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.

Dealing With Askholes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Envy of a Billionaire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grandparent Privilege

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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