From Death to Life to Joy

 So I cruised over to St. Phillips Episcopal right before the 11 am funeral Mass for my friend Dave, and as he was VERY gringo, being on time meant being late -- the church was PACKED, and the overflow rec room was filled, too. I found a spot next to a Judge who Paul and I hosted a major fundraiser for years ago -- raised her a TON of money -- as a favor to Joel, who knew her AUSA husband from the criminal world. I said hello, and she introduced herself -- had ZERO idea who I was.

Now, I didn't expect her to recall me for my dashing good looks and charm, but seems to me if someone hosted a party that raised nearly $20K for my campaign, I might recall them. Politicians -- what have you done for me lately? The encounter put me in a sad mood for the funeral...

I'm guessing there were 600 people there, all of whom were invited to the house afterwards. I had told Paul I would go with him, and luckily he felt like skipping out. I was relieved -- event would have been a cluster, and so after the Mass and a few speeches, we left.

One of the widow's dear friends and partners spoke, and she had a fling with an old friend of mine probably 20 years ago, and he shared with us Junior High level details. I'd like to say I was able to think of anything else as she spoke about eternal love, etc..., but I could not. Norman understands...

Anyway, afterwards it was up to Williams Island, and a BANNER dinner for Paul. The food was delicious, my Ds and Jonathan were able to make it, and as I told them, somberly, I felt I needed to call Aventura Police and have myself arrested for the crime of excessive happiness.

Paul loved the party -- the drinks and delicious food flowed freely, including 3 tomahawk steaks which disappeared, and Wifey drove home. Paul asked for no gifts, but rather for donations to an inner city elementary school where he started a reading program. The shekels flowed to that, too, which was beautiful and emblematic of who my brother is. A Black child at heart...

Yesterday D1 brought over the monkeys, and they got to awaken their grandma Wifey at the crack of 1030 -- they loved it, seeing if indeed she was a "Scary monster" when awakened. She was not.

After a few hours, we decamped to a museum in the Design District where D1's friend had free tickets for us for a family day. It was lovely -- projects for the kids, and an exotic animal show where Little Man knew all of the answers about the reptiles. He turned to me, and said "Grandpa Dave -- I learned SO much today." Yeah -- kid already got my number.

We separated and Wifey asked for a stop at Shorty's. It took a record long time for our order -- major short staffing -- and the chicken was dry and tasteless. Alas, it may have been our final visit to a place We've both visited since the 70s...They're knocking it down in a few years to make way for another 50 something storey building -- we don't have enough of those in Miami Dade -- and I wonder whether Shorty's will close well before the demolition.

All I know is, the weekend went from the sadness of a death of a true legal legend who I knew as a teenager, a great celebration of 3/4 century of a VERY full life, and finally our private joy of our grandsons.

I am indeed one blessed and rocking Granddaddy in the USA...

Who By Fire; Who By Water

 So we descendants of the ancient Hebrews are taught that the new year (5786 now for those keeping score) is a time to take stock in our lives, figuring out, to quote Bob Seger, what to leave in and what to leave out.

Rabbi Yossi quoted Mark Twain recently: "There are 2 critical days in a person's life. The day he is born, and the day he figures out why." For most, if not all of us, that second day is tough to find.

But today, the former English major in me gets to live out symbolism that's so clear it's cliched: a funeral and a birthday.

The first is the funeral, or more accurately, a Mass at an Episcopal Church in the Gables followed by a Celebration of Life -- for my old college friend Dave. He died from a burst aneurysm over the ocean in an airplane returning from Italy. Actually, the plane landed in Philly, where he was placed on life support until his kids could join his wife -- one from UM, and the other from SMU - and he was removed at that time.

I'm not sure whether he was buried or cremated -- but since even this mediocre former law student has realized there is only a church and house involved today -- I assume Dave's body has been taken care of.

I spoke to his ex wife yesterday -- a Thai born woman -- not wanting to use today as a happy catch-up talk with her -- she used to be one of our stockbrokers. She said she wasn't attending -- she figured today belonged to Dave's widow and kids, and she wasn't involved in his life. But she said, relating to the Twain quote, that Dave knew why he was born when he was 7 or 8 -- to become a trial lawyer - and he was one of the highest level. He was just inducted into some international group last Summer where they have only a few members from each state -- indeed he handled the highest level of cases at a huge firm.

They had divorced precisely because Dave was a workaholic, and she wanted more in life. Of course, they lived large -- historic Gables mansion, trips around the world, and it always seemed to me that spouses who enjoyed that sort of lifestyle ought to have understood it comes, unless there is family money, with the price of hyper work hours. Still, she said she had forgiven his energy (she's Buddhist) and was indeed still hadn't found what she was looking for -- she recently switched brokerage houses.

I met Dave's twins as toddlers, but today I'll know them well -- I was a little older than they when I lost my beloved father. If their Mom wishes, when things settle down I'll reach out to them to share my journey as a young adult (now old adult) without a living Dad.

And then later on, I'll go home to fetch Wifey, who is skipping the Mass and Life Celebration on account of she doesn't do too many things in one day, and we'll cruise up to Aventura for the 75th!!!! birthday dinner for my brother of another mother Paul.

Wow. He and I met when he had just turned 38, and I was 27. We started our law firm 31 years ago come November. There have been 4 wives (3 for him; one for me) and a bunch of girlfriends (for him).

When we met, he had 2 small kids and I had a baby D1. Now he has 2 middle aged kids, I have one creeping perilously close to that stage, and one trying to become a Mom, too. There are 7 grandkids, and one step son.

If Paul and I stood upon a bridge over a river, we'd have seen a LOT of water passing beneath.

So tonight we'll gather in a relatively small group and honor a man with a heart as big as the Canes offensive line -- my big brother who I love dearly.

This being Miami, a big city that is often a small town, one of Paul's former wives is the widow of Dave -- so we'll be standing together at the sad part of the day.

But I will still savor it. As a wise man , Professor and Reverend Jim Ash told me when my Dad died: "We all do it." So I will look back and reflect on Dave's life -- hell -- I met him in 1981,

But I plan to exhult tonight -- the Big Man gave my brother 3/4 of a century, with plenty more to come.

There's a lot of stock to process about life today...

The Eventful Rosh Hashonah

 So I met Patricia and Paul in the parking lot of the gleaming new Chabad Center -- and we went inside and Yossi gave us a small tour before services. The Founders' Wall was a highlight -- Paul and I and Wifey and Patricia are pretty, pretty, high up on the donor schedule. Over 30 years our combined gifts are rather substantial -- I chuckled at the fact that we gave LOTS more than the Bramans -- and they're billionaires. Of course, Paul and I don't have UM Departments named after us...

Still, all snark aside, we were proud. What Yossi and Nechama have built, a shul, yes, but mostly a community center that serves thousands of special needs kids, and now, with a new Mitzvah kitchen, food challenged folks, too, is, to use the right word, miraculous. And my brother of another mother and I were major assists there.

I joked that if we had back all the money we gave, we could have really nice houses, take wonderful trips, and give lots to our kids. Wait -- we do that! When you have a few shekels you're allowed to be an asshole sometimes.

Anyway, Yossi called me up to open the Ark, and told the 200 or so there that 30 years ago, the first minyan he held was in the rental house Wifey and I owned and rented to him and his family, and that I was the first called up to open the Ark. Now, 3 decades later, in their gleaming $20 Center, I was called again. 

I LOVE marking mileposts in life, and this was a beautiful one. Paul was also called to the Ark, and we were very moved. And I took away one powerful parable.

