shown their just as stupid as MAGA voters.

Until there is a "middle way," we're in for tough times. But I WOULD bet luxury house prices in Miami are poised to go up again.

Yesterday Was Just For Me

 Ah, my dearly departed Mom Sunny. She was so funny and quirky -- the very aspects about her we all remember so warmly. She was retired and widowed since 1979 and 1982, respectively, and had no financial worries. Her time was truly her own -- she volunteered religiously at Delray Hospital, and had a very active social life, but never had to do a single thing she didn't wish to -- I guess with the exception of health matters.

Still, every once in awhile, she would announce "Today is just for me!" Of course, every day was just for her. Another great Sunny ism was "If I had it MY way, I would see a movie every night!" We would point out to her that she ONLY had things "her way," but the thought that somehow she was beholden to others ran too deep.

I thought of her yesterday, as Monday was "just for me." We had a busy weekend, with D1 and the boys and the happy tumult of their energetic presence, and after they left Sunday afternoon Wifey and I hosted our neighbor Gloria. As I still enjoy romance in our lives, I set the table in the kitchen and lit a candle, and put on "Yacht Rock" since we and Gloria are of that generation. I ordered DiNapoli, which concerned me, as Gloria is Bronx Italian -- but she assured me it was one of her and her late husband Ben's go-to places.

I poured her champagne, and poured Wifey's Diet Ginger Ale into a champagne flute as well, and we spent a great evening talking of our lives, and how things happen you completely don't expect. Gloria's husband Ben was the picture of health -- he would lap me running the 'hood when I walked, and at Devonwood events made fun of my eating the pigs in blankets while he stuck to the crudite. But he had some sort of genetic predisposition to heart rhythm disorders, and he dropped in February of 2019 in front of our neighbor Brian's house -- an ENT who wasn't home. Brian's housekeeper saw it, and called 911, but Ben never regained consciousness, and died on Valentine's Day. He was 60 -- would be 66 now.

Gloria has kept on keeping on -- helping to run a big family business, and looking after her adult sons -- one is married to a nice fellow, and the other with, finally, a serious girlfriend. I can tell she's LOVE grandkids -- hopefully that happens for her.

She left, after we enjoyed the pastries she brought from the great bakery at Kings Bay. And so yesterday I summoned my inner sloth and never left the house until after sunset, and that was just to fetch the mail and retrieve the garbage bin. Just for me...

Today it's back to the gym, and then tomorrow afternoon one of my comical medical procedures -- a visit to, as I call it, Band Camp. It'll be my third visit over the past decade to get hemorhoidal banding, to keep this birthright from my father at bay.

My first visit was to a colon surgeon named Marcos Szomstein, a quiet and smart Venezuelan Jew, who seemed to take a LONG time attaching the bands. Sure enough, my former friend Vince, who is an anesthesiologist who worked with Marcos, said his nickname was "Slugstein," as he was indeed slow and plodding. I decided I needed someone more fleet of hand, and found a young Indian American fellow in the Grove. Alas, poor Marcos -- HE dropped of a heart attack a few months ago -- a few years younger than I am.

So I saw Dr. Shah in late 2019, and he did a fine job, but again, since this is comical, reported he ran out of the "O'Regan" bands -- I needed to come back. I did, a few days before D2 and Jonathan's wedding, which was a mistake. This time, I was left with one of the again, comical side effects -- an unrelenting urge to move my bowels.

Great, I thought, I ruined enjoyment of my daughter's beautiful Miami Beach wedding -- I'll be fleeing from the events all weekend. I called Dr. Shah -- no worries, he said -- take Tylenol. No, Doc - I don't have pain -- just this never ending urge. The man knows his tucheses -- and sure enough the Tylenol worked just fine.

Well, that was 5.5 years ago, and Band Camp beckons again. Hopefully this time no Tylenol treatments will be necessary.

So tomorrow will not be "just for me." It's nice when a day is, from time to time.

Sunday Morning With The Grandkids

 So it was an above average busy week around Lake Villa Wifey...On Wednesday, after waking up post Panthers Cup, I was walking and got a call from Dr. Green's office -- about the mole D2 wanted me to check out on account of it was bleeding. Sure enough -- squamous cell cancer. I joked that D2 saved my life, which is an exaggeration -- squamous and basal cancers rarely kill, but spread and require big chunks of skin to remove - melanoma is the killer. Still -- needs to come out.

I figured they would refer me to the walking DEI MOHs surgeon, Dr. Hermann -- a white, Jewish, Bahamian-American woman. Actually, I guess the white and Jewish parts cancel out the Bahamian. Nope, they said -- no MOHs needed -- this was a simple excision that they could do, though they don't take my big deductible Florida Blue Silver Plan, and it would cost "a few hundred" to do. I told them go ahead and schedule me -- so on July 1 I meet the knife, wielded by a Persian American surgeon named Dr. Zand -- which is short for a much longer name. I checked her out -- she's a beauty. So if she turns out to be Iranian and not Persian (IFYKY), she may go all cluster bomb on my arm -- that's ok.

D1 called yesterday at 11 -- she was nearing our house, boys and Spaniel in tow. Was there  lunch? There WOULD be, after a trip to Boulangerie, which, despite its French name, is owned by Venezuelan Jews. We had sandwiches ('sangwiches say my bilingual grandsons) and salads, and then I bought Little Man and me tickets to see "Elio," the new Pixar flick.

We loved it -- he sat through the whole movie, unlike our last try with "Moana II," which was, admittedly, tough to follow. Two tickets, a senior and kid matinee, kids' pack with popcorn, drink, and M and Ms, and an extra small popcorn for me: $65. No wonder people are complaining about inflation.

We came home, and D1 and I left the boys with Wifey for a few errands. I needed champagne for our friend Gloria, who is coming this evening, and that's all she drinks, and D1 bought some wine for a later pool party she's attending at Gables Club -- rich grandparents of a friend of hers. We went to Walgreens where she enjoyed the "Daddy Special," which happens when the Ds shop with me -- I pay the tab. D2 misses that service at Target...

After, we fetched some Anthony's  Coal Fired, and then it was bath time for the boys. Little Man got a story of the "Night Bird," a favorite I conjured up for his Mom and Tia D2, and Baby Man got to sleep with D1. Little Man doesn't sleep very long, and sure enough, around 430 am I heard the IPad going in the room next to ours, followed by his exploration of me at 5, and I let him into our bed, like I used to do with his Mom and Tia. 

He slept until first light, 6 am, and then it was off to House of Bagels. We ate alone, and little by little Baby Man and D1 and Wifey came to the table. We took a peafowl walk, D1, Baby Man, and I, with both Spaniels, and since D1 has an aversion to simply chilling (she's not the Commodores type of Sunday morning), she took the boys to her friend Steffie's house in Gables by the Sea, a short drive away. Wifey sneaked off for a nap, and I sit and drink coffee and write my silly blog.

