Shedding Ownership

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heartless Hens And Empathetic Spouses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Happier Anniversary

 Ten years ago, we buried my father in law -- of course, very sad. But 6 years ago, we married off D2, in a weekend celebration that was truly magical.

D2 and Jonathan chose the Betsy, on South Beach, which was where Wifey and I spent our 10th year anniversary, and where, by the sea in front of said hotel, I asked Wifey to marry me in 1986. Since then, the property got a major upgrade, and the rehearsal party was one SERIOUSLY alcohol fueled get together, in a room that apparently, at one time, housed Meyer Lansky's boiler room operations.

Our guests drank doubles and triples, and what was budgeted as a $5K event turned into one for $15K. Luckily, D2 negotiated a major discount, with promises that her husband's private equity company would consider the venue for future events. She did some FINE lawyering.

The main event took place on the roof -- Atlantic to the East, Downtown Miami with the sun setting to the West. The light seemed artificial -- like a Hollywood lighting director contrived it, but it was natural. I like to think the Big Man smiled down on the union of two Holocaust Survivor grandkids...

Wifey and I told D2 and Jonathan to go have a nice dinner on us -- I think they may wait until the weekend on account of a LOT of dinners out lately. But the memory of 6 years ago still brings smiles. Based on my study, 99.7 % of the guests had a terrific time...

Meanwhile, last Friday I was faced with a choice: to grind, or not to grind. In our law practice, Paul ALWAYS ground the people, and I was the sweet one -- the "good cop" in the age old scheme that, amazingly, still works. But over time, I became more like him, and he more like me, and so I chose a grind -- over an incompetent employee of FIU.

In 2010 we started a scholarship there, to help Dietetics MS kids get over the internship hump. Over time, the fund grew, with annual contributions and a healthy, tax free stock market growth, and all was well. In 2024, the woman I worked with, Smilka, left to take over at St. Thomas -- replaced by a, well, an idiot.

The first thing the new person did was ask if we might split up our gift to the FIU Art Museum -- she was friends with the Director. Nope, I told her -- not art patrons. And FIU did a VERY nice thing all the years of our gifts -- they gave us free tickets to the South Beach Wine and Food Festival -- biggest in the US. We'd take the Ds, or friends, and always had a great time -- a few years in a row we went to TrishaYearwood's barbecue event and she played a few songs -- the more famous husband with the cowboy hat was hidden away.

Another year I was to share a table with the legendary Sam Cooke -- an FIU Music consultant. I was WAY excited, but he was home with an injury and instead we met only his nasty wifey -- a Jewish lady -- and her daughter and son in law. The son in law was the lead singer from "In Living Color," and the fellow acted like HE was Sam Cooke. Still -- great afternoon.

Anyway, when Doreann called, I asked about the upcoming Festival tix -- she said she'd get back to me, and never did -- even with more emails and calls. So we just sort of forgot the program, and never heard from them -- until last December, when I got a report from the Giving Office showing me how the Fund had grown.

I emailed them, and asked if Doreann was still even employed, and a month later, she called me, all happy. "It's been a minute!" she said. No, I corrected her, it's been years -- I wondered if I offended someone. She realized she had ignored me, and tried to blame the fact that she did more corporate than individual donor work.

So I subtly ground her, like Paul would have, and told her we just gave more to other charities -- Rabbi Yossi NEVER forgets to call. Also, we gave gifts in memory of Dr. Barry's Mom -- including to the Jackson Foundation, even though that money was probably stolen by a criminal director who just pled guilty. Ah, charity...

Anyway, we did our part at FIU. And certainly, UM -- my decades of giving there led to NOT getting tix for the Natty game -- which was actually fine -- we had a great time watching on TV without the hassle.

So my curmudgeonliness continues. But man -- 6 years ago -- still in my 50s -- that was one HELL of a great weekend...

A Decade Ago

 So after a one year FaceBook (tm) hiatus, on account of a mentally disturbed former relative who I inadvertently contacted, resulting in scary responses, I am once again checking and posting on that Boomer platform. And I must say, the best part is the "Memories" that pop up on the daily feeds -- they truly provide mileposts into your past.

Sure enough, today's had pictures of 2 long gone family dogs -- Vienna, the strange rescue who lived a long and comical life, and Molly, the Basset Hound who lived a short and comical life. Molly came first -- a surprise gift to Wifey to ease the loss of D1's leaving for college -- and it's as if Molly knew her life's mission -- she died at just 4, being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer while we were in the Bahamas on a trip celebrating both Ds' graduations, from UF and Palmetto High.

Vienna got a much longer run, after we were going to "foster her" after she was found literally running the streets by D2's friends, and kind hearted Susan took her in but was already dog overloaded. I still recall the afternoon D1 came over, an atypical day for her while she was at FIU Grad School -- it was a set up -- to get me to agree to accept the squat, brown dog, who looked like she was pieced together with parts of maybe 3 different breeds. Well -- it worked -- and she was the smartest dog we ever had -- an escape artist who always seemed to return or BE returned by neighbors -- she truthfully brought us a lot of joy.

