A Lovely Stay

 So there is a VERY short list: those for whom I provide pick up or drop off at MIA, or any airport. I rarely get asked, but when I do, I remind people that I charge a LOT more than Uber. But I make exceptions for those sharing my DNA, and my nephew has, I believe, 25% of mine -- and so I agreed to fetch him Saturday evening.

There was a stupid Inter Miami game starting near pickup time at the stupid stadium which, in the MOST boneheaded move (and that's saying something in South Florida) was built hard against MIA! Luckily, WAZE directed me in such a way that I only sat in a few blocks of LeJeune Road traffic, and then I only messed up Henry's location a bit -- confusing a sign saying which arrival doors were coming with the actual number. No big whoop -- I found him, and we were off to Carrot Express.

Henry is mostly vegetarian, and I figured a restaurant with the word Carrot would work, and it did -- we brought home some bowls and wraps, and had a nice reunion with his aunt, Wifey.

Sunday we walked, and then later the Ds and their men and dogs descended. I went HARD on the Zhyr, dragging Henry and Jonathan down with me -- I squeeze by hand Mandarin oranges -- giving the juice alone to the grandsons and the juice PLUS vodka and ice to the grown men. We had a terrific time -- laughter, comparing notes of the manifold examples of nuttiness in our families. I drunk FaceTimed Valerie, Henry's wonderful wife home in Boulder Creek, Cal, and told her she MUST join us next time -- she so agreed, and I know loved seeing her man with his cousins and aunt and uncle.

Apparently we ordered Thai later, though my memory of that is fuzzy -- but after the kids left, Wifey, Henry, and I played music together on Sonos as the ETOH processed away. It was a banner family day.

Yesterday, I worked out while Henry worked, and then I fetched him and Wifey, for brunch at Roasters, a trip for Wifey to get a scrip in South Miami, and then off to Matheson Hammock -- for Grandma Sunny's yahrzeit. We showed Henry where we  placed her cremains into the Bay, by the mangroves, and how white butterflies joined us, and how we returned a few weeks later where most of us were able to tell sweet tales of our departed mother and grandmother.

Henry had only warm memories -- how he felt she loved him, her sunny disposition, bagels and juice for breakfast...

We sat on the front porch later, after a dinner of leftovers, and spoke of many things -- ships and shoes and sealing wax -- cabbages and kings.

This am, after coffee Henry and Wifey said goodbye, on account of Wifey was "All talked out" and so I took Henry to Deli Lane, where 30 plus years server Carmen was there. She told us they were moving this Summer, close by, to allow another high rise to go on the land since Miami isn't already too overcrowded. Summon sarcasm emoji.

I dropped Henry at the Thesis Hotel -- his work is at The Biltmore, and he will put in long hours filming a corporate event and showing highlights each evening. I'd love to see him again -- but he will be literally working around the clock -- until a flight back to SFO Friday am.

He is a delight. So cool. So handsome. So wise -- I am proud he is my blood. He can teach a master class in overcoming the challenges of a tough childhood, making essentially ALL great life choices, and ending up a successful business owner, creative, married to his high school sweetheart, and seeing the world together. He surfs. He has dear friends.

He is the trustee for his never had a job father. He will likely end up in the same role for his mentally ill/drug addicted brother. At some point, he will be the caregiver for his mom - my sister.

The joke is he and Val have no TIME for kids -- though they savor their life with only the furry kind of those -- adorable Enso, a cute little dog, and other animals they foster.

Next weekend, another nephew comes in -- not a biological one -- Scott. We will meet for breakfast at Mo's, and then a Marlins game with Little Man Sunday. I just reminded them that F1 is in Miami this weekend -- so avoid Joe Robbie at all costs.

But the over-arching message is: young folks are where it's at. You pick up their enthusiasm; their energy. And when you truly love them -- well -- that's as good as it gets.

Two Events

 So after Tuesday night's Marlins game, where I said what I always do: "Boy -- I LOVE coming here," Wednesday was a lecture at our local very rich reform synagogue, Temple Beth Am.

Jeff sent me tix, and when I told Wifey she made a face, so I asked Norman to come instead. We drove over through VERY serious security. The first guy looked like retired Mossad, and sure enough, asked me in a Hebrew accent for our tickets. He was in full combat gear, holding an Uzi, and with a death skull badge the colors of the Israeli flag. Next, more cops, Pinecrest and Miami Dade. Such is the joy of being a Jew in America these days, especially at high profile gatherings. Inside, Norman noticed several US Marshalls -- the better to protect the speaker, Judge Roy K Altman.

So if someone started a movement to amend the Constitution to allow naturalized citizens to run for US President, I would join, to let this Venezuelan born fellow run. I was BLOWN AWAY. I had heard about him before, but meeting him in person -- Clinton-like -- he came to say hello to my row-mates, Randy and Laura, retired AUSAs who he knew, and then shook my hand asking if we had met. I told him no, but we had a few connections: young Mike Levine was a dear friend, and Roy BEAMED -- loves the young lawyer, And he also knew Jonathan's amazing abuela Judy -- a fellow Venezuelan Jew.

I'm a total schlepper, and as he talked to me, I was the only person in the room -- a room filled with true Miami machers. Yep -- born political ways.

He played quarterback and baseball for Columbia (before it was anti-semitic as his introducer noted) and then Yale Law Review. He clerked for judges, became an AUSA, and worked for Podhurst, a top old school PI guy. He's 6' 3", 230 lbs, and movie star handsome. D1 noted "Dad has a new man crush." She's correct.

He just wrote a book called "Israel on Trial" in which he handles, like a lawyer, the case for Israel. He has taken 10% of US District judges to Israel, sort of a judicial Birthright, and is going to start taking state Supreme Court Justices this Fall. As he noted, in small states, Federal judges are the most powerful people: "Ya got us for life!"

His mission is for 60% of Americans. As he noted, 10% are deeply anti-semitic -- on the right (Tucker Carlson) and the left (Ilhan Omar). They're beyond talking to. 30% are philo - semitic, many Evangelicals who LOVE Jews, and, despite what we have heard, he noted, NOT just to convert us -- they truly feel we are their big brothers and sisters. But 60% are merely uninformed -- tossing around terms like "genocide" and "colonialism" without having any real idea what history and the truth is.

It was a rare, life moving event for me. And, his wife, Rachel Silverstein, is a local environmentalist -- started Waterkeepers which works at reef preservation and keeping Biscayne Bay pollution free. Talk about a power couple!

Thursday we were supposed to visit grandkids, but Wifey was still recovering from a cold, and the boys had their OTHER abuela to visit -- her birthday. So we have minor grandson withdrawal, but should be cured tomorrow -- family reunion visit with my nephew Henry coming tonight.

As a cranky old man, I typically no longer do MIA picks or drops, but I told Henry I was free all day and would happily fetch him. And then...I got a WAZE notice -- the stupid soccer team is playing tonight at the even stupider stadium they built hard against MIA -- so getting there may be untenable. I'm giving it a try -- if the stupid soccer fans are in their seats, it should be ok -- if not - -Henry can Uber to some off site spot and I'll fetch him there. Man -- building a 30K person stadium right next to one of the busiest places in Florida -- no -- THE busiest -- height of absurdity -- especially for soccer, a sport nobody cares about. The team is part owned by David Beckham -- I mean, he IS good looking, but not enough so I have to be delayed...

So hopefully we have a MOST memorable day tomorrow. Henry sent me a pic of us together on the roof of the East Hotel -- drinking heavily at the bar -- and somehow this was 9 years ago. I told him we need to make new memories.

Next week, another nephew, this one not biological, Scott, is coming to town for the weekend. We have plans to take Little Man to see the Marlins, after a night here with Wifey and me. He told D1 he LOVES staying with us -- the "very few rules" vibe must be the trick...

Baby Man got a new cast for his broken finger -- poor little guy. But this, too, shall pass -- D1 joked that on her visit to the ortho yesterday, she purloined a few extra finger splints, figuring there may well be future finger injuries with 2 active boys.

Here's to a great extended weekend! Nice to be vertical these days...

Take Me Out To

 So Norman and I made some dinner plans tonight. His wife is off in Canada, and Wifey was supposed to be hosting Mah Jong, but instead is recovering from the cold I likely gave her. She can never say I don't give her anything!

We were deciding where to meet, and then Norman realized the Marlins are in town, hosting the Cards tonight at 6:40. And, I added to our chat -- they sell FOOD at Loan Depot Park! So he'll be here at 5:30 and we'll head off to Hallowed Ground.

I love visiting the site, where the Orange Bowl sat for many years. The memories always flood back like friendly ghosts, for me, dating to Fall of 1979 when I attended my first Canes games. For Norman, born and raised in the County of Dade, as the song goes, his memories go ALL The way back -- the first days of the Dolphins when he was a boy!

They have parking garages now, but I always avoid them. One time it took me 45 minutes to egress -- I prefer parking on peoples' front lawns for a fee, and hearing the classic "No blockee" guarantees.

Years ago, for an Opening Day, I paid a fellow, and when I returned to my car, it was indeed blocked in -- and the house was all shut up. It was 7th inning, and back then they had the in stadium club, so I feared I might be trapped for hours. I opened my car, and got out a legal pad, and wrote, just to let off anger: "I am a Gringo Palao Priest (Palao is the evil form of Santeria) and since you lied to me and blocked me in, I have put a CURSE upon your house." I slipped the note under the door.