Yossi said in Jerusalem, he was told to go to a shul at Hebrew U, to see the amazing stained glass windows done my Marc Chagall. He got there and was unimpressed -- no different than he had seen at other shuls, from the outside. But when he went inside, he saw the magic -- the sunlight filtered through and showed colors he never experienced before -- truly amazing.

And the lesson was that people are the same. When you see someone, they may be unattractive, or mean, or simple (to use a term that needs more usage -- "Simple Jack" from "Tropic Thunder") from the outside, but when you get to know their soul, there may in fact be beauty.

After about as much as I could handle, Yossi blew the shofar, and Paul, Patricia, and I hi-tailed it out of there -- to Roasters on 128th. Norman's brother Martin walked in, and soon after, Norman. His big, beautiful family had all gathered from different congregations (one, in shorts, from watching online) and they took a long table by the wall -- must have been 20 of them.

I was so warmed for my dear friend -- surrounded by his amazing, big family -- sister, brothers, neices, nephews, and his local son Benji. His later parents were, I know, smiling down on their legacy.

I swooped in to fetch Wifey for our planned Rosh a pasta -- dinner at a local Italian place near D1. Wifey was dragging, which is not unusual since she sleeps very poorly, and for a very good reason has resisted my suggestion she speak to our concierge doc or maybe a sleep specialist to see what can be done. I mean, I'm sure there's a very good reason why she has been so refractive about this -- I just don't know what it is.

So the Jewish New Year is brand new, and already there has been spiritual joy, and, literally, a lot of crap. As a holiday goes, so goes a year...

L'Shana Tova, Muthas

 And so it's Rosh Hashanah...and what have you done? Yes, the big day is upon us, and I await word from my guilter in chief about leaving for services.

My parents weren't religious, and I never attended services as a child, and then as a freshman at UM I met Eric, and his family invited me along. We went to Temple Beth Am, then the richest congregation around, and now Ritz Carlton level. Eric's family were from the po side of the tracks (actually US 1 -- the rich lived East; the middle class lived West) and I still recall something that occurred that soured me on the place well, forever.

I got up to get some water, and a pretty college girl, my age, came up to me and introduced herself -- was I new in town? I told her I was a freshman at UM, and was a guest of Eric's family. She said "Oh," and walked away -- since I wasn't a guest of someone named Braman, or Miller, or Adler... Eh -- what are ya gonna do?

Anyway, I went to services sporadically during college -- sometimes Hillel, and then after I met fellow non religious Jew Wifey, and we had a very bad experience with a Rabbi named Mark Kram (he lured us back to the fold and then dropped our wedding ceremony days before for a free trip to Israel), we were done with services.

And then I met Yossi, and he truly restored my Yiddishkeit. I attended services, first in the living room of our rental house, then in a storefront at College Park, and finally the congregation. Norman was kind enough to invite me to his place, too, Beth David, for a Kol Nidre or two.

But honestly -- I never connected. I don't know Hebrew, and I discovered, over the past 6 or so years, online services, where I DO pay attention, and pray for real, and walk outside to G-d's natural world. And so it was. Until...

We helped build the new Chabad of Kendall Center, and this is the first year of services. Yossi texted me -- please come. I retorted that maybe I was to be like Moses -- help lead to the Promised Land, but never actually enter. He appreciated my biblical reference, but still asked I go. I passively aggresseved my way away.

Until...Paul called. He succombed to the Rabbi's entreaties, and if he could drive down all the way from Aventorture, I could drive 15 minutes to go, too. I was out of excuses, and so I've agreed.

We'll attend at 930-1130, and then retire to Roasters for some soul food. Wifey and I have to leave around 3 for dinner with the grandboys -- an Italian place -- D1 is calling the night Rosh A Pasta.

D2 is getting a happy procedure today, and will be worn out, so the plan is to bring dinner to her and Jonathan -- and maybe a L'Chaim with him for the new year, 5786, I believe.

Apparently the new mehitza, the wall that separates the sexes in the Orthodox shul, is less opaque than the past one, so that's good -- my mind won't wander to Italian films of the 70s wondering what's on the other side.

And I will thank the Big Man -- a lot -- for my manifold blessings, and for this to be a sweet new year even in these times of rough seas.

Such is humanity -- a huge ("yuuuge, Wifey would pronounce it") pendulum. Maybe a swing back to nicer behavior. That would be grand...

Game Day

My mentor Ed, Mike's Dad, used to refer to the team from UF as "The Gator" - singular, not plural, since back then they were the singular team we despised most. It was a yearly rivalry -- I saw probably 10 games AT UF -- and the ones at the Orange Bowl and Joe Robbie and Bowl games were terrific. But the Gators then dropped us from their yearly schedule -- wimping out when the SEC made them play more conference games. We never forgave them.

Of course, my Ds and Jonathan are all alums -- D2 and Jonathan DOUBLE Gators. I love the school scholastically, and even abide the basketball team with the Tribal coach -- but football? Never.

Today ESPN's Gameday is on the Coral Gables campus. Mike and Chris took adorable Teddy there -- a 4th generation Cane! I've been drinking coffee and watching the scene by Lake Osceola -- site of countless amazing memories. I was a student there from '79-'86 ("7 years of college down the drain!") and taught 4 classes there -- 2 Freshman Comp, and 2 Religion classes with my friend Steve Sapp.

I've served on several committees. After graduation in '83, I went on a recruiting tour around the state with Eric and other friends, to try to poach Honors students from other schools. It was successful -- back in the day, I got a scholarship to attend. Pretty sure my grades and SAT scores wouldn't even get me admitted today...

And I admit I'm VERY excited. I'll leave here 215 and fetch crazy Joel, not a UM alum (Loyola in NOLA and New York Law) but born and raised in the County of Dade, as the song goes, and a lifetime fan. I'll have my large Absolut Mandarin chilling in a cooler, and when we park, will pour Joel and I a few red cups' worth.

I totally respect those who have given up alcohol. May well extend lifetimes. But for me, I subscribe to the philosophy of Dean Martin, who said that if you DON'T drink, when you get up in the morning, that's the best you're going to feel ALL Day...

Mike will have the tailgate roaring, I'm sure. My nephew of another brother, Scott, is coming from D.C. with his wife Samantha. His brother Josh is skipping for a comedy  show today, but I expect a parade of dear friends from over the years, in the charged air of our tailgate.

And if the huge underdog Gators somehow beat us? That's ok -- season can still be a success, and more importantly, the tailgates will always win.

I've said it for years. As a somewhat educated and cultured guy (I've seen all the museums around the world, and sipped martinis in Harry's Bar in Venice), part of me wishes my joy came from classical music -- maybe opera -- at least Broadway shows. 

But other than time with family, it gets no better for me than standing in a hot (sometimes pouring rain) parking lot, drinking and eating with my brothers and sisters of 4.5 decades.

We talk of days long past, and the kids who are the days of the future. We talk of The Gator. Jeannine, Ed's daughter, will be there today, and she and I will cry a bit talking about her late Dad -- a man who instilled the deepest love of the Canes into my bones. 

She'll see me coming, drink in hand, and make believe she's running away from me, but then we'll hug and share a moment.

So Go Canes! Beat The Gator. Regardless -- party with my besties -- here we come! 

Convenience

 Since I'm OCD, once I undertook the task of getting our 2013 estate documents to our new lawyer Mark, I immediately found an appropriately sized box in the garage, and packed them away. Next -- getting them to Hollywood.

Back when I was in practice, we'd use courier services. Even more than a decade ago, they were expensive -- I seem to recall being charged close to $100 to have a file brought to Broward. I knew I could use UPS, but that would require a trip to the UPS store, and then I recalled: Uber!

Some months ago, Wifey was visiting D2 and Jonathan, after an afternoon with D1, and could NOT find her key fob anywhere. She looked all over -- even at Little Man's school, where she and D2 had fetched him -- no fob.