Alas, poor Susan died, too -- from an awful stroke while visiting her son and his family in Texas -- she was returned to Miami for treatment and rehab, but never recovered. I reached out to her widower Steve -- took him and his boy Spencer to dinner once during Susan's hospital time, and was politely rebuffed with my offers after she passed -- I understood -- he had a LOT to do. I'm thinking I'll reach out again next month -- Wifey's due to go on a cruise, and so I'll be a single grandpa, too, though thankfully only temporarily. We'll see -- Wifey's bad back has reared its ugly head again -- I think the third intifadeh may have begun -- hopefully this one is shorter duration. But last night she wasn't even up to a 24 minute drive to Doral to meet Barry and Donna at Basilico -- she said she couldn't even sit long enough for the drive or dinner. They said I should have told them -- they'd have simply come to Villa Wifey for takeout, but I know Wifey was just fine alone with her NetFlix and phone.

Anyway, bad backs and dead dogs aside, FaceBook (TM) memories recalled a more significant event -- 10 years ago today we buried my father in law Richard. He had spent the final years of his life at Miami Jewish -- in nursing home care, which was rather tolerable. His time there overlapped with my Mom's time, and so we got to visit both of them together often -- but Sunny died a few years before.

At the very end, he got great care by Seasons Hospice, which also cared for Sunny, and they were terrific -- in contrast to the evil Vitas, which literally abandoned my mother in law due to "staffing shortages" as Rachel entered the bottom half of the 9th inning of her life -- at The Palace. What a mess that was -- luckily a compassionate nurse got her the needed morphine even though she wasn't his patient -- turns out that Hospice takes over even in the home facility -- but fortunately the late suffering was just over a few hours. Bastards. I'll never forget that.

But, the memory is of Richard -- the amazing life he lived -- you could make several Hollywood movies about his tales of survival of the Holocaust with his brothers and one sister who made it out alive. The closest I ever come to wanting to face punch someone is when they deny the Holocaust -- Wifey's parents' families didn't simply disappear into the ether.

The good news for the end of my suegro's life is though he was diagnosed with Alzheimers, he never forgot who his family was -- visits by Wifey and the Ds and the dogs and his "First Wife," as he jokingly called my suegra, always enlivened him.

And his survival and long struggle to have a baby, with Rachel, brought me my life partner now going on 4 decades, and the Ds which, along with the grandsons, are my dearest gifts.

My in laws were of course SO damaged by the Shoah, and Barry always reminded me that entitled them to a HUGE berth in the things they did or said, and I always remark that they taught me how to be the father in law I now am -- largely by NOT doing many things Richard did.

But he DID love his family fiercely -- it would have been nice if he mat his great grandsons -- but as Tony Soprano used to say -- year, but what are ya gonna do?

Meanwhile, a decade ago I was nearing 55, still not yet an old man. I've put on a good number of miles since then -- physically as well as emotionally -- like Buffet sang: good times and riches and son of a bitches -- I've seen more than I can recall.

My goals 10 years ago were still professional -- there was still an ongoing, real law firm, albeit abridged from our glory days. Now, I just want to finally get on Medicare -- half a year away -- and maybe even get back some of that Social Security I paid into for so long.

I saw an email the other day that made me laugh -- a younger man thinking he was a hero for working for his family -- his "a$$ off," he wrote. Yeah -- I worked mine off too -- actual ASS -- no dollar signs -- because that's what a man does, or ought to . No medals for that, in my world.

Richard was the same way -- he never made much money, but always did what he could for his family -- failed businesses, and finally a steady income as a carpenter -- his family's business back in Lodz, Poland pre War.

So lots has happened in the past decade. Trump was beginning his first term, and most reasonable people thought if we could just get through it -- things would be ok. Then the great American electorate said, after the doddering Biden and incompetent candidate Harris: "Hold our beer."

A plague came and largely went. My anxiety caused weight loss, fearing I would lose my first born grandson, came and went, when it became clear the virus was indeed the "Boomer Remover" early pundits predicted.

D1 is bringing the boys over later -- and leaving her skittish Spaniel with us for a week as she travels. She returns just before D2's 34th!!! birthday dinner -- the Day the Music Died and our blessing was born.

Time indeed, like the Scottish Jew Woolfson sang, keeps flowing like a river. It's nice to be around to mark its passing.

Back To School

 So last night was the first of the latest 6 JLI classes -- an analysis of rabbinic answers since the time of the Torah. I must say, as Ed Grimley said, it was a terrific time for me.

Barry, Norman, and I met at Apamate Bistro, a new casual Venezuelan place that opened around from the original Roasters, and had a fine meal -- fresh chicken and ceviche, and old school prices. From there we mustered at the Chabad Center -- Kenny's time to lose his Chabad virginity, as it were.

The class had some new faces, and Jeff was there. I had thought he had skipped one -- his comically busy schedule confuses me, but he assured me he had told me he WAS coming. He never joins us for pre class dinner, though -- always on his way home from some event or another.

And then Rabbi Moshe took off -- a discussion about the basic of Rabbinic answers -- with examples from 1300s Spain, and a tragic Holocaust tale, and one involving King Henry VII, which I never knew. The material was thought provoking -- some good questions -- and truly food for thought in the way the Venezuelan fare was food for belly.

Distilling to the essence, Rabbis are to answer life's questions using, of course, Torah, which to the Orthodox, is The Big Man's Owner's Manual for Life, and whose mitzvot are the only true way of connecting with Him.

Moshe gave a great analogy -- about a simpleton walking the campus of Princeton, who happens upon Einstein. Even though the two are one completely different levels, Einstein asking the simpleton the time, and the fellow answering it, rather than explaining where he bought his watch, how his day was, etc...allowed for the two to connect.