The threesome will return before noon, for the aforementioned pool party later. Yes -- D1 keeps on moving...

Once again it hits home -- kids are for the young to raise and watch. I hope repeatedly that friends due to have grandkids get them sooner than later -- can't imagine being in my 70s and running around like they require -- especially, I think, energetic boys.

My Mom was in her 70s and we left her with the Ds when they were older -- grade school and Middle School -- and even then she asked her friend Rose to stay, too, since Rose drove in Miami and my Mom only drove within 5 miles of her Delray condo.

No -- babies would have been beyond my mother by the time D1 was born.

But man -- they are precious. D1 and I have talks about most everything now -- he is SO interested in figuring out how the world works. He teaches me, too -- I had no idea that narwhals had tusks and not horns...

So for now it's easy like Sunday morning. I may even put on some jazz -- until the happy hurricane returns. Yes -- the grandparent gig is a great one...

Like Finding a $20 Bill In Your Pocket

 As a young guy, certainly through my mid-20s, there were few small thrills as nice as reaching into your jeans' pockets and finding cash -- either a 5, 10, or 20 dollar bill. Man -- even though it was your money, it was like finding it on the street -- assets you forgot you had.

Yesterday, Wifey and I had an updated version of that, in the form of "dormant accounts." Years ago, Wifey started a jewelry business, where she bought really cheap costume stuff at a mart near MIA and sold it to friends and visitors. It started to make real money, and I told her she needed to incorporate and start paying taxes -- lest we invite an IRS audit from her fun hobby. That put the kibbosh on her business, on account of she didn't want to go to the trouble, but she had opened a checking account that we funded with probably $10K, at the newly formed BankUnited.

I had also opened a checking account with them, at the request of former SunTrust folk who started the bank -- probably just $1200 or so. In all honesty, over the years I totally forgot about MY account, especially since the interest was so low as to make it non taxable,and so no 1099s came my way -- same for Wifey's account.

Wifey WOULD get notices from time to time that she needed to do something or the account would go "dormant," and money eventually turned over to the State. She would go in and make a small deposit -- she thought the last time was last year. Turns out it was over 2 years ago.

I got a notice from BankUnited about dormancy, and I thought it related to Wifey's account. I had asked her over the years to simply close it and take the money, but on the advice of divorced friends, really one friend, she was told to always keep her own account -- I guess in case I somehow took all of our money and fled. Or in case she needed to flee without my knowing -- I didn't have, or care to have, any online access to her "In case Dave goes off the air" account.

Well yesterday I got Wifey to go with me, and we went to the BankUnited in Pinecrest, where a friendly teller checked my letter and closed the account -- balance of $1400. That was nice, but Wifey knew her account was larger. Sure enough, there was a "restricted" account in her name --restricted since it was dormant, and after a 30 minute wait for BU's "operations" the teller learned the balance was well over $17K. Wow -- found money!

It took another half hour or so, and a sign off by the manager, but we got our second check, and the accounts were closed. Nice! Nearly $20K of "found" money -- the updated version of finding the $20 bill. Of course, the trip we just took had an Amex bill that took care of the found money -- yes -- found amounts are bigger, but our expenses are, too. Wifey and I laugh at how somehow expenditures have changed since we were first together -- and neither of us really buy STUFF!

Anyway -- we celebrated by walking next door for lunch at Chipotle, where it was crowded with VERY young people -- even some Pinecrest cops clearly in their 30s. One neighbor, Walter, stopped by to chat -- he's in his early 50s and about to take his wife and 2 young daughters on an Alaska cruise -- we told him about our trip when WE had young daughters, too.

We had more banking to do. Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my suegra's death. When she passed, she had one Bank of America account, payable on death to the Ds, with a balance of $100.15. After I got her death certificate, I filled out a comically long series of papers, and sent them with the certified certificate to an operations center in Tampa, so the Ds could each get their $50 and change -- and we would close the account.

We never heard back from BOA, and for the last 3 years, we get monthly statements showing the balance. 

Yesterday we went to the Sunniland branch, and I showed the certificate and statement to the nice, corpulent bank officer. He said the Ds would need to fill out forms, and together visit a BOA branch to get the account closed -- though Wifey has POA, the Ds are beneficiaries.

So I'll turn over the paperwork to the Ds -- and leave it to them. Honestly, the time it may take with absurd BOA to get $50 each may not be worth it -- it'll be their call. If they leave it be, eventually the money WILL escheat to Florida, and someday they can apply to get it from the state.

Time, even for retired guys, is precious. Recently a friend told me he and his wife attended a time share lecture in Atlanta to get free tickets to the aquarium. These folks are millionaires, with multiple properties in Miami, and a new townhouse up north. I thought he was kidding -- he was serious.

Hey -- different strokes, I guess.

But Wifey and I are now hopefully done with dormant accounts -- though if it turned out that there was more forgotten money somewhere -- well -- that's a nice little thrill...

Cats Champions!

 What a night! Norman, OG Panthers season ticket holder, had his regular 4 seats and 2 Club seats for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final (no S, as Norman explained) and generously invited Barry, his old friend Jim, and me to go. The Club seats went to his boy Benji and Josh, Barry's son.

Norman and Jim came here, and we flew up the Palmetto to meet Barry at a sushi place near his house in Pembroke Pines. Barry and family often go to POC (either Port of Call or People of Color, depending on who you ask) which is an all you can eat sushi buffet. I'm not finicky, but refuse to go there -- since sushi is expensive, to me that place is salmonella waiting to break out.

Instead, we went to Blue Ginger, which was fine. Jim told us about his job as a former Federal PD -- he currently has ONE client, like Tom Hagen. His client is an accused Islamic terrorist who has been tortured and held at Guantanamo Bay for 20 years!!!! It is amazing -- guy is truly a man without a country.

After dinner, it was up to Sunrise. No one else was in the mood to drink, but it seemed to me that if you can't have a pop or two at a potential championship -- when can you? I made the aging bartender laugh with my tired line "I forgot my ID" and got my vodka. Later, Jim felt bad I was drinking alone, and he got a G and T at the bar right behind Norman's seats. Barry and Norman tee-totaled it. This concerns me.

The arena was truly electric, though the Panthers jumped out to a 2-0 lead, and the game was really well in hand. They scored 2 more times, and the low energy Oilers (Ha!) managed only one in garbage time, and the Cats won their second Stanley Cup.

