A Lovely Weekend

 So Friday we had a classic Zoom cocktail hour -- the one remaining positive event from the days of the Plague. Eric, Dana , Barry, and Donna and I sat toasting each other on camera. Well, not so much Donna, who flits around during the sessions, and Wifey, who sits in her recliner off camera "judging silently" as we always joke.

Saturday we met Sandra and Dave in the Grove, at Strada, a lovely Argentine owned Italian place. We did a bit of day drinking, and pasta eating, and caught up about their month long journey from Buenos Aires to Miami up the coast of SA. We also compared notes about this grandparent thing -- they love their 2 grandsons, but see them every 3 weeks or so -- that's plenty. They have probably a healthier view of things - grown kids and their kids have their own lives -- I suspect they worry after their kids far less than Wifey and I do.

Also, they made it clear their world travels, all first class, would take care of most of their kid and grandkids' inheritance. Again -- probably healthier than my concern about leaving plenty for the Ds. But the truth is, travel doesn't do it for me, I abhor STUFF, and enjoy dressing like I'm painting the house, as one effete former judge named Alan once remarked when we ran into each other at Wayside Market -- he was all country club looking in his tennis whites... He turned into, now, always was, a pompous fellow anyway -let him dress like a character from "Goodbye, Columbus!"

After lunch, I texted Joelle and Kenny, and they met us at Narbona for gelatto, and then we got Sandra and Dave into an Uber back to the Beach. They host a blow out party each year in Stoke -- we're invited each year. Maybe one day we'll show up in The Midlands and surprise them -- though Wifey is more Portugal and Spain-loving than the Cleveland of England...

Sunday we headed to D1's, and English Weekend continued -- her friend Jess from London with her 2 adorable girls. D2 and Betsy attended, too -- Jonathan's uncle Eli died, and he was with his family. The boys were nonstop energy -- hilarious and so full of life. The contrast with the chill girls was so evident -- they played quietly as the boys jumped on each other. Turns out boys really are different.

And yesterday Wifey and I drove up for Eli's funeral -- a large cemetery called Shalom Gardens I didn't know existed -- right in the middle of North Miami Beach. Eli was 77, married briefly but no kids, but very close to his brother David, my consuegro, and his kids. Eli had plenty of money and spent it on wine, women, and song -- and a fishing boat he kept in Caracas. David, his oldest Bennie, and Jonathan spoke lovingly about this international man about town. There was a poignant line: "he was far from a perfect human, but that made him perfectly human."

I congratulated David on being an amazing brother. He said he's had to care for his older brother for nearly half a century -- getting him out of jams all the time, often involving jilted girlfriends. At the end, he took over and made sure Eli's passing was easy -- hospice at Miami Jewish, instead of prolonging mere existence, as some of the docs suggested -- the classic wallet biopsy.

We reconvened at David and Lizbeth's house for a huge spread of shiva platters. David had all 6 of his kids -- his oldest daughter flew in from Canada with Noah, her husband, and 4 of his 7 grandkids. Everyone toasted Eli on a VERY full life, well lived. After a few hours, Wifey and I headed home, talking about other friends who remained childless and yet had lovely, full lives. We adore and live for our Ds, and now grandsons, but that's not for everyone.

Today Miriam changed things up and arrived, and so I bolted for errands. My grandson was told by D1 I played the flute -- would I play it and show him? I retrieved it from the drawer where I last played it probably 25 years ago, and it turns out, it needs some refinishing. A trip to a local music store got me a referral for a guy named Glen in West Kendall -- we'll meet and see if he can put the old Bundy back in working condition. Some off key renditions of "Color My World" and "Heard it in a Love Song" await.

In a very positive development, Wifey is hosting mah jong again tonight -- just 2 friends -- Lili and Gloria, but she's laughing and sitting -- it appears the Intifadeh may be coming to an end. Maybe I'll even get her to travel again -- first by herself, later together.

We've never taken a luxury, overnight train. Maybe that's in store for the Summer or Fall -- Rockies or Canada? Who knows? Just good to know this stuff is back on the table.

Funny Little Milestones in Life

 So this week there were 2 milestones -- and the frustrated English major in me DOES love them -- markers that remind us to stop and reflect on years or decades gone by.

Wednesday night, Wifey and I went with Jeff and Lili to the Chabad/Friendship Circle 30 year anniversary party -- they started in Wifey's parents' living room (a house we bought after Hurricane Andrew and later rented out), then moved to a storefront near Miami Dade College, and finally to the current home. Paul and I gave them a 5 year, interest free mortgage to let them buy the property -- a fact that I think got lost in recordings of our philanthropy -- but that's ok. We could have named the place, like a dentist did for his late parents, but as always happens when institutions grow, OTHER names take over for the other programs and no one says "Lester Greenstein" anymore. And that's fine -- tzedekah should be its own reward -- though as old friend pointed out when visiting Mt. Sinai Hospital, and walking past what he hilariously called "The Wall of the Ashkenazim," folks DO want their names up to recognize what they give -- and better they give and get recognition than not give at all.

Anyway, it was a tolerable night -- I feared being subjected to boring speeches about the 3 couples being honored for giving the really BIG shekels, and that didn't happen. One guy, a finance type with a Chicago accent, gave a lot -- and he was on stage with his easily 25 year younger wife who was, well let's say, zaftig. I leaned in to Wifey and asked: if I left you for a 45 year old, would it be easier if she was really fat? Wifey agreed it would be -- but countered whether I would mind if she left me for a much more athletic Cub than me, the one the Cougar has. I said it would not matter to me.

After the presentations, a comedian named Elon Gold performed, and he was terrific -- poking fun at the fact that Kendall wasn't exactly the center of Jewish life in Miami, and that only apps were served. He said he was a proud Zionist -- his pronouns were "He" and "Brew" and I immediately stole that for my own Dad humor collection.

After, some desserts, and catching up with old friends like Lisa, who always makes a beeline for Wifey to tell her how I was the nicest classmate in law school. I was. As Barry noted, not that we were bigshots (actually on campus we were) but always were kind to the girls who weren't destined to be models, let us say...

But man. Three decades. That flew fast.

The second milestone was an email --time to renew my Notary Public commission. I have been a Florida Notary since 1984, when my friends Sandy and Cricket (Jim) asked me to marry them. She was Catholic and he Protestant, and so settled on the Jewish law student. It was a gorgeous wedding, at Vizcaya, and the announcement in the home town Bucks County, PA paper noted that "The Reverend Dave" officiated. Later, when I married another college friend, Edelle, to Alek, they gave me a placque to "The Reverend Dave."

Later, the Notary became my first yearly, and then semi annual FU to the Nazis, as I used to to notarize my suegros' proof of life documents to get their pensions from the German government for the Holocaust. No, they didn't give out rings in the Holocaust as the hilarious line from "The Hangover" asked, but they did give out reparations, and my little notary stamp was my own tiny Nurenmberg.

I keep it current -- Lili and Jeff always have something to notarize for their many investment properties, and every 4 years I have to renew -- they want to make sure I haven't become a convicted felon, or mentally incompetent. I guess the latter is more likely than the former.

Still, the renewal always takes me back-- this time to 2021. We were still in the throes of The Plague, Wifey was recovering from a stroke, we had one grandson, and I was still quite a distance from Medicare.

Now, 2 amazing grandsons, Wifey recovered, the Plague is in the rearview mirror, we're at war with Iran -- yeah -- lot of stuff goes on.

Yossi hugged me at the gala: "My FIRST guy!" I told him in this gender fluid era -- maybe a different choice of words would suffice. We both laughed. We laugh a lot -- with our shared, wise-ass Ashkenazi senses of humor.

So here's to laughter until the next milestone. You can walk down Life's road without a sense of humor, I guess, but I have no idea how.

It's The End of the World As We Know It...And I Feel Fine

 So Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS) is really a thing. Fortunately, I don't suffer from it. I can't stand he president, and feel he threatens, through his moronic minions, a real threat to the US. But I still refuse to give him free mental real estate. That's not the case with many in my circle.

Yesterday I had a delightful birthday lunch with Mirta, my sister of another mister. She despises Trump. Recently she hosted an old friend who hadn't been to Miami in 40 years -- a gringa once married to Mirta's first husband's cousin. The woman showed up wearing a Trump T Shirt, assuming like most Miami Cubans, Mirta was a GOPer, and probably Trumper. She wasn't -- the friend changed her shirt, and they avoided political talk during the weekend.

Another friend, at dinner recently with a Trumper she had no idea about, has told me to NEVER invite the two of them out together again. Fine -- I get it -- but I haven't gotten to that point. Hell -- some of my most Lefty friends have occasional dinners with a former Trump Cabinet Member -- who also was heavily involved in the Epstein scandal. I get it -- he's an old friend and good guy -- just has odious politics. I'd have dinner with him, too.

I prefer to, like the old American Songbook classic advises: Acc-En-Tu-Ate the positive.

Meanwhile, we drove to the Grove last night, and met Joelle and Kenny, and heard tale of their latest adventure -- through the Panama Canal. It was a classic Mars/Venus report -- Kenny loved the mechanics of the canal; Joelle thought it boring. But they had a good time, and got to celebrate their oldest's great news: acceptance to a Psych Internship at Wisconsin. I've visited Madison in January. Turns out it has a lot of sub zero weather and snow -- but I know Adam will love his program.

As we walked back to their condo, Wifey blurted out "So when are we traveling again???!!!" I took this as a positive sign -- mere weeks after canceling a cruise -- she must be getting back to where her bad back is manageable. We talked of possibly a luxury train ride -- maybe Canada -- or the US.

My only overnight train trip was the Autotrain from DC to Sanford, Florida, when we moved to Florida in June of 1979. They were sold out of cabins, and I still recall being unable to sleep during the 19 hours in a reclining chair. So I'm ready to see the other side of the romantic, so I am told, railways...

Meanwhile, tonight we're attending Chabad/Friendship Circle's 30th anniversary party. I bought 4 tickets. Yossi wished me to buy a $5K table, but the days of big shot charity are on hold for now. D2 and Jonathan were to attend, but Jonathan has a work event, so I gave the tix to the OTHER Jonathan, my trainer. He grew up with Yossi and Nechama and their kids -- he is excited about the event -- open bar and a comedian named Elon Gold.

Paul thinks Yossi will "give me a big play" since Wifey and I truly ARE responsible for their early success -- first contacts -- Wifey essentially referred the first Hebrew School class. Paul and I gave the initial $200K loan to allow them to buy the property -- no interest for 5 years back when interest was 10% per year -- and now it's a multi million dollar complex.

But the thing you learn about charity -- it's truly "what have you done for me lately?" And luckily they found some REAL big money folks --3 couples are being honored tonight -- and their gifts are in the millions.