There was dark humor, of course, as there always must be when discussing my Tribe's history. When King Henry VII sought scholarly basis for trying to get the Pope to allow his annulment from Catherine of Aragon, he wanted some Old Testament backup. Problem was, Jews had been expelled from England a few hundred years earlier -- so he needed to reach out to Italy...

Yep -- when you need a plumber and you banned them, it occurs to you maybe not such a good idea when the toilet backs up...

Anyway, as D1 pointed out, my mood lifts the day after class, and indeed it does. I'm meeting her and BFF Alyssa for lunch later -- I haven't seen the prodigal third daughter since she had her baby boy. I look forward to catching up.

And the next 5 Wednesdays are set -- as Kenny said, when he showed the syllabus to Joelle, a law professor, it seems more a law class than religious one. Indeed -- that's the key -- and why I enjoy it so much.

The underlying message is one of Torah and Judaism, but the analysis and questioning are ethics and morals -- all influences welcome.

And maybe next pre class dinner, there'll be an adult beverage or two -- that never hurts...

The Racket On The Roof

 Well, as Villa Wifey was built in 1997, the house where so many precious memories were made needs a new roof as it nears 3 decades of the Tropics.

In 2005, after Hurricane Wilma, the wind loosened the clay tiles, and I had a fellow spend an entire day re-fastening them -- I was amazed he did it, and that gave me another 20 years. Over time, leaks appeared, but never inside -- they were above the many porches or "loggia" to use the Italian term, Richard and Jennifer designed and installed. Each time there was a repair, I called Andrew Palmer, except for a detour to Infinity, which did good work once but then tried to rip me off a second time ($10K for  a repair Palmer did for $3K) and so the 3rd generation Miami company have been my dudes since.

Last year, I asked Kevin, the young roof maven, when it was time for a new roof entirely. He said "You'll know -- sort of like when a person knows it's time for joint replacement surgery. The leaks will multiply, and start appearing inside, too." The clay tiles can last forever, but the paper beneath them, the ACTUAL layer that keeps out the weather, does not.

Sure enough, last rainy season Wifey had some comical drips onto her head as she watched TV during a storm. So I scheduled the job for the dry season, and gave a deposit.

It's funny -- the job costs a bit below the entire cost of our second house -- well into the 6 figures. Well, not ha ha funny, but interesting funny. At first I was going to go with metal, which lasts nearly forever, but it would change Villa Wifey from a neo-Med house to a VERY large Key West-type cottage. I was ok with that, but smarter heads prevailed -- and I ended up sticking with the clay tiles, which, I am told, are stronger than they were in 1997.

Kevin tells me this will be another 30 year roof, which gets me to my mid 90s where the next roof will be someone else's concern.

Anyway, they began work yesterday, and it's loud. If I didn't know better, I'd swear there were large men up on the roof banging away with sledgehammers!

Luckily, they were gone by 4 yesterday, as I was driving to NE Miami to re-home Little Man, who spent a lovely Sunday with Wifey and me. We ate, and read, and Wifey did some homework. He took his bath in our oversized tub, which he assures us is his favorite. We lizard hunted. We watched cartoons.

D1 is of the belief that down time for a kid is not so great. Wifey and I believe the opposite. After there were BAFL (bagels at first light) we hung about -- a lot -- before I drove him home.

Around 6, Barry and Scott arrived. I ordered DiNapoli, and began my work as a human drink blender. I have perfected a simple bartending move: I hand squeeze 2 mandarin oranges into a cocktail shaker over ice, fill with good vodka (yesterday was Stoli Elit) and serve. I keep 'em coming. Jonathan and D2 arrived, and we got Jonathan to join the martini Club. They were going to order healthy food -- yeah -- after a few of Grandpa Dave's drinks, that turned into pizza and ziti. Kenny and Joelle arrived, and for him it was beer -- Joelle had a Negroni, which I simply chill frorm the pre-mixed Ketel bottle.

By the time of kickoff, all were well lubricated. The game was a good one, but at the end, the Canes fell short. As Scott noted, Dave's martinis and DiNapoli dulled our pain -- plus the knowledge that we didn't have to fight epic traffic, or spend large parts of our kids' future inhertitances.

Joelle left after the first quarter, and D2 and Jonathan at half time. Josh arrived from his mysterious place of watching first half. The game ended. We toasted to a fine year.

Kenny spent the night in D2's old room, and this am we went to Roasters and then he walked across the street to MetroRail it home to the Grove.

He's joining Barry, Norman, and me starting tomorrow for the JLI Adult Ed Class -- 6 Wednesdays of some deep thought and discussions about the nature of decision making -- as seen through Rabbinic eyes. Kenny's going to love it, though an avowed atheist. You don't have to believe in the Big Man to be Jewish, any more than you used to not have to be Jewish to love Levy's rye bread (great ad campaign of yesteryear).

Meanwhile, the banging will continue -- Kevin said the roof job will take a full 3 weeks. Hopefully afterwards I'm good to go until my grandsons are well out of college and into adulthood.

Man -- that would make this cool, rocking grandfather in the USA VERY old indeed...

The Genius Of Seinfeld

 So now it seems like ancient history, but Americans in the 90s dug things Jewish, like the show Seinfeld. Boy, lots  changed, with some of the worst anti-semitism coming from the Left, former allies, and worst of all, from self hating Jews, who I CANNOT abide. But that's a deeper discussion.