Immediately, the door opened -- the Cuban fellow was there the whole time -- the car blocking me was HIS -- I needed only have kept knocking on his door. He moved his car, and said, in heavily accented English "PLEASE -- REMOVE THE CURSE!" I stood in his front yard and waved my arms -- and said something in Yiddish, telling him "Sorry about the misunderstanding -- curse removed!"

Hopefully tonight we don't have parking drama.

But I SO love baseball -- my first sports love of all. And the Marlins stadium is terrific -- truly the coolest in the MLB. D1 was the team dietitian, and that still makes me proud, though she's long gone from that gig.

I am sure Norman and I will solve all manner of world and personal problems as the game plays out -- Marlins are a scrappy young team this year -- in second place despite having a bargain basement payroll.

And each time the First Baseman makes a play, it'll take me back to my days in Little League, and later, to the MacArthur High teams, where I was a serviceable player -- until I quit in 11th grade for the far more important sport of girls. Being a baseball player in Levittown in the late 70s was no chick magnet -- may have had the opposite effect on the more hippie-type chicks.

But tonight it'll be root root root for the Marlins -- among great company, and the friendly spirits...

CLE

 Ah, to stay an active member of the Florida Bar. I'd a never thunk it -- I'd still be a licensed lawyer approaching my 40th year. Paul had his 50th anniversary in 2025 -- sent a nice plastic plate and certificate to my house for him, since my house is our official Bar address now.

It's funny -- Paul was chatting with a rich guy where he lives, and the fellow was telling us he has a 1.5 acre property in the Five Towns of LI. I KNOW that's worth serious coin. The fellow, who I think was named Irwin, asked where our office was -- and Paul responded -- "Down on Brickell." I chuckled to myself -- even though we've been mostly retired for years now, and if you try to get Paul on the phone, it may take a day or two -- he can't give up the image yet -- as if Irwin was going to refer a case to us.

We actually DO get cases, still -- late last week I was on the phone with one of our guys, David, on his way home from signing up a client in Broward -- truck wreck. I have ZERO problem telling everyone we don't have a staff -- just a couple of old guys who still keep an active firm. But, as Richie Aprile said on The Sopranos -- to each his own.

But anyway, to stay licensed and current, you have to take continuing education classes -- thirty hours over a 3 year period plus a 2.5 hour mandatory professionalism seminar. Since today was a slow day, and I got in my 3.5 miles of walking, I dedicated all afternoon to the effort.

I was bored stiff for 2 2 hour sessions about mindfulness and dealing with difficult clients, and another about changes in areas of the law I have zero to do with. But the Florida Bar class was something I looked a little forward to, since Norman gave me advance warning.

My old boss Ed's boy Bobby's disbarment was featured. Bobby never stole money, or comingled trust account funds, or was convicted of a felony -- the trinity of typical disbarment reasons. He just kept acting like an asshole -- in Court, in depositions. One of his escapades was video taped, and they play it for the lesson on how to NOT be an asshole -- Bobby reaching across the table and snatching some stickers from his opposing counsel, and telling a woman lawyer she must "be a dominatrix."

I guess Bobby had enough of the Law anyway -- I mean -- after the first 2 strikes, if he wanted to keep his ticket he could have -- but as Norman pointed out, his Dad wanted fame as a successful lawyer, which he had years ago, but his son is the TRULY famous lawyer -- for getting kicked out of the club.

The last section was a talk by a former Miami big shot lawyer now living in Miami, who came across SO smarmy, I wished I was good enough with tech to send it to Barry. The guy reminded me of James Lipton, the Actor's Studio guy Barry and I used to poke endless fun over -- this fellow actually ended his talk by suggesting we look up videos by his mentors, and "enjoy them with friends, or maybe over a glass of wine."

Yeah -- no thanks, dude. For me it would be vodka, and the LAST videos I would ever watch would be of self important lawyers.

Anyway, I have lots of time -- I'm current until October of 2027, and the CLE I'm doing now will get me there, and then I'll have until October of 2030 to do more -- or will I?

I kind of always thought I'd be a lawyer maybe 10 to 20 years, tops -- make and invest enough shekels to get me where I needn't deal with, well, assholes on a daily basis -- even now that the Bar is trying to tame some of the asshole behavior, it seems.

So 4 decades? Seems like plenty. Now I just have to get in some hours on "technology" -- maybe that will actually teach me something. I'll probably knock a few more hours off this week -- but next weekend is filled.

My nephew Henry is coming Saturday, and staying 3 nights. He has a video gig on the Beach -- last time it was a tech company from SF who hired him to film their daily corporate team building stuff, edit it, and show it each night -- cutting out the cocaine and hooker parts. Ha. I made that up!

But I look forward to catching up with Henry -- I think Sunday the Ds and grandkids and all dogs will join us -- Henry doesn't drink much, but he will. We will NOT, however, try to get him to violate his veganism -- even if we have that 3rd martini.

Speaking of which, maybe I'll take Atty Smarmy's advice, and go pour myself a Sunday night happy hour -- no videos, though -- maybe just some Tom Petty on the Sonos.

What's New, Dad? Nothing -- Just The Way I Like It

 I used to make fun of my Dad when he gave his inevitable response to my question when we would speak weekly on the phone, or see each other bi-weekly, when I was in college. Really, I would interrogate -- don't you wish ANYTHING would change?

I was in my late teens to 20, and each day brought a new experience, academic or social. Dad loved hearing about them -- living college (something he never had the ability to do) vicariously -- but for himself, he adored the status quo.

Well, now, as I approach 65, I get it. I have little desire to travel, and something has to really blow my skirt up to get me to leave my house -- a given at least weekly to see the Ds and grandkids. But other than them...

Last night we met Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- lovely time with them before they leave for Maine. They typically don't travel much once they're there, but this June are heading to France -- Kenny's always wanted to see Normandy, as I did (we were there 12 years ago) -- and as we heard about their trip, all I could think was -- nah, I'm good.

Today I resumed my long constitutionals after some downtime with my common cold. I got in my 7K steps, and later, when Wifey wanted to get in some steps, walked more -- nearing 5 miles. I ran into Dr. Jose, Wifey's neurologist and UM Neuro Chair -- he asked after her and we talked about our mutual friend Barry. Later, we saw friendly Persian neighbor Mohammed, whose superstar daughter, in Peds residency in D.C., just married her neuro resident fiance, in Portugal. We were at their dual med school graduation party from FSU, and Mohammed and his wife hoped they would stay in Miami for a couples match residency -- didn't happen. But, he hopes, they're return to work here , someday.

We saw the house next to Lili and Jeff sold -- Wifey's friend Libby lived there -- a years ago book club. We looked it up -- Libby sold for a bit above $1M -- latest sale, for the 1/2 acre property was $3.6M -- to a company that bought it from a disbarred lawyer and really spruced the place up. Still -- that much for a .5 acre house? I guess living next to our friends has cache...

We returned home, and I watched the final episode of "The Pit," which was amazing. Wifey watched last night as I dozed off. We started "Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead" and got 45 minutes in before seeing why it was a flop. Now Wifey is watching Coppola's first film, "Dementia 17." I lost interest after an hour.

But the point is, we're doing lots of nothing today and tomorrow, and loving it! Come Monday (as Buffet sang), there'll be more errands. Wednesday night I'm going to see Judge Roy Altman speak at Beth Am's "Hub" their attempt at a local 92St Y which is indeed doing great -- terrific events there since it opened. Altman wrote a new book about Israel, is probably the smartest judge in Florida, and all around cool guy -- I look forward to hearing what he has to say.

Bible study, as I call our Torah classes, begins the following Wednesday -- Norman and Barry and I plan to eat and drink well before each session, even though Barry will have some serious driving -- looks like he may have some new duties for UM Med up in NE Lauderdale...

I was looking at old UM Law stuff before -- the 40th anniversary of our graduation is next month. I spotted several names: Balli, Bidner, Podesta, Snowden, who have left this mortal coil.

I hope they got to enjoy their lives. I know Charles did -- like my boys and me, ravenous Canes fan, and he got to see them soar.

So I savor each day -- even the uneventful ones. Sometimes when nothing's new -- it's how I like it, too.

You Have a Cold? I Vould BUY Your Cold!

 I'm lucky, particularly as the grandfather of a kindergartner and pre schooler: I rarely get colds. I checked -- my last one was last May, whereas typically folks get 3-4 per year. My Dad rarely got sick either -- strong immune system all the way until he dropped dead at 63.

Some friends seem ALWAYS sick. It's rare that Jeff isn't on his way to or from a pulmonologist, or internist -- and HIS grandkids live up North. I guess I'm lucky.

But late Friday, I started feeling pro-dromic, as the word goes -- like an illness is coming on. Mild fever, body aches, waterworks, sneezing. By Tuesday, it was full on (after "DTF St. Louis" I can never hear that expression again without thinking of another meaning). I had a rare, important business lunch with Paul and a former client, and I drove up to Houston's -- not shaking hands with my companions, and struggling through it. Back in the day of full working, DayQuill would have gotten me through -- now -- I just got to go home.