There is truly no better award in sports than that silver chalice, with each player hoisting it high and kissing it and skating the rink. We stayed for the entire presentation, as did just about every other fan. Josh and Benji met us, and when the crowd thinned out, we decided to grab a late dinner meal -- it was now midnight, and we were hungry fans!

Well, Broward, at least the West part, is still kind of sleepy, and there is no 24 hour Pinecrest Bakery to visit. We settled on a Waffle House, which NEVER closes -- even during hurricanes, and drove our 2 SUVs there.

The staff was sitting outside -- they were "closed for cleaning." We discussed alternatives, but Barry was ready to go home -- he had a 730 Zoom meeting. The closure gave me grist for politically incorrect humor -- I decided the Black staff was discriminating against we cracker hockey fans. Not true, but why not play the victim of being a white fan of a VERY white sport?

We dropped Barry, and took 75 to the Palmetto, to see a sign that it was closed near Okechobee -- for resurfacing, it appeared. We jumped off at 103 Street and made our way through the heart of Hialeah, to LeJeune, and the Dolphins, and back to the Palmetto.

We got him nearly 2 am -- and it was worth it.

It's great when a region's team wins -- everyone is a bit happier, and high fiving about the ring, or in this case, Cup.

I thanked Norman for his generosity -- he could have sold our seats for thousands each, but chose, as I would have, to savor the evening. It's nice when we mules get a special night out.

So the Marlins are the third worst team in the Majors this season (and for foreseeable years to come), and the Heat were bounced from the playoffs first round. The Dolphins don't appear to be poised for greatness -- hopefully our beloved Canes can do it this year.

Just over 2.5 months until the home opener -- hosting hated Notre Dame! 

Maybe Norman and Barry will have a cocktail or two at that tailgate. The events are fine -- alcohol makes them better!

For now, though, I saw my first championship other than 3 Canes Orange Bowl ring winners.

It was quite a night!

When Life Throws You A Canceled Appointment; Make Chik-Fil-A

 So I had my old man errand logistics all planned for today. Get to Tire Kingdom at 8 for an oil change and tire rotation, and walk to my gym at 9 for my hour workout, and then back to TK for the fetch. I dropped off my man sized Caddy and chatted up the affable TK fellow -- a Cuban from Jersey who is a Yankees and DOLPHINS fan. He was born 4 years before Dan Marino started playing, and asked rhetorically "Who WOULDN'T have loved the Dolphins then -- Marino, Duper, Clayton?" I told him one of my dearest friends --that's who. Despite moving here in high school, Dr. Barry maintains his love for the Jets and only animus towards the Dolphins. I think it's part of his masochistic tendencies.

Anyway, as I walked outside and started West in the warehouse district, my trainer Jonathan texted -- he was "under the weather" and needed to reschedule. Of course, I COULD have still gone to the gym and worked out myself, but instead I took it as a sign from the gods of food, and instead turned around and headed towards a perilous crossing of South Dixie Highway. Actually, they say not to call it that anymore, on account of it insults the decreasing number of Blacks in Miami Dade (migration to Broward) for using "Dixie," and instead the road is now Harriet Tubman Parkway, a name I have heard NO ONE use.

Using the cat-like reflexes honed during my workouts (okay -- a very OLD cat) I crossed US 1 (I think that appellation is still allowed, though it may insult those who despise America) and got to the other side, where, a few blocks North, Chik-Fil-A beckoned.

I had never had their breakfast sandwich before, and, it was quite delicious. Just Saturday Loni had told me about their iced coffee, a daily post Palmetto teaching treat for her. Indeed, that was delicious, too. The comically friendly counter girl (in Chik-Fil-A you can still say girl) brought my order, and I DID say a prayer acknowledging Pride Day before I dug in. Man -- that was one fine fast food biscuit and chicken and iced coffee.

Since it's Summer and it was after 9, the aforementioned US 1 was not at all crowded, and my trek back across was easy -- and this time I made my way to the Busway.

This is a classic Miami Dade boondoggle. Since Metrorail was too expensive to extend from Dadeland to Homestead, they built a dedicated pair of lanes with new fangled busses that you board from raised platforms -- to make them train-LIKE. There are even crossbars at the intersections with the East-West streets, which so far have made traffic even worse!

Since everything is political, the busway is no different. Turns out that to Black people, busses are politically charged, and the community opposed the Busway -- they wanted trains, too. Well everyone does, but there didn't seem to be an extra few billion dollars around to build them. I guess I understand -- busses bring back memories of having to sit in the back of them, and signal poor people ridership instead of, I guess, middle class folks riding trains.

Then again, to MY peeps, trains can be triggering -- recall the packed boxcars on their way to Nazi camps. I guess we got over that.

Anyway, I fetched my car, and was told they repaired 2 nail holes! I hadn't known they were there -- but the man showed them to me. I was thrilled no new tire was needed -- the man sized Caddy is a lease, and due back September of 2026 -- with my reduced driving, this may have been my last oil change.

But I drove home and told Wifey this adventure, and as expected was greeted with "And you didn't bring ME anything from Chik-Fil-A!!!???" I explained that no, there was a walk, and an unknown wait, and so I opted to forego her "language of love," which she has made clear is being brought food and coffee -- particularly when she is in bed or enveloped in her recliner chair. No -- she would have to actually drive to the Jesus chicken place herself...

Dan the Gate Man is here, replacing our old system, and then in early afternoon I expect Norman and Jim here, to begin our journey North of the Miami Dade-Broward line, something I do less and less as that cranky old man I have become.

In case the Ds forgot, I reminded them that my number one criterion these days for a restaurant is whether or not they have easy parking -- that is more important to me than the cuisine or atmosphere.

But soon -- it's Go Cats! It sure would be fun to see them win the Cup.

My Sonos

 I always proudly proclaim that I don't care much about stuff. Except... I really DO dig my desk top computers, which I can type well on, the big screen TVs Wifey convinced me to get, and the Sonos, which Wifey also convinced me to get.

I'm really not at all how Sonos works, but I choose whatever music in the word I want to listen to, on one of 3 outlets. One is in the Family room, a sound bar under the TV, one is sets of speakers in the living room ceiling and under the front porch eaves, and I have a portable Roam device I can take anywhere.

Our routine is typically Wifey watching shows or old movies, and if I'm not napping or watching sports, I turn off the TV and turn on the music. I typically listen to WDNA, which has jazz and blues and Latin music, or a series of stations on Sonos Radio or Sirius/XM.

Tonight, I have on The Bridge, which is a Sirius/XM station featuring singer-songwriter compositions. As I type, I'm listening to Christopher Cross, after Carly Simon, after Steely Dan after James Taylor. Yeah -- my taste is stuck 40 years ago...