The hilarious premise of Seinfeld was that it was a show about: nothing. There were vignettes of everyday life of a bunch of funny and self absorbed characters in NYC -- little actually happened -- it was just how they dealt with the quotidian. I watched it, but was never a huge fan, mostly since I found Jerry to be whiny and not very funny. I admire his talents and success, but didn't enjoy the show when he was featured, which was most of the time. 

I am MUCH more of a "Curb" fan -- Larry David is hilarious to me, and the vast majority of the time in my own life the mythical bubble above my head says precisely what Larry David actually says in the show. Lately, I've been quoting him when folks keep wishing me a happy new year, even though January is more than half over. In a favorite scene, an acquaintance greets him that way, and Larry says "It's January 5th!" The woman protests she hadn't seen him, and what was the big deal? Larry explains there's a statute of limitations -- no wishing HNY after January 4th.

Just yesterday, friendly neighbor Berta said "Happy New Year!" and I explained the Larry David rule. She laughed but probably thought me somewhat of an asshole.

Lately, it occurs to me that in my circle, as many of us work less and less, there is more and more time to spend on analyzing to the point of absurdity the smaller issues of life -- what is the right thing to do socially -- how much must I worry about making everyone in my life happy?

For me, as I passed my half birthday (UberEats, which has all my personal info, advised me of this yesterday), I choose Dylan's line from "Key West -- Philosopher Pirate." "I always try to do what's good, what is right." Beyond that, I now also see the deep wisdom in Ricky Nelson's "Garden Party:" You can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself.

I greatly dislike resenting people, and trying and failing to please people leads to resentment. It shouldn't, and maybe to some that's not the case, but it is for me.

Seinfeld is so funny because the characters never keep things simple. You get invited to a restaurant -- go, or don't. Simple. On Seinfeld, it's a discussion about WHY that restaurant? What's the message implicit in the invite. How will it look if I go, or if I don't? Funny -- but as I age -- ain't nobody (me) got time for that.

So today I planned to do a lot of nothing -- walk, watch some NFL playoffs, nap. But Paul called, and he asked my plans. Would I meet him somewhere for a meal? I would NOT -- driving to Gables tomorrow to meet D1 and the boys, and then driving to NE Miami Monday to re-home Little Man before the Canes game.

Paul laughed -- he appreciates my decisive nature -- then how about he comes over? Always a welcome, was my response. Lunch? Nope -- dinner. 

Ah-ha! I settled on an idea -- I've been telling him about our local favorite Platea for years now -- prime beef and delicious ceviche. And, they finally opened a bar.

We struck a deal -- he's coming over for an early dinner. I told him, since he's on the wagon, I would pour him a soda in a wine glass. I do the same for Wifey so she can make believe she drinks with us.

I think Patricia is with her family tonight, doing things Peruvian.

So the Big Game Weekend is upon us. The air is charged. And better for me -- see the sons/suns around whom our lives orbit. Pretty, pretty, pretty fine...

Consolation Prize For Myself

 So as we get closer to the Big Natty Monday, I'm more and more happy with my decision to not spend close to my first year's salary as a lawyer for 2 good seats and a parking pass. Just this am Norman told me that if you park in Yellow, where most of my crew is, you have to pass security to get in, and then again to get to the Orange lot, and finally a third time to access Joe Robbie. I guess The Donald's decision to attend, along with Rubio, the Viceroy of Venezuela, have made already tight security even more onerous.

As I was surfing the web, I saw something that caught my eye from early teen years: Burton Cummungs had rejoined Randy Bachman for the first time in decades, and they were touring again as The Guess Who. I always dug those Canadians -- I think "These Eyes" is one of the most romantic ballads ever, and "She's Come Undun" one of the most poignant songs ever about a woman losing her stuff. I checked -- decent tickets at the OTHER Hard Rock are about $120 each, and so I asked Wifey.

She said "Nah." Not a big fan, she'll be 3 days just off her wild mah jong cruise, and the thought of driving that far as her back still rears its ugly head caused her to give a thumbs down. But, would she mind if I went with the ladies we took to Stevie Nicks? She would not: "Have a great time!"

So I shouted out to the girl band from Nicks, replacing Jacqui with Wifey (Jacqui was an original Stevie Nicks participant but when Nicks broke her shoulder and the concert re-set, Jacqui had a conflict). I bought 4 tix today, telling these "American Women" we were on ! And maybe this time I won't drunkenly drop $120 in cash onto the floor of the Uber. But no guarantees.

And the truth is, though this show is costing a fraction of Nicks, I am MUCH more excited. I mean, I loved watching the ladies love Stevie Nicks -- female empowerment and all that crap -- but Burton Cummings???!!! That's guy's voice on my Marantz stereo got me some traction back in the day...

And the show is only 6 weeks away, so hopefully the late 70s and early 80s guys make it to the date without breaking anything... Ha. As I type this, Bob Weir is singing on my Sonos. He ain't giving no more shows...

So the weekend draws nigh. I may Zoom with Eric and crew, and maybe after with Barry and Crew, and do some serious cool air walking tomorrow. Sunday we meet D1 and the boys in the Grove and take Little Man home. I just found out our new roof project begins Monday am -- they'll have conveyor belts parked out front to lift the supplies up high. Little Man will LOVE that -- D1 says there will be SO many questions, and Grandpa Dev is here to answer them.