Wifey's mah jong crew was assembled, and I made one requested Cosmo, and was asleep by 830. I hid in the library while the cleaning ladies were there Wednesday, and ordered some chicken soup and a tuna sandwich via Uber Eats. I require zero care from anyone when I am sick.

I took it easy Thursday, as the symptoms eased, and today, mercifully, I am all better. Ahhhh. What a relief.

The experience brought back a funny memory of a very eccentric man -- my late father in law. His sense of humor would have made Andy Kaufman scratch his head. Once I was VERY sick with a cold when he visited, and I waved and told him no hand shaking. His response? "Oy -- you have a cold. I NEVER get a cold. I vould buy your cold from you. You vant to sell it????" To this day, well past a decade after his death, I don't understand his humor.

His other gem was when we attended Canton, and I ordered the "special steak," which came flaming, and "vas GOOD steak --- it's soft." The young server would ask if he wanted anything, and he would ask "Your mother. Your father. They're Chinese, too?" The server would glare and say "Yes they are."

I would get up and follow the young man into the back, hand him a $20 bill and explain my father in law was mentally ill -- please forgive him. Hopefully this prevented spittle, or worse, in our shrimp and lobster sauce.

All I know is, feeling crappy is, well, crappy -- even the classic common cold. I DID have a few cocktails last night with Dr. Barry, who has a family member with a far more serious health issue going on -- he needed to unwind a bit from dealing with that.

And tonight, we're meeting Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- the top restaurant in Pinecrest, which is a surprisingly low bar. We have very few good restaurants here -- Joelle proposed a new Key Biscayne place, but Wifey voted no with her arthritis -- could we stay closer?

Indeed, they have prime beef -- very soft. My late father in law would have approved. They also got their liquor license, so I can have a pair of martinis. We will toast to our friends upcoming snowbird flight to Maine -- they'll be there May to September. No wait -- that's a song. They may stay through November, as Kenny turns 65 then and I think he wants his big day celebrated there on golden pond -- which Thompson Lake truly is.

I'm still conflicted about my upcoming Medicare birthday, though yesterday I spent 1 hour and 20 minutes with the affable AARP United Health agent setting up all of my Medicare supplements -- I have been approved! So in June I get to call Florida Blue and tell them they've extracted the final $2200 monthly premium for me. So there.

I thought initialy I might want a sunset sail with some friends, and dinner with the kids the following night. Now I'm not sure. I WILL celebrate somehow -- turning 65 I gotta give thanks to the Big Man for another year on this mortal coil...

All I know is, it sure feels great to not be sick!

Sunny 106

 So today would have been my mother's 106th birthday - or would it have been? She always celebrated April 13th, but years later when Wifey took her to an appointment for a doc, she learned that Medicare had her with a different birthdate -- I think April 11. We asked her about it, and she said "Oh -- who cares now? 13 is my lucky number -- that's my birthday. So there."

Classic Sunny -- not a fact based, worrying type of person. Luckily, she had my Dad, who WAS fact based and a worrier -- his taking care of life's business gave my Mom the freedom to be that type of spirit. After Dad died, I filled in his role -- making sure my Mom, who never managed stuff, learned about checking accounts, paying property taxes, FPL, etc...In fact, when it came time for law school, I applied to UF and UM, and sort of wanted to go to Gainesville for a change after 4 years in Coral Gables -- but figured Sunny needed me nearby, so I stayed in So Fla. It worked out just fine...

My Mom was loving and giving. When I made my first big money, and proudly told her about it, she answered with "Oh, that's nice, David -- you need anything for the girls?" She would never let me replace her furniture, which we joked would go to the mythical Wicker Museum upon her demise, nor pay for expensive things -- with 2 exceptions.

When she turned 80, and then 85, I took the whole family to SF and then LA to celebrate. She loved it -- having everyone together in places she loved. At the 85th, we drove to Colorado Blvd in Pasadena, to let her recall her WW II days where she lived as a newlywed with my Dad, who was on the Army base there -- and she worked for the Dean of CalTech. She recalled she would get coffee and a bun every am at Owl Drugs before taking a trolley up the hills to the CalTech campus. We stepped into the Gap store -- I asked the manager if he knew where Owl Drugs used to be. He laughed and took us outside -- we were standing in the Owl Drugs Building. What a moment across the decades.

I'm so grateful Mom got to meet my Ds -- into young adulthood. My youngest grandson has an S name -- after Sunny. He is sweet like she was. His brother's middle name, Hy, is after my Dad. We just learned that his graduation from kindergarten is set for May 29th -- great grandpa Hy's birthday. I take that as a happy message from The Big Man...

Speaking of Baby Man, he had a rough day yesterday -- a scooter crash where it landed on his index finger. D1 took him to urgent care -- sure enough -- displaced fracture. They splinted him up, and I called my dear friend Lew, a hand surgeon, and texted a photo of the x ray. Lew is in Ohio on a work gig, but said surgery IS needed -- a pin that will insure the bone heals the right way. He can do it on Monday -- but since his Broward hospitals have been shedding Pediatrics, on account of it's not a big earner, he'd do it at West Boca.

I think D1 will decide if she wants to wait, or possibly have it done this week closer to home -- Dr. Barry has a guy, but we needn't bother him for a finger...

The joy of parenting boys. Little Man already broke his foot -- the running joke is if you have active boys -- get to know ortho surgeons...

Hopefully Little Man swims through and gets back on the scooter...

But this am I looked skyward and spoke to my Mom. She was my first love. She was beautiful, and being loved by a beautiful woman gave me boundless confidence -- particularly with women. Of course, now that I'm near Medicare, I reflect how much easier life may have been as a gay man -- but like Jack Nicholson said, if I could just stomach the sex part.

It's funny -- I was always SO close with my Dad, I saw myself as a boy Dad, too. Turned out, I was to be a girl Dad, but now I have grandsons -- so I get more experience with orthopedic surgeons for issues other than scoliosis.

Back to Mom. She lived 30 years longer than Dad, and I'm convinced a big part of it was her ability to NOT internalize the anxieties of her family. She had moments, of course -- I remember her terribly worried when my sister's husband called to tell her that unless she sent $2000 to fix their roof, "your grandsons will be sleeping in wet beds." But it passed, and she came to realize all of her kids' life choices were theirs.

And oh boy, did she make us laugh -- often unintentionally. She had her own internal dialogue, and occasionally it would surface. To this day, 4:30 pm is "Grandma Sunny Time." Why? We were driving home, on Old Cutler Road, and out of nowhere she sighed and said "Ah...it's 4:30." Wifey looked at her -- was there a show on? Did she have to be somewhere we didn't know about? Was someone coming to our house to visit? "No -- I just looked at my watch." So -- Grandma Sunny Time.

I thank her for messing me up FAR less than most mothers messed up their kids -- particularly sons. I see a lot of that around -- well meaning Moms, who can't quite figure out how to cut the umbilical cord -- even well into adulthood.

Not Sunny. When I graduated 6th Grade, she wrote in my book "I admire you. I respect you. And mostly, I love you." I carry those feelings deep inside, now 13 years after her death.

And today I wish her, as they say on FaceBook, a happy heavenly birthday.

Bad Day At Pre Pinecrest Four Decades Past

 April 11, 1986 -- my friends and I were in the home stretch of our 3 year law school stint. We'd graduate the following month, travel to Tampa to take the feared Bar exam, and move on with our lives. But there was an awful tragedy that day near SW 122 Street and SW 82 Avenue, in what would later become Pinecrest, where we have lived since 2000. It was a tale beyond "Miami Vice," which was making our city famous then.

There were 2 owners of a landscaping company, Platt and Matix, who had met in the army. Later we learned they were white supremacists, loosely connected to the 2 creeps who brought down the Oklahoma City building. They raised funds for their "cause" by robbing banks and armored trucks -- all up and down the US 1 corridor in Miami. They shot and killed random people in the Everglades who were out target shooting to steal the cars they used. Platt was married to a French Jewish girl, Regina -- she was found shot to death in what was ruled a suicide. Matt's wife died mysteriously in Ohio, and he collected her life insurance. These were REAL bad hombres -- worse than the bogey man immigrants Trump warns about.

Anyway, the FBI staked them out that fair day -- meeting at the Home Depot on SW 136 Street that I visit all the time. They saw one of the stolen cars and trailed it -- pulling it over at a house on 82 Avenue, by an FPL substation on the west side of the Avenue. The FBI learned an awful lesson that day -- bad guys often outgunned them. The creeps had high powered weapons -- the FBI old school revolvers from the days of Melvin Purvis. A terrible shootout ensued -- Special Agents Dove and Grogan were killed, 5 other FBI agents shot, and finally, a true bad ass named Mireles, himself shot, took out the 2 pieces of crap.

Apparently the shooting is studied at length these days, and now the FBI is properly armed. It was an awful tragedy. And, this being Miami, the smallest town big city in the US, of course I had to have a connection.

When I was in undergraduate, I had a teaching assistant named Giselle -- she later went back to UM Law, Class of '85. We stayed friends, and a few weeks after the shooting, I saw her outside the law library, on a bench sobbing. Turns out, the French Jewish girl Platt married was her sister -- she told me the whole family knew the whole time he had killed her since she likely learned of his evil, double life, and after the Miami Shootout, as the event came to be known, the truth was finally out.