Occasionally, after a Zoom Happy Hour, Wifey will ask me to play DJ, and I'll play a selection of our music. Sometimes we even dance, if I put on The Ramones or B-52s. Yes, suburban life suits us just fine.

Ah -- now Jimmy is singing "Son of a Sailor." This makes me think of Key West -- been awhile since I've been there, and I do love it best in the Summer when it's less crowded, and Ocean Key House rooms are $500 per night instead of $1100 during season.

Tomorrow is a busy day for this lazy man. I have to get up early, and drop the man-sized Caddy SUV at Tire Kingdom for an oil change and tire rotation -- I'll walk to my gym from there, and if it goes like last time, the vehicle will be ready after my workout ends at 10.

After that, I'm rushing back home where Dan the Gate Man is installing a new board for our front gates -- I could have opted for a repair, but the board is jury-rigged from multiple insect incursions and prior power surges. I gathered all the openers, from Wifey and the Ds, and Dan will reprogram them once he's done.

In the afternoon Norman and his college buddy Jim are coming over. We will drive to Pembroke Pines in the hopefully newly oiled Caddy, and meet at a sushi place with Dr. Barry. We shall then drive to Sunrise for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals -- to see, I am confident, the Panthers win their second consecutive Cup.

Norman has season's tickets and was kind enough to invite us -- I'm sure he's giving up nearly $10K in potential sales to create this memory.

It occurred to me that I have only seen 3 championship games in my life -- the Orange Bowl victories that gave rings to my Canes. I've seen Marlins Series games, and Heat playoff games during their ring years, but never an actual championship. Go Cats!

So, to quote my favorite Alice Cooper ballad, that's enough for a working (formerly) man...what I am is what I am.

I recall that song from multiple LP playings the Summer of 1977. Come to think of it, it may be time for a play on Sonos.

Half Way/Half Way

 I try to keep track of the milestones in life -- I keep an old fashioned calendar in my closet, so each morning I remind myself of the date. And today is June 15th, which means we're halfway through the month whose end marks the half way point of this year - 2025.

Yesterday Wifey and I attended Teddy's first birthday -- Mike and Loni's wonderful grandson. Chris and Rachel just moved into a lovely, large house in Palmetto Bay -- Rachel's Dad Tony is a leading realtor, and he found the house for them and gave them a bridge loan until they sold their smaller, first house. As Mike noted, Chris has learned a key life lesson: never hurts to marry a rich girl. Alas, I never learned that lesson.

Teddy is a joy -- reminded us of D1, the world's easiest baby and toddler. I sent photos of the party to the Ds, and D1 noted it was classic "First grandchild vibes -- the next ones will be lucky to get a cupcake." She has my snarky sense of humor all right. I'm very proud of that.

As we walked back memory lane with Mike and Loni, we noted how time truly DOES change as you age. The 3 years of law school took FOREVER, or so it seemed. Now, 3 years of a grandson's life flies by supersonically. 

Mike joked at the end of the party that it was time for Teddy and Mike's afternoon nap. I took that as a fine suggestion, and came home and fell asleep, as I often do, to Smithsonian Channel's "Mayday -- Air Disasters." I'm not sure why I find these shows so soporific -- I guess it's the fact that I'm not sitting on the ill fated airliners.

It was a lazy Saturday night. Wifey and I watched some of "Hard Days' Night," which I hadn't seen in decades, and Wifey told me how it's considered a great film -- really the first music video, and sort of an avante-garde romp. Eh. I went to bed after an hour, and watched the Panthers win -- one more Tuesday night and they'll have a second Stanley Cup.

It brought me back to my childhood, and the new team that came about in Junior High, the Islanders. Our assistant principal at Salk, Jim Garvey, was the Islanders' announcer, and we got to lots of games. The team got better and better, but never won the Cup while I lived on Long Island. They finally did in 1980, and I watched on a tiny black and white TV in the dorm during Summer Classes -- surrounded by Saudi guys who thought hockey the silliest sport they had ever seen. I was outnumbered, so I avoided saying anything involving camels...

The Isles went on to win 4 straight Cups -- an amazing dynasty. The Panthers may be on track for the same. They've sure become the team of the hour in So Fla -- but there are rumblings the Heat may trade for Kevin Durant -- that'd be cool, too. Sports.

Today is FD, and the plans are to meet the Ds and Jonathan at Beauty and the Butcher in South Miami. We were there once before -- nice place -- where the longtime Shula's was -- one of our go-tos. 

We spoke to Mike and Loni about maybe taking a luxe cruise post Xmas -- including fireworks on NYE. We haven't really made a big deal about NYE in years -- I told Loni that her husband and I would be halfway to 65 in January -- how many of the turns of the year did we have left? Nothing like cheering up your friend at her grandson's first birthday party.

But there's that half thing again. The clock keeps running...

My Life Has Been a Poor Attempt To Imitate The Man

 So tomorrow is Father's Day, and for the past 36 years that has meant ME being a father. But earlier a FaceBook (tm) memory came up -- a picture of probably my 6 year old self, safely hugged in the arms of my Dad, in our kitchen on Long Island. He was SO handsome and jaunty -- holding his pipe in one hand, and me in a hug in the other.

My last FD with him was 1982, and I don't recall it. I was working as a sales clerk at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall in Boca, and enjoying the fact that in those seasonal days in South Palm Beach, there was a shortage of young men and a surfeit of young women -- particularly at the retail store, as well as Boca Hospital, the venue of my OTHER summer jobs while home from UM.

Dad had a heart attack -- probably late June -- and recovered, seemingly. He was home for the week of July 7, and then died July 14th, while getting a haircut after his doc, Heller, had pronounced him fine that very morning. So decades have passed.

But oh, I still miss him so. Those years were SO easy -- Dad was the family mule, and I was just along for the ride. He used to proclaim that HE was the family psychiatrist, and would solve all crises of life for his 3 kids. I now know that was, in due respect, a fool's errand.

Man was he fun. He never got to go to college after he returned from the WW II army stint -- he was working 3, then 2, then finally 1 job to support his young family. And so when I went away to university, he lived it SO happily vicariously through me. He wanted to know what the professors taught, what the parties were like, and whether the co-eds were indeed more, um, liberal than the young girls of his era. They were...

My Ds and Wifey and son in law all praise how I am as a Dad and grandfather, and I accept this praise. Indeed, as I near 64 my MAIN identity as a man is how I have taken care of my family. I'm humble about any professional accomplishments, but not who I am as a father, father in law, grandfather, and friend, along with being, I guess, an above average husband.

Still, I SO miss Hy, and fantasize about long talks I would have had with him as I aged. Precious few of my friends still have living Dads -- Norman is one outlier -- Max turns 98 this Fall, and though he had a few health blips recently, is still VERY much with it, and the true patriarch of his family.