At some point Monday we'll re-home him, hopefully avoiding any "Wheels Up, Guns Down" knuckleheads who have decided the way to honor MLK is to terrorize motorists on the highways on ATVs, and then make it back here to host Dr. Barry and family.

The arm of Stol Elit shall be ceremoniously opened, some mandarins mixed in, and we will toast the Canes. I happen to think we'll beat the Hoosiers like Tom Petty's "Last Dance for Mary Jane" beats anything Hoosier John Mellancamp wrote as far as girls from Indiana go, but if not -- well -- still a hell of a season.

And soon after, Wifey will be a pirate of the Caribbean again, and I will be an 8 day bachelor -- dinners at the bar at Captains Tavern, and Sea Siam. And after that, well, it'll be time to "Share the Land."

Game Plans Set --Fate Keeps Me Home

So at noon my friends and I all joined the virtual queue on the Canes site to await the chance to order Natty tix. Barry, for example, a Canes Club Member 30 years and Med School Faculty member for 34 got special preference. Norman and Mike, second generation Canes with TONS of tickets and seniority, also qualified. I've been a Canes Club member 35 years, and contributed well over $100K to UM, so I got priority.

Ha! None of the above happened! We ALL got shut out! I only heard of one person getting tix, and it was Alex's friend -- I think he had the savvy to join the queue at the earliest time. We all watched our devices for 30 minutes, a little stick figure man who moved very little. Finally the little man disappeared -- "Sold Out."

Honestly, I was relieved. Barry is the only fellow schlepper who didn't buy tickets in the earlier opportunity -- Eric, Norman, and Mike all had tix, but needed more. The thought of crappy seats, even for face value of $800 or so, coupled with the no real tailgating for me, made my sofa a VERY attractive option.

Also, I've been to 2 Nattys for the Canes -- '84 and '88, so this is hardly a "once in a lifetime" thing for me. Finally, Scott decided to fly down from D.C., since his CNN wife will be off in Davos, and so now I can host a proper watch party. I have a large arm of Stoli Elit which will be drunk, and I will order some mandarin oranges to mix in. Scott loves the politically incorrectly named Chinese place Takee Outee, and so we will likely order from there, and watch, and laugh, and drink -- heavily for me, at least. I already told my trainer no workout Tuesday am -- he said ALL of his clients, Canes fans all, have done the same.

So game plans are set. And on Sunday, we meet D1 and the boys in the Grove, and spend some time with them, and then take Little Man home with us. That means there'll be bagels at first light, before I re-home him Monday early afternoon -- then maybe a nap before Barry and family arrive.

Last night, Wifey hosted her mah jong friends. I poured Lili a few Negronis, which gave me my own license to have a few Belugas myself, and I was feeling fine. I applaud those who avoid or limit alcohol. I'm sure it's very healthy and wise. But for me -- well -- a couple of pops really makes me happy.

Anyway, I started feeling romantic -- must have been the fact that 5 mid 60 women were just down the hall. And I wanted a cookie, but no way was going to drive out to get one. So I went to my trusty UberEats app and saw a company called Crumbl -- cookies in 20 minutes!

I ordered a dozen, and in no time they came in a pink box. I brought them to the breakfast Knock, as my late suegra called the Nook, and made some women VERY happy. One said "Wow -- my husband is great, but not THIS great." Yep, I told her, it's how I roll in these parts...

So it was a lovely Tuesday.

Thus far, 2026 is starting out pretty, pretty, pretty good. Then again, I thought 2020 was going to be a banner year -- the one of "perfect vision." Instead we got the Plague. 2021 brought us Wifey's stroke and the death of our dear sister Elizabeth. Amazing these events are now half a decade in the past.

The lesson is you never know WHAT you're gonna get. The only thing certain is that however long I have left to live -- that number is DECREASED by one day, tomorrow. So I think I'll savor tomorrow, and all of the days.

I was reading some psychology about negative nancys -- the folks who put down everything and everyone. Turns out they have grave insecurities about themselves, and feel by demeaning others, they raise their own self esteem. 

I can't imagine anything more pathetic. I want others to soar -- especially my family and friends, so they can treat ME for a change.

All I know is, the upcoming days are those of excitement. And, as it turns out, minimal hassle of fighting crowds at Joe Robbie. So Go Canes! Go 2026. May they both be winners. 

The Tension Builds. Not Really

 So due to my laziness, I opted out of buying the playoff package for the Canes when they got in -- I could have actually made money selling tix to A and M, Cotton Bowl, and Fiesta Bowl, but I was soured by my recent foray into ticket selling with Stevie Nicks. I bought 4 tix to see her, and they moved the date. Sure, I could have sold for more than I bought, but after deducting the Ticketmaster fees, I would have netter half -- so we went and had a fine time.

So instead, today at noon I find out whether my loyalty as a Canes Club Member for decades scores me 2 fact value tix. Ha. I think it's random based on 2026 season ticket renewals and joining Canes Club -- I have heard IU fans joined and bought cheapest of seasons tickets to get on the same list as me! Good for them.

Truth is, if I don't get the tix -- that's ok. My son in law Jonathan wants to go, and it'd be great to take this relatively new Canes (actually ALL American football) convert to the Natty, but if I watch on my sofa, with some healthy martinis and take in Italian -- that's ok, too.