Still -- Rabbi and Nechama have become OUR link to the religion -- Bat Mitzvaeing the Ds, presiding over weddings, Bris (es), and the funerals of my suegros. We've grown up together, and I kvell for them and all they've done for the community. The Surfside Towers collapse threw Yossi onto the international stage -- I used to be so proud watching him on CNN and Fox.

So I plan to get my money's worth from the open bar, see old friends, and celebrate. If it truly IS the end of the world, and Moshiac (Messiah) is a-comin', I figure Yossi will be the best source of how to deal.

Either way, I feel fine.

Shrinking Bandwidth

 It's funny, the old cliche "if you need something done, ask a busy man to do it" is so true for me. Back when I was balancing fathering 2 little girls, being a husband to Wifey, and building a law practice from the ground up, I would take on additional tasks with ease. Often these would be providing counsel to friends and acquaintances -- researching legal issues, connecting people with experts.

As I am now far less busy, with only a very part time law practice, grown daughters, and the fun part of grandparenting, it seems much harder to take on new tasks. Plus, I simply no longer have the bandwidth mental or emotional, to get involved like I used to.

A very select few people get the full concierge services I offer. And I prefer it that way. I turn down far more offers to attend events than I used to. It was "sure -- I'm free -- let's do it." Now it's "is what's being offered worth the time and effort -- to take me away from a house and 'hood I love?" Often the answer is, for this curmudgeon, a hard no.

I guess I AM my father's son. When he and my Mom retired to Delray, there were always social events -- typically my Mom's sisters and their families. Large groups would go to early bird specials at local restaurants. My Dad went for the first six months or so, and then realized almost all of the conversations were the same: medical issues and which banks were paying the highest CD rates.

He leveled with my Mom -- he preferred to stay home and read, or watch public TV. My Mom was fine with it -- she happily went with her family. And, strangely, it probably prepared her for the widowhood she would know a mere 3 years after they got to Florida.

This weekend is a perfect example. March is high season for cool stuff to do in Miami. No grandsons or Ds for us at all, and Wifey and I planned exactly nothing. Well, we did until last night -- during a FaceTime with Barry and Donna, Donna offered to come to our local favorite, Captain's Tavern. We usually meet halfway, in Doral, but they know Wifey is still improving from her bad back, and prefers very short drives.

So they'll pop over, and enjoy the time together. I have plenty of bandwidth for close friends.

Monday I plan to have lunch with Mirta, to celebrate her birthday a few days late. She and I have a lot to catch up on -- she and her boyfriend have been world traveling -- and I much prefer to hear about trips to actually having to take them. Yeah, I AM letting the Old Man in, in contravention to Clint Eastwood's advice.

There's a local politician I follow -- Gables guy, was voted out of office. He keeps commenting on FaceBook (TM) about the "dye being cast." I messaged him -- I really like his opinions, but the English Composition teacher in me had to pick the nit: I wrote him the proper expression is "die is cast," since it refers to a tool and not coloring. He wrote back thanking me, and said he would be running for office again, but yeah, I have become a grammar scold, too.

Paul's friend Andy, retired in Mexico, sent a great article about retirement, which Paul forwarded and I shared with my friends who are hopefully close to that milestone. The article talks about how most of our lives, our identity was tied up in our career success -- everything we accomplished, all the goals we set out and met.

But a happy retirement requires a totally different mindset. It has to be about finding joy in just all of the moments -- walks, time with friends and family, with no tasks that must be accomplished.

I think I am succeeding at this very well. I ALWAYS have the bandwidth for finding joy in the moment.

Dealing With Askholes

 I learned the term years ago and I love it: an askhole is a person who draws you in with a "vital life question," has you spend time and effort giving your best answer, but goes ahead and does whatever they were going to do in the first place, anyway. We all have lots of these folk in our lives.

But yesterday, until late, was a golden Wednesday, a Miercoles Gigante, as I named it. First, Wifey's back is much better, and she was able to drive with me to D1's house in the regular car seat, instead of curled up, lying down in the back. I much prefer having a wife to visit grandkids instead of a sack of potatoes I haul around.

We arrived, and D1 was flitting about as usual -- when the boys aren't home, the place looks like kids don't live there -- everything put away and organized and clean. To her credit, when they DO come around, chaos is allowed, even encouraged, but then her instincts kick in and she returns the place to Scandanavian standards.

D2 arrived with Betsy. It was 3 pm. D1 pulled out the Tito's and a glass, and said "Dad -- boys aren't coming home for 2.5 hours -- why not day drink a bit. It puts you in such a great mood." There are plenty of old Dads who would have refused. Drinking on a weekday at 3? But this Dad is not one of those, and so I did as offered. A few sips in, I toasted Wifey and the Ds -- after a rough 2025, may this time, between Purim and Pesach, be one where we thank the Big Man for all His manifold blessings, and ask for resolution of issues we face, going forward.

D1 suggested a walk, and so we loaded the special needs Spaniel into a stroller, leashed up the skittish one, and brought Betsy along -- she sticks near D2 like glue. It's just a 5 minute walk to Biscayne Bay, and it was a breezy one -- truly delicious as we chatted our way down 81st street in Shorecrest. Shorecrest is a VERY old Miami 'hood -- lots of houses with maritime themed decorations -- flags made of driftwood, etc. You hear folks say "Miamuh" a lot -- a dead giveaway for those here after several generations. Of course, houses they probably paid under $100K for now cost $2-$3M -- but such is our city -- not lots of young folks can afford to buy here anymore. Hell, Wifey and my first house, $86 K in 1986, would now go for $700K -- and it's tiny, and NOT anywhere near the delightful breezes of the Bay.

Anyway, we stood there awhile, and said our hellos to the spirits of  my parents --D1 brought a tear to my eye reminding me of when she was 3 and one stormy morning looked up with her doe eyes and asked "Daddy -- would Grandpa Hy have loved me?" Oh hell yes he would have. We also said a hello to D1's beloved Madeleine, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge and had her ashes scattered in the Bay, too, on a rainy, gray day.

Oh, I was the luckiest Grandpa and Daddy in the USA -- surrounded by my "surfeit of X chromosomes," as Barry notes, and knowing a couple of Y chromosome boys would be joining us soon.

We walked back, and the critical discussion about dinner was had -- settling on a favorite, Mykonos which now has a "ghost kitchen" in Midtown. The Ds hilariously described what that meant to Wifey.

The Ds and Betsy left to fetch dinner, and then the terramotos (Spanish for earthquakes) came via nanny. They were SO excited about their days at school, and what was for dinner, and Little Man got back a painted box he gave to a girl but gave it to a different girl, and, and, and...

The Ds arrived with food, and we sat around eating the delicious pitas, and Greek salads, and then Little Man spotted a neon lighted box on the counter. What was it? Ah -- Wifey bought them a karaoke machine. Just then, I got a call -- there was an urgent question. Could it wait -- I was in the middle of a Golden Wednesday. "Well how long -- this is critical?" 2 hours? Well if it must...

If there's something more adorable than a 6 year old boy and his sidekick 3.5 year old brother sing with a karaoke machine -- well -- I don't know what it is. Plus, this one has voice modulations, so the boys learned they could  have different voices -- low, monster sounding, to high pitched effiminate man voices. 

There was laughter. There was love. It was exquisite.

Around 7, we all left, as the boys were headed to baths and school night pre bed activities. And then I remembered -- I had told the inquisitor I would call back. I did.

The details aren't important -- but talking about harshing the mellow I had. The asker went on and on -- feigning interest in my advice, but prepared to tell me at each turn no -- she was going to do this. Poor Wifey didn't get the concept of the askhole, and she was on her Google search trying to get data about the issue. I over ruled -- it was clear to me that facts and data weren't being sought -- just affirmation for what indeed sounded like one of the stupidest things I had heard in a long while.

I got another call, and had to flee. Wifey said "Wow -- that really set you off." It did, and for other, deeper reasons. But no matter - I asked Wifey for future help. If I'm having a great day, and any askhole calls -- please remind me -- wait a day until I answer.

Ain't nobody, with VERY small exceptions, have a right to rain on my parades anymore. Life has a way of doing that anyway -- bad issues, health or financial or social -- allowing people not essential to you that license is folly. I don't plan to commit that folly again.

But no animals were harmed in the making of the Miercoles Gigante. We have D1's skittish Spaniel -- D1 is off to Chicago for a week for a business opportunity that is MOST promising -- right up her alley in expertise, and making connections with the machers of Miami.

I used to be good at that. D1 is next level amazing at it. In fact, an old friend from ATL told her her daughter moved here -- would D1 have lunch with the young, single marketing exec and share thoughts about careers and life? She would -- I will take Mom and daughter and D1 out for brunch in a few weeks. D1 and D2 make me proud.

As for this am, I have "either a call or Zoom" with CPA Mark to work on 2025 taxes. I opted for Zoom -- neither of us is pretty enough to have to see each other. The bad news is my income was far down in 2025. The good news ought to be lower taxes owed -- we'll see.

And the askholes -- well -- they just have to wait awhile. And that's fine.

Envy of a Billionaire

 A dear friend says she thinks envy is the most toxic emotions. She can handle being hated by someone -- but envy frightens her -- she thinks the envious constantly wishes her bad -- she avoids anyone who envies her, like the plague, as my mother used to say.

I envy just about nobody. Well, Tom Brady for awhile, but even he suffered -- the supermodel wife taking multiple karate lessons a day with a studly sensei humbled him. So that's about it -- with the possible exception of Miami's best billionaire -- a fellow named Ken Griffin.

He was born in Florida, raised middle class in Boca, and then went to Harvard where he made connections and used his math genius to ultimately found the largest hedge fund in the US, Citadel. They were a major company in Chicago, and he would throw around millions in charity, like, as Barzini said about Don Corleone, so many nickels and dimes.

Well, Illinois taxes were tough, but despite paying them, Chicago's crime problem hit close -- his employees kept getting mugged, and the Chicago government seemed more worried about the creeps' rights than their victims -- so Griffin high tailed it to Miami. He's building a state of the art skyscraper off Brickell, bought crazy properties, led fellow billionaires in programs to recruit MORE billionaires to Miami (it's working -- the money coming here is crazy), and caused several major law firms to follow him here as well.

But most importantly, his charity here has been amazing. He gave the biggest gift ever to Nicklaus Childrens, and same to Baptist for a Neuroscience Center. He's donated to schools. And to my beloved UM -- $50M to build a new cancer research building -- it opened late last year.

Last night I learned he gave another $10M to UM -- to recruit a young, hotshot GI doc here from Emory. I read about this guy -- may have the WASPiest name ever: Dr. Field F Willingham. This was fodder for my friend chats -- I joked that he was coming here since the kreplach in Atlanta was from hunger. If it turns out this guy is Jewish, I have to retire my JewDar, which is usually pretty spot on.

But he is an amazing doc per my research, and a huge get for UM's med school. As I am an academic groupie, as Dr. Barry calls me, this is a big deal -- especially since it involves my alma mater, and the fact that my family are major consumers of GI related medical help -- D1 and Wifey get treated at UM -- D1's good friend Morgan is on faculty there, and her latest scope was done by a young hotshot who looks like she is still in high school, instead of the nationally recognized academic doc she is.