I forgot whose suggestion it was, but I called Uber -- they rushed another fob to D2 and Jonathan's house lickety split -- for, I think, less than $20. Wifey drove home.

The next day, Jonathan asked D2 why there was a Lexus key fob behind the milk in their refrigerator. Ah -- since Wifey had put it there to remember where it was, only to forget what she had done to not forget!We had already hired a locksmith to do a new fob, which he did at our house, so now the THIRD fob lives at D2's house. The smart money is that it will be needed again sooner than later.

But then I called Uber -- for a schlep of our document box up to Hollywood. Sure enough, 25 minutes later, a guy about my age, American, drove up and had me put my box on top of another -- and an hour later it was delivered. With my $15 monthly Uber credit -- total cost was $20 -- with a tip!

Oh what a brave, new world!

Now Mark can review them, to see what to re-do and what to amend. Either way -- I hope to NOT have use for these docs for a good long while.

Meanwhile, the Days of Awe continue -- the Gators are here Saturday night! Jonathan was to go with me, but he was called away for IVF duty, and so I invited crazy Joel. It ought to be a terrific tailgate -- hopefully the game is a win for our boys going away, as they say.

The OTHER Days of Awe start next week. Tuesday night we've decided to visit a local pasta place for, as D1 calls it, Rosh a Pasta. The next evening, both Ds are busy.

Rabbi Yossi texted me to ask me to attend the first High Holidays in the Center I helped build with contributions. First, I got to grind him about the fact that Chabad is now charging annual membership -- like every other congregation -- I said I wasn't a member. He answered I was grandfathered in.

But the truth is, since before Covid, I prefer to watch services online, in my underwear. I connect with the Big Man better out of shul than in it.

Yossi pressed. I told him to consider me like Moses -- I helped him get to the promised land, but wasn't permitted to actually enter. He appreciated the biblical reference but still thought I was a putz. He's right.

Little Man, meanwhile, anxiously awaits the sweets traditionally eaten to symbolize a sweet new year. These should be in abundance next week.

And among the many blessings -- well -- Uber and delivered groceries -- Wifey and I are addicts. We do enjoy the convenience...

Moving to the DEAD Center of the Zoom

 So I'm not a fan of The Donald, nor of the GOP Congress, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy some of the benefits to rich, white guys. I'm not a fan of the Dems much anymore, either, which is why I changed my always DEM voter registration to "No Party." In Florida, that means I can't vote in primaries anymore, but given the absurdity of some of what the Dems have come up with lately, that won't matter much.

Our current embarrassment of a governor barely beat the Dem opponent, Gillum, and would have lost to MY candidate, Gwen Graham. But the Florida Dems decided that Gwen was too centrist, and so put up someone who ended up being our sexually fluid version of Marion Barry. Ah, how things would have been different with Governor Graham. She would have laughed at the witch doctor Ladapo instead of hiring him as state surgeon general, to peddle his anti-vaxx crap.

Anyway, the exemption for estate taxes is at a record high -- far above what Wifey and I have in assets. But who knows if that will last until the Ds have to deal with it. If they lower the exemption to where it was for many years, the Ds would have to pay estate taxes -- a LOT -- instead of enjoying the fruits of multi generational shekels.

So I decided to do some estate planning -- an update from when we last did documents in 2013. The truth is, we set up trusts then, and I never changed account or house ownership to said trusts. And now, several of our friends, who we asked to watch over things, have, well, aged out. So I figure it's time for some new documents.

Last time around, I used a fellow named Dan, who Barry and I met in the gym, and he turned out to be married to a friend from college. Dan is competent, and I referred him Paul and other clients, but over the past years I put in calls to him and his son Josh, who is there with him, and they blew me off. Per FaceBook, Dan is traveling a LOT, which I don't at all begrudge, but I've decided to switch estate lawyers to a fellow named Mark, who used to be married to Eric's long time friend Diane.

I think Eric and Dana inherited Diane in their divorce, as typically happens, but Mark is competent, and now practices with his daughter. I suggested Barry and Donna use him for their happy task, and he was very attentive.

So at 3 today, Wifey and I will Zoom with Mark, and probably have him update our stuff, and hope the documents don't get used for a VERY long time!

That said, planning for the time I won't be here writing crap like this, and Wifey won't be rolling her eyes at my many foibles, is critical to me. I worked too hard for too long to not protect what we can for the Ds, and Little Man, and Baby Man, and hopefully more grandkids, should the Big Man bless us with them.

Yesterday I met Paul at a newly renovated steakhouse, called Hereford. We were there probably 25 years ago -- it's on LeJeune just south of MIA, and we recalled that Charo was there that night with her cowboy husband (really) and sang happy birthday to a fellow at an adjoining table.

Well the place is now upscale, and it was packed. I plan to visit again -- it's MOST convenient to Barry after he leaves JMH, and therefore a good place to meet for dinner.

Yes -- I want to get these after party plans set, and then keep on living. That'd be fine... 

Ready For Some Fall

 So last night the local weather person, who like most Miami TV weather people isn't hard on the eyes, said we would greet the start of Fall with 90 degree daytime temps. Ok, I thought, as I typically do this time of year -- basta!

Fall is the one season I miss from living up North, and I try to sample it each year. Fortunately, we're scheduled for 4 nights in Maine beginning October 6th. I am most looking forward to it.

Joelle and Kenny have a gorgeous lake house, and invite us all the time, and we've stayed there twice (plus an extra time for me with Kenny as we had to fetch some cats while Joelle was being treated), and it's lovely. But I finally came out of the closet -- I really do NOT like staying in any friend's house -- no matter how beautiful and gracious they are as hosts. When I go away, I prefer a hotel or inn, where I have everything brought to me and I feel zero pressure about cleaning up or behaving like a guest. They understand.

So this upcoming trip, we will spend a single night at the house, on account of it makes sense after we get fetched in Portland, but will then split the next 4 days at 2 lovely inns in Rockville, on the Coast. To our dear friends, a few nights on the Maine coast is a treat -- sort of like Key West is for me -- and we will sample the food and drink and sights -- and hopefully get some Fall color. That would be grand -- as long as the temps are lower than Miami -- and that seems like a pretty much guaranteed deal.

Loni and Mike have a lovely vacation house in Western NC, and invited us, too. Wifey finally came out of the closet there as well -- we so appreciate the invite, but I want a hotel! They understand -- we're off with them and Donna and Barry for a NYE cruise in December -- San Juan back to Miami on Explora -- a floating Four Seasons level hotel. Now THAT'S my speed...

Any time I feel the slightest tinge of guilt as wanting things my way, as Frank sang, reality smacks me in the face, as it did with my college friend Dave's death at 62. You never know when the Big Man will call, and so while we're here, we HAVE to do it our own way.

So bring on the top drawer booze, and gourmet food this December -- I plan to ring in 2026 on a high level.

Meanwhile, Little Man taught us a lesson from kindergarten this year -- every day has a rose, a thorn, and a bud. Of course, the rose is what made you happy, the thorn, sad, and the bud is what you're looking forward to.

Yesterday D1 FaceTimed me on his pickup, and he told us his rose was getting all the questions right, his thorn was getting knocked down during recess, and his bud was the upcoming Jewish New Year, where there would be lots of sweets.

I asked him if he knew Grandpa Dave's floral parts. He answered "I  know your rose was having me stay with you all weekend!" Son of a gun -- the kid knew right away, and is indeed the deep thinker D1 recognizes. I helped him with the thorn -- that I won't see him or Baby Man this week, but that I shared the bud -- being with them the second night of Rosh Hashonah, where we would go to a local restaurant, but indeed there would be sweets.