Most of my friends already scored their tix -- I think Barry is my only fellow schlepper awaiting the noon opening to buy tix -- he wants 2 for his boy Scott and himself -- Scott will fly back from D.C. to attend -- Josh loves the tailgates but can give or take the actual games.

Wifey already told me she didn't care to attend with another woman's legs! So we'll see.

I remember well when the Canes were soaring annually, and Ed Perse, my mentor in law and life, was a huge fan, with 50 yard line OB seats. One year, when Ed was, I guess 60, there was a Saturday night match against hated Notre Dame. He gave Jeff and me his tickets, saying "I got a gorgeous game room with my barber chair and a few friends coming by. Do I want to fight the traffic and mess of the OB?"

I was shocked. Would I ever get that old and more into comfort than our love of the orange and green? Turns out I would.

The cheapest tickets to get in to the game, after market, are $3500  -- and that's last row in the upper deck -- closer to the International Space Station than the field. Sure -- I could afford them, but no way. Just yesterday I opened some new college accounts for the grandsons -- THAT made me happy. Making a ticket broker richer doesn't.

But the best tale of tix came the other day. A former secretary who started a business texted -- she had a skybox with 12 seats for sale -- came with 4 parking passes and food and drink -- a mere $200K! Turns out her boys, who run the company, used Covid SBA money to lease the box, and have been doing well selling for a profit for big events -- like major games, Taylor Swift,etc... Good for them, though I'm guessing the future of the business is not one to invest in with those kinds of business decisions.

I wrote back that the box was too rich for me, but I've learned the joy of receiving, instead of giving, like I used to. She replied yes-- I was always a giver, but somehow my comic request for 2 FREE seats to the box wasn't answered. What are ya gonna do?

So I learn in a few hours what's what. If I get them, then Jonathan and I will have to bum rides, or maybe D2 can drop us off somewhere, and then fetch us at a convenient place, like Tootsie's Gentlemens' Club -- in Miami Gardens. Ha. A visit there with me would creep out even my coolest of son in laws forever...

I stay tuned, or at least near my computer. Either way -- Go Canes!

Garden Party

 So Wifey and I put on some dressy-ish duds and headed over to the Kampong yesterday -- David Fairchild's home, now a National Botanical historic place. We were invited by our neighbor Gloria's boys to attend a surprise birthday party for her -- and once I navigated the tough to find entrance off Old Cutler, we were in. The invite said "Cocktail attire," but when I arrived I saw NO guys in jackets, so I left my blue blazer in the SUV. I have to fetch it later today.

The Kampong is lovely, especially in more temperate weather. We saw Gloria -- not very surprised. Turns out her boys told her -- they needed her help to get the usually private venue booked up. She looked lovely -- all "dolled up" as Wifey's Canarsie-ese described her, and enjoying the moment. Several fellow neighbors were there, including Ellen, and older lady (her youngest grandkid is 30) who moved away a few years back, and is now living on Brickell in a rented penthouse, which she crowed about to Wifey's "Ya see?" delight. Yeah, no, as we say in the 305 -- not for me. 

Ellen is a lady I initially disliked -- a know it all type from NYC -- but came to like her a lot. Part of it was learning how great a mother in law and grandma she was -- to me, sort of the measure of a woman.

We caught up, and then were led into the old patio area -- there was nice food, and as it turned out for me, luckily more wine poured. I say luckily since there was a well intentioned but ultimately comically bad idea -- a lecture about local botany and gardening that went, pun intended, deep into the weeds.

I guess we expected 10 minutes of "Hey - welcome - this is who we are here and what we do -- maybe compost more and join us," but instead got probably an hour of details about the career of a very nice, nerdy young scientist -- we could barely hear him.

Our table HAD 2 of the master gardeners, and we kept talking and laughing -- getting shushed a few times. But the truth is, it was hard to hear anyway, and what there was to hear was the stuff that bored me in Bio class at UM in 1979. So we rudely soldiered on.

After the lectures mercifully ended, we went back to socializing out loud --neighbors we really like but rarely get to spend time with. David is a VERY successful class action guy -- Barry helped save one of his daughters when she was born, and David's late Dad was THE Peds surgeon at Jackson. He's a serious, pretty tightly wound guy, but I get good energy from him, even though he laughed off my suggestion he drink more wine at the event.

Yesterday was walking -- lots of it - and then hosting Joelle and Kenny and hearing tales of their adventure to SE Asia and them hearing tales of our less adventurous cruise, and then a short drive to Old Cutler Inn, which had comically slow service and mediocre food -- it'll be a one and done for us. Too many great restaurants in Miami these days to endure mediocrity -- but the main thing was the company, and it was grand.

Today off the the gym, and a deconstruction of the Fiesta Bowl with my trainer Jonathan, and then a call to the Mom about the GAL case I have.

Soon February will make me shiver, with every paper I deliver...Actually, BIG cold front coming later this week, which means firepit time -- my favorite time in Miami.

Kids Are For The Young

 Probably 8 years ago, our next door neighbors were a successful Cuban lawyer, about my age, and his former stripper, Mainline Philly Jewish, much younger wife. Really. Classic only in Miami neighbors. The lawyer, who I'll call Alfredo, since that's his name, had grown kids like mine -- one a lawyer and one a doctor. He adopted his daughter-aged wife's son, and then had 4 (maybe 5) more kids with her. They build an awesome tot lot on the side of their house.