Giselle and my path, or at least life paths, would cross again, in 1993. Giselle married a FHP trooper. We were living in Wifey's high school house, while our Hurricane Andrew house, "mistroyed," as D1 adorably malapropped, was being rebuilt. One night I got a call from Manny, a neighbor. Any reason guys would be taking away my AC compressors at 9 pm? Nope. Another neighbor, Doug, a tough biker dude married to a Jewess who looked and seemed like Katey Segal in "Sons of Anarchy," followed the pickup truck with my stolen compressors as he told the cops where the truck was. Metro Dade and FHP pulled the truck over next to Killian High -- it was a Cuban guy from Hialeah who owned an AC company and figured he'd steal components from Andrew construction houses.

I went to the scene. His 11 year old son was with him, balling in the back seat of the trooper's car. The trooper, Rivera, said to the thief in Spanish "Dad of the year you are, eh?" Anyway, Rivera recognized my name as he wrote the report -- did I know his wife Giselle? I did indeed! He told me she worked for the Attorney General's Office and they were moving soon to Tally.

Meanwhile, Dave being Dave, Prudential paid for new compressors -- better ones -- and as part of the thief's plea deal, he had to pay me $3K! I agreed he needn't go to prison -- it was a first offense. But turned out crime indeed paid -- for ME -- the victim. Another Miami twist.

Back to the Miami Shooting. Last night, during my 2 hour break from sleeping, I read about the details again, and decided to look up my old friend Giselle. Turns out she died in December, in Tally, at 69. I don't think she ever had kids, and the death notice listed her maiden name again, so I assume she and the trooper were divorced.

I drive by the scene of the shooting at least several times per week. We may even go to Platea tonight, the great restaurant located right there. The Village named the part of the avenue after Dove and Grogan, and there is a placque there.

Our old accident reconstruction expert, Bill Fogarty, had his office just South of the substation. When I visited once, he walked me over to the substation and showed me the bullet marks -- still in the concrete. I assume Bill has passed on -- if not, he's nearing 100. 

But man -- how did 40 years pass since that fateful day? In October, those of us still living from Class of '86 will be 4 decade Bar members. If there is a reunion, which I'll skip on account of I haven't enjoyed ANY reunion since my high school's 10th, it'll be 40 years.

Wifey and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary in January. I have often fallen short as a husband, but never killed her and tried to make it look like a suicide like the white supremacist felon Matix did, right? At least I got THAT going for me.

I shouldn't joke, but at least after 4 decades, no one can claim, as my nephew of another mister Scott likes to always remark: "Too soon."

40 years is in no way ever too soon...

Through The Red Tape, It Appears

 So the company, Vitals, that works with the NYC Board of Health (must have been some sweet kickbacks there) was on point, as the younguns say, and they shipped my birth certificate in less than 48 hours. I made an appointment at the SSA office today, and then, like Petty said, the waiting was the hardest part.

But last night, we cruised up to The Palm, and had a stellar dinner with the Ds and their men -- 2 martinis, shared steaks, and a fish, and sides, which always makes me think of the late, great, Rob Reiner playing Jordan Belfort's flummoxed CPA Dad in "Wolf of Wall Street" when he audits a $20K dinner bill, and the Jonah Hill character said "the sides were expensive," and Reiner retorts: "What -- do these sides cure cancer???"

We drove home happy and blessed, and then this am I awoke, and did not go to Innisfree like Yeats, but rather to Cutler Bay. I arrived at 9:50 for my 10:10 appointment, checked in on my phone, and barely had time to sit my tuches in the plastic chair when I got a text to report to window 11.

A nice young Cuban American guy was there, and was completely competent, courteous, and professional. I showed him the certificate from Queens, and it seems we killed off 7/12 DOB Dave and replaced him with 7/18 DOB Dave. He then registered me for Medicare beginning July 1 -- the very reason for the season, and I was off -- he even asked me as a Queens native if I was a Mets fan, and I bored him with tales of my childhood when they won the '69 Series, but now I was all Miami Marlins. He was, too, though for 5 years living in Baltimore he went to Os games. Ah, baseball. To American Jews and American Cubans, though we may love football, basketball, and hockey (soccer --  yuck), baseball is our birthright...

I celebrated with a Greek omelette at LOL -- realizing I hadn't been there in months. I texted Scott, who LOVES the place, and he asked me who I had been cheating with. I replied Roasters, mostly, and a few trysts with Crema, and First Watch, and House of Bagels, and the newly opened H and H Bagels. Hey -- I got one wife going on 40 years, can't I have variety with my breakfast spots?

Tonight I plan to Zoom cocktail with Barry and Donna, and hopefully Eric and Dana if they're free -- probably the best lasting change from The Covid Plague -- our Friday pm get togethers without having to leave the comfort of our homes and battle traffic.

Oy, traffic. Last night, as we drove home around 10, we came upon the biggest boondoggle in Miami highway history -- the new double decking of the Dolphin. At 10, they close it and I thought it was only Eastbound -- so Wifey and I got stuck having to exit at 12th Avenue, and go South. I drove down Flagler, though old Miami, and then to The Trail, finally back to The Palmetto. Note to self -- after hours, avoid the Dolphin until completion in 2029, if alive -- take the Airport Expressway instead.

But tomorrow, traffic warrior Barry is driving to the 305 on a day off -- meeting us for dinner at Bahia Honda, a great local fish place Kenny turned us on to -- near FIU. It's actually right off both the TPK and Palmetto -- so only 20 minutes for Donna and Barry, and a tad less for Wifey and me.

And Sunday, we're seeing Wifey's friends at Miami Shores CC, and then a visit with the grandsons.

Some stuff is worth driving for. And next week I shall go online, as Rey suggested, and confirm my electronic admittance to true elderliness -- Medicare. Wooo.

Persia Endures for Now

 So our, um, colorful POTUS, The Donald, really outdid himself with the rhetoric: threatening to "fucking blow Iran back to the Stone Age" if they didn't reopen the Strait of Hormuz by 8 pm last night. Since the guy says so many outrageous things, probably high level geopolitical leaders didn't really take him seriously, but, sure enough, what's left of Tehran government came to the table, brokered by Pakistan, of all nations, and agreed to let the oil flow again. No end of Persia last night.

For me, who cares about #1, while trying to avoid stepping into #2 (an underappreciated hilarious Rodney Dangerfield line from "Back to School), the stock market futures are flying as high as Artemis II. Hopefully my family gets to recapture most of the losses this latest adventure cost us -- on paper, anyhow.

Who knows what the future brings in the formerly united states. It may well be that the absurdity wrought by The Donald and his lap dogs will cause an even greater pendulum swing to The Left, which in many ways I fear even more than The Right. Oh boy. My Ds and grandsons (2 here and hopefully more to come) will have to deal.

Back to #1. Per UPS tracking, my certified birth certificate copies are on their way -- due here later today -- so I can make another appointment and hopefully convince the Brazil-like folks at SSA that I am indeed who I have claimed to be since July of 1961, and not some other guy born 6 days earlier, as their records seem to show. Free Dave's Medicare! Maybe I'll get a T shirt made.

In other domestic silliness, Wifey got her new phone yesterday and got it up and running, so my Man Friday duties have ended, mostly. Cara was late to get the message and asked me to coordinate the Old Ladies Lunch, as I am calling it, set for Sunday. Cara, Ronnie, and Wifey negotiated a series of issues probably as complex as the Iran War deal -- driving distances, time, location, etc...They seemed to have agreed on the Miami Shores CC, so we'll get to see the grandsons early, before D1 whisks them to their typical event packed non school day.

Ah -- driving distances. We have a family dinner tomorrow at The Palm, since closer Christy's was full. Wifey didn't believe me -- I had to show her the web site to prove that yes, we MUST drive the extra 20 minutes each way as I claimed. Jesus Christ, as Paulie Walnuts said when seeing Big Carmine with his urine bag in South Florida -- "kill me right fucking now!"

Still, as Barry and I reaffirmed whilst FaceTiming the other night -- we are blessed with First World Problems, mostly. He told me how some new trainees, faced with three deaths in the PICU within a week, cried that it was "unjust." Yep -- sure is. Where is the justice when a precious child gets diagnosed with a dread disease, or drowns because an out of state AirBnb user forgets that most houses in South Florida have swimming pools, or gets hit by a car -- the unholy trinity of child tragedies.

I told Barry to remind the fledglings that there's a building right across 12th Avenue NAMED for Justice -- and it's pretty rare one finds justice there.

Still, we get snatches of exquisiteness. Yesterday I picked up, right in my back yard, a small coral rock with a clearly defined clam or oyster shell fossil attached. I'm keeping it to show Little Man, who is already learning about fossils -- to blow his mind with the fact that his native land is essentially a drained coral reef, and the limestone mostly the shells of ancient marine creatures. He and his brother are sponges -- walking through life taking in so much. Our job is to make as much of what they absorb good, and happy, and strained out of the bad and evil -- they'll learn of that soon enough.

But for the next 2 weeks, at least -- no bombing Persia back to the Stone Ages. And maybe the normal folks will indeed finally overthrow the mullahs...AND faddahs (I can never escape Alan Sherman playing in my head).