So this Saturday The Gator visits. My mentor Ed, Mike's Dad, always referred to the team from UF in the singular -- I loved that. We're favored to put a beatin' on them, and my guest is my son in law Jonathan, a double Gator alum, but not a fanatic about the football team. My tailgate buds all adore him, and it'll be a fine time -- hopefully some of his buddies, who ARE Gator fanatics, will stop by for some busting of balls, as we dudes are wont to do.

And then just a few more weeks before we jet to cooler climes. Man -- it's time for a break from the Tropics...

To Sleep; Perchance To Dream

 Man, the cliches about aging and sleep are true -- especially around Villa Wifey. Sleep, deep, long, sleep, is a very precious commodity.

Wifey has it worse. She's up until the wee hours, finally comes to bed and sometimes takes a pill or another, and sleeps until 10 or 11. It's  become a family joke -- yesterday I had to return Little Man to D1 by 9, for a teaching coach meeting, and the thought Wifey might accompany me was absurd.

For me, I try to go at least a few days per week with only melatonin and iron supplements to help me out. Alcohol works to put me out, fast, but 4 hours later, I'm up like a meerkat.

Wifey got prescribed a newer thing called Belsomra, and it didn't work for her, but does for me. I popped one last night, and slept straight from 11 to 7, awakening from a DEEP state -- not a single old man bathroom break which typically comes around 4 am or so. It was a luxury.

I also awoke from a deep dream. I wonder if my friend Dave's death, a guy I knew since college, had anything to do with it. Do the newly dead stir up dreams in those of us still here? Maybe.

Anyway, the dream also involved a lost friend,who I'll call Vince, since that's his name. Vince dated Barbara in college, a Chicago transplant like Dave, and they would double date -- Dave with his Korean pre med Nancy, Vince, and Barbara. I recall thinking what a great pair of couples they were -- Vince was near med school, and ended up marrying Barbara.

I loved my times with Vince. His Dad Vince, Sr., was an Italian version of my Dad -- a little younger -- Korean War vet instead of WW II -- but same Bronx high school, James Monroe, and a self taught intellectual who adored his son. Vince, senior was an early mentor to me, and my Dad to Vince -- we both respected and learned from these men.

Years later, Vince and Barbara would divorce , and Vince hired Jeannie to rep him -- way before she married Dave. Vince would go on to marry a nurse, Bari, and have 2 kids, and then marry another nurse, Maryam, divorce and pay her a ton and then re-marry her.

We were VERY close -- Vince made a lot of money as a doc long before I did, and I was so proud of him. He went out on disability because of a heart rhythm issue, and got a huge settlement, and got better and went back to work.

But he dropped me over money. He had asked me to lend him a LOT of money so he could start a pain clinic, and I declined. I had a bad experience loaning money for a franchise business with friend Jorge, and vowed to never lend a friend again. Also, I was a bit worried about being associated with a pain clinic-- they were subject to a LOT of federal checking. Plus, Vince had just paid 7 figures to his ex wife who he was now back with -- what about her. "Oh no -- she is keeping the money this time."

Anyway, Vince said he was so disappointed he couldn't be my friend anymore. I was hurt, but as Tony S said -- what are ya gonna do?

But early this am, he was there, with me, at an office setting with of all people, my urologist Bob. Vince used to do procedures with Bob, and we'd always joke about Vince while Bob was probing me.

In the dream, Bob was sort of reviewing notes on a screen while Vince and I were pouring our hearts out, and crying, about how much we missed our fathers. And then, Dave walked into the scene, smiling.

Strange stuff. I loved it -- anything that brings thoughts of my Dad is terrific. D1 gave Little Man his name as LM's middle. When he doesn't listen to directions, which, as a willful boy is often, she uses his full name as all mothers do with young sons, and it makes me smile.

I see my doc near the end of the year for my annual. Maybe there's some new fangled sleep stuff he can prescribe, which my Obama Care plan will pay for. If not -- well -- Big Man willing, in July I get the good coverage -- Original Medicare!

Lots of sleeps, hopefully, before next July...

A Gig For The Young

 So yesterday amidst the Miami rains of September, Wifey and I left for the Grove, skittish Spaniel Lemon in tow. Lemon is D1's dog, and we've had him here 3 weeks on account of a lot of D1 traveling, and we love him. Wifey tried to guilt D1 into letting us keep him, but she said he was her emotional support Spaniel and wanted him back. Wifey countered that we were Lemon's emotional support humans, and he MUCH prefers the quiet of our house to being bothered by the energetic boys -- but D1 won the debate.

We parked in Cocowalk, newly renovated, and got a table at Mister01, the pizza place. It was filled with Grove families -- many with Ransom Everglades swag, which tells you they're RICH. I think tuition there is now well over $60K per year per kid.

D1 came in -- I had a glass of chianti for myself and a glass of white for her, and we met the new nanny Lucero -- lovely 60 year old Colombiana who speaks zero English. Wifey and I never had nannies, on account of we couldn't afford them, and so avoided the drama. The last nanny, a large and in charge Jamaican woman, was let go after she insulted Baby Man's swim coach, teacher, and finally the Rabbi at the Jewish preschool who had asked her to move her car so he could pull in: "I don't know your JEWISH RULES -- How do I know where to park?" Her son is an NFL lineman -- she doesn't need the money. 

Anyway,we ate pizza and salads, and then decamped, as the rain had stopped, to Salty Straw where they had ice cream, and I met a woman with an unusual dog -- she had moved recently from Virginia, and explained her pup was a rescue from Turks and Caicos -- they run around there. Sweet dog -- wanted his pup cup at the ice cream store.

We took Little Man, and he started to talk...and talk...and talk. He is a veritable bundle of energy. He is also hilarious, with expressions like "I have one more answer up my sleeve..."

I FaceTimed with Donna and Barry and they got a kick out of him -- years ago, they had 2 little boys now grown ass men.

Wifey got LM into PJs, and we began the bedtime process. There was some cartoon time. There was trying out the new IPad I bought him and his brother. There was a trip to the kitchen for "Jitter Juice," the idea of his kindergarten teachers (diluted Gatorade) that calms the jitters of new students -- Little Man thinks it works to keep away any fears of the night time.

Finally, around 9, there were yawns, and a quick march across the hall to his bed, a 2 "Night Bird" stories, which are strikingly similar -- little children are in peril -- the heroic night bird leads them to safety. Little Man, like his mother and aunt before him, loves the tales.

He slept until 3 am, and woke me -- magically hoping it was indeed light out. I delivered the disappointing news -- light was 3 hours away, and he went back to bed. At 6, he came back,and I brought him into our bed for pre wake snuggle time. Wifey snored away.

I reminded him of the male game of Dutch oven, which cracked him up, and at 640 we were on the road -- to House of Bagels. The elderly retired professor was outside, and Little Man greeted him with a hearty "Good morning!" Our bagel lady, very white but who speaks totally in Ebonics, greeted him, and we bought our usual bagels, cream cheese, and black and white cookies -- with an extra one for Baby Man for tomorrow.

It's now 930 am and I'm ready for a nap. The energy level of a kindergartner is amazing. There is a clear biological reason why young people are the ones who have kids.

When Wifey emerges, she can take over for awhile. We have a trip planned to the new Barnes and Noble, and maybe lunch at the Ale House, though Little Man prefers Anthony's Coal Fired.

At some point, I'll put on the Canes game and teach him what I can about football -- I suspect his attention span will be limited.

Tomorrow I have to have him home by 9 am for his reading coach, which D1 thinks essential since he only tested 94th percentile in his K testing. Millennials. 