When I saw it, I said "Wow -- I hope to have grandkids someday, and they can play on that." He replied "David -- grandkids??? You're MY age -- have some more kids of your own and let them play here!" I asked whether he realized my wife was WELL past fecundity, and he said "I know -- she's nice and all, but successful guys like us -- well -- you know..." I chuckled, and thought I didn't care to fish in that pond with HIS flyrod, so to speak. 

Sure enough, they moved, to a huge mansion they build on Old Cutler, and the young couple who moved in, with kids my grandkids age, often have our boys over to play on the lot. Yeah -- I prefer it this way.

Last night, Rabbi Moshe and his wife Chaya hosted a family shabbat, and D1, who had never seen the new Center, braved Friday traffic with her boys to attend -- she has Mom friends here in Pinecrest, though she is now a near Miami Shores Mom.

It was lovely -- probably 25 kids running around, playing, and taking part in the games Chaya and Moshe led. Yossi and Nechama were safely in their own house, hosting THEIR shabbat and babysitting Moshe's youngest.

We met some newly arrived from NY grandparents -- they followed D1's new Mom friend and her husband from NY -- Wifey bonded with the grandma, in a wheelchair with MS but happy to be away from icy sidewalks.

I got to hang with my boys, who I sort of favor, and then, at the end of the few hours, they were whisked home by D1. Ah... 

It struck me, that even though I'm in decent physical health for a creeping up on 65 year old guy -- kids are for young people. Even with nannies (who if I had them would look like Alfredo's wife), a guy like me to whom kids and grandkids are a source of love but also constant worry -- nah -- don't need no more of my own.

Wifey and I came home, and watched the first half of the Hoosier-Duck game to learn the Canes opponent in the upcoming Natty game 1/19. I go online Tuesday at noon to see if my decades of Cane Club membership scores me a few tickets. If not, as I told Wifey, barring an extra one from higher up Canes Club friends I can buy for face value, I will happily watch on TV.

I can afford an expensive ticket, but again, the laziness of age says...nah! We'll see next week.

This am, Wifey and I are headed to The Kampong -- a botanical historic garden where famed plant maven David Fairchild lived. I've been a few times before -- friends Lew and Maria used to belong to the Flowering Tree society, and so we got to go to events there. Today, there's a surprise luncheon and lecture for our neighbor and friend Gloria, hosted by her sons. It was nice to be invited, even though "cocktail attire" at 11 am on a Saturday is not my vibe, as the kids say. I thought about showing up in Canes shorts and t shirts saying THIS be my cocktail attire -- but I guess I can manage a blue blazer...

Then tomorrow we see Joelle and Kenny for the first time since last year. They stopped by before their 3 week adventure to SE Asia -- fortunately they survived the murder hornets of Laos and made it back. We have lots of catching up to do -- they'll come for a pre-game, and then we plan on checking out the newly reopened Old Cutler Inn -- a REAL old school place that had been shuttered a long while.

Then Monday I have some real lawyer work, albeit pro bono. I've been appointed a guardian ad litem to review a proposed settlement for a kid -- bullied at his middle school. I already reviewed the file and will speak to the boy and his Mom Monday -- they relocated upstate after the unfortunate incident.

Hopefully we see the boys this week -- I think next Sunday, Little Man is spending the night. At the shabbat last night, Baby Man, looked at me with his soulful eyes and said "GRanda Dave -- can I stay, too?" I told him when he is FULLY potty trained -- that's a carrot we're holding out for him. I expect that will be well before his next birthday in July...then I'll have TWO little boys up at first light for bagels and black and white cookies.

It's grand, all right, especially since I give them back a day or so later...and then go nap.

Canes Buzz

 When a team is having a great season, the entire city is abuzz -- and for me, when it's the Canes, that's especially true. We watched them upset Ohio State as 2025 ended for us in San Juan Harbor, causing the most memorable New Year's for me since '83-'84, one whose details, if revealed, would cause nausea for many...

Yesterday I took Wifey over to Baptist for an epidural injection, to try to help the back pain that has once again reared its ugly head. The check in guy, with the heavy Creole accent, saw my Canes shirt and threw up the U. At least half of those waiting were in Canes swag, and we all greeted each other with "Go Canes!"

When I took Wifey back to the pre-procedure room -- same thing with the nurses -- Go Canes, throwing up the U. I didn't bother the tall, handsome doc who was going to do the injection -- I had read he was a double Wolverine, anyway, but the hospitalist threw up the U. The anesthesiologist was a woman of some undetermined Eastern European background, with an accent I sword sounded just like Andy Kaufman's Latka Gravis. She wasn't part of the spirit, either, but did a fine job.

I went to get a coffee at the Baptist atrium, and before I had drained my cup, I got a call. Oh crap! Had they dropped Wifey off the gurney? Nope -- they were all done, and I saw her in recovery -- with a nice nurse with a clear Bridge and Tunnel accent and demeanor.

I chatted with Allison and asked about her background. Mercy in the Grove "when I first moved to Miami," and Baptist for 2 years. When she told me she lived in Bensonhurst and Staten Island, I said "Oh -- so you're Italian?" Of course -- nailed it. Wifey was unimpressed by by geographical and sociological grasp of my native state.

I drove Wifey home, and she napped. I avoided Miriam as much as possible -- it was her 72nd birthday and Wifey asked when she was finally retiring -- an event we long for -- but she said HER pain is better by moving -- she wanted to keep on. I suggested maybe Wifey do some more of that -- SHE clean the house instead of Miriam -- and Wifey smirked "I KNEW you'd say that!"