So I envy that -- being able to be a philanthropist that way. Paul and I have always been generous donors -- for years, we were in the chips with our law biz, as they say, and always shared willingly. Lately, on account of we're working much less and not making rain like we used to , things are skinnier at the shop -- this coupled with family financial needs that seem to go higher, not lower, on account of I spoil my adult children and grandchildren like no one else I know, except Paul.

As a result, my giving numbers were down in '25, though still more than half my early lawyer salaries.

And if I had Griffin's money...man... I would NOT buy a bigger house, or art, or stuff, but would love to be able to call a college or hospital boss, or Dean, and say "So -- about that new building you need."

Years ago, I read about Sinatra when he lived in Palm Springs, He would read the Deseret News, and see an article about someone's hard luck -- maybe a waitress's trailer burned down. He would call his lawyer in Beverly Hills and have them arrange an anonymous gift -- warning the lawyer that "if this gets out, I'll replace you with some other big shot Jew lawyer."

Man, I loved his political incorrectness, but more importantly that he did that. I do, too, on a much smaller scale -- read about sad stuff, and typically go to a Go Fund Me site and help. I avoid "causes" where I know the people have well off parents -- I figure that those are their responsibilities -- but not many people have well off parents.

Anyway, I never met Griffin, but as D2 said when I shared the news of the latest gift -- he sure has been a nice addition to Miami.

Next week -- Rabbi Yossi and Nechama are hosting a 30th anniversary celebration of their Center. I bought 4 tickets --Wifey and I are going, and hopefully D2 and Jonathan -- if they can't, I'll invite other friends. It promises to be a fun night -- open bar, catered apps, and a comedian named Elon Gold, who is pretty, pretty funny, and is taking a fraction of his usual fee.

I was asked: how about a $5K table? Not this year, I had to say -- but maybe that will happen again, if the chips come back.

But I sure hope Yossi can somehow get connected with Ken Griffin. Griffin is Presybyterian, but might want to help out the special needs work Yossi and Nechama do. Man, I would happily envy that...

Seasons Change And So Did I. You Need Not Wonder Why

 Big Sunday for this old fellow. First, I took Little Man to breakfast with Loni and Mike and their grandson Teddy, and after some play time, it was off to Shorecrest with him and his skittish Spaniel Lemon for some re-homing. On the way, he figured out his IPad takes photos, and he took about 50,and since the device and my IPhone were connected on CarPlay, my photo library ended up with them -- hilarious selfies of his mischievous grin, and some shots of his driver, me, as we traversed the County.

We arrived to see the never downtime D1 and Baby Man hosting some friends from the pre-school -- really lovely Italian Jews --a Mom and her 2 adorable daughters. We talked of their origins -- rich grandpa in Rome who paid off a Cardinal to hide the family in Vatican Apartments. Their parents live in Miami, as does a sister doc at Mt. Sinai, but they're off to Rome after the school year. 

I left, and headed to D2's house, where a delighted enormous puppy greeted me. D2 and I headed to meet Jonathan at the Design District food Court, MIA Kitchen, for "the best sushi in Florida." It was pretty good -- poor Jonathan is dealing with the decline of a beloved uncle -- he was put into hospice at Miami Jewish last night. He's 79 and had quite a run, as Jonathan noted, but it seems his days grow short.

We went back to Casa D2, and watched some basketball, and in 2 hours it was time for me to head to Broward to meet 3 lady friends for dinner and the Guess Who concert. It was lovely, and supposed to be politics-free, but one friend, a lifelong GOP member figured she was in safe territory with the 2 Hialeah raised Cubanas -- but it was quite the opposite: they LOATHE Trump and everything now about the GOP. Luckily the cocktails let me re-direct the conversation, and an Uber ride got us quickly to the Seminole Hard Rock, which is probably the best place to see a big show -- NOT arena sized, but big enough.

At 65, 64, and 2 60s, we were among the younger ones. And Burton Cummings, now 78, and Randy Bachman, 81, were awesome with their VERY tight band. Their songbook is amazing, especially since they included the BTO hits that came later -- the show ended with a rousing "Takin' Care of Business."

In the row in front, there was a classically attractive, it seemed, blonde with very long hair, and very tight jeans. She was dancing along, but then I noticed she grabbed her back and sat down. What my reminiscing about seeing concerts as a 20 year old fox -- the term we used for attractive girls - turned around to show she was -- horrors -- late 60s or even 70! NOOOOOOOOO! It was a snap back to reality.

As we exited, an ever sterner reminder awaited -- probably 10 walkers parked, awaiting for their owners, the way motorcycles used to await their Easy Rider owners outside concert arenas. As I rhetorically asked in the Uber ride back to the restaurant: "Why was everyone SO old?"

But the music was still fine -- the ballads still sad: "I didn't see you were LAUGHING" at my heartbreak. No -- no one's sharing any land or appearing to "all live together" as their song from the hippie era went. Still, "She's Come Undun" still resonates as a great song about people, especially women, losing it.

And it turns out "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" was a favorite of all 3 of my lady friends -- back before they were married and they enjoyed that aura of feminine power over men.

Now, in our 7th decade, we all appreciate the power of still being able to attend dinner and a concert, and get up and dance along.

The years march on -- so I don't wonder why.

Grandparent Privilege

 So every generation thinks the way the one following it raises their kids is nuts. No exception here. As late Boomers, Wifey and I were pretty helicoptering, but we gave the Ds plenty of down time -- other than school, they had a few planned activities, but that was it.

Of course, when I was a kid, there was Little League. Just Little League. And much of what I learned about life came from just hanging out with friends -- making our own fun. Some was dangerous, like the period we experimented with explosives in our teen years -- luckily the only lasting harm was some permanent hearing loss my friend Eric has from a too close exploding firecracker -- but generally we got through unscathed.

D1 is very different -- she thinks the boys need CONSTANT activities -- sports, lego building, etc...

When she leaves Little Man with us, she is sure to tell me all of the things going on in Pinecrest. This weekend there was a car show, for example. Wifey and I nod, kindly, but already know the itinerary for Little Man will be a LOT of doing nothing. And he loves it.

Yesterday she brought both boys, and they played and rough housed, as boys will. We tried to get them to watch "The Little Mermaid," a favorite of the Ds in their childhoods, but after an hour, Little Man wanted to switch to "Sponge Bob" -- sort of nice, mindless content.

D1 left with Baby Man for a party near Dadeland, and Little Man, Wifey, and I settled in for a quiet evening -- his beloved IPad, some drawing, and an epic bath in our comically huge tub, which he loves. We listen to him fantasizing about being a pirate on the high seas. Ah, kindergarten.

After, some bed time snuggling, some more IPad, and then his eyes grew heavy. I took him to his futon bed, and told him a Nightbird story -- always about the heroic bird who flies around rescuing children and animals. "Grandpa Dave -- that was a short one," and we agreed I would tell him the tale of his Mommy's birth. By the time I got to Wifey's labor, he was out.

This am, we decided on another trip to Roasters for pancakes, instead of the traditional BAFL (bagels at first light). He suggested we invite "our friends from last time" -- Chris and Mike. I did -- and this time Mike and Loni showed up -- Teddy the toddler in tow -- his parents in Naples at the brand new Four Seasons for a weekend.

We had a lovely time -- Teddy fascinated by the older boy. It occurred to me that the boys were 3rd and 4th generation Canes -- assuming they attend. 

We came home, and Little Man began building his new Lego blocks -- Wifey bought him some new ones. Wifey came down, and enjoyed her Language of Love matzah brie and bialy, and is now hanging with our beloved grandson.

I have to leave in an hour to re-home him and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel who also spent the night. There is, of course, an activity planned -- some animal show in Aventura.

I plan to have lunch with D2 and Jonathan, and kill some time before leaving for Broward and The Guess Who with some friends -- trip still too long for Wifey and her bad back and hip.

So another chill time with Little Man -- we love and adore him and his brother so. I always make the same promise to D1 --  I will do my level best to return him in one piece. As for activities? Nah -- that ain't grandparent duty, at least for Wifey and me.

Crossing Counties

 As my friend Norman well knows, I don't often drive north of the Miami Dade-Broward border -- let alone all the way to Palm Beach. Yesterday was an exception -- a cheer up visit with dear friends Boca.

My sister of another mister Dana broke her wrist while playing on a slippery wooden floor with her grandson, in Atlanta. She had it reduced in the ATL ER, and they flew home. Her smart as a whip grandson said "I don't think we should play soccer in the house anymore." His Dad is an engineer -- clearly he inherited those analytical skills.

Anyway, she had a successful surgery Wednesday, and I decided to use the Joelle approach -- something she taught me while Wifey was in a 3 week rehab stint following her stroke 5 years ago. Most caring friends say "Can I do anything?" Joelle DEMANDED I meet her and family for dinner, or come over for dinner. That's a lesson that will always resonate.

Eric and Dana have a TON of support -- their daughter and family lives close by, and even Josh made a special side trip from his business in Melbourne to check on Dana. But I know I am THE most fun and cheerful friend, and so I aggressively invited myself for a visit -- bringing dinner.

I planned to get there around 5:30 -- WAZE said it would be an hour, 45 minute trip. But for some happy reason, there was 1980 level traffic -- I made it from the Sunniland post office (my second trip of the day -- loafers open at 10 am instead of 9 like the rest of the biz world) to a Mexican place on Glades Road and the Turnpike in 1 hour and 10 minutes! Talk about back to the future!

I wanted Wifey to go, but she's still gingerly climbing back to normalcy. She DID go to Roasters to meet Boston friend Sheryl and happily reported she sat for 2 hours and drove back and forth pretty well. Baby steps...

Meanwhile, the drive up the TPK brought MANY memories. I made the trip weekly when I was in college -- it used to take 1 hr and 10 minutes from Coral Gables to Delray -- my parents comically brutal architectured condo, Kings Point. If there is an uglier complex than that, I never saw it -- essentially parking lots with squat, 2 story buildings where the view is either said lot or a narrow strip of grass with bottle brush trees never allowed to grow higher than 15 feet. Still -- my Mom LOVED the place -- lived there from 1979 until 2012 -- moving for her last 11 months to Little Haiti and Miami Jewish Home.

I conjured up the memories of all the life events -- parties, illnesses, just regular trips with my buds. After 1990, when my sister and bro in law and their kids moved to first Boynton and later Hypoluxo, the tpk trips were to fetch Grandma Sunny in Delray and then drive her up Jog Road to family meets.

Yep -- LOTS of Tpk memories.

The Mexican place, Tequila Something, was good -- I went in and ordered, and then drove into the gated Boca community. Dana, a true trooper, was in good spirits -- she showed me the lovely home improvements I only saw on Zoom meetings -- it had been pre plague last time I was there.