So steak tomorrow night. And CC food Sunday. I remain well over fed. Let's see if the stock market gets fat today, too.

My SSA Adventure

 So I had a 9 am appointment with the Cutler Bay SSA office, to get my birth date changed from 7/12 to 7/18. Turns out, even though I have been on SSA.Gov for years, when you actually want benefits, like Medicare or SS payments, they double check, and my online account was locked out to to the discrepancy -- so I had to go into the maw of the beast.

I got there at 815, and there were already 30 people on line. My "Brazil" fears were becoming real. But at 850, a guard asked for people with appointments, and 5 of us raised our hands. We got a different line, and by 8:55 I was seated by cubicle 31 with a drawn curtain. At precisely 9, the curtain raised to a nice young Black fellow asking if I was there for a new SS card. I laughed and showed him mine "older than your parents, I bet." Turns out he didn't have much of a sense of charm or humor.

I told him the issue. Did I have a birth certificate? I did -- the one they gave to my parents in Queen, NY in late July while JFK was president, and my mother mailed to me in 1986 so I could apply for a marriage license. I handed the darkened document to him, and he frowned, and then headed off to a "specialist."

"Nope -- you need a CERTIFIED copy." I told him it was the only one we ever had, and here's my passport, and SS card, and even my latest income tax return (I thought I was over-prepared).

Not happening, he said -- what I gave him had no seal! I tried to argue they didn't have seals back then, in Queens, a blue collar borough! I got nowhere, and he told me to go online with NYC Vital Records and they could send me a certified copy, or I could visit the office in Queens personally.

I recalled one of the most hilarious things my conseugro David ever said. When we gathered at City Hall in Manhattan, for D2 and Jonathan's legal wedding so D2 could go on Jonathan's health insurance, our fellow citizens were, well, let's say diverse. Turbans, saris, feathers -- you name it. David said "Wow -- this looks like the Cantina in "Star Wars." He nailed it! I imagine the Queens Vital Records office would be that to the nth degree!

So I moped out, and called D2, and interrogated her about Wifey's latest phone issue, which they were keeping from me. I'm not sure why -- so long as my wife isn't affected, Wifey's foibles don't anger me at all. D2 wasn't spilling the Tea, but it turns out Wifey has misplaced the phone AGAIN somewhere in our house. She has a new one supposably (Miami spelling) tomorrow via FedEx.

And D2 found the site I used to order my certified birth record, which should be UPSed here by late April. Assuming it comes, I will again travel to Cutler Bay, knowing an appointment really helps, and maybe be let back into the system ahead of July, when Medicare should start, and I can say adios to the $2200 monthly Obamacare premiums.

I'm thinking I WILL start getting SS when I turn 67 instead of waiting until 70. Might as well get SOME of the money back I paid in since my teen jobs in the 70s, and invest the proceeds rather than leaving it with the government. Probably when I apply, they'll ask for my Bar Mitzvah proof. Ha! That didn't happen until I was in my 30s, right here in Miami. I'll just bring Rabbi Yossi to the office if that happens -- they dig him in Miami Dade County -- he's a police chaplain.

Stadium Memories

 So we've had a fun first part of Pesach -- avoiding any actual seders the first night and having a VERY fun non seder, seder on night 2. The Ds, boys, Paul, Patricia and I all met at Casa D2, and Jonathan and I had a few Stoli Elit martinis -- Patricia had some  Harvester wine. No one else was drinking -- Paul's been teetotaling it for FAR too long, the Ds and Wifey....ugh.

Anyway, D2 read from her IPhone, we ate delicious Turkish take in, and had a terrific time -- even though Betsy kept shark-like appearing and stealing food from Baby Man, not to his happiness...

Last night, D1 dropped off Little Man on her way home from a Palmetto Bay dinner, and he spent the night. It was already late and he crashed -- I re-homed him early, and then  D2 came by, I drove her back to her place, and we had coffee with Jonathan -- deconstructing the holiday, of course.

And tonight is the grand opening of Freedom Park, the new soccer stadium butt next to MIA, and all I can thing of is its absurdity. First, I'd rather watch paint dry (my favorite metaphor for boring) than soccer, and the fact that the Mas family and Beckham built this thing exactly where you have to enter already too traffic choked MIA shows the power and corruption in our town. A neighbor was just complaining how it's taking months to get permits for an outdoor kitchen -- they slapped this 27K thing up in no time.

Whatever -- so long as I don't have to leave MIA around game times...

But I AM going to a sporting event tonight -- Kenny got some free tix to see the Canes baseball team play, on account of he's a retired Navy man and vets get free crap all the time. He DID retire as a captain, but it's not like he got shot at while he was on the Saratoga during Desert Storm...

He's bringing a few friends -- I haven't been to Mark Light Stadium in a few years, and always love it -- especially the memories of watching games with Eric and Barry in the early 80s. The Canes were always great but never won a ring until '82, sadly the year my Dad died, and so I missed the excitement. They won 3 more, and typically make the World Series, though lately they've struggled.

But on a typical Spring night, Barry would be studying Chemistry of some such, and I would say "Hey - Neil Heaton's pitching -- let's go." He would protest, but even before law school I was a convincing guy, and we would go -- what, I asked, would he remember more in decades -- Organic or P Chem -- or Canes games. I was right -- and he got into med school nonetheless.

Back in the day, the Orioles would Spring train in Miami, and they would play at least one game at Mark Light. I recall standing next to Ken Singleton and being shocked what a giant he was -- baseball is a game we less than stellar athletes think we can somehow play -- like Charlie Hough, with a beer belly and a multi pack cigarette habit. Maybe not so much...

So I'm off soon to meet Kenny and his dudes at Titanic -- a favorite place. It was KC Cagney's in college -- before that it was The Flick Coffeehouse, where the house comedian was  Gabe Kaplan, and Fred Neill, who wrote "Everybody's Talkin" used to play. A fellow named David Crosby played there, too, and one night met a shy blonde singer from Canada there -- they went back to Crosby's sailboat in Coconut Grove and worked on their tunes, and decided the coming scene was in Laurel Canyon in LA -- the blonde was Joni Mitchell. She probably doesn't remember anymore -- poor thing looks like she belongs in a nursing home.

Or maybe she has her memories still. I have mine -- and will create a few tonight.

Elder Abuse And Triggering a Memory

 So the Herald today began what will clearly be a series of articles about how DCF "kidnaps" elderly folks and places them in crappy ALFs and steals their money. One tale was about a retired accountant living alone and a hoarder, who went for an evaluation and ended up in a place in Hialeah that he called "Devil's Island." His niece in California was apparently the only Power of Attorney -- the article doesn't say why he didn't have competent local help -- and he spent a few years in poor care before he was placed in an apparently acceptable ALF in North Miami that he likes.

The article brought back a bad memory from about 15 years ago, when I was a Guardian ad Litem for a teenaged girl. Paul, he of more bleeding heart than I, got heavily involved with the program -- he was GAL for several kids and became friends with the Chief Judge at the time, Cindy Lederman. Paul convinced me to take the certification class, which was over several weekends in some dated facility in Allapatah, as I recall, and I became a GAL, too.

My first ward was an unusual teen. She came from a terrible background -- coke addict Mom with a series of boyfriends who beat up Mom and C, the girl, and when I met her, she was living in a group home for teen girls over by ZooMiami -- actually a very nice house on a nice street. We got to know each other a bit -- but here was the thing -- she was tested with a genius IQ. I saw reports from her teachers, and she was a talented writer. She was pretty, and I watched as she switched her demeanor -- speaking "white" to me and changing to ghetto when one of the other inner city girls spoke to her.

I met her over several months -- explaining that with her talents -- she could probably got to Harvard on a full scholarship -- just keep on the path she was on, having escaped a hellish childhood -- and she could be a female Obama. I even brought D2 with me on a visit -- home from UF -- to share happy tales of college life -- in hopes that would inspire C.

It was not to be. She got pregnant with her boyfriend, a convicted felon, and decided to keep her baby since "I will finally have someone who loves and needs me." Turns out, that's what's behind many teen pregnancies...

This led to a case management conference, which I attended by telephone. There were, no kidding, SEVEN paid DCF and fellow traveler people on the line -- psychologists, case managers, social workers, and their aides. All I could think of was my growing property tax bill and now knowing why it was growing. 

It was decided that the trailer C planned to move into when the baby came, with felon baby daddy, needed to be inspected. It was in DEEP Florida City. The 7 DCFers said to me "As GAL, you need to go check it out." 

I lost it -- reminding them of the group on the call, I was the only volunteer! Could one of them, paid nice government salaries, maybe make the visit? One of the bosses, a cool Black fellow I later met (he was flattered when I told him he resembled one of my childhood heroes, Walt Frazier) agreed, and asked one of the flunkies to make the visit. Lord.

Then C gave birth, and another conference. They told me they wished me to be GAL for the baby, too. I pointed out there could be no clearer conflict -- what if I decided the baby needed to be removed, but my existing client, C, wanted to keep the baby. The baby clearly needed his own advocate.

I got a call a few days later. They found someone who would be GAL for both -- my services were no longer needed. I got a copy of the Court Order relieving me of my duties.