On FaceTime last night, we told him that Tio Barry moved in with his grandparents for 2 years of high school -- his family was selling a Queens business and sent Barry ahead -- turned out it took much longer to get the move done. Barry loved it.

Maybe we'll do the same for Little Man -- high school is 9 years from now -- I'll be 73.

Then again -- who has the energy at that age???

RIP, My Old Friend

 So Wednesday night I was at Fox's , meeting some old friends for drinks and dinner, and I got a call from Jeff -- I figured I'd call him back after. But he called again, and since we live 5 houses apart, took the call to see if our 'hood was on fire or something. Instead, he asked what happened to my friend Dave? What? He had gotten an email from Gables Stage, where Jeff and Lili get tickets, mourning the loss of Dave, a Board Director.

I met Dave in 1981, when he moved into the apartment below ours in the Honors Dorm, a WW II era apartment building that seemed WAY older than its 40 years. He was a tall and handsome and brilliant guy from Elgin, IL -- at UM on an academic scholarship like the rest of us in the dorm. He was a top athlete -- immediately became the leader of our intramural sports teams, He was joy to be around -- with that Midwestern humility combined with a keen intellect. Anyone could tell he was headed to the big time.

He had a thing for, as we then called them, Oriental girls. His serious girlfriend was Nancy, Korean American who was on the special 6 year college and med school program, and was beautiful and gifted as well as brilliant -- she won "Miss UM" by posing in a swimsuit and knocking out Gershwin on the piano. She became an ENT in Boca.

Dave was 2 years behind me, and we kept in touch. He got into Harvard Law, which was a big deal back then, before Harvard became the place many people of intellect AVOID because of the Palestinian tents.

Anyway, after law school, he came back to Miami and clerked for the smartest Federal judge -- Stan Marcus, who later rose to the 11th Circuit and now is retired. Dave loved the judge and vice versa -- he had his pick of law jobs, and decided to head back to Chicago to be closer to family -- they hired him at Kirkland and Ellis, the top firm there, where he rapidly rose up the ranks.

He also found a wife (by now we were using the term Asian), who was born in Thailand and was a stockbroker. And then, 10 years later, he and Oui (her name) decided to relocate back to Miami. Dave REALLY missed the Canes, and was tired of having to spend Saturdays in Chicago sports bars filled with Notre Dame fans. Greenberg, a top Miami firm, hired him, and Paul and I got Oui her first job as a FA with SunTrust Securities. They bought a beautiful historic house in the Gables, and had a terrific life -- though the marriage wouldn't last.

Dave had met Paul's 11 month second wife Jeannie at a party, and hired her for his divorce. He kept the house, and the divorce was pretty amicable -- no kids -- both potentially huge earners. Oui later became our broker at Oppenheimer when Pat left there, and I kept accounts with her for years afterwards. She and Dave were on fine terms.

Dave repped Jeannie in a commercial dispute, and as my Borscht Belt humor tells it, after they tried each others' cases, they tried each other -- they got married! Later in life, they had twins, a boy and girl, who are, I think, now 18 and in college -- at UM and SMU.

We kept friends -- Dave and Jeannie were wonderful hosts in their gorgeous house, and chaired foundations for Jackson Health and Gables Stage and political events. Several years back, the clownish County Commission tried to bring back Anita Bryant inspired anti-gay regulations, and Dave and Jeannie spearheaded fundraisers to keep it from happening. They won.

Paul and I got a major rollover case -- our client was left quadriplegic. We had a long lunch with Dave, who repped GM in a similar case, to get the lay of the land in those matters. He was terrific, and Paul and I realized we would give up 50% of the fee and bring in a large firm in West Palm -- it was a wise decision.

I spoke at length with Dave about a year ago -- he told me he was planning to retire at Greenberg, but then got an offer he couldn't refuse. Winston and Strawn followed its huge client Citadel to Miami -- they relocated here after their execs kept getting mugged in Chicago and the Mayor basically told Ken Griffin, the owner, "Well dems de breaks." Winston poached Dave -- with his Chicago and Miami connections, he was a perfect founding partner.

I reminded Dave he was near 60 -- did he really want such a big change, but the money was too good to pass up, and his kids would be starting private colleges soon...

Well, turns out Dave and Jeannie got the kids settled into UM and SMU and decided to celebrate empty nesterhood with a trip to Italy. Apparently on the way home, over the Atlantic, Dave was stricken with a brain aneurysm, and died. Jeannie was a trauma nurse before going to UM Law at night -- she knew what was happening, and unless emergency brain surgery could be performed 7 miles high, there was nothing to do.

I was shocked. Here a truly amazing guy, did everything right, was cruising into those supposably (Miami spelling) Golden Years with still young kids -- gone. He would have turned 63 next month.

Last night I got a call from Jorge, also known as Juez (Spanish for Judge since he was one), and we talked over an hour -- shocked at the loss of our wonderful friend. Jorge had dinner plans with him for next week -- he's trying to relocate home to Miami from D.C. where he has been since taking a GOP job in 2020, that kind of ended when Biden was elected.

The mass is set for 9/27. It's a by week for the Canes -- Dave would have appreciated that. He was a true student of football -- when we had our free game chats, he would invariably tell me something I didn't know. There's a celebration of life afterwards, at the Gables house where we had so many great times.

RIP, Dave -- hasta the afterlife -- maybe some celestial Canes.

First World Problems Solved

 So yesterday I chilled, after the long slog sitting and standing next to  my dead SUV, and the tows, and the Ubers...For a guy less than a year from Medicare, it was quite a slog.

Around 10 am, I got a text from Gio, the service rep in Vera Caddy, asking if I got home ok. I told him better than ok -- I enjoyed the long talk with the retired engineer Uber man, Donald, from Port au Prince. Gio said they had my car in the bay and would get me an update.

Close to 2, I texted again, since I figured this was a major issue, and I needed them to arrange for a loaner or rental car for me. Gio texted back: au contraire! They had fixed the issue -- a fuel pump computer module that drained the battery and wouldn't let the car run or start, and would I like to pick up the SUV or have it delivered. I opted for the latter -- somehow a 3 hour round trip in traffic wasn't appealing.

Soon after, I got a text -- my car would arrive at 4:30, via Liliana the driver. Cool.

At 3, Dan the Gate Man arrived, and set about installing a new gate key pad. After 20 minutes he called me to come out to see the now wireless model -- with a 9 volt battery that would last 5 years, he said. Dan knows his gates. We also talked about his cancer journey -- he beat a tough lymphoma, and now has become an expert. I told him he MUST stay around -- he has been our only gate and garage man for the past quarter century. He promised to give it his best retired Marines try...

Wifey had left, for pilates and shopping following her session, and sure enough, at 4:20 I got a text that my SUV was home. I went out to greet Liliana, a mid 50s Cubana, and tipped her and gave her a water. I asked how she was getting back from Casa Carajo -- she loved that. An Uber was 10 minutes away, she said. I invited her in.

We hit it off right away -- she lived in the Pines next to Century Village. She was a retired teacher, now driving for the dealership since she loved to drive and make a few extra bucks. She was paid by the hour, she said, so traffic for her was profitable!

She marveled at the houses in Pinecrest, and said ours may be the nicest house she's ever been inside of. What a charmer. I told her some of the history, but left out the fact that one of the co-architects and owners, Jennifer, killed her teen kids and then herself in West Palm. Hey -- ghost stories have to have a basis...

I walked Liliana to the street, and opened her Uber door. "Wow -- there ARE still gentlemen." Again -- what a charmer.

Wifey arrived home with our chicken sandwiches. Well, not exactly. "I ate mine on the way home -- I was hungry -- here's yours." I bet Liliana wouldn't do that. Wifey is a trip all right.