We talked of kids and grandkids and friends over the decades, and then Eric came home and mixed us some FINE Tito's martinis -- with refills from the big shaker. I told them I really liked that Boca bar.

We ate, and shared more tales of life -- how we all met as barely adults and traveled together into grandparenthood. Eric and I turn 65 this year -- I told them I plan a sunset sail in Biscayne Bay with just a few friends -- looks like they'll be in town mid July.

I left around 8 and drove home listening to the Panthers game -- poor Eric called -- he was called back to the hospital for a VIP patient he needed to see. Man, I don't miss work related emergencies -- Paul and I fielded plenty of those -- 2 am calls from clients on the cusp of multi million dollar settlements arrested, or about to commit domestic violence. Yeah, no, as we say in Miami -- that's best left for the young lawyers.

Today I meet my trainer, instead of Wednesday when the distempered raccoon kept me trapped, and yesterday when his Tesla tire needed a replacement.

Tomorrow D1 is bringing the boys -- she is taking Baby Man to a local party, and leaving Little Man with us. I think I may take him to my fish seller in The Redland -- time for some new cichlids -- the cold spells thinned their ranks. The koi did fine -- they can live in frozen lakes and ponds -- essentially prettier, hardy goldfish which are hard to kill.

Sunday after I drop off Little Man, I hope to see D2 and Jonathan for lunch, and then leave for Broward -- TWO cross county trips in 3 days! I'm meeting some friends for dinner and then a concert -- The Guess Who. Alas, Wifey's sitting it out -- so my drives will be solo. That's ok -- plenty of memories to keep me company.

And as Dana and I agreed, it is certainly possible to go through life without close friendships. We just don't see how...

Raccoons and Crocodiles, Oh My!

 So Wifey and I were on our typical nightly shifts -- she comes to bed around 2:30 am, and I awaken around 3 for a prostate pee break. I settled into the chair by the bed to read what major issues I had missed (I only made it through 30 minutes of the SOTU address, learned everything is terrific, and so went to sleep), and saw a text from Wifey. It was a photo of a mid-sized raccoon she had spotted by our front porch areas, walking in circles. She read that could be a sign of rabies, and we ought to watch out.

Sure enough, I awakened and was getting ready to leave for the gym, and the raccoon was still there, looking like the folks who used to wander away from The Palace or Miami Jewish Home -- circling, not foaming at the mouth, but not leaving. I called 311, the Miami Dade County line, and got Animal Services. The DEI person (Lord, Trump IS getting to me) took my info -- I said we may have a rabid raccoon, walking in circles. The person took down the info and I got an emailed case report. I asked when I might get a visit -- and she said "Within 24 hours you will get a call."

Yeah, no, as we say in Miami. So I recalled a company called Pesky Critters, owned by a guy named Todd Hardwick. His Dad Richard was a long time lawyer in town -- I actually met Todd on a case -- he was an expert when we sued WalMart after my old boss's client got bitten by a pygmy rattlesnake while buying a ficus plant at the Wal Mart nursery. We lost the case! The jury said hey -- it happens. I remember joking with Todd that he decided at a young age he liked working with actual animals as opposed to the wanna be animals lawyers were. His company's business is a-boomin', as Lt. Aldo the Apache says.

Jeff answered -- he could come by closer to noon -- he had to trap an 8 foot crocodile in South Miami. Wow, I said -- sounded worse than our maybe 10 pound raccoon. We laughed, and he called back -- he had the croc in his truck already (it was slow moving in the cool weather) and was on his way.

He pulled up, and I opened the window and pointed to the raccoon like the scared little bitch I was. I never liked raccoons -- they creep me out -- and the thought that this one might send me for the dreaded multiple rabies shots kept me behind the screen. Jeff, a big blonde guy, probably late 40s, said "Oh -- he's moving pretty well, and tried a snare which missed, but the second did the trick, and he caged our unwanted guest. Emboldened, I walked out and saw the raccoon. Rabies? Nah, said Jeff -- probably distemper -- lots of them were getting it in the cold weather.  I didn't ask what fate awaited our guy -- Jeff showed me another in a crate also in the back. 

And then he asked if I wanted to see his first visit's haul? Hell yes, I did, and there was a VERY huge crocodile tied down in the back, not moving. Jeff said he was to be relocated -- they're protected -- but it would be far from the South Miami street where he was enjoying his canal-side constitutional.

I snapped pix for my grandsons, and Jeff and I spoke -- he's a Jersey boy, here for 20 years, with the best job in the world. I told him I was a LI native -- his Mom is from Bayshore, and I asked if he knew about the famous Entenmann's outlet store there. He did. We talked sports -- he was wearing a Panthers jersey, although he grew up a Rangers fan. We talked early Islanders, and he said the Nassau Colisseum was the dreariest arena he ever visited. He was correct.

He left, saying he'd text me the Zelle info, and he did: $175 to remove the critter, which I thought was VERY fair. Of course, 10 minutes after he left, a County van pulled up. I greeted the nice fellow -- "So where's the rabid 'coon?" I told him he just missed him -- Pesky Critters got him, and opined it wasn't rabies, and why did the dispatcher tell me 24 hours?

"Well, they say that, but when we hear 'rabies', we roll fast." No harm, no foul -- for $175 I got to meet, as D2 noted, Crocodile Jeff. Also, Jeff texted me -- he was going to invite the boys and me to their company HQ which is sort of a private zoo of trapped critters. That alone makes the fee worth it.

Then I called Jose, the roofer. He said Final Inspection is Friday or Monday. I asked him about 3 areas where there are no tiles -- I figured they were left that way for drainage, and you can only see them from our bedroom balcony. Sure enough -- code changed -- the water drainage areas must be tile free. But Jose said after inspection, his guys will return and paint the area with terra cotta coating -- to make the 3 triangles look good without compromising wear or effectiveness. I really like Andrew Palmer Roofing.

So Miriam is here -- alone again -- cleaning. He usual helper is at the doctor. I wonder how long this can last with our septugenarian housekeeper.

Tonight is the final session of bible study. Kenny is at sea, so it's just Barry, Norman, and me. We're having some steaks and martinis at Platea -- and will toast to still being able to learn and acquire life wisdom in our 60s.

Like today -- now I know how to spot raccoon distemper versus rabies. The things you learn...

Who To Leave In; Who To Leave Out

 In my family, my Dad was always seen as the smart one, while Mom, who we loved and adored, was the Edith Bunker -- wise, but not the one you wanted on your "Jeapordy!" team. Dad was a self taught intellectual - very widely read, and prided himself on saying "I am the family psychiatrist -- come to me with your problems." Mom was the opposite -- she'd ask how you were and answer "Oh that's great, Sweetie" before you had the chance to get our your gripes.

Well, as it turns out, Mom's wisdom was the deeper one. There's a LOT to be said for insulating yourself from the negative waves of others, while people like Dad, who internalized the angst and sadness of those he loved, skipped off this planet a few months after turning 63 -- Mom made it to 93.

I had a talk the other day with a family member -- not nuclear -- who mocked my cheerful greeting by telling me all of her manifold woes. She has plenty, of course, mostly due to life choices that led her down a tough road, but on this day her sour mood was about insurance company premiums, and how evil corporations take advantage of regular people -- kind of like a mini Bernie Sanders speech.

I listened, and she asked about my issues, answering before I could -- that my cheerful demeanor MUST mean all was great --- and why wouldn't it be? I have SO many blessings, and money, and dear friends, and, and, and -- my blessings DO feel an embarrassment of riches to me. And typically I'd just go on cheerleading, as I do, but maybe there was something in the air: I was honest.

I told her she was actually in an elite club -- one of the few whose crap I endured based on thinking it's what my Dad would have wanted. But guess what? I had plenty of misery myself -- but choose not to spread it around like manure.

I was reminded of a small but poignant scene from "The Sopranos." Paulie gets pulled over by a local cop who was clearly on the take from Tony's crew -- and apologized to Paulie. Paulie asked how he was, and the cop started venting "Well you know, the wife's cancer is back, and my kid..." Paulie put up his hand, and said "Yeah -- we all got our freaking problems. You REALLY think I need to hear yours???!!!!" Both men laughed because it was true -- we DON'T need to hear the miseries of others, even though politeness demands we ask how things are; how they're going.

Meanwhile, Wifey continues to fight her bad back journey. Her luxury ship sailed without her Thursday -- she put in the claim with insurance for reimbursement. 

But last night, I got a bit tougher. I had told Donna and Barry about a neighborhood fish place, near FIU, Kenny told us about. He, Paul, and I went there last Thursday before we attended a Joelle Crim Pro lecture at the law school. It was delicious. It was VERY moderately priced.

Donna LOVES seafood, and they decided to go -- inviting us. Wifey told me to go along, but I chose not to be a third wheel, and nicely but firmly asked Wifey to come along -- it was only a 24 minute drive, and she could stand as needed. And she did, and we had a fine time!

I figured if she was on the ship, there'd be a nice dinner, and figured she ought to have that, albeit in less luxurious surroundings. We ate -- shared a paella and some ceviche. Donna and Barry LOVED their entrees -- I have a feeling this will become one of their go-tos, although it's a weekend 30 minute drive for them -- down the TPK and past FIU.

It was -- a regular nice Saturday night, with a dear friends -- we talked of our kids and grandkids -- their life choices, some wise, some less than wise.

Wifey told me when we got home she WAS in discomfort, but so be it. It was a needed night, and proved she could still be amongst the living, versus the shut ins -- the last place one ought to be until really much later.

Today the weather is gorgeous. I have some LONG walks planned. Hopefully tomorrow they finish our roof -- it appears largely done except for a few drainage areas near balcony and a stairway joint.

Hopefully I get to see the boys -- probably a fetch from school and maybe a late lunch with their beloved tia, D2. I so love those afternoons -- and now that Little Man adores D2's beloved enormous dog, she loves them, too.

And March draws nigh. The months truly fly by -- just yesterday we were ringing in 2026 in San Juan Harbor as the Canes were beating Ohio State. 

So my delayed New Year's resolution -- minimize the negative allowed into my head. Plenty comes with no choice -- that's life. But allowing non essential downers? Nah -- that was SO 2025.

Tech and Car Service

 So Wifey's car is D1's former SUV -- a Lexus RX350. D1 had leased it, but then when everyone started hating Elon Musk and Teslas got cheap, she wanted one of those instead, and it was $200 less per month. Wifey's SUV was getting long in the tooth, and had been repaired a LOT of times on account of stuff jumping in front of or behind the SUV when Wifey was driving, and so I decided to replace the older SUV with the newer one -- it had only about 12K miles on it.

We sold the old SUV for more than I thought, and D1 and Little Man and I drove up to Margate, to JM Lexus, to do the purchase of the vehicle off lease. It used to be you just sent a check to the finance company, but dealers paid off the Florida GOP to make it that you had to transact this at dealers so they could try to rip you off with fees. JM did NOT -- they were terrific -- and I willingly bought an extended warranty through 2028 to cover repairs -- knowing we'd be keeping this SUV awhile.