Probably a better man and lawyer would have plowed on -- finding a new needy youth to help -- but my aversion to morons and moronic institutions won out. That was my last foray into the world of DCF.

Paul presses on, and I praise him for it. He goes bi-weekly to a grade school in Liberty City and helps out. He has befriended the principal, Lamar, and enjoys his time there with the kids. I am proud he does these things -- I plan to toast him tonight at our family's non seder, seder.

Wifey's friend Cara sold her condo a few years back for 7 figures and paid a huge entry fee into a concierge place in Aventura -- she lives in a regular unit, and is guaranteed admittance to ALF and nursing home if needed.

Cara is youthful and beautiful and I was kind of surprised at her decision. But she explained she has no kids or grandkids, no family (a younger sister in Arizona died of cancer) and she knew she needed to take care of herself in the future, assuming she declines. I get it.

When she moved in, the facility told her to invite all her friends for a dinner -- an obvious marketing ploy -- maybe one of us might with to cut an $800K check for admittance, too. We went, and the food and room were top notch. But then...as you walk to the elevators, there are a bunch of wheelchairs and drooling folks.

Recently, she invited Wifey and me to lunch there. I told Wifey it is my life's intent to NEVER set foot in a "retirement community" as the running joke on The Sopranos goes, again. So now Wifey is engaged in negotiations -- neither Cara nor her BFF Ronnie, who now lives where Paul does, wish to drive anymore, and Wifey and her bad back don't wish to drive to Aventura, either.

I imagine my former "client," C, must be in her late 20s now. When I was discharged, I told her to reach out to me anytime if I could help her. I never heard from her. I hope she is well -- her baby must be in high school now, himself. Hopefully his Mom's superior intellect has helped them along.

And as for Wifey and me? Hopefully we live right here in Villa Wifey for the duration -- bringing in aides if they become needed. As my neighbor the rich widow Judy said the other day: "As long as one of you is functional -- you're golden."

I guess we'll see...

Into The Maw of Bureaucracy

 So Wifey and I successfully avoided First Seder on account of we figure without kids -- we don't have to do that no more. The boys are with Joey and his family, D2 and Jonathan are with Jonathan's half brother and their whole family, and D1 is at old family friends --- texting us that apparently a Lefty Boomer is starting political discussions to great hilarity. Wifey and I ate some schmura matzah, and that was it. And then, since I am OCD and learned I can apply for Medicare the first day of 3 months before I turn 65, I set out to do that.

I joined the SSA website years ago, and check it for accuracy and dream of the checks I'll start getting at either 67 or 70, depending on which theory I choose. The increase is 8% per year, but since I would probably just invest the money anyway, if I lose out of those 3 years, it may make less sense. Plus, if I don't live that long, it will have made sense to start earlier.

But Medicare -- hell -- I WANT that July 1. So I signed on, and couldn't find a place to actually register for Medicare. I called a few govt folks, and then -- I got an error message. I got through to a worker, pleasant enough but who kept telling me I couldn't apply for Medicare until May anyway, until she realized that in fact April was 3 months before. Lord.

But then she said she found the problem. SSA has me being born July 12, not 18. What????? The site has been letting me on and showing my correct birthday for years now -- why the mistake? Well, she said, she would make me an appointment at the SSA office in Cutler Bay for Monday -- and they would work it out for me.

Great. Precisely what I was hoping to avoid -- actually interfacing with government people. My passport renewal was fine -- did it all on my phone without even having to visit a passport office. But now I have to schlep to SW 211 Street Monday am.

Wifey had to go once, as she has a complicated name situation -- sometimes she used her birth name, but later the less old Jewish lady Hebrew name. So she had to visit the office, too, when she was getting Medicare, and had an appointment but still had to wait a few hours.

I have the time, of course, but not the patience. But, as Tony S says -- what are ya gonna do? I plan on bring my passport, driver's license, and even birth certificate. Probably they'll ask for a water bill, too.

July 12? What the hell. Must have been that the 8 looked like a 2 sometime during the past 50 years. Who knows? Hopefully I get 'er done and stop those $2200 per month Obamacare premiums after June...

Meanwhile, tomorrow we have our non-seder, seder. We plan to bring in Middle Eastern food from a place called Turko -- and Paul and Patricia will be joining us.  Paul joked that he plans to lead a formal seder that will last hours. I told him after Jonathan and I down a few martinis -- he can do whatever he wants.

The boys will take part in a tradition -- watching the Rug Rats Passover episode. They love it -- it'll become sort of our family holiday movie tradition -- like watching "It's a Wonderful Life."

I think Friday Little Man gets another sleepover before I re-home him before noon Saturday -- then off to see soccer in Naples -- the team his uncle owns.

Kenny scored some free Canes baseball tix on account of being a Navy veteran -- haven't been in a few years and am looking forward to that.

Speaking of Navy, a former Navy Captain just piloted a moon rocket tonight -- Artemis II -- first trip to the moon since 1972. It brought back memories -- I wanted to be an astronaut since I can remember -- like the vast majority of American boys of our era. It was sweet to see the craft blast off and go into orbit. I guess the plan is to land again in 2028 -- maybe this time they'll find Alice Kramden...

So this is Pesach. Wifey has on a TV service from some Reform temple in NYC -- girl rabbis. Ha. What's next?

Here's to a great unleavened week...

The House Where It's Impossible to Be Lonely

 Pesach draws nigh, as Elizabethan rabbis used to say. And like most holidays, for me it's time to take stock -- looking forward and backwards.

Friday we drove up to D1's house and had a Chick Fil A shabbos -- sandwiches all around, and then the lighting of candles and sharing of challah. We drove home with Little Man in tow -- he slept most of the way since he has an aversion to sleeping an entire night.

We got him set up, and he wound down with his IPad, which he loves. Finally, I walked him to his room, and he fell asleep -- up BEFORE first light, against our rules. I let him climb into bed with us and await the first photons visible in the sky -- and then we headed to House of Bagels, where they had his favorite black and white cookies, and he made sure to remind me to get an extra since his Ippi, a/k/a Wifey, "always finds and eats them."

Wifey arose, and we headed to Neighborhood Fish Farm, for some replacement cichlids and plecos. The koi did fine during the coldest weather we've had in years, but the tropical cichlids and plecos -- not so much. This kid. We arrived, and he went right up to one of the workers and said "Can we have a tour?" We got one, and he got to touch the small plecos in the net -- taking them home and letting them swim free in the pond.

Afterwards, I needed to run some errands and tried to entice him like I used to entice his mother and Tia -- D2 -- but he didn't bite. At home, his parents have CONSTANT activities for him, and with us, he savors "just chilling." As he said "Grandpa -- if I come along, that will cut into my chill time." I didn't disagree. I fetched his favored Anthony's Coal Fired wings and came home.

And it occurred to me that we again had what we first did in the late 80s -- a house I called "a place where it's impossible to be lonely." Back then,there was a was a huge, goofy black lab named Midnight, and an adorable Cocker Spaniel named Alfred. There was the textbook adorable baby and then toddler, D1. Later, in the next house 2 miles West, there was D2. Wherever you looked, there was activity -- canine or child related.

Now, in our much larger house, we're down to one elderly Spaniel who is anything BUT lively. And Wifey tends to putter around outside, or sit in her recliner. The house is blessedly quiet, and chill -- but when Baby Man and Little Man arrive -- instant life!

Saturday night he fell asleep with his headphones on watching said IPad. I was passing out -- Wifey walked him to his bed across the small hall. He slept soundly until 530 -- then up -- leftover bagel and more chilling. I re-homed him early -- his mother had tickets to a K Pop party near their house. The boys were adorably dressed when I left.

I came home...and napped. Parenting small ones is a job for the young -- surely younger than this about to be Medicaire eligible guy with a wife 5 years in already.

As I write this today, the doors are open and a lovely Spring breeze is blowing through -- the Spaniel sleeps on the sofa. Wifey is at the dentist.

I just fielded a call from Rabbi Yossi -- inviting me as he does yearly to either the community or personal seder. I told him we were all set, but WOULD enjoy the special, extra pure matzah he delivered to our house.

Actually, the plan is to skip Night One, and meet the Ds and their men night 2 either at a local restaurant, or bringing in food -- their call.

And even without the tumult of small ones, or lively dogs -- I still find it impossible to be lonely. I have the decades of my life's work -- the home I built with Wifey and the Ds, to look back and forward upon.

The quiet is kind of nice...

Estrangement

 Not long ago, I read an article that claims up to 1/3 of American adults are estranged from at least one member of their family. I was kind of taken aback by that high number, though I guess I shouldn't have been.

Among my inner circle, estrangement is an unknown thing. Sure -- my friends all have had and have plenty of tensosity with parents, siblings, and adult kids, but no estrangements. For SOME of my friends, marrying into the family gives the new in law an almost Mafia-like status -- shared intimate information goes to them, even over long time friendships.

The article went on to state that often the estrangements are a good thing -- better to cut off a toxic relative and go live your life than try to maintain ties that continually disappoint and hurt you.