My late suegro Richard loved his family. Unfortunately, I never had a single conversation with him -- he would talk AT me, and I would endure him. Things became comical -- in later years, when we would go for a meal, I would tell the host or hostess to have a tall vodka waiting for me when we sit, so that I could down it to deal with his verbal onslaught, and the inevitable embarrassing encounters with the server -- whether banging on the table if service was slow, or the comical requests of my mother in law since the tea was never hot enough. So Fate didn't give me a relationship there, but there WERE other mentors -- my friends' Dads took me in -- the closest being Mike's Dad Ed, who shepherded my career along wonderfully -- getting me 2 jobs, the last of which led to my true success. Ed died at 63 like MY Dad did.

Today we're attending Ed's great grandson Teddy's first birthday party. Ed died before Chris, his second grandchild, was born -- and Amanda was just a baby. I know Mike feels bereft like I do.

But we're BOTH living legacies to the leaders of the band. It's funny -- Ed was a professional drummer -- played during HIS army stint, and later at Miami Beach shows. My Dad had a beautiful voice, too, and missed out advancing on the Major Bowles show that launched the career of a skinny kid from Hoboken.

So music was part of what Hy gave me, but more importantly, the lesson of what it is to be a man -- someone who takes care of his family.

Dad did that for all of us SO well. I just wish he was around longer so we could compare tales of the trade. Happy Heavenly FD, Dad...

They Had It Coming Since Jimmy Carter

 So Israel launched an all out attack on Iran's nuclear program yesterday -- along with Mossad's operation confirming exactly the targets to hit. As I was in Budapest a few weeks ago, in the "Garden of Righteous Gentiles," I was suffused with pride that my people, who 80 years ago relied on the kindness of some to protect us, now has a homeland where they came up with pagers that blow terrorists' dicks off.

I first met Iranian folks as a UM freshman in 1979 -- we had a lot of well off kids here from Tehran admitted to UM's less than stellar Engineering School. Most were stylish -- guys favored the disco look -- silk shirts and coke spoons around their necks. Eric and I had one TA in Chemistry who wanted to be called "Moe," instead of his given name Mohammed. All was cool.

And then the Shah was deposed, and overnight these dudes showed up at UM in traditional Muslim garb -- lots of white -- adios to the silk shirts and coke spoons. I chatted with one -- his entire affect had changed, from 1980 Miami party boy to loyal follower of the Ayatollah. Whatever.

Over the ensuing years, when I met someone from their and they were mainstream, they identified themselves as "Persian," rather than Iranian. We have neighbors like that -- delightful folks who hosted a grand party when their daughter graduated medical school. Mohammed, however, keeps his actual name.

But in the decades since the Ayatollah played Jimmy Carter like a cheap violin, Iran became THE sponsor of Islamic terrorism. The awful Hamas raid on Israel's version of Burning Man was approved by Tehran, and they are sworn to the destruction of Israel and "Big Israel" -- the US.

Iran has been trying to develop nuclear "power" since they don't have enough oil for their energy needs. Ha. As if! Lately, the negotiations broke down, and Israel learned Iran was less than a month from having, as they used to call it, "The bomb." 

And so last night they launched -- took out top military leaders and nuclear scientists, and at least one of two major nuclear manufacturing sites -- the other sits under a mountain and needs the "bunker buster" bombs only the US has -- I assume sooner than later the martyrs in charge in Tehran will order an attack on US installations, bringing us into the fight, and that will be the end of Iran's threat -- at least for a few years.

Bibi is problematic, but IS a fine wartime consigliere. He said, simply, that the Nazis stated they wanted Jews eliminated and went about doing it -- to the tune of 6 million. We've learned that when a government says that's their goal, they have to be listened to, and Tehran is sworn to the elimination of Jews. This time, though, we're taking action.

As far as I'm concerned, those sons of bitches have had it coming for decades. Maybe the non Islamist majority of Iran will seize this opportunity to finally depose the mullahs who have wrecked them since 1980. Boy -- that would be grand.

I also think back to the Summer of 1980, and a European undergrad I met. We discussed politics -- I was getting ready to vote in my first presidential election, and told her I was a third generation Democrat. She told me that, under Jimmy Carter, the rest of the world had lost respect for the US. It used to be that a US passport caused "the seas to part" in world airports -- under Carter, not so much. 

I remember taking that to heart., and also watching how Castro had also played Carter in Miami with the Mariel boatlift. I wasn't ready to vote for Reagan, and so I voted for John Anderson, the ill fated Third Party guy. Of course, Reagan won in a landslide.

Now the GOP has turned into MAGA, and the Dems can't get out of their own way -- giving credence to far left creeps like AOC and Ilhan Omar.

Hopefully the pendulum swings back to the center. I have grandkids' futures to worry about.

But for now, Israel is doing the heavy lifting against a true existential threat -- go kick some tuches, blue and white!

Miercoles Gigante

 It was a delightful mid week day for this cool, rockin' grandpa in the USA. After fending off the many questions of our comically old cleaning lady Miriam, who wanted details, in Spanish, about our vacation, I was able to leave. The funny thing is Miriam is convinced I'm fluent in Spanish, which I am NOT, but to be polite I struggle to get through our conversations. We really wish Miriam would retire, as she's past 70, but as Jeff pointed out decades ago, we really work for her more than the other way around.

Anyway, I arrived at D2's house and she and Betsy were SO glad to see me -- we caught up on the latest Shores news until it was time to fetch Little Man. We did, and that boy kept us laughing the entire way -- with his precocious vocabulary and adorable way about him. He made us guess his favorite sea animal -- turns out it's the narwhal, and made sure we know they don't have horns, but rather, tusks.

We stopped at Chick Fil-et and grabbed sandwiches for him, little brother, Wifey, and Lizeth, the lovely nanny who is in her final weeks before returning full time to her eye lash installation business. We got home to a happy house with Baby Man and D1 and Wifey, and played while they ate and I stole some of the delicious waffle fries. As the late Mr. Food said -- Oooo -- it's so good.

Around 6, I left with D2, and we dropped Betsy off and headed for Brickell. The party was at 60 SW 13th Street -- I knew that address. Sure enough, it was where my old boss Ed's building was -- next to an eye doc, David Sime's building. When Ed and Frank broke up, Ed offered to sell the building to Paul and me - -I think asking was $900K.  Paul was a bit interested, but I wanted no part of caring for a building, and the security issues of its location then -- on the edge of a rough 'hood. Well, SOMEONE bought it, and later sold for well north of $10M -- there's a 40 story condo there now. Eh -- win some, lose some in investments...