Wifey's had it now for 2 years, and it still has less than 20K miles, and this am I went to move it so the roofers could get a vehicle close to the front of the house, and instead of the healthy sound of a vehicle starting, I heard clicks. The thing DID turn over, but I knew a dead battery was imminent, and so called the local Lexus service department, and asked for my long time advisor Isaac. "Sir -- he retired 2 years ago -- he was an older fellow." Isaac is my age...

Anyway, I got some young guy when I drove over, and he told me it indeed seemed like the battery -- did I want a loaner? Batteries were covered by the warranty. No thanks -- and I walked the 3.7 miles home in lovely weather.

A bit ago, I got a text to watch a video from the dealer. I did, and it was Wifey's SUV, with a tech showing how he had topped off the fluids, the tires were still fine, but the cabin and AC filers were schmutz -ridden. Then I got a text asking if I wanted the replacements -- I accepted 2, but declined an evaporator cleaning service. Man -- everything is high tech now -- even mechanics video and text you!

The SUV will be ready later -- I can drop Wifey off to fetch it. We have zero plans to replace this SUV -- hell -- the extended warranty runs until 2028! By then the car will have 30K miles!

Truth is, we can get by fine with a single car -- neither of us typically drives that much, and most of our trips -- to the Ds or Wifey's many doctor visits -- I take her anyway.

My SUV lease is up in June -- my laziness will probably cause me to simply lease the same vehicle again -- a man-sized Cadillac -- that ought to get me to 68 years old, and Wifey -- well, her age cannot be mentioned. Might this be our final foray into 2 car territory? I guess time will tell.

Meanwhile, the roofers have most of the job done, and it looks terrific -- like when we moved in 25 years ago! They'll either finish today or Monday. We're in a drought, which is bad for everything BUT roof jobs -- but as I have learned, eventually the rains in Miami WILL Come.

For now, a weekend is upon us, and another cold front coming. I have plenty of firewood for my firepit. Firepits are still very low tech...

The Alpha and Beta of Sunniland

 So I just learned a new Gen Z or Millennial term: beta. It refers to an inconsequential man -- the guy who is wimpy and overlooked. Apparently it evolved as an antonym to alpha, as in dominant, or lead man. Turns out I know PLENTY of betas -- little guys, not just in stature, but those who think small and try to overcompensate by acting tough or knowledgeable while they are anything other than alpha.

But today, I decided to use opposites in a culinary way -- this am I visited the North part of beloved strip center Sunniland. Newcomers pronounce it "Sooney-land" but we longtimers know it rhymes with sunny.

H and H Bagels opened, a famed NY bagelry that opened to fanfare in Boca last year and now has an outpost here in Pinecrest. They had a "soft opening" yesterday, and my visit showed they were still working out the kinks. A young NY Jewish guy was at the register and running stuff, while the Latina preparers were making their way to deli-barista status. I got a classic nova spread with a VERY fresh and delicious everything bagel -- it was indeed delicious. After my coffee, I stepped back into line behind a svelte blonde Latina young Mom type -- guessing a Beth Am Mom -- possibly Judea.

She turned to me and said in perfect pitch B and T accent: "I am soooo excited. We moved here last year, and honestly the only thing I miss about The City (shorthand for Manhattan) was H and H!" I turned to the manager and said "Hey -- maybe hire her as a spokes-maidlach." He laughed -- I don't think she knew much Yiddish -- too many generations between the Lower East Side, or Bronx, and Scarsdale or Rosyln.

I got Wifey a fresh out of the oven (when they bring them out, the yell "Fresh bagels!" egg and cheese sandwich with tomato. I saw her in the kitchen, hiding the bag behind my back, and regaled her with the tale of the delicious bagel, while she looked like a started Retriever whose owner is hiding a strip of beef. And then I said "Just kidding!" and gave her the sandwich, which she pronounced delicious, but responded in the exact way her mother would have "They don't have bialys?"

I today hereby adopt "They don't have bialys?" as the new expression signaling her soft disappointment -- yes, this is good, BUT...

Anyway, I tried. I always try.

As for the omega of Sunniland -- that comes tonight. They opened a Sergios where  IHOP used to be, on the southern cap of the Center. Barry, Norman, Kenny and I will muster there at 5:30 for our dinner before Bible Class -- have some good Cuban before we, as Kenny noted, debate how many angels fit on the head of a pin. It's actually much more interesting than that.

Sergio's is a small chain of decent Cuban restaurants, and I read the new one got a liquor license. That may give ME license to order a favorite drink -- a vodka mojito. I was taught about this permutation of the Cuban mint julep by a Cubana friend who, like me, doesn't favor rum. The vodka mojito is less sweet, but still quite good.

Meanwhile, the roof tile installation continues in earnest -- affable Jose sent me photos of some completed sections and it looks terrific. Jose said the job will be done either this Friday, or early next week. Next -- refinishing kitchen cabinets, so we can be ready for the duration.

I love that expression. I first learned it from my Dad, when I asked about his WW II service -- how long did they tell him he would be in the Army? "For the Duration" was the answer -- which for him was from April of 1942 until December of 1945 --December 7th -- Pearl Harbor Day, no less.

Long time when you're 22 -- his age at draft time.  I hope my "for the duration" - time spent in Villa Wifey, spans a few decades. We'll see.

All I know is, I plan to keep on taking care of my family. Ain't no one better call ME no beta...

Strange Days Indeed

 So in keeping with my Canes chat nickname, "Obituary Dave," there have been a couple of famous ones the past 2 days. One was a real loss, the other, to my view, "eh."

I LOVED Robert Duvall -- to me -- one of the finest actors of our generation. Of course, he was in two of my favorite films of all I and II. If you have to ask what those Roman numerals refer to, you don't know me at all. I also loved him in "Great Santini," and "Second Hand Lions," where he was well into his 80s and still kicking it. "The Apostle?" And of course loving the smell of napalm in the morning.

Wifey and I plan to watch "Lonesome Dove," which we missed when it was on TV, and apparently was one of the great actor's favorite roles -- saying the cowboy he played was an American version of Hamlet.

He was also in another favorite movie, "To Kill a Mockingbird." His role was silent, as the child saving Boo Radley, but you could see in his eyes he was destined for thespian greatness. We will not see his like again.

The other death making headlines: Jesse Jackson. They say he taught so much to so many. In my case, it's true -- I had never heard NYC referred to as "Hymietown" before he slurred the city thusly. Originally he denied he said it, when reported by WAPO, and later said part of the Jewish conspiracy made it up. Later, he admitted it and apologized.

But he also hugged Farrahkan and Arafat. Yeah -- best thing I read about him was how impressive it was that he made it to 84 without ever working a single day in his life. See ya.

Further showing the strange days was the shooting in Rhode Island -- a trans Dad killed his ex wife, one child, and then him/herself. 2 other kids are in critical. The photos of the killer showed he NAILED the look first presented by great character actor Lou Jacobi as a transvestite in the Woody Allen film "Everything you Ever Wanted To Know About Sex." I mean -- the photos show a guy with arms most of the guys in my gym would kill to have -- shoulders, too.

I know anti LGBTQRSTU folks (I always add extra letters for permutations yet to be uncovered) will blame the killer's sexual identity on the awful crime. That's silly, of course -- he was, like Jacobi's wife character noted, just a sick individual.

Meanwhile, the tile installers were here yesterday and are back today -- the final step in what has now been a 5 week re-roofing job. My payments have now risen to the 6 figures, which blows my mind -- more than our first house cost! But, as Paul reminds me, the house is a big asset, and paying for the new roof is just rearranging assets.

Villa Wifey has given us so much joy -- so many great memories -- unlike shares of Apple or Pfizer -- which have let us PAY for stuff but aren't inherently joyful.

Jose tells me MOST of the tile work will be done by Friday -- and hopefully completion next week.

Wifey, who still wants to move, got some promising news. I assured her I would NOT be involved in another re-roofing -- and the lifespan of this roof is 35 years -- so sometime in the next 35 years, before I turn 100, we WILL move.

Ha. If I get my way, there'll be just one more move for me -- to the tiny real estate we own off the Palmetto near Dadeland, currently known as Mt. Nebo cemetery. I guess we'll see.

As John Lennon sang: nobody told me there'd be days like these. It's true. But for now, it's nice to simply keep on, keepin' on, as Rev. Hymietown may have said.

Ageism on President's Day

 So we had a delayed Valentine's Day celebration last night, based on the 800th episode of "The Simpsons" airing. My two dear law school friends and I were big fans, as were our wives, though truth be told, none of us has watched in a decade. But there was no school or court work today, so I took it as a sign -- ordered some pizza and wings and cannolis, fired up the firepit though it was kind of warm, poured adult and adulteress beverages, and we had a time.

Of the six of us, only one is still in what I call the "Old People Biz" -- caring for a 90 something parents. The other 11 of our beloved Moms and Dads have shuttled off this mortal coil -- and one remains -- and is the subject of tensosity between her friend and a brother who really only wants to "do what Mom wants" without taking control. I really feel for my friend -- this will only get worse before, blissfully, peace will come.

Wifey and I had three clients in the Old People Biz -- primary caregivers for my Mom and her parents. The relationship is fraught -- we were really deeply involved in raising the Ds,and all that entailed, and still had to coordinate care. We started out being deferential to their wishes, though they were often idiotic -- my Mother insisting on living alone in her condo, for example, when most of her day was spent trying to clean up the accidents she had on her carpet -- knowing if we saw them -- ALF was coming.

There's a bad twilight between stubbornness and actual incompetence -- when the latter comes, things go more smoothly. In Mom's case, one of her many falls landed her at Delray Hospital, and Eric said she was starving to death based on her serum albumin. Then we took away control -- down to Miami Jewish for the final 11 months, where she was cared for humanely and visited, mostly by my sister of another mister Mirta.

My suegra was the toughest -- staying in her Pembroke Pines condo for years while my suegro was at Miami Jewish -- and the day he died, it was "no longer mine home" and demanded to be moved -- but not to ALF. So Wifey and I kicked out the comical tenant Lenny -- a classic example of a word I just learned: beta. A beta is a loser guy -- the one who is dominated by the alpha. That was Lenny to a T -- made an ok living but we thing put a lot of it up his nose -- used to bounce the $1K rent checks all the time -- I'd have to meet him at a Starbucks for the cash. I kept his rent the same for 5 years, and when I told him I needed the unit back, he protested "But this is my HOME!" even though it was a month to monthe lease. The problem was by then any similar place was 2.5 times more expensive. When he moved, we found he had lived like a frat boy -- missing toilet tank covers, for example.

So Wifey worked with our handy man Nestor, and made the place lovely, only to have her Mother whine about how lonely she was there, despite Wifey getting her drivers to take her to the local casinos, and our many meals with her.