My Ds are close but also very different. They process life events differently. But as long as I live, at least, they will NOT be estranged -- at least if they wish to benefit from Wifey and my comedic generosity. Yesterday, during a Zoom meeting with our personal CPA Mark, he was reminded about nearly 7 figures worth of mortgages we hold on the Ds' houses, at statutorily minimal rates. The mortgages will likely be forgiven rather than repaid, if all goes to plan. Later, on a post Zoom call, Mark told me NONE of his clients in our financial status (he has plenty machers where money is essentially a non-issue) do what Wifey and I have done. And the one thing that shuts off that spigot is if the Ds estrange. Better never happen.

There's a sadness, of course. Wifey and I consider our grandsons sacred -- it is inconceivable, as Vizzini said in "The Princess Bride," that we would ever lose touch with them. And yet I've seen it happen.

Years ago, a close friend completely cut off her father, following the death of her mother. I never understood, fully, until years later when I got to have a long talk with another family member, and learned that the father, who to us seemed a kindly, old Jewish retiree was in reality a bitter and angry man who took out his disappointments about his lack of success in life on his family. After his wife died, his daughter saw no point in continuing to have any contact. He lived probably 15 years with zero contact, and her sons and husband learned years after the fact that he had died out of state. Hey -- it was her call.

Recently someone reminded me of a long estrangement of grandparents and now adult grandkids. I felt bad, and briefly thought about pulling a "Then Came Bronson" move. That was a show in the early 70s where Bronson would ride into town on his Harley, fix whatever problem a town was having, and then ride off into the sunset. Maybe I could contact the grandkids, now fully adult, though I haven't spoke to them in years, and try to get them to at least contact their grandparents -- both of whom are in the deep sunset of their lives.

I reflected on this last night, over a rare solo cocktail. I always say I only drink with friends, but last night Wifey was out and about somewhere on our property, it was a gorgeous evening, and my front porch with Sonos playing Grateful Dead beckoned. So I squeeze a couple of Mandarins into a glass with a big cube, filled it with Ketel, and grabbed the elderly Spaniel.

It was exquisite. I listened carefully to Robert Hunter's sage lyrics on "Box of Rain," his reflection on the brevity of life, conceived as he was traveling to a nursing home for his final goodbye to his dying father. Turns out -- Hunter is a great, great grandson of classic Scottish poet Robert Burns -- hmmm-- genetics CAN work, it turns out.

The final lyric is amazing, about life: "Such a long, long time to be gone, and a short time to be there." And I made up my mind -- I ain't no Bronson -- best to keep my beak out of most streams.

It also occurred to me that it was a great thing I went to law school instead of getting a PhD in English, my alternative choice. I would have ended up far poorer, as mentor Judy Davidoff warned, but worse: I would have truly been insufferable: spouting off my supposed wisdom to everyone, thinking my education made me the smartest guy in the room and making up for my lack of material success with ego boosting, to me, intellect. I shudder to think...

This am, as Wifey stirred at sunrise, I asked her advice, but not really. I gave her a script to recite after I shared my thoughts of this family incursion: "No, David, you have more than enough on your plate -- keep the hell out of the affairs of those you last spoke with over a decade past."

She performed well, and even added, for free, some further thoughts: how would I react if some cousin contacted me and told me I "Should" reach out to another cousin...just because they were blood and needed comfort. Yeah -- wouldn't happen. Won't happen here.

So peace be upon the estranged -- far and near. All I can do, for as long as I can, is keep it from happening 'round here.

From The River To The Sea...Leaf Blowers Are Again Free

 Living in our upscale, leafy suburb, little annoyance take on outsize importance -- luckily. Recently one involved leaf blowers -- our left leaning, well intentioned Village Commission outlawed gas ones on account of noise and pollution, and sent us a warning letter saying next time the blower police caught us -- $500 fine.

Our Commish and next mayor Shannon, who is smart and easy on the eyes (not that there's anything wrong with that) patiently explained to me the rationale -- our Village noise ordinance essentially prevented ANY of the gas models from operating -- and if they bumped up the allowable decibels, neighbors could have ragers and other parties with South Beach or Ultra noise levels. So it made more sense to outlaw the gas machines -- and Shannon and her husband Skip (his actual nickname -- he's not hard on the eyes, either, according to the ladies I know) just bought their own electric model and keep it for their lawn guy. Fine -- I was well explained, and Wifey indeed bought an electric model which our lawn guy uses with utter disdain.

Well...this am I read in the Herald that our governor just signed a law -- preventing local governments from outlawing gas blowers! The GOP is, of course, the Party of small government and believes local municipalities are best left to govern themselves. Ha. As if.

So now it appears our electric blower is vestigial -- maybe I'll ship it to NYC where they probably have laws against the gas models, too, and a Commie mayor who actually enforces them.

Speaking of which, some people can get enough of videos of Pro Hamas morons chanting "From The River to the Sea...Palestine Must Be Free" and then they're asked WHICH River and WHICH Sea and they have zero clue.

But locally, our emancipated gas machines ARE free from our river (canal running alongside US 1) to the Sea (Biscayne Bay). This makes me feel encouraged for liberty going forward...

So yesterday, I got a text from Barry saying he had a meeting at UM's Coral Gables campus -- was I free for dinner. It actually read "Are you free this Thrs evening?"  When I read the text, distractedly as my trainer Jonathan and I were Talmudically debating an issue about a "Sopranos" episode, I missed the "Thrs" part and thought he was coming last night! When his 6 pm time turned to 630 I texted him -- thinking there was another tragedy he was dealing with. He FaceTimed from home -- no -- not LAST night -- THURSDAY night." This is how airplanes crash.

Since he was on anyway, and safely home, I poured a Ketel, and Wifey accepted a Cosmo -- since her mah jong friends crowed about them. The 3 of us had a Monday night FaceTime Happy Hour where we recalled Scott and Sam's wedding in DC last year, and all of the back stories that accompanied that storied event.

Then, I watched the new Taylor Sheridan series "Madison" with Wifey, shocked at how much I enjoyed this mere soap opera involving a dead husband, Goldie Hawn's real life guy, and Michelle Pfeiffer, at 67 still easy on the eyes, at least to my nearly 65 year old eyes. Great writing and acting, even though not much of a tale. Must be the reduced testosterone that accompanies a man's aging.

Tonight, Norman IS due over here, and we will cruise up to The Pines and fetch Barry for a Panthers game. I think I have the day correct this time.

Wait -- are those gas blowers I hear outside? Freedom news must travel fast...

Time's Passages

 So one year ago today, most of our family was in D.C. for Scott, my nephew of another mister's, Big, Fat, D.C. Media Wedding, as I labeled it, to Samantha. It was quite a weekend -- they married at the gorgeous Conrad Hotel, and we took the boys to the Air and Space Museum, and saw old friends of the Ds, and walked with Paul and Patricia around his alma mater, G.W. 

It was only moderate cherry blossom time, but we didn't care. I was surrounded by Eric, and Mike, and Norman, and Paul, and their ladies (those who came) and it was terrific to watch Barry and Donna and their new consuegros David and Nancy put on an amazing weekend.

I wished the newlyweds happy anniversary, and then looked back. A LOT has happened this past year -- people coming, people going, as it is said in "The Grand Hotel," health challenges among those very close to me, and some losses.

Barry and I are meeting later for dinner -- he's at Coral Gables campus for a meeting today. We were texting about a child in therapy learning to tie strings, and he sent me an excerpt from the autobio of Tom Starzl, the father of modern transplant surgery, about how one of his proteges couldn't tie surgical knots, and became an amazing surgeon -- worked at UM, then Hollywood, and is now retired. I recalled meeting Starzl on a case, where we advocated for an ERISA plan to pay for a kidney/pancreas transplant, and Starzl directed me to a wizard named Dave Sutherland in Minnesota, who agreed to come to Miami to testify, and did so, after Hurricane Andrew, before Lenore Nesbitt, a very sharp judge who kept asking the doc to slow down since he spoke as fast as his gifted hands moved.

I looked up David Sutherland, and learned, spookily, that he died EXACTLY ONE YEAR AGO -- on Scott and Sam's anniversary -- at 85. Again -- people come and people go.

It still strikes me though how the more years you have, the shorter they seem. I still recall being 16 and buying tickets to see Neil Young at the Nassau Colisseum. The show was 4 months away, and it seemed FOREVER. Now, 4 months? Ain't no big thing -- hell -- I ought to be on Medicare by then.

Somehow long friendships at 20, if you're lucky, turn into half century friendships when you're mid 60s. Funny how those numbers work.

A year ago, right before the wedding, I got some very tough news -- a big change in our family I wasn't expecting. At the rehearsal dinner, Eric noticed I wasn't my usual, 4 drink convivial self, and he asked Wifey. Wifey shared the news -- next am, Eric called -- let's go to the Starbucks across the street and talk.

It was probably the longest and most intimate talk we've shared since we were undergrads. I told him things for the first time -- about his family -- things allowed to be shared years after deaths. And he took me back in time -- to July of 1982, when I was at my lowest -- having lost my beloved Dad, and he slept on a mattress in my room at my Mom's condo.

I knew I had a brother. Last year, I knew I still did. I will remember that forever.

I got a text today from my law school mate and Fla Bar roomie Harlan. He saw an article about a 10 year in federal prison fraudster who was advertising again, now in his late 70s, to consult on business matters. Harlan found that hilarious. I know the guy -- did my firm a major solid on a Receivership before he went away, as they say.