I pulled up to Trulucks just as Dr. Barry was walking in -- he had taken the train and People Mover from JMH. Sure enough, my man Victor was tending bar -- the remaining original staff member. We caught up and took a selfie -- the many memories of my time there came flooding back. It was truly my Cheers -- though 2 young women were sitting on "my stool" in the corner. Seems fair -- I hadn't been there for dinner since before Covid.

Dinner was great -- and the place was happily pretty empty -- a Wednesday night near Summer does that. Barry and I talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax.

I told him my new credo -- changing the pronouns in the Billy Joel lyric to "You don't care what I say anymore this is YOUR life." Adopting that has brought me so much peace.

We played a favorite game: "What if?" Barry remains more confident in his core values about life, marriage, parenting than I do. I allow for the fact that I may have screwed up more than I thought -- but that's ok. Everyone screws up.

All I know is, I savored the evening greatly -- so much so that I didn't mind the absurd traffic driving Barry back to the hospital. I jumped on 95 instead of sticking to the streets -- forgetting that the massive highway construction (they're adding a double deck on the 95- Dolphin interchange) shut down our way west. We went to 112, and came in from the North. Note to self: for the next year, avoid that area at night -- the construction will continue.

I glided home after the drop, and Wifey was up watching TV. We compared notes on our delicious grandsons -- she adores them so, as I do.

Yep -- pretty, pretty, pretty great Wednesday.

Indeed The Surge Is To Blame

 So I met Dan, who was wearing a wrist brace. I always enjoy chatting with him -- he lives on a big property in The Redland with all manner of animals. He said he was recovering from gout, but it was caused by his cancer treatments! What? I never knew. He told me that 2 years ago he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and told he had 3 months to live. Well, the newfangled immune therapy seems to work -- he is cancer free, but getting weird things like gout on account of hormone treatments, too. I just know he looked hale and fine -- told him in addition to his family and friends -- I need him, too! He laughed -- he's 52 and plans to stick around awhile, he said.

As I thought, a power surge zapped the gate electronics. Probably it's time for a new board and transformer and batteries anyway -- he'll get an estimate but we're probably talking about $3K. Since I plan on staying -- hey -- par for the course. Even though it's nice to avoid costs like this -- hey -- ya gotta keep up with stuff. As Dan and I discussed, at least with house, you decide. With a condo, the HOA does, and lately that's been nightmarish for many unit owners.

This am I FaceTimed (tm) with D1, who had Baby Man. They had dropped off his big brother early, for a Field Trip with camp, and the two walked on a dock near the school in Sans Souci. He is adorable -- I told him I'd be seeing him in a few hours and brought him a marionette from Europe. Listening him try to say that was a morning's highlight.

Wifey's visiting, too, but taking her own car. She has to bring the elderly Spaniel for his Lubrella treatment -- a really effective biologic medication that's keeping the old guy more sprite. She'll stay longer at D1's house while I Dadber D2 to her party, and meet Dr. Barry for dinner.

We're going to Trulucks, an old haunt, where I haven't had dinner, I think, since before the plague. Hopefully Victor, my old bartender and a long time employee, is still there. We love to catch up and talk about the old times -- like Paul's friend Alan.

Alan, a man about town, would sit at the bar and order a seafood tower for dinner, while watching ESPN on the TV. Sometimes an inappropriately young lady would join him -- to Victor's delight.

Victor didn't know Alan had died of cancer -- at 69. When I told him, he handed me a martini, took a glass himself, and we toasted Alan -- my drink was on the house. We were both misty eyed.

So first mid week back in the 305. I love being home -- even in the heat of this time of year. I hope everyone gets to live in a place that brings them happiness and peace.

Otherwise -- what's the point?

Father's Day -- Mother's Day's Po Relation

So Sunday is FD, and I think I figured out what I wish to do. Since Joey and the grandkids are going to his parents' house, and it'll be just me, Wifey, Jonathan, and the Ds, I think I may forego my usual drinks at Villa Wifey in lieu of an actual restaurant meal. An old favorite, Shula's, is now Beauty and the Butcher -- Wifey and I had a meal there with Mike and Loni a few months ago, and it was ok. Maybe we meet there Sunday. Big choice -- FD is clearly MD's po relation, and that's as it should be.

I mean, it's not like I spent decades busting my tuches to support financially my entire family, including education without loans through Masters degrees, bought houses, paid for grandkids' college tuition, etc...

Ha. The job of a proper noble mule. All I seek is my family's good health and happiness...

Meanwhile, I got back into the routine today -- worked out with Jonathan, and caught up on the last fortnight. I saw my handsome, charming dermatologist Jeremy, to check out an arm mole D2 found concerning, and picked up dinner for Wifey and me, since I made her breakfast earlier and felt guilty that I had skipped providing lunch for her...

Her mah johnng friends are here, and I poured Lili a few cosmos, which means I got a few martinis. This makes Tuesday evening a fun one.

The heat has returned to Miami, but the flowering trees, a small consolation for the "mean season," are in full bloom. The poincianas grab your eyes as you drive down the streets now -- truly a feast to behold, visually.

Tomorrow I will meet Dan the Gate Man -- apparently a power surge during our vacation may have friend the board of our front gate -- Dan will fix it -- always does. I have FPL's "Surge Protection" that charges me monthly -- if the repair is expensive, I may make my first claim. We'll see tomorrow.

After, I may meet Jeff for breakfast -- he's off to New Haven for most of the Summer -- he and Lili bought a townhouse there to be close to their granddaughter and another coming grandchild. It reminds me how blessed Wifey and I am to have both Ds in the 305 -- though Wifey gripes that Pinecrest to Miami Shores is "too far." I always quote to her the great Robert Browning line: "If our reach does not exceed our grasp...than what are the heavens for?"

And in the afternoon -- off to D2's house, and then fetch the Little Man. I haven't seen him or Baby Man in 3 weeks -- I can't wait! I'm driving D2 to Brickell in the evening for a "90s Birthday Party" on Brickell, and will then meet Dr. Barry for dinner -- we have to debrief the past fortnight, too.

So Summer's nearly here, and the time is right, for martinis in the air conditioning. It could be worse... 

The Noble Mule

 So I'm settled back into life at home -- slept all I needed to, and am SO happy to be back home. After years of traveling, I learned that a trip of 10-12 days is best for me -- after that, I get the schpilkes, as D1 noted. This one was 14 and terrific, but in the future I'll remember to truncate the long trips a bit.

We were invited to a "Celebration of Life" for Bob, who had died while we were away -- he had just turned 70. Bob was, as my friend Kenny so aptly described his father Manny at Manny's memorial, not a great man, but more importantly, a good man. He put his family above all -- and adored his wife and girls and 4 grandkids.