Miriam left, and Wifey discovered Miriam had popped a pair of expensive sneakers into the washing machine -- probably ruined them. I reminded Wifey you literally have to HIDE stuff from Miriam that you don't want her to wreck...

Anyway -- the buzz is in the air for tonight. Since we're superstitious, we plan to recreate the energy we created for the first upset playoff win. Barry is coming over after work. His boy Josh will watch the first part of the game with Norman and Benji, at Benji's apartment in Kendall, and then join us for the ending.

Hell -- it worked last time -- why not tonight?

I hope we win -- tonight we're favored over Ole Miss -- a game folks are calling Confederates versus Convicts. Ha -- so old. Canes haven't had convicts in years, and it's not like anyone flies Confederate flags anywhere anymore - right?

I invited Chris over, since his Dad has flown to Phoenix, and Chris has a wedding. He had to beg off because of said wedding's activities, but told me his wife is expecting baby number 2 this Summer. I was thrilled for my friends, and told them whatever Canes do -- he made my week.

Not really , Chris corrected me. We STILL need the Canes to win, and I get it. He's a third generation orange and green guy -- I'm only a new immigrant to the shores of Cane-hood, though I started there 47 years ago.

So Go Canes! Let's make it to the Natty -- right here in our home stadium. That'd be awesome.

Sailing Into 2026

 So I got the idea for a NYE cruise a few months back -- wanting to celebrate the new year bigly. Barry, Mike, Donna, and Loni were game, and we booked a San Juan back to Miami trip -- and then the Canes complicated things! Damn team is great this year, and there would be a playoff game on NYE! Worse --- since we'd be sailing back to San Juan harbor, we were an hour ahead -- would our grand trip be really a watch party? Well, it worked out -- the Canes won with minutes (before the ship's horn signaled the new year) and we celebrated in grand style.

Since I always think in song lyrics, Jimmy Buffet's applied here: "It's been a lovely cruise." On Sunday Wifey and I navigated the busiest  I had ever seen MIA (it was the Sunday post Xmas) and made our flight fine -- a bit over 2 hours to San Juan. We met at the Sonesta with our crew, who had flown in earlier, and I got an immediate feeling.

Whenever I visit a place for the first time, I either get a good vibe, neutral one, or negative one. And San Juan was the first -- I dug the place right away, even though we spent just a day there. For dinner, Donna picked a steakhouse in the Fairmont Hotel next door, and it turned out the place was historic -- rat pack era -- casino and banging nightclub in the lobby. After our first large meal (there were a couple -- 25 -- during the trip) we listened to Fania type salsa, which I love -- Tito Puente and Celia Cruz stuff.

The next am a van fetched us for the overpriced short trip to the ship. Wifey and I had taken an Explora before -- Barbados to Miami -- but Mike and Loni and Barry and Donna were rookies. We knew Mike and Loni would love it -- we feared a lot of eye rolling from Barry since the cost is easily 4 times his usual Royal or Celebrity.

Nope. He was hooked -- already wishing to go again -- maybe even a repositioning cruise! Mission accomplished -- a man who needed a great trip more than anyone of my dear friends got it and more.

The only negative, which ended up just being an unforgettable event, was the first excursion in Anguilla. It was a hike in a plantation to a cave, and the brochure said "uneven surfaces." Well -- Donna fell 5 times and Wifey twice. Barry got dragged down one time, and ended up with a badly skinned shin. The hike was truly meant for much more agile and young folks than we -- I lucked out because of my weekly balance and strength training -- I was able to support Wifey most of the trek -- except for twice, when she went down like a sack of potatoes.

But again -- no fractures -- and we decided to cancel the following day's  hike on St. John, and even though it was within the no cancel time, the ship happily refunded the money -- in cash! As the young agent counted off the bills to me, I told her I couldn't recall the last time a young attractive woman paid ME cash -- really any woman at all. She laughed -- I hope I managed to be only minimally creepy.

The rest of the week was a drink and food fest -- with a nice easy tour of Puerto Plata in a private van -- great beachside lunch on the way back to the ship.

After that, the only stop was Key West, and we just walked a bit and headed to Blue Heaven -- alas -- a 1.5 hour wait. I told the hostess our ship would be sailing by then -- we found a serviceable tiki bar type place and had some good fish sandwiches and buckets of vodka and grapefruit juice. Really.

We toasted our manifold blessings. A lot. Barry and I solved all the world's problems on the top deck, in lounge chairs, as the sun set beatifully. It was SO romantic -- until Wifey ruined it by showing up. Ha.

Last night was Sakura -- amazing sushi and pad thai. We said our farewells, and all agreed it was an a (pause) mazing trip.

Barry and Donna were to be fetched by Josh -- Mike. Loni, Wifey and I found Uber issues and so piled into a cab van -- we dropped Mike at his Downtown office -- marveling at the new "Signature bridge" being built. I used to say Miami was a new city every 10 years -- now it's every 5.

The driver then headed south, and dropped off Loni and Wifey and me at our house. For the final bit of hilarity, I noticed the driver, before leaving, walked across the street to our neighbor's wooded area -- and had himself a nice, long piss. I told Loni to turn around, and got the predicted "Oh Lord, Dave!" It seemed appropriate to end with a belly laugh -- as we ended 2025 with some, and began 2026 with others.