Harlan thanked me, as he always does, for keeping him laughing and calm back in July of '86, during the time in Tampa. Harlan was already married with a toddler -- passing the test was criticial for him. It was important for me, as my asshole, anti semitic boss made clear if I failed I was fired the next day -- but Wifey was making more than I was as a rookie lawyer and we'd have gotten by.

Harlan just retired, finally, after a career as a defense lawyer, then claimants lawyer, then in house for an insurance company lawyer. Now he's mediating -- could he do one for us? I told him my firm is in only the referral mode -- I don't pick the mediators. But I DID appear on a Zoom hearing last week, as a Guardiam Ad Litem for a minor's settlement -- eh -- that's enough for awhile.

So here's to Scott and Sam. May this be, as Chicago sang, only the beginning. May they bless my dear friends Barry and Donna with grandkids. Harlan, father of a doctor (OB/GYN, no less) and a lawyer in Boston -- no grandkids. Wifey and I kind of like ours...

And so time passes, ticking into the future, as Steve Miller sang. It's kind of cool to watch it pass.

Good 'Ole Sunday Morning

 Ah, a simple pleasure to a young man, not so easy as an old one: falling asleep and staying asleep 7 entire hours. I was granted that last night, and as much as my news hungry self likes to check the world's affairs when I arise for a 2 or 3 am pee -- turns out the world did just fine without my supervision.

Yesterday I SUVed up to Little Haiti, sans Wifey, to meet D1 at a trendy place called Flora. She had the skittish Spaniel in tow, and as we waited our friends Lauren and Jamie, a stereotypically gay man at the next table asked if he could hold and pet Lemon. He could, and his stereotypically gay ally woman friend asked "Are you selling him?" D1 was not.

Lauren is an ATL lawyer I met in 1990 on a case. She's a UVA and Duke grad and was working for a big firm that defended Coca Cola. We had a case, referred to my boss Ed by John, a Navy vet lawyer who got lots of cases from Key West sailors and their families. This one involved a 15 year old boy in Jville who toppled a soda machine onto himself as he rocked it, pinning himself against a wall in his apartment building and suffocating. Turned out these incidents were sort of common -- we ended up handling several of them. Soda machines were very top heavy -- the product was stored up high and used gravity to dispense. Now they get bolted to walls, but back then...

Anyway, Lauren and I were the two young lawyers on the case, on opposite sides, and became friends. She's a Southern Jewess, from VA, and married a LI Italian named Tom. Years later, we took a cruise with friends, and coincidentally Lauren and Tom were on the same one with their 4 kids, and later we visited each other's houses in ATL and here. I've referred her cases, and she's handled a bizarre collection one for us. That one came to memory yesterday.

A Homestead fellow who we had represented moved to rural Baxley, GA with his wife and child to follow a minister who relocated there -- kind of a cultish thing, as I recall. Tragically, his wife and kid were killed by a candy company truck, and he called me, and Allison and I flew up to Jville, rented a car, and drove to "Deliverance" land. Paul and I got the case settled within a month or so, for the $1M policy.

But then the client with assistance from a local lawyer, pulled a fast one. Before we distributed the funds, the local lawyer had the client fire us, hire him (at a reduced fee) and tried to shut us out, even though we had done our job. We retained Lauren, and indignantly told her we wanted to fight the interloper vigorously. She filed an appearance for us, but told us that maybe 2 Miami city slicker lawyers wouldn't get such a fair shake in a Ga rural county where the judge and stealing lawyer were likely hunting buddies. We ended up settling with the gonif -- still earning a nice fee -- and paying Lauren for her time. Man -- that was a long, long time ago.

Anyway, Lauren's girl Jamie graduated UT Austin and does digital marketing, and moved to Edgewater. Lauren and I decided maybe it would be a good idea to have Jamie meet D1, who is more connected to the Youts of Miami than I ever was. I had last seen Jamie as a little girl -- she's a beautiful young woman, and the 4 of us had a great lunch. I called for the check, and Lauren pulled MY move -- she had "gone to the bathroom" and paid it -- saying I ALWAYS got the check, and she wanted to reciprocate.

I told her "Boys Pay" and we laughed, since I was with 3 feminist women. The burger was terrific, by the way.

Today holds little except March Madness -- the Canes are improbably still in The Dance -- they play favored Purdue at noon. Tuesday there are MORE sports -- Norman has invited Barry and me to the final Panthers game. He gets Panther Bucks he has to spend each season or they go to waste, and he generously buys my grandsons amazing swag -- the boys love their Cats jerseys -- and Baby Man uses the padded hockey stick to smack Little Man every once in awhile. They'll be thanking Tio Norman.

Other than that, Spring has sprung, and mercifully the weather remains gorgeous. I might even get a night or 2 of firepit use this week before the heat starts again, and we won't see night temps starting with a 6 for a long while.

In April, I shall apply for Medicare, to have it in place by my July birthday, and mercifully say adios to my monthly Obamacare premiums of $2200. Medicare, the traditional kind with a top supplement package, will still cost $1K per month, but the coverage will be better. What a time when I am HAPPY about paying $2K per month for Wifey and my health coverage.

Hey -- hopefully I keep paying and use little to no of the coverage. That would be just fine with me.

But for today, when the sun rises, I shall walk in the coolness of early Miami Spring. Wifey sleeps on.

And the moments are precious.

Carl Hiassen Effect And New Insurance

 So D2 and Jonathan love their house in Miami Shores -- lovingly renovated by a dear family friend. The street dead ends at Biscayne Bay, and THE lot there has a house where dear friend Allison grew up -- and her Dad Sy, retired urologist to the stars, still lives there -- at 96! Many of the neighbors have lived in the 'hood for decades, and some have sold to their kids, and it's easy to see why -- terrific location -- small town feel -- Biscayne Bay breezes all Summer.

The 'hood is also lousy with Gibbs, in the way ours is lousy with Marleys. Bob Marley has many family members near us, and it turns out the Bee Gees have kids and grandkids all over the Shores. Also, in the celebrity department, Jonathan learned that a house a few doors down, on the canal side, was owned by Dan LeBatard. Jonathan, along with many of my friends, is  a yuuuuge fan of him and his show, and was hoping Dan might actually move in. Turns out, he and his wife never did -- apparently it was an investment property they renovated and planned to sell, and then...

The other night D2 and Jonathan returned home and saw Shores cop cars in front of the property. They figured someone may have broken in and was being arrested. That would be a normal thing in most of the US, but we live in Miami, few things here are normal.

Novelist Carl Hiassen wrote of this, now called "The Hiassen Effect." It holds that being a Miami novelist is particularly challenging since anything a writer might conjure up will be far LESS weird than things that actually happen here. And so it was in the Shores.

Apparently the LeBatard caretaker had noticed a bedroom door had a lock installed, there was a TV there, and food in the refrigerator. While the cops were there investigating, a car drove up and a 37 year old man went inside. He appeared normal -- Colombian American from Broward -- spoke perfect English -- and claimed the house was HIS. The cops showed him paperwork showing it was NOT, even though the guy, whose name is comically Colombian Escobar, said he had owned the house for 20-30 years. Well, he's 37, so that didn't check out. But the cop cameras' recordings were hilarious in how calm the guy was -- didn't appear crazy, or look homeless. He said "Well, I guess you have to follow procedure and arrest me," and the cops did.

In LA or NYC, I have a feeling the cops would have just left, telling LeBatard "this is a civil matter." Luckily South Florida don't play that way, and the squatter was taken to jail. LeBatard featured the story on his show -- in his funny, dramatic way saying "The squatter was planning to fully move in!"

Yep -- like our famous internet site is called, "Only in Dade." Who knows -- maybe a Gibb will buy the place and we get invited to meet Barry, the only surviving Bee Gee.

Closer to home, we had some Pinecrest crime -- also tinged with Miami style. Stir Crazy, a strip club here for decades, had a dustup. 2 fellows apparently meant to "make it rain" (IFYYK) with dollar bills, but mistakenly used hundred dollar bills. They attempted to retrieve their money, but were told, I guess, no refunds. They grew violent and were escorted out. Before getting into their PURPLE LAMBO SUV (there's the Miami angle) they fired shots into the club's front door -- luckily hurting nobody.

The Pinecrest cops were there in 30 seconds, and chased these Rhodes Scholars down 124th Street, where they crashed the 1/4 million dollar vehicle and were arrested. I'm waiting for the "rest of the story." Purple Lambo SUV? Probably they're the sons of some Latin American oligarchs, or something. They didn't look like Marleys in the news story...

I finally got my roof FINAL INSPECTION, and right away set out to get insurance again -- just a fire policy. I called my long time agent, who clearly had zero idea who I was, saying "Well some companies require flood insurance" which I've had through her agency continually since 2000. She sent me a quote, for $8500, and told me I had to hire my own inspector before the company would write the policy.

So I went online, and found a company called Kin, which sells direct. With a nice young agent named Evan, I got a better policy for $6K, and also a quote for auto that was  $1K less than I was paying with ESurance, which is going to close sooner or later, anyway. So it was a productive day around Villa Wifey -- saving thousands -- like the ads say -- and covered again.

At least now if a squatter moves in while we're away, and does damage, or a purple Lambo SUV crashes into the house -- we might get paid.

Never is it boring in the 305.'

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.