We got there at his girl Sam's townhouse in Cutler Bay -- there was a table set up with a picture of Bob and a candle, and I started thinking about what I would say if called upon to share some memories of the deceased. But I never got the chance -- no words were spoken at all.

More and more people came -- from Jeannette's extended Latin Jewish family, and family friends through the years, and I realized we had been there several hours, and then it occurred to me that no one was going to speak. I was held captive for about 10 grueling minutes from an old friend of the family who thought we needed to know every medical detail about her daughter in Tampa's pregnancy. We didn't need to know every detail.

We left, and Wifey correctly noted that each family is different in dealing with loss. Still, I told her that if she ever hosted a shiva for me, I DAMN well expect people to talk about my life and me, especially if I'm paying (or my estate is) for their food and drink. Wifey said my wishes were duly noted.

So another noble mule has gone to his reward. We weren't close, but Bob was a good man.

Meanwhile, a new week dawns, and I can't wait to see my grandsons. They're both in camp, and the plan is for me to fetch Little Man Wednesday, and meet up with Baby Man at the house. Wifey and I brought them wooden marionettes from Prague, and I think Little Man will love his, as he puts on shows using his couch as a stage. Hopefully Baby Man doesn't toss his.

Tauk, the tour provider, also gave us medallions to commemorate our journey, and I will give them to the boys explaining that they are ancient Danube River coins. I will also tell Little Man that I met some actual Adiptian (Egyptian) women on the flight home, but they weren't mummies. We have SO much to catch up with.

We Zoomed with Joelle and Kenny last night, and will plan a visit to Maine for October. I do love the Fall -- the only season I miss from my childhood away from The Tropics, and hopefully our trip will coincide with leaf season -- though in this era of warming, you never know.

We also discussed the possibility of a New Year's Eve cruise. Their friends Adam and Phil do this each year -- just 4 days roundtrip from Miami on a luxe ship. Maybe it's time to bury our recent tradition of going to sleep early NYE in favor of some partying on the high seas. We will see...

Adam and Phil are great guys. They met in Orthodox Yeshiva in Brooklyn as young men, and then met again in college --both were pre-med. They realized that they had much more in common than study of the Torah, and ended up together.

Phil is a Peds Radiologist and Adam an eye doc. They're a ton of fun to be around, and with their high dual incomes without being dragged down economically by kids -- take the best trips. It's be a blast to go along with them.

So the heat is here, but not oppressive yet -- I did my 3 miles this am with barely a sweat. Maybe I'm just getting immune.

I made an appointment for band camp later this month. Dr. Shah, my GI, said he thought he'd see me sooner than later after my colonoscopy several months back -- he was right. Yay. Band camp. Oy.

Part of being the noble mule -- like Bob, of blessed memory. We are what we are...

The Grim Reaper On Both Ends of Our Trip

 So right before we left, our friend Susan died -- we missed her funeral. I texted her husband Steve and explained -- we would be in Budapest. He wrote back that exactly one year ago, he and Susie were there -- they took a land version of our trip along the Danube. They loved it so much they vowed to go back. I told Steve they would, and indeed our first night on the riverboat, Wifey and I toasted our wonderful friend. She and Steve were back in spirit.

Death has a way of never taking extended holidays, I have learned. On the trip, we were touring Budapest, with the PA 6, and one of them, Louann, got a call as we walked the old city. She thought it might be a pocket, as it was 5 am PA time, but it wasn't -- her sister was calling to say her niece, also her goddaughter, had died, at 34. The young woman was a college runner who had given birth to her first baby the week before -- some sudden cardiac issue must have taken her. Louann and John, her affable husband, left the tour, went back to the river boat, and made plans to fly home the next day -- apparently they were able to find a flight out of Frankfurt.

Though we had only met days before, we all felt close to them -- we talked during dinner, deeply, about her beloved niece -- married to a teacher and living near Charlottesville, VA. Louann was in shock, of course -- they made it back, according to the now PA 4. We had her and her family in our thoughts the remainder of the trip.

Wifey and I , with our dark humor, noted that we would only cut short a trip like that if, Big Man forbid, a very select number of people in our lives suffered such a loss -- so there was an "upside" to not having close, extended family.

Anyway -- last week, as we awaited a coach to take us to an amazing dinner at a palace in Vienna, Wifey got a text from Samantha -- her friend Jeannette's daughter. Sam NEVER texts -- she asked Wifey to call her or Jeannette. I got a sinking feeling -- figuring someone had become very sick. Wifey texted back -- she was in Europe -- was all ok? Sam replied to just call when she returned to the US. I was a bit surprised -- I would have called -- but Wifey, ever the more practical one, figured bad news could wait -- why mess up OUR trip? Hey -- it was her call.

Sure enough, as we were awaiting baggage in customs Sunday evening, Wifey got a text -- from the third Brooklyn friend -- Jeannette's husband Bob had died last Thursday. When Samantha learned we were in Europe, very WASP-like, though her Mom is a Latin Jew, she didn't want to ruin Wifey's trip.

I told Wifey that when I die -- I don't care if my friends are at the freaking Hurricanes championship game -- I want them to know -- THEN! But that's just me.

When we got home, Wifey called Jeannette. Bob had just turned 71, and was home from a great vacation -- took his 4 grandkids to Harry Potter World in Orlando. He had a nasty fall, and was taken to the hospital -- they diagnosed some type of bowel obstruction, and released him after a few days.

He was home recovering, just week but feeling ok, and Jeannette was by his side. He insisted she leave for awhile, and she did -- and when she returned some minutes later, he was dead -- in bed.

Something is missing, of course -- typically an obstruction doesn't prove fatal -- maybe he had a perforation? I know he DID have heart valve surgery some years ago -- maybe that illness returned?

All I know is, today is a celebration of life at Samantha's house, where Bob and Jeannette lived, old school style.

Bob was a sweet guy -- always adored his family. He always fancied himself a businessman, but never caught a break -- lost all their savings in an ill fated franchise of day spas. But they were living with their oldest daughter, a lawyer, and her husband and 2 kids, and were VERY close -- the kind of grandparents with daily duties.

And poor Jeannette -- her Mom Inez died just a few months ago. Her death was expected -- she was in her 90s and with dementia. Wifey thought Bob looked poorly at the funeral -- to me he looked fine. But Jeannette must process the loss of 2 of her innermost circle, so close.

My friends have nicknamed me Obit Dave -- I always share news of deaths before anyone else. On the river one evening, I discussed with Wifey the reason for this. I WANT all of my friends to always know, like I do, how fragile and precious life is. We assume we have unlimited time -- like I'm sure Bob figured he wasn't leaving this mortal coil any time soon. 