Before her final years, Wifey learned the lesson: YOU make the calls for the 90 something -- trying to keep them happy is a fools' errand.

This whole thing with the missing TV anchor's mother is absurd to me. 84 and sick? Hey kidnappers -- she's all yours! You'll get caught and put in prison for life -- but a national search and demand for $6M?

Again -- I know it's ageist, but I want my Ds to know if I'm in my mid 80s and in failing health, and some moron kidnaps me -- do NOT pay the ransom. Far more important resources by used for those with real futures.

And hey -- I'm 5 years into old age, so I get to say this, right? Like only old people can use the "O word."

We Boomers are TOO involved in the life our our kids and grandkids -- every one of my friends, to varying degrees, cares for their adult kids financially or otherwise. One relative has a hub-son, a great neologism I learned yesterday from Bill Maher. Her troubled boy is in his mid 40s, and they speak daily, if not multiple times per day. Ha. Hub-son -- a son who in many ways is like a husband.

But the point is, on TOP of these responsibilities, you pop that of ancient parents. Basta. Enough.

Wifey and I acquitted our responsibilities to our 3 olds with love and compassion. We have zero regrets. We loved them, and honored them until their Rewards. Do we wish we could still visit them in the nursing homes? No -- the grandsons and Ds have futures and need us.

Wifey remarked how old one of our group looked last night. She was right -- we're all mid to late 60s -- one of us could pass for mid to late 70s. So our time here is limited as it is. Let us focus on our kids and grandkids, and savoring our days.

Ageist, I know, but happy to be out of that business.

Everything's Quiet On Valentine's Day

 Ah, the Dia de Amor is upon us. Yesterday was National Mistress Day, which is apparently a thing, where you celebrate your side piece. I imagine more lingerie and fewer chocolates...

We used to celebrate, since I'm a hopeless (and helpless) romantic -- moonlight concerts at Deering Bay, nice dinners at Christy's, and for several years I set up a table in the front of our VERY romantic house and hosted dinners. The first was 2001, soon after Wifey and the Ds and I moved it. I brought in DiNapoli and we toasted our family in our new home. Later, we invited Pat and Susan, Jeff and Lili, Mike and Loni,and Dave and Maureen. I would buy nice costume bracelets for the wives and hide them under the dishes. One year the Ds were our servers. We all enjoyed it.

This year Mike and Loni invited us to dinner at Platea, followed by a trip to ZooMiami for Ron Magill's wildly entertaining "Sex and the Animals." We went years ago -- terrific. A talk on the exotic mating habits of exotic animals -- presented by the wonderful Magill, sort of a Neil DeGrasse Tyson of Zoology.

Alas, Wifey's hip and back keep her from attending, and instead I fetched Little Man after a lunch with D2. We just came from breakfast with Mike and Chris, followed by a visit to Mike and Loni's house, the closest thing there is to the Addams Family mansion -- he was fascinated by the tiki bar with mummies and skulls, and a visit with Mr. Tortoise, the large pet who ate a green pepper to Little Man's delight.

I may bring him to Greer Park later. We invited the super genius neighbor girl, but haven't heard back. At some point, I shall re-home Little Man, and maybe have a cocktail with D2 and Jonathan -- they've learned that dinner on VD is amateur hour -- paying double just because.

If the timing works, I may stop in the Grove on the way back, too -- to see Joelle, Kenny, and their cool buddy Claude, a retired Navy ortho surgeon. His wife, a retired Navy eye doc, had to attend to a family matter, and so missed the trip to the Grove for the Arts Festival, which I joke has gotten far too crowded and so no one goes there anymore. Does anyone even know who Yogi Berra was?

But last night, after Little Man finally fell asleep following some snuggle time, Wifey and I agreed this was the BEST type of Valentine's Day -- one celebrating the true love that led to beloved grandchildren. I truly hope all of my friends get to experience it -- turns out being a grandpa is a nice gig.

Wifey was supposed to leave on her Oceania mah jong cruise Thursday. She hasn't canceled yet, since her trip insurance said she didn't need to file the claim until departure day. I joke the odds from Vegas as to whether she goes keep shifting. Latest: no go, as she told Barry and Donna last night on our FaceTime call.

I hope she does get to go -- I think a week at sea woud be good for her psyche -- but totally her call. I remain DaveBer, available to schlep, or not. I just want to be given 5 stars after the journey.

So I hope Cupid has drawn back his bow, as Sam Cooke sang, and let his arrow go. Nice to have a day recognize love -- in all its manifestations.

Mental Real Estate

 So The Donald -- craziest president ever! I long ago kicked him out as a squatter taking up free real estate in my head -- but clearly I remain in the minority.

Yesterday was roof tile delivery day -- a pretty big project where a team using a long conveyor belt moved the thousands of heavy clay mix barrel tiles up to the various elevations of the roof of Villa Wifey. Affable Jose of Andrew Palmer called to tell me of the progress, and than said Sara, the cool manager, would be stopping by -- did I still have the paint colors from the last repaint job -- they wanted to touch up some areas where they installed the new copper flashing and damaged the walls. I honestly wouldn't have noticed -- too high to see -- but Palmer, on the top end of prices for roofing companies -- does details like that.

I told Jose I would call Errico, the nice painter we use -- maybe he had the color mix number that Sara could use to buy the paint. I got him on the phone and asked how things were in Miami and Nicaragua (I swear I was going to sing my question to the Broadway tune "How are things in Glocca Morra") and Errico said fine EXCEPT... he HATES Trump so much, and can't think of anything other than that villain, and how could his Latin friends possibly have voted for him, etc... I let Errico vent -- when he did work here he realized he had kindred spirits in Wifey and our designer, a Hialeah Cuban who also loathes The Donald -- and so went on and on. Finally -- we got to business -- no -- he didn't have the colors, but recalled where he left the remaining paint can in my garage, which I gave to Sara and all should be good.

Later, I got a response to my light political satire post on FaceBook (TM) where I noted that I commented rarely on politics but if I had a Dalmation, I would keep it away from Pam Bondi. Old law school friend Cheryl, a classic limo liberal ( commenting continually about social justice from her multi million dollar homes in both West Hollywood and Maine) took me to task -- I SHOULD be more forceful on FaceBook in these horrid times.

I responded that I would wager that the number of peoples' opinions ever changed from FaceBook posts was exactly ZERO. People comment politically to either agree with their side of chastise the other -- often nastily. Nah -- I'll keep to old music videos and Dad jokes -- and, of course, the truly essential: the fate of the Miami Hurricanes! By the way, Cheryl didn't get the Dalmation reference -- I had to school her about Cruella De-Ville...

The pendulum will swing back away from the craziness, as it always does. Or it won't, and things in the USA will become untenable, and my tribe will have to re-locate. As Bill Murray's character said in "Stripes:" All Americans are here because we've been kicked out of every other decent country on the planet!

Where shall we go? I'm a fierce Zionist -- but really have zero desire to live in Israel -- never felt the vibe there on my trips. I guess if forced, it would be Haifa -- the most chill city. Jerusalem? Sacred and holy, of course, but FAR too much tensosity for me.

Jonathan fantasizes a return to Venezuela, and the halcyon days of his childhood in Caracas, where things were pretty good before Chavez and later Maduro took the richest Latin nation and turned it to crap. We'll see if regime change really happens.

I DID like the vibe in Puerto Rico, but turns out it's part of the USA -- so probably makes no sense to go there, though comically we all noticed fewer Spanish speakers in the airport there than at MIA.

Maybe I can claim birthright from my grandparents origins -- Bialystok and Czernovitz. Nah -- they're Poland and Ukraine now -- not garden spots.

I guess this is a benefit to getting older -- less time left to have to worry -- except for my kids and grandkids. Ultimately, they'll have to find their ways.

But for now, I predict November will show The Donald that his act has worn thin. As Tom Petty sang: he went just a little too far.

But for now, I have some serious business today -- fetching D2 and probably Betsy and then Little Man at school -- lunch together, and then back to Villa Wifey for the night. Hopefully he gets to play with Amelie, our next door neighbor who is his age, lovely, and a super genius. Really -- kid is in kindergarten and already winning international coding contests against Middle Schoolers. She adores our boy -- I plan to tell him to hang with her -- she'll tutor him in Math someday.

And if not, just a break for him from his hectic schedule -- downtime from his many after school activities -- probably a trip to Greer Park, and maybe a hunt for downed iguanas.

But ZERO talk about politics...

Down Kindergarten Memory Lane

 So this am we tuned into a Zoom video from Little Man's school -- he got a certificate for getting a perfect "A1A" record the last quarter. He and some classmates were called up and handed a certificate -- parents and some grandparents Zoom messaged, and at the end everyone waved goodbye. Wifey and I were a bit proud.

Later, D1 got a note -- telling her that Little Man was EXTREMELY bright, but needed work on not always talking and sharing so the shyer kids got a chance in class. The teacher suggested working on games like Red Light/Green Light and Simon Says, to better teach him to, well, STFU when he's not called upon.

Sardonic D2 wondered on our family chat where on earth her sobrino could have gotten these characteristics, and wondering whether we ought to play Red Light/Green Light with D1 as well.

I think we all realize that quieting a wildly self confident and ebullient kid is a much easier task than enlivening a very shy and taciturn one. We all agreed to work on the exercises as the teacher suggested.

And it triggered a memory -- when I was in high school, I recall looking over my grade school report cards, before tossing them. I still clearly recall what my teacher Miss McNamara wrote: "David is a very bright and curious student, although he IS a VERY talkative little boy." How about that. Little Man is indeed a lot like me -- and kindergarten teachers 6 decades apart have confirmed it.

Ah, Miss McNamara -- nice lady, a spinster as we said back in the day. Years later, I learned that she came out with Miss Dempsey, my 3rd grade teacher, another spinster. I guess Levittown Schools in the 60s and 70s weren't ready to accept the love that dare not (then, anyway) speak its name.

Cubans call lesbians "tortilleras," or makers of tortillas. I'm not clear why, but I wonder what Irish American tortillas are called. Anyway, I guess they'd both be in their late 70s or 80s by now -- I like to think of them happily living on their big NY Schools pensions, maybe with a place in Provincetown...

Since it's Wednesday, Wifey and I are camped out in the library, and all of this nostalgia had me reach for a plastic box with some of my old academic records. Sure enough, Wifey's favorite was there -- a letter from the Levittown Optimist Club inviting me to dinner as a winner of the 1979 award -- I guess since I volunteered a bit at a local hospital, and had good grades. I recall the night -- Rae Ann Caponi was my co-winner, and we both spoke and got free Italian at Caruso's on Hempstead Tpk -- our proud parents in attendance, but the Italian Caponis telling us later that the food wasn't very good. Man, how memory works!