But First World problems were solved for now. I'm skipping Canes this Saturday to hang with Little Man. I transferred my tickets to Phyllis, Barry's sister, and included the expired parking pass from last Saturday. 

Barry and I Zoomed cocktails last night -- he had worked from home and dealt with the absurdity of health bureaucracy and huge academic doc egos. 

He has different First World problems -- but we agree -- for a couple of roommates in a run down (then) WW II UM apartment -- we've come pretty far.

Dave's Big Annoying Adventure

 So the plan was for Wifey and me to drive up to Stu's Mom's funeral at 2 in Hollywood, and so I checked Waze and it said 1.2 hours to arrive. Wifey was FAST asleep at 1145, and when I emerged from the shower gave her the news that we needed to leave in an hour. She grunted.

I was on only 5 hours of sleep, and without the capacity for my usual gentle nudges to get her going, and so told her if she preferred to skip -- that was fine. She assured me if it was IMPORTANT to me she would rally and go, but I begged off -- I would attend the service, some deli at Stu's at the shiva, and then have dinner with D2 in the Shores. The best laid plans...

I was cruising along on the Palmetto express lane, and got on the bridge to I-75, when the man sized Caddy started to shudder and cough. Was it the repaired tire from Saturday? All I knew is, I was losing power like a jet plane with a suicidal jihadist pilot, and so eased to the left breakdown lane -- fortunately this was a new bridge with ample room.

Car wasn't totally off, but wouldn't shift or move. I got a text from OnStar: "Engine and Transmission Problem -- Service Vehicle Immediately." Thanks, Sherlock.

So I was parked on the ramp, sunny weather, pretty ok, but truly nowhere to go. As I later figured out, I simply should have called AAA, but instead hit the OnStar button. The nice lady found me on her map, and said SHE would call an AAA tow truck, but also alert FHP since I was kind of "in danger."

No worries -- it was hot, but I was in place, and immediately looked skyward and thanked the Big Man for NOT having Wifey with me. She is, how to say it, NOT very stoic, and the heat an uncomfortability of the situation -- well -- I was relieved to experience it alone.

About 15 minutes later, a trooper pulled up from the southbound lane, asked if I was ok (I was) but said he was calling the FHP Road Ranger to move me off the ramp. Fine -- I told him a tow truck had me on their "priority list" and would be along soon -- he drove off.

10 minutes after that, a flat bed Ranger pulled up, with his supervisor in a van pulling behind me -- they were both professional and led me to the flat bed. "But AAA is coming," I said -- but they insisted on moving me off the bridge to a "Safer place." And they did -- driving to the Miami Gardens exit. I asked if he could drop me in the bank parking lot, but the driver said "No -- we're not allowed to drop at private property -- you know how those lawyers are." Yes I do -- I was driving the man sized Caddy because of how those lawyers are -- and he unloaded my car in a wide swath of asphalt just East of I-75.

I then re-called OnStar, who got a local AAA dispatcher, but I had "lost" my priority and now the wait would be 1.5 hours. They sent me a link showing the driver was coming from WEST FREAKING KENDALL, and the fellow called me, with zero English, and sort of asked where I was. I thought -- he's a tad off, but that's ok -- nice when the disabled can get jobs, and I set about waiting.

The car was steamy, and the windows worked, but the rain kept starting so I spent most of the time outside under my $5 Home Depot umbrella. An hour later Stu called, telling me if I wanted to skip I didn't need to make up this tale -- we laughed -- I told him like WC Fields I would prefer to be in the cemetery.

I spoke with D2 and Paul -- offered to fetch me -- but I needed to wait to get the car to the dealer -- and so I had a long, hot, wet slog. OnStar said they'd tow me to Vera Caddy, which is where the car was leased from, but I never visited -- they delivered it to me.

Finally, around 430, the driver showed up. Sure enough, something was off. He struggled to get my SUV onto the flatbed since it wouldn't shift to Neutral. He pointed that I wait in the Cab, When I got in and shut the door, I realized what was going on: it REEKED of weed! Great. They sent me Cheech and Chong Garcia!!!!

After a half hour or so, he got the thing onto the truck, and showed me the address of Vera on his phone, and I nodded. "But how we go?" I asked if he had been to Broward ever, in my broken Spanish. He shook his head -- I think he literally arrived from La Habana last week -- but he already had a weed connection.

I wazed the way, and pointed it to him -- turns out U Turn doesn't translate well -- but 24 minutes later, we arrived at the dealership. The driver seemed to struggle with directions from the Vera folks, too, and I climbed down from the truck, left him the key, and headed to the service Department.

Affable GIO saw my truck had been towed in, and we hit it off. He checked online and said "Hey -- you got the car from us -- this is your first time back!" I explained I lived well over an hour away, and he said they'd come fetch the vehicle for service. Fine, I said, assuming I GET my vehicle back -- I showed Gio the message I had received, and he frowned knowingly.

But, he offered to get me an Uber home, and I told him not all the way to Pinecrest -- just Miami Shores, as Wifey got herself together and agreed to drive up.

My Uber was due at 513. At 530, I walked to Gio and said "Not to be a pest -- but where ma ride?" He checked -- the Uber by Caddy driver had ALSO gotten lost! Ok -- so the day was becoming more absurd. Gio canceled him and ordered another, and finally at 6, a black Lyric showed up, driven by a very nice Black man named Donald.

Turned out, he was in the mood to play bartender and hear my woes of the day, and he was a retired civil engineer and we had a delightful conversation over the 45 minute drive. I arrived at D2's house -- Jonathan was home working, and Wifey was there, and D2 had gotten us Pura Vida, and Jonathan poured me a Tito's, and all was well.

We went to leave, and Jonathan had on Monday Night Football, and the channel kept changing. Hmmm-- where was the remote? Wifey had plopped it into her purse by mistake, and was about to leave with it. That would have prompted an Uber Deliver like the time I had to send up her key fob since she left it in D2's refrigerator so she wouldn't misplace it but forgot -- Aviva found it the next day behind a milk carton.

Anyway -- I await the call from Vera -- I'm assuming this will be a complicated repair, and they'll arrange a loaner or rental car, and then drive back my man -sized Caddy at some point.

I'm also waiting for Dan the Gate Man this afternoon -- the 10 year old keypad finally gave up the ghost.

I was reflecting with Paul about repairs yesterday am -- I used to dread hearing the news that a repairman was coming -- both for the time it took away from the office (I always handled technical stuff like gates and electricians) and the cost. Now, I have plenty of time and enough money.

Of course, saying that must have jinxed my later SUV journey.

My trainer pointed out that my car died on the way to a funeral. Better the car than another funeral.

That, as they say, is that.

Chill Canes Game

 So after the high intensity opener against Notre Dame, Saturday night was hosting HBCU Bethune-Cookman, which we knew would be more of a scrimmage.

I had invited my trainer Jonathan, but really hoped he would decline, as I wanted the freedom to stay, or leave, without worrying about anyone else. Sure enough, he texted and said he was feeling under the weather -- I would go alone.

As I got on I-95, my man sized Caddy dash showed a tire issue -- passenger rear had 27 lbs -- 6 less than the other 3. I pulled off at NW 69th Street, and drove up to the air pump. For $1.50 I filled the tire ( recalling when air was free) and saw the problem: a screw was in the tread. I knew it would probably hold, but didn't want to risk it, as I figured it might be tough to get AAA to the tailgate lot after the game, so I drove under the I-95 overpass to 7th Avenue.