But the truth is, as Jim Morrison noted, no one gets out of here alive. And when a death hits close, that ought to hit US close, and make sure we savor each moment -- whether on a luxury vacation, or eating a really delicious Cuban sandwich in Hialeah.

So this afternoon it will be adios, Bob. He was cremated -- no funeral for him -- just the get together today.

But he leaves a great legacy, adored by his daughters and 4 grandkids, and now widow, Jeannette.

RIP to a good guy -- may we not hear from Mr. Reaper for a good, long while.

Back For The Old Country

 Wow -- what a fortnight! We ate amazingly, drank prodigiously, and met wonderful people. We also toured and experienced the cultures of Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, and The Czech Republic. Most importantly, Wifey got the trip she hungered for, with me, her lazy, tends to stay in one place husband.

And Eric and Dana, who we sort of talked into going, as they were fearful the fellow river cruisers were too akin to Eric's patients -- old -- found even closer friends than we did and had an awesome time. So, to cut to the chase: mission accomplished.

Since we travel rather infrequently, and, well, I have the money, I will only go top drawer. So we started at American's Flagship Lounge, since we had Biz Class across the water tickets, and it gave our usual Centurion Lounge a run for its money. Although there was a delay and change of planes, along with the unsettling announcement that "this plane (a 777 ER) wasn't supposed to fly trans Atlantic tonight, so the crew is making changes"), we got off swimmingly, and I drank Tito's and watched an excellent documentary about the making of Led Zeppelin as we flew the Atlantic. Our transfer went well, and we arrived in Budapest smoothly -- to see a bunch of our cohort all with Tauk luggage tags -- we knew we were headed to the same Summer camp.

Sure enough, while waiting, I saw a fellow in his 70s, and we struck up a conversation -- he had a dripping southern accent. Jerry was indeed a Louisville Jew -- retired lawyer -- and his best friend lived in Miami. First small world connection: the friend and my man Paul know each other well from Williams Island. Jerry's Dad was a NY WW II Jew who was stationed in Louisville, and taken to a dance by the local Hebrews. He met a nice girl, who said he was perfect for her sister, and began a family there. Nice tale.

We also met the PA 6 -- 3 couples of Penn State grads -- Irish and Italian folks who lived in and near State College -- Pittsburgh natives. They became dear friends -- especially for Dana, who bonded well with the ladies. One of them, Sherry, was obviously not well -- indeed was a 5 year cancer survivor, with limited mobility, and her husband Mark, a retired engineer, literally carried her on piggy back every day on the multi mile walks. I told Wifey not to get any ideas...

We also befriended Steve and Winnie -- the only young couple -- late 40s. Steve is the CMO of Kaiser Permanente ENT services in California, and Winnie a Chevron exec. She's Vietnamese, and his family is from Taiwan. They were lovely and brilliant, and Winnie provided a first for me: standing outside a castle in Budapest, she offered me a seat on a bench. I laughed -- it finally happened -- like a young girl being called "Ma'am" for the first time -- I had become the sweet old man a younger person wanted to help. We laughed a lot about it over drinks at later events.

And the trip was amazing. Tauk is known for their "Experiences," and came through. A private tour of the Budapest Opera House ended on the steps -- with a performance of several arias by the pro singers. Later, a dinner at the Akademy of Science had a performance of Mozart by members of the Vienna Symphony. Lighter fare was a terrific oom pa band in Durnstein, and the final night in a castle with a lecture by the granddaughter of the rich Prague family who recovered much of the stolen family riches via the "Monuments Men" glorified in the George Clooney film.

We took 2 Jewish tours -- one in Budapest, and one in Prague. The first was with Timi -- a granddaughter of Survivors whose family stayed in the city. Sure enough -- a connection -- at the Central Synagogue there is a memorial to the righteous gentiles, and it included Margit Shafta - the Mother Superior of the convent that saved our son in law Jonathan's grandmother's life.

It was moving, but I reflected again on my Zionism. I take comfort in knowing my people have a homeland now, and when we get terrorized, instead of relying on righteous gentiles, we send the bad guys pagers that blow their dicks off. Go Israel!

It was my second time cruising the Danube, and it is indeed beautiful -- though it will probably be a month before I can get the Strauss waltz out of my head -- it got played on board -- a LOT.

We taught the PA group the worm one night -- we deemed them worthy -- even though Mark and Dave insisted on reminding us that the night of January 2, 1987, when Testaverde through 5 picks and Penn State won the ring -- was one of the best of his nights. Such is the nature of true college football fans -- even on a luxury trip, this gets discussed -- a lot!

The final day was the Prague Jewish tour. I have to say, though Wifey downplays this in her quest for more travel, I feel like Johnny Cash -- I've been everwhere, man. And Prague is the most impressive city I ever saw -- buildings and bridges from the Middle Ages on -- no WW II bombing destruction. And I got to see the synagogue where supposably (Miami spelling) the Golem of Prague's bones are kept. I always loved that myth. On the way back, our guide Lenka took us to a butcher shop that produced a Top 5 pastrami on rye I ever had. I'm still thinking about that sandwich today.

We said our goodbyes Thursday evening to Eric and Dana -- they were headed out for even MORE photos -- I think Eric may have snapped over 10K -- and headed to sleep for our last night at the Andaz Hotel -- Wifey said maybe her favorite hotel of all time. It was posh, as the Brits say.

We left Vaclav Havel airport at 7, and had 5 hours in the Heathrow Centurion Lounge -- packed with an array of people that, to steal my consuegro David's observation of NYC City Hall -- looked like the Star Wars Cantina -- an amazing array of human diversity.

The flight home was fine, too -- American Biz is top -- and I watched "The Apprentice and Inside Man" and before I knew it, we were landing. We had downloaded the Global Entry App, and sailed through Passport Control in record time -- with courteous TSA and ICE Agents. I guess if you're of a certain type, you have no problems -- and my thought they might deport Wifey back to her native Israel was unfounded.

Meanwhile, I took photos of her EVERYWHERE -- D1 said I was "an instagram husband," and Wifey was an influencer now.

So I began the trip with John Denver's "LEaving on a Jet Plane" in my head, and returned to another of his songs, "Back Home Again." Indeed, sometimes this old suburban Miami house feels like a long lost friend. 

Wifey chatted -- and I did laundry and unpacked.

Today we fetch the aged Spaniel from D2 and Jonathan -- his snoring kept Jonathan awake, and they kind of want to ditch him. Still, we appreciated the dog sitting, and told them we were treating them to a Palm Beach stay cation in thanks.

And, like the old Disney Travel films I used to watch in grade school, we will forever treasure the memories we made in our trip to Central Europe...