Speaking of nostalgia, on Monday Paul convened a dinner with Barry and me, and after I pointed out to Barry that his choice of an Aventura restaurant meant a 1 hr and 40 minute rush hour drive for me, settled instead on Capital Grille on Brickell. I had a martini and swore I saw ghosts -- Paul's friends Frank and Alan, both of whom loved the place with us, and Wifey's friend Elizabeth, who ate there with us many times.

The bartender Joanne was still there -- she started out a young, right out of high school girl, and now has kids starting college. The food was delicious as always -- I brought home some of my ribeye, and Wifey proclaimed it delicious later that night. And we talked of old times and current times and times to come.

Tonight, Barry, Kenny, Norman and I have dinner before Bible Class -- where Jeff joins us. Jeff always asks our plans, but can never make dinner on time as he's commuting back to Kendall from the Beach. I think we may go classic tonight -- Captain's Tavern -- just for the halibut. Ha.

Friday I'll fetch Little Man from school, take him to lunch, and then back here for an overnight, which means BAFL, or Bagels at first light. We'll spend Saturday together, and then back to NE Miami for Valentine's with his first love: D1.

It's true how much power a Mom has over her son's future -- Dads, too, but likely less. I always felt adored and loved by a beautiful woman, and that gave me the confidence to go as far as I wanted.

Even if I talked too much, sometimes...

Super Yawn

 I've seen my NFL team, the Dolphins, play in 2 Super Bowls since I moved here: 1983 and 1985 -losing both. We figured with Dan Marino, there'd be more, but one theory is that Marino was SO good, he always got more wins for the team than they'd have otherwise gotten, costing the Fins higher draft picks.

Well, the Big Game is tomorrow, and I'll watch, for the commercials and to support Bad Bunny (nothing like making a political statement from your sofa) but have no real rooting interest.

It's funny -- I DO recall some of the games. In 1981, we hosted a party at our apartment on campus -- 22Z, of blessed memory. We had several black and white TVs around, from other students, and chili and beer and a ton of fun. Barry and I were reminiscing about it last night -- the Raiders beat the Eagles, but the party was the thing. Man -- we were SO young, and life was SO simple. Relatively few plates had to be kept spinning in the air -- just grades, Summer jobs, and girls.

11 years ago, I was in Seattle to watch the Seahawks blow the game to the Patriots -- this year's teams. That was fun. Joelle and Kenny had a party I recall -- Joelle's African born colleague had never seen a game before, and it was fun explaining it to him and his husband -- also a neophyte. That's the one the Giants won with the famous helmet catch.

No parties tomorrow -- Mike told me he was watching with his boy Chris -- I could easily score an invite, but since Wifey will be home -- I'll hang with her and bore her with football trivia. Just this am I explained the history of NY baseball -- she thought the Dodgers were still in Brooklyn when she was a teen there -- nope -- she was still a toddler in Israel in 1957 when they broke all those hearts. She didn't even KNOW the Giants weren't always in SF -- and I explained to her how MY childhood team, the Mets, got their colors from the deserters -- Dodger blue, and Giants orange. "Like the Gators!" Yes -- Wifey got points for making that connection.

We're off soon to D1's, Spaniel in tow. We have an early dinner at The Citadel, a food hall, and then home to the special needs, very old remaining Spaniel, Bo. He'll watch the Big Game with me tomorrow, too.

Next week has some more doctor visits. Woooo. And some quiet on the roof front, as the second layer dries before tile is placed.

Valentine's Day will be grandson day -- Little Man has early release Friday, and I'll fetch him from school and bring him for the night. Baby Man still hasn't mastered the full potty thing, so no Dave and Wifey for him yet.

So off to the drive. Wifey is coming along -- will lay in the back for HER back -- but at least get to see her beloved boys. Now THAT's more Super than any football game.

With A Roof Right Over Our Heads

 The old English major in me can't resist a metaphor, and one I always lived was providing a roof over my family's head. It occurs to me that I am inordinately concerned with matters roof -- dating back to our first house when we had a skylight installed over our dining room, and it leaked. I took a day off from work -- rare for a first year associate -- just so I could be with the roofer as he fixed said leak.

After Hurricane Andrew, we rebuilt an essentially new house. The GC picked a new company, Fitzgerald Roofing, which was two Irish brothers who came to South Dade to make a killing on the post storm construction. They did a poor job on our Falls house -- the first rain after we moved back after close to 2 years of construction, rain poured in from a joint at the bottom of our atrium. I was livid. The Fitzgeralds blew off my concerns, and our GC George had gone out of business and moved out of state. I actually asked my friend Craig, a commercial lawyer, to sue the Fitzgeralds, which he did, and I got a judgment which remains, 32 years later, uncollected. Fortunately our talented handyman, Joe, a Canadian Jewish, former hippie from Toronto, was able to completely fix the problem.

We bought Villa Wifey when the house was 3 years old, and it has a clay tile roof. Somehow I thought that was a 50 year roof -- but turns out while the tiles last 100 years, the real roof, the membranes below the tiles, don't. I had corresponded with Richard, the architect and builder who, with his late ex wife, built the place, and he told me he hoped to get 25 years out of it. 

Well, after Hurricane Wilma, in 2005, we had to have the tiles refastened -- the Cat II winds loosened them. And since then, there were leaks, almost all on the outside over the porch areas, which I had repaired. Two years ago the roofing maven from Andrew Palmer told me I had another year or so left, and sure enough, at 29 years, the old roof is now removed. 

The company has been banging away, sawing, and working for 3 weeks now. They thought the job would last that long -- turns out -- not so fast. They have the two membranes mostly on, and will finish that next week -- and then the outer one needs 4-5 days drying in the sun before the new tiles are installed. Jose, the boss, told me they'd likely start the tile work a week from Monday, it will take 4-5 days, and then...new roof. He said he thought it would last 35 years.

Wifey, who prefers we move, got some good news. I told her I would NOT undertake another new roof, so that means we WILL move out before I turn 100. She smirked.

Meanwhile, Wifey continues to work on her bad back and hip. Vegas is now offering odds on whether she makes it on her mah jong cruise -- set to leave 2/17. I haven't checked the latest odds, but I know she dearly wants to go.

Tonight, a Zoom and a few vodkas and my beloved firepit await. The weather should be ideal. And tomorrow, we re-home Lemon, the spry Spaniel, who is really a better old person dog but D1 is insisting we bring him back to the boys. Harumph.

He'll have a roof over his head both places...

A Fine Birthday

 So the Uber fetched me -- low cost one since I'm cheap that way -- and no trafficked me to Gables. We all agree Miami is a GREAT place to drive when the traffic is light, which is VERY rarely. But I got to Jonathan's office, and was blown away -- probably the coolest, most modern one ever. While I waited, there was an art piece with moving images -- I could have sat and watched for hours -- with some ETOH, maybe all evening. But Jonathan came and got me, and showed me his world of high private equity finance, and introduced me to a few of his colleagues.

I was warmed. I would NOT have liked to do that with my late suegros -- Lord knows what they may have said. But Jonathan knows I CAN behave, be nice and charming, even in my dotage...

He drove us to Machiliana, which was totally renovated. We had a great table in that buzzing place -- even on a Tuesday night. We greeted D2, the birthday girl, D1, and Ashley and Kyle. The martinis flowed, The pasta and fish and other delicacies were brought. It was a feast - - great server, no less, who made sure I knew a 20% tip was included -- I was free to remove or reduce. Ha. As If! I popped on an extra $20 to thank her. Truth is, by Miami standards, the place is reasonable. By my Levittown, LI Blue Collar standards -- several months of mortgage payments for my parents...

Wifey was home nursing her pains, and so missed out. We felt badly, but as Tony S says, what are ya gonna do? She stands ready to cancel her cruise, but the smart money in Vegas says that won't happen. She'll rally rather than have her BFF have to cancel, too, and THAT cancelation won't be covered by travel insurance. We'll see.

Today the fun continued. Wifey was told her breath shortness was of no concern, so she didn't believe our Family doc, and got an appointment with an affable Venezuelan Jewish fellow. I drove her while she laid down in the back. Sure enough -- lungs just fine -- maybe pain was causing shortness -- but released her from any further care.

Tonight I see my crew -- it has been decided our pre Bible Study class meal will be sushi. Unfortunately, the place we chose is next to a gym with great sized windows and one that attracts younger Moms of Pinecrest. We are FORCED to look upon them on our way to dinner. We can then ask the Rabbi for forgiveness...for both the shellfish and coveting.  Pretty impressive that a single strip center in Pinecrest provides for two mortal sins...

D2 grabbed my phone to summon my Uber home, and I knew she was going to get a more upscale one -- it was a Mazda SUV, but a big one, and one where the driver caters to the passenger. Sure enough, I was profiled -- he played 80s music the whole way back to Pinecrest. Toto. Yuck -- I long ago stopped blessing the rains down in Africa. Wham? Really? Don't I dress schlubby enough to have NEVER been into Wham?

I had fun with it, though, giving a running text description of how I felt unseen as a late Boomer.

Finally, as he pulled into Pinecrest, he played Guns N Roses. Acceptable. And the last song was Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." I gave him a 20% tip.

So it was a delightful celebration for our delightful D2. May there be many more.

For now, analysis related to The Big Man, after some prohibited food...

34 And So Much More

 So 34 years ago today, on a Monday, I took Wifey to South Miami Hospital for a planned C Section -- D2 was joining the band. D1 was a C Section, and Dr. Debbie spoke about a VBAC, which to me sounded like outer space stuff but was an acronym for Vaginal Birth After Caeserean, but it was not to be. So they epiduraled Wifey, while D1 was home with my suegros, and soon after we had a bouncing (biggest baby in her First Grade Class, it turned out) baby girl.

My suegros brought D1 and she kissed her on the head and said in her Minnie Mouse voice "My sister!" And so it was. Truth be told, D2 was NOT a pretty baby -- huge head, and bad skin. Wifey knew it, too, friends would visit and Wifey would say "I love her but I KNOW she's not a pretty newborn." Hmmm....and now years later, all the needed therapy...Ha. Just kidding.

By the time she was several months, she had indeed become beautiful, and as a toddler could have been a model, with a very shayna punim as my suegra often remarked. We think she's still kind of beautiful, as in VERY, and more importantly, kind and smart. In my email I reminded her she was the only Phi Beta Kappa in the family -- admitted as a junior, which was a big deal. I think, no, I know, I am more proud of this than she is -- she just somehow kept getting As in everything. 

And, as Dr. Barry, who adores her, used to point out, she was the worst kind of straight A student: complaining after each exam that she failed, she was dropping out, etc...only to go silent later, and have us find out MUCH later that she got an A on the test.

This past year, I have given her a new nickname: "D2 the Wise," on account of she is. She understands the "yooman nature," as Wifey pronounces it, of our wacky family better than any of us, and though I am the patriarch, we typically treat D2 as the Rabbi -- her advice is the most sound, almost always. Her beloved Jonathan knows this, adores her, admires her, and fears her just the right amount -- she kept some of the temper from her toddler years that led to epic tantrums -- some so bad, I'm convinced it prevented couples friends who witnessed it to refrain from having kids...