Sure enough, in 10 blocks I saw a sign that said "Used Tires," and pulled in -- 2 guys sitting out front, blasting salsa music. They were Cubans of Color, and they asked how they could help. I asked them if they could plug a tire, and they said sure, and looked and immediately saw the offending screw. They turned down the music, and fetched the plug kit, and made quick work of my problem, before saying "ALL your tires need more air -- air if free here" and filled me to 38 lbs. I asked what the charge was, and one fellow responded "$10." Now THAT was the same price I last paid for a plug a decade ago, and I gave him a $20 and said "Man -- you saved my night." He thanked me and said to his companion "Enrique -- we have a caballero here!" Another fellow pulled up, a Black guy in a sweet Benz SUV, and he got out with the same problem. He saw my Canes shirt, which he was also wearing, and we threw up the U to each other. I then drove to the lot more calmly.

I met Mike and Chris and Loni and Rachel, hosting, and Barry and Josh were there, and Norman and Benji, and then returning from Africa, Eric and Dana. It was lovely -- I hadn't planned on a cocktail, but when Josh produced a bottle of Ketel and poured, I couldn't say no.

I also saw Matt, an old friend's boy, who had become an artist, lived in LA for awhile before realizing it sucked there, and moved home with his baby and now ex wife. The baby girl is same age as our Little Man -- starting kindergarten. Matt had a lovely Swiss girlfriend, Lorena, and we told her tales of her boyfriend's childhood.

The game went as expected -- Canes dominated and took out the starters by the 3rd quarter, and we followed the Gator game -- they blew one to USF, who the Canes play next Saturday. I gave up my tix to Phyllis, Barry's sister, since Little Man will be spending the weekend with us, and 4 weekends in a row is a bit much for me. I WILL attend the Gator game in 2 Saturdays -- even though they'll probably have 2 losses by then...

We stayed for the whole game, Barry, Josh, and I, and left in far less hectic circumstances than the prior Sunday. 

Today the Dolphins opened -- and got smacked by Indy. The loss was so bad, it seems as though the Dolphins season is over already.

That's ok -- I say Go Canes!

But tomorrow, there is sadness to deal with . Stu's Mom Mona died, and we will reprise his Dad Bill's funeral from a few months ago. We sort of saw this coming -- Mona was pretty far along with dementia.

We'll drive to Hollywood at 2, and then shiva at Stu's house in Aventura. Last time, we left and in rush hour had a 2 hour drive home. Well, I did -- Wifey slept.

So I made plans to have dinner with D2 on the way home -- to breakup the bad traffic trip after we honor a lovely lady.

Stu is fine -- joked that like most of us in our 60s, he's now an orphan. And he is.

He had his kids a lot later than I did, and I just hope he gets the joy of grandparenting, though it doesn't seem that's coming any time soon.

But tomorrow we will help him with the end of a phase.

People are born and they die. And the Canes play on...

Goin' To The Plantation

 So these days, I think the 2 worst humans in government are RFK, Jr, and Florida's Surgeon General Ladapo, who I call the Witch Doctor. They are working directly to kill millions.

Ladapo this week said he was proposing killing ALL vaccine mandates -- so schools could no longer require them, for example, to admit kids. He said doing so was tantamount to slavery, and who was HE to say what went into someone's body. Of course, being shameless, he and DeSantis think they can tell women what they can't take OUT of their body, but these are the monkeys we've elected.

I'm PRO vaxx, and scheduled my flu, TDP (it's been over 10 years since I got the tetanus shot and might as well avoid diptheria and whooping cough, too, as well as the new Covid. Last week I got the first 2 -- not so fast on the Covid. They were about to approve the updated one, for THIS Covid season, and the pharmacist said to check back this week.

Ha. Then all hell broke loose. The guidelines started changing -- now only 65 and above get it, unless you have some underlying condition, like obesity. OK -- I'm cool there.

Being OCD, I kept checking the Walgreen's APP -- no Covid jabs. Finally, I called, and a South Asian call person took me through it, only to say "Oh no sir -- in Florida there is still a delay."

Apparently RFK scared providers into saying that if they gave jabs against guidelines, which he controls, the providers wouldn't have the liability shield of the Vaxx Act. I don't blame the providers -- if everyone who had a bad reaction sued -- they'd be in bankruptcy right quick.

Well, yesterday I went online and saw CVS has them -- at their Minute Clinic. There's one just North of Kendall Drive on US 1 -- I have an appointment this am. I had some earlier Covid shots at CVS, too -- I recall a few at the South Miami branch. I already uploaded my insurance card and seem good to go.

The only downside -- I won't drink for a few days after the jab, and tonight is Zoom Happy Hour. Oh well -- herbal tea to let my immune system amp up with the new RNA...

So despite the Witch Doctor's words, I am voluntarily going to the plantation -- the slavery of vaccines.

Does anyone really WANT jabs? Of course not -- but citizens realize the importance to the community as well as to themselves. The real problem is, there are FEW citizens anymore -- just individuals, and dumb ass ones at that!

Meanwhile, Wifey and I watched the closing argument in our obsession -- the Donna Adelson trial. That prosecutor Georgia Cappleman is one of the best I've seen -- organized, well spoken, obviously brilliant. Her Dad was an FSU football star in the late 60s/early 70s -- he must beam about his girl.

As Wifey was watching the video, I went on live news, and saw the jury had already decided -- Donna was guilty! I saw it coming -- Wifey, not a lawyer, thought maybe there wasn't enough evidence, at least according to some of the law groupies she read. Good thing she never went to law school.

It was deep drama. Donna cried as the verdict was read -- the large and in charge judge threatened to kick her out if she couldn't compose herself. I thought of the great scene in "Life of Brian," where the condemned man is told by John Cleese "You're only making things worse for yourself," and he replied "You're about to stone me to death -- how can it get any worse?" Donna ought to have cursed out the judge and been removed.

Dan Markel's parents immediately gave impact statements -- about how Donna had ruined so many families. Phil, the Dad, a well spoken academic, said "In the Jewish tradition, we with each other to live to 120. I wish that for you, Donna, alone in your prison cell." And he ended by looking at her and asking "Was it worth it?"

Of course it wasn't. This egotistical control freak ruined so many lives because she didn't get her way about her daughter's divorce. And it looks like the daughter is next in Georgia Cappleman's sights -- she was asked about it at the post trial presser. She said simply "Stay tuned."

So off soon for my jab. Justice moved further along for the FSU Law professor. Tomorrow Canes host Bethune Cookman -- my trainer Jonathan MAY come along -- he'll let me know.  If not, I'll cruise up to Joe Robbie alone and hopefully stay for a half.

No grandsons this weekend -- they're busy -- but next weekend I think we get Little Man Friday AND Saturday night. We adore that D1-faced boy -- he's become hilarious -- he has our family's sense of humor.

I wonder if XM has a Gospel channel -- I can put on some Spirituals as I drive myself to slavery this am...

Always Look On The Bright Side of Life

 So yesterday I enjoyed a nice morning, pre rain walk with the Skittish Spaniel, D1's dog who has been on extended stay with us (D1 calls is LOL -- Lemon on Loan) on account of lots of D1 traveling and the fact that we really love Lemon and he prefers the quiet of living with old people to the tumult of 2 little boys who chase him. How's THAT for a Joycean run on sentence?

Afterwards, Wifey and I got ready and headed to Golden Rule, a seafood place we enjoy but somehow haven't visited in years, to meet my former banker and friend Carole. And we left our delicious lunch, as I knew we would, with an energized view of blessings in life and not, as the cliche goes, sweating the small stuff.

Carole is a few years older than I. We met in 1988 when I joined my last law firm -- she was their banker at then SunBank. She had joined them out of FSU, and we bonded immediately. She's from a proud Irish family -- her parents are from PA and met at UM in the 50s -- and over the years, as Carole moved from bank to bank, I always followed her. The last move was a few years ago to a local outfit called Amerant -- I was surprised she switched away from the larger First Horizon, but they went after her, and her loyal clients, hard -- for good reason. Carole has been a private banker for families now on the third generation -- work she did for clients in the 80s has led to work she now does for their grandkids.