To tonight, I had planned to visit the grandsons for a few hours, and then from there to Miami Beach for Italian, but instead spent yesterday, with D2, fetching D1's boys whilst she returned from SF. It was a "golden day" -- with the boys, D2, me, and enormous puppy Betsy.

Wifey is on the IR (injured reserve) list for now with her back and hip issues, and hopefully will return to games this season. But for now, she's sticking close to home. Adios to my designated driver.

So instead, I think I'll Uber to the Gables, and Jonathan will drive me to The Beach, have dinner, and then Uber home. I figure it's a luxury I deserve -- especially since I pay the bills. D2's dear friend Ashley is in town with her wonderful husband Kyle -- staying at an old Beach Hotel while their toddler is home in Atlanta. Kyle's Dad is a MAJOR Gator, and minister, and I love giving Kyle the business about Cane superiority the past years, and getting to sing to the Jewish Ashley the Bobbie Gentry song. Yeah, annoying. After several drinks tonight the chances I DON'T sing "Son of a Preacher Man" are pretty slim.

Meanwhile, we still have Lemon, D1's sprite Spaniel, who went nuts before when we heard scratching at the back door -- it was an iguana seeking entrance and warmth. I went out with a shovel to pick it up and toss it over our stone wall, and Sarah, the tough little foreperson on our roofing job, saw me and said "Ay, no -- in Nicaragua we eat them." She then picked the creature up by its neck and tossed it -- spotting an even bigger dead one which she tossed as well. Brave woman -- which is required being the only female roofer I've ever met.

But D2 and I were reminiscing about past birthdays. When she was 25, and in NYC, D1 and I flew up -- Wifey was having another bad spell, I think. We had brunch at Sadelle's, home of the wildly expensive smoked fish tower -- now they have a spot in the Grove. Then we went to Sammy's Romanian, where there was MUCH drinking of vodka, eating of high cholesterol food (the dark joke is that heart disease from Sammy's food killed more Jews than the Nazis), and then MORE vodka. The Ds cut me off, but then Grant, D2's friend and Paul's nephew, tapped me under the table -- he had MORE vodka for me in a glass. The night ended with D1 herding me back into the Ritz on Central Park South, and being amazed I woke hangover free, though I had consumed as much as any frat boy she saw at UF. The key is ONLY vodka -- one whiskey or tequilla mixed in, or worse, wine -- I'd have needed an IV.

But D2 is the reason for this season, and we all celebrate the blessing she is to all of our lives. My goal, more than which college she picked, or how she did, or her career, was she choose the right life partner -- and she sure did -- a true gem of similar Ashkenazi stock, the grandson of Survivors, like D2, but here via Venezuela instead of South Miami Hospital.

I will toast him tonight, along with my precious Ds, and dear friends Ashley and Kyle -- with Wifey in absentia. I'm sure she'll want a full recap when the Uber driver drops me off later this evening.

And D2 begins her 35th year. Wow. As D1 likes to quote, now that she's a mother, the days are long but the years are short. May our beloved D2 have scores more of them, in good health, as her Grandma Sunny always added.

Shedding Ownership

 Wise, Buddha-like sages tell us to minimize our possessions -- particularly as we age. Well, officially as of last month, Wifey and I individually own two tiny plots of real estate anywhere in the world: a couple of cemetery plots at Mt. Nebo in Kendall, up against the Palmetto Expressway and near Dadeland Mall, where Wifey worked as a teen and I spent a lot of time roaming around as a law student.

Villa Wifey is now legally owned by a trust, in which Wifey and I are trustees. Also, the mortgages we gave to the Ds and Jonathan, so that they could afford houses in absurdly expensive Miami, likewise are now held by the Trust, not Wifey and me individually.

Fine estate lawyer Mark Grand has now completed his work. I still have to send the letters to brokerage houses to switch ownership there as well, but that's less important, since the Ds are already beneficiaries to all accounts and when Wifey and I spin off this mortal coil, ownership passes to them without probate.

It's simply a legal title change, of course, but I figure I can take Buddhist street cred now: "I don't even own the house where I have dwelt for 1/4 a century, it's owned by the Universe through a Trust..."

I really do get comfort knowing we've simplified things as much as we can for the Ds. Actually -- not true -- we still have a lot of CRAP they'll have to donate or toss when the time comes. I really stopped enjoying stuff after Hurricane Andrew, where I watched things I thought I cared about all waterlogged and strung with pink fiberglass insulation. I mean, I like SOME stuff -- TVs and my computers, a few books, and my firepit. But honestly, if a thief came through and stole about everything else -- I would laugh.

The point of the Trust was so the Ds automatically take the house "when the time comes." I was curious how professional death lawyer Mark referred to these events -- he said simply "when you pass." I thought that was nice but still accurate.

It still makes me chuckle when I encounter people who are in denial about mortality. Within a few weeks, I heard from 2 -- pretty old folks with a HOST of health issues that would prevent me from writing them any life insurance, saying "Oh -- I have decades -- it's in the genes." Hey -- I hope they're right, and live to 100. I think the chances of that for Wifey and me are the characters from an old Hollywood Western -- Slim, and None -- and Slim left town.

Hell -- later today I have to stop by Walgreens to pick up refills for two of my daily prescriptions -- a statin for cholesterol and drops that keep my creeping glaucoma at bay. Classic old guy stuff. Dr. Eric tells me the statins have truly revolutionized Cardiology -- he used to treat a lot of heart attacks and now far fewer -- these drugs truly prevent them. So maybe I'll get to leave due to something other than a bad heart -- which got my Dad at 63. Hell, this coming September, I'll have outlived him by 2 years -- playing with the House's money, as I always say.

The roofers continue in earnest -- here each day at 8 -- work until 4. Kevin and Jose, my two contacts, had said it would take 3 weeks -- today marks the end of week 2, and it seems to me it will take longer. I joke that this yuuuuge place Wifey made me buy for her is the reason. She rolls her eyes -- I fell in love with this property at first sight -- the whole thing was MY idea -- a true oasis for my young family a quarter century ago.

And now some Trust owns it -- hopefully the Trustees aren't jerks. If they are -- well -- they can be revoked.

Heartless Hens And Empathetic Spouses

 So yesterday I took wifey to see our family ortho, Julio Robla, but she saw his terrific PA Jason instead. Sadly, the third period of her bad back is, well, back. I'm calling it the Third Intifadeh, which Wifey asked me not to, but to me its apt -- living during a period of anxiety and pain -- normal things don't happen. Of course, even bad back pain doesn't equate to suicide bombings at Tel Aviv cafes, but I always DID have a flair for hyperbole.

The news, as I expected, was anatomically pretty good -- typical age related changes in her hip and lower spine -- and Jason ordered a hip MRI just to "make sure" before prescribing a course of physical therapy. As to her back, she gets another epidural injection in March, though now she may move it closer if she cancels a cruise she was going to take with her BFF.

Spinal pain and disability is a queer duck, medically. As crack radiologist Dr. Kenny reminded us last night, before we learned about the heartless hen, MRIs of ALL older folks like us will show some bulging, herniations, etc... and yet some of us are fine while others are left essentially homebound. Even Jason told us about patients he sees who are "big, tough, young athletes" literally in tears from hip bursa pain that isn't even surgical.

I think the next step will be other modalities of therapy -- these seemed to bring ends to the prior 2 intifadehs, um, periods of bad back pain -- hopefully they work again. 

And as for me, well, I need to work on better empathy, it seems. MY spinal aging is, per CT scans of my neck, FAR worse than Wifey's -- the last report showed "moderate to severe" stenosis. My GP said technically that meant I should get a neurosurgical consult, but I declined. I opted instead for some PT, and in a month or so, under Jason's and his boss Julio's supervision, the pain went away, mostly.

And I tend to adopt the philosophy of Dr. Barry -- at least YOUNG Dr. Barry, who always reminded me that if you weren't undergoing a bone marrow transplant for awful cancer (apparently one of the worst treatments there is), or your child wasn't terminally ill from leukemia -- well then, as the Millennials say, STFU.

Turns out this is not good marital advice, as Barry has learned from his OWN wife, who like Wifey, suffers from a litany of health complaints -- all of which limit her greatly, but none of which are terminal. Barry and I discussed this last night -- we BOTH need to be more empathetic -- at least so long as we wish to ensure a greater degree of , to quote the great document, domestic tranquility.

Anyway, after the visit, I dropped off Wifey and then left for Ghee, a local Indian-ish restaurant, where Barry, Norman, and Kenny and I met for wine (or wine based cocktails -- I really prefer a restaurant with a proper liquor license) and some tasty apps. We talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings -- a great fraternity of students pre-class.

Rabbi Moshe led us in a discussion of how Rabbis ought to "get into the real world" along with mere Talmudic/Torah reasoning before offering advice. The humorous example was a chicken brought home from a kosher butcher, and prepared by a young girl with her pet cat nearby. Although the chicken had been robust and healthy before it met its ritual slaughter, the girl claimed it had no heart.

An investigation began -- was the thing kosher for eating? Maybe the heart dropped to the floor and the cat ate it. No, the girl testified, a spleen had done that, but there was no heart. The rabbi consulted a university anatomist -- could there be such a thing as a living, heartless hen? Well, the unsaid misogynistic thoughts of most of the men could say sure -- look at my ex girlfriend or ex wife. 

But the discussion remained at a higher level -- in addition to Barry and Kenny, there's another doc in the class -- an older eye doc at Baptist. There are also Norman, an active lawyer, me, a mostly retired one, and Jeff, one not a lawyer since 1994.

Our group of 5, as Norman noted, sort of hijacked the class, and I enjoyed it thoroughly, even the puns (Rabbi Moshe said some info was in the appendix -- I noted the appendix was NOT a vital organ like the heart).

We also discussed a form of RFK, Jr. quackery that arose in Europe in the 1700s -- the thought that many people were buried alive, and to fix this, authorities mandated waiting periods where the community had to wait for putrefaction (love that word -- haven't used in a minute) -- and these "mortuary houses" turned up no actually living corpses. Of course, these decrees went against Jewish law, which says we bury as soon as possible after death. THAT led to great discourse as well -- I reminded Kenny of the Munchkins' proclamation of the Wicked Witch -- she wasn't MERELY dead, she was really, most sincerely dead.

Of course, the main draw of the class for me (akin to Canes football) is the bonding with my posse.

Hell, if we found a similar class at UM NOT taught by a Rabbi, where we could all meet, that would do the trick, too -- we'd just switch restaurants from Kendall to The Gables.

So I have my work cut out for me as the first month of 2026 draws near a close. Think more deeply about The Big Man and His laws, versus healthy discussion and debate, and be more empathetic with Wifey on her journey back to health.

Good thing I'm mostly retired. How would I have the time for this otherwise?