She is a confirmed spinster, a word Wifey hates, but is accurate in describing a never married woman. I have never known Carole to date anyone -- and don't really know more about her private life, but DO know he has close family and close friendships -- her niece Colleen is more a daughter than niece -- I have been privileged to know that amazing young journalist, now in St. Pete and writing for a local media there.

Anyway, my long joke with Carole is that I, a Jewish guy, have been TWICE to Ireland and loved it, and Carole had never visited. She DID go to Israel with her church pre Covid and loved it -- but never to the Old Sod -- and Carole is FULLY Irish.

Last year, her beloved Noles opened the season in Dublin, and she finally put together a trip with her brother and niece and nephew -- but it had a sad ending. Carole was rushed to hospital with shortness of breath and rib pain, and a young Irish doc brought the rough news -- the pain was from broken ribs, which broke since they were riddled with cancer, which had come from elsewhere. They talked about starting treatment in Ireland, but Carole bulked up on pain meds and returned to Miami, where she saw the docs at Baptist's Miami Cancer Institute.

The news was grave -- breast cancer that had spread ALL over -- so much that there was no surgery, or even radiation or traditional chemo indicated -- it was like a no win game of whack-a-mole.

Carole shared the news, and I thought to myself, my old friend wouldn't make it to see 2025. But cancer treatment has come far recently, and they started her on immunotherapy. It's been a rough slog, with repeated visits to have fluid from the tumors pooling in her lungs drained, and LOTS of weakness and pain.

But...now a year out.. Carole is doing great! Her booming laugh was as it always was, and when a thunderclap happened as we were under the tiki hut of the restaurant, we all jumped and laughed together. She went back to her car to fetch her phone, which winded her, but sitting together yesterday on that rainy Wednesday, no one could have told her condition.

We said goodbye with virtual hugs, as she is still VERY careful about getting sick with viruses, and promised to meet again. I told her if the Canes beat the Noles on 10/4, she would hear from  me. If her Noles win -- well -- we'd talk in November.

Wifey and I drove North on the wet US 1, and marveled at our old friend. She's had one of the worst years a person could have -- and she was up, and chipper. Feeling down due to far less trauma -- well -- you simply can't.

We stopped at a jeweler and Wifey was finally freed -- from a costume bracelet she couldn't remove. The nice jeweler at Mi-Ra snapped it right off. They said their family started the place 43 years ago. Wifey promised to return and give them some real business...

Then we went to the bike shop next door. Since her stroke, Wifey's balance has prevented her from bike riding, and she wanted one of those low rider 3 wheelers. The shop only had old folks tricycles -- it recalled when my mother, who never learned to ride a bike growing up in The Bronx, had one in her Delray condo. Wifey had forgotten -- Mom rarely used it -- getting one at the time was a right of passage with moving to Kings Point -- I think Mom rode the thing for about a year or less. Her grandkids would take it out, and it ended up rusted on a bike rack filled with tricycles years later...

Luckily, Wifey begged off -- she wasn't ready for THAT stage of life. She's going to research the less elderly form of 3 wheelers...

At 5 this am, I was awakened by an annoying chirp -- low battery in one of our monitored smoke detectors. It's uncanny -- those things never go off during daylight hours. I came downstairs, to the happiness of both Spaniels, and recalled I had an extra 3 volt battery, which I installed.

When the alarm company opens, I need to call and have them walk me through a re-set -- that I forgot how to do.

I also ordered 10!!! 9 volt batteries, to replace the detectors throughout the rest of the house. When those batteries run low, they trigger ALL of the non company detectors to chime sequentially. No fun at all -- especially during the wee hours -- and only by replacing those guys, which requires ladders, can I shut it off.

But the message was Carole -- long may she run -- and may Wifey and I share her spirit. Each day is truly a gift -- and a rainy late Summer lunch with an inspiring friend -- well, that's a great gift indeed.

Certifiably In Trouble With The Village

 Among the top manifestations of my late onset OCD -- maybe the one that Wifey finds most humorous, is the fact that I pre-check the mail daily. I have this service from the US Postal Service, Informed Delivery, that shows you each day the mail due to be delivered that day. 

I check it, to confirm that it's all or mostly junk mail, and to see if the occasional important letter is coming. Early today, I saw that I was to receive a Certified Letter from our Village of Pinecrest.

Hmm.. I immediately thought -- that nutty Riva, who I told to stop harassing me, turned me in for something -- maybe I left my trash bins out overnight, though my OCD would prevent that, too. We're on the final leg of our daily delivery, and our mail typically comes after 7 pm, and I left the gate open so Belkys could come to the door to have me sign. Alas, as I was out fetching UberEats, a different carrier had already come by, and left the Certified Letter without signature.

I opened it. It was a Notice of Code Non Compliance -- Leaf Blower! A year ago or so, the Village outlawed gas powered lawn equipment, as Coral Gables had done earlier, since they're too noisy and polluting, apparently. Of course, the electric ones work like crap, and so the lawn guys just kept using them -- my guys included.

Well, the "grace period" ended, and the notice said as of last week, HOMEOWNERS would be fined $150 for each violation, even though they know none of us do our own lawns in Pinecrest! I told Wifey to take a photo of the Notice, and send it to Pedro, explaining that we think the law is stupid, but he needs to comply, or we will call ICE on him and his crew. Nah. Just kidding about the last part! Although that will be coming next.

Meanwhile, Wifey and I had a banner time at the Canes game. On the drive up, I reminded her that the first game I took her to, in 1983, was Notre Dame, and here, 43 years later, nothing has changed with us as a couple. She corrected me and said nearly 160 lbs combined had changed, as well as my gray hair and both of our assorted age-related infirmities. She was always good at bringing reality into my romance...

We parked near Mike and Chris, and I drank a decent amount of Stoli Oranj, and monsoon rains came. Paul, Patricia, and Wifey climbed into the back of Chris's SUV, while I stood under the tent, dancing to the wildly inappropriate and wildly loud music from some 20 somethings across the aisle -- with each song shouting the N word, and P words, actually many P words, repeatedly. Wifey had me stop singing along, smartly.

The rain let up, we went to our seats, and watched a great game -- our boys hung on late to preserve a victory -- biggest one since ND visited in 2017. Barry, Josh, Wifey and I lingered in the seats after the alma mater was sung, knowing it would be a cluster leaving the packed stadium. Some ushers of color told us rather brusquely to "Take the party to the Club -- we need you OUT" and I chuckled at this latest reverse racism, which I reminded Josh I found funny and no problem unless it involves the Jewish thing...that I will not abide.

Sure enough, it took FOREVER to walk out of the stadium, and longer to get out -- we made it home at 1 am.

Yesterday D1 brought the boys over for less than an hour, on her way to a Labor Day barbecue, and it was delightful..

Tomorrow I'm meetng my old banker friend Carole for lunch. She was diagnosed with metastatic cancer 2 years ago -- first symptom was broken ribs while on a trip to Ireland -- mets from breast ca -- by the time she saw an oncologist at MCI, she was beyond surgery and beyond chemo. But they put her on immunotherapy, and here she is -- 2 years later -- doing well. Those smart docs really have moved the bar a lot in the last decade or so.

She's a Seminole alum, and this year promises to be a major contest for us -- though the game is in Tally. I'm sure we'll give each other the business about that.

So I'm happy my trouble with the Village is manageable. At past 64, I feel to old to fight city hall anymore.

Hopefully Pedro complies...