New Whip

 So the 39 month lease of my Caddy XT6 was up in July. I am WELL under the miles I paid for --35K of them. I only drove 24K. I looked into buying the thing off lease and then selling -- could have made a few grand, but I am SO lazy and old that the thought of that fell into the "not worth it" bin. So I called the dealer and told them I wanted the exact same model -- would they come pick up the old one, inspect it, and bring me a 2026 XT6.

They could not, on account of Caddy stopped making the model in 2025. Turns out, Caddy is heading towards ALL EVs, and I could either get an XT4, which is too small for me, or an Escalade, which is too big. Indeed, I am the Goldilocks of car buyers.

I picked the XT6 since I could enter it without having to bend over, like you do for sedans or small SUVs. I'm not THAT enfeebled, but I like slipping into and out of my vehicle each day. OK, I AM that enfeebled.

I did some research, and learned that GM still has an equivalent vehicle - the Buick Enclave is a large SUV -- actually a tad larger than the XT6. So on Tuesday, I decided to drive over to Williamson to check one out -- zero intention of actually doing the deal.

The receptionist led me to Leonel, a 30 something nice Cuban/Puerto Rican guy from Tampa. He took me to the roof to see the Enclaves. The first one was a white "Sport" model. I liked it. He got the key fob and said to try it out. Indeed, it was peppier than the Caddy -- a 4 cylinder engine, but with a turbo. It was bigger. Most of the rest of the vehicle was pretty much the same, which I liked. No sunroof, which I recalled using ONE time over the past 37 months.

I drove to Galloway, East on Kendall, and then the Palmetto back to the dealership. I thanked Leonel, and then he hooked me: this was a loaner vehicle, with 6500 miles on it, and if I leased it, they would give me a GREAT deal. Fine. A few hours later, I was transferring all the stuff I never need from the Caddy to the Buick. Leonel set up all the electronics for me -- seamless. Even my APP was the same -- I can turn the car on remotely and see where it is if it gets stolen. The car insurance is $40 more. Win all around. Until...

I came home and Wifey, to my shock, was disappointed. She has never, in our 40 years of marriage, given a rat's tuches about cars. Now, all of a sudden -- she was acting like DiCaprio's wife in "Wolf of Wall Street." "A BUICK? Really. You've worked so hard and given so many so much. You gave both our girls big mortgages on their houses. You bought your SISTER a car and paid for her son's college. Shouldn't you have a better car than a BUICK?"

I tried to explain that the vehicle was essentially the same as the one I traded in -- just that it said Buick instead of Caddy. She was strangely annoyed. I know her BFF's husband in ATL drives a six figure car, and the BFF a Benz SUV. Was that it?

Well, as I reached the stage where I don't care much about most things, I let Wifey's feelings flow off my back. She actually saw the vehicle, sat in it, and then backtracked into "It's nice. I'm glad you're happy."

Life gets curiouser and curiouser. But I like my big, comfortable appliance of a car.

To get into Wifey's suddenly materialistic good graces, this am I bought a new Rolex. It is a gold and silver model with a blue face -- like the one I gave Jonathan. I had bought that one used for $4K, and apparently it appreciated to $20K -- so I figured I needed my own again.

Except, MY version of a Rolex was a $20K piece of a tax free muni bond from Texas, that matures long after Wifey and I will die, but pays $900 per year in tax free interest. Yeah -- that's MY kind of trinket --one that builds wealth without fear of it being lost or removed at gunpoint by a miscreant.

So -- if things go according to plan, I'll be a Buick man until I near 68 years of age. Wifey has her Lexus SUV with 20K miles on it --Lexuses easily last to 100K miles if maintained -- might that be Wifey's final vehicle before she goes full Uber?

As I said -- things are so curious around here, next she'll tell me she wants a 6 figure Benz SUV like her friend in ATL has. Whatever.

Speaking of expensive stuff: I booked the flights for our December cruise -- Barcelona to Lisbon. I called the Explora flight desk, and they offered the exact flights I had found: nonstop MIA to BCN. LIS to PHL to MIA -- all on our favored AA. But they wanted to charge me 30% more!

So I booked directly on AA. When I make the next payment on the cruise, I'll buy travel insurance. I used to laugh at that -- big premiums for never needing it. At our age, with all the moving parts -- kids, grandkids, and you never know health issues, travel insurance is a must.

If I meet an Ingrid Bergman-type in Morocco -- I won't tell her I drive a Buick.

Medicare Birthday

 As I've long said, much of my adult life I subscribed to Denis Leary's philosophy about birthdays: "There comes a time in a man's life where he needs to understand his birthday is no big deal, except MAYBE to his spouse and kids. That age is 9." I regarded others, particularly men who had big whoops, as self important, even maybe narcissistic. 

Wifey would always throw me parties, since birthdays were a BIG DEAL to her. When we lived together in the grammatically misnamed Les Chalet in Kendall, one year, maybe when I turned 24, she had a great surprise party for me, where she had friends waiting outside as we were going to leave for a show. It was terrific -- Eric regaled everyone with his custom coffee making skills, and one of Wifey's co-workers, who was, um, buxom, had been taking belly dancing lessons, and performed. Several kahluas in, I put on her outfit and performed, too. Fun times.

But then I came under the influence of Rabbi Yossi, who explained my wrong-headedness. If you believed in The Big Man, which I do, then you understand your life is the supreme gift from HIM, and if you fail to celebrate its milestones, you are an ingrate. This resonated, and expecially on the 0s and 5, I make a pretty big deal.

At 60, even though Covid was still rearing some of its ugly head, I gathered my BFFs at the Key Biscayne Ritz Carlton for a fun weekend of meals, drinking, and laughter. The Sunday we checked out, I had the Ds and their men to Capital Grille for a great dinner -- with surprise guests Alyssa and Freddy. The weekend was, to paraphrase the Go Gos, all I ever wanted.

So now 65 draws nigh -- 2 months from yesterday. I fiddled with the idea of a sunset sail, but the guy we used in the past retired. Then I thought I might copy Larry David's idea from "Curb" and host an above ground funeral, like Albert Brooks did, which, on the show devolved into chaos when Larry outed Albert as a Covid hoarder.  That idea never really grew legs...

Then I looked back at some of my favorite Miami venues -- and the Rusty Pelican jumped out. I hosted Wifey's 40th there, and we've been to many weddings -- the view is best in the city. D1 hosted a big party for herself there years ago -- Wifey is still not sure why -- and it was lovely.

So I reached out -- totally booked 7/18. Would I consider Friday 7/17? I would not, since several of my friends still have full time jobs, and getting to a dinner on a workday would be a pain in the tuches.

Yesterday we met Paul and Patricia at Sadelle's in the Grove -- and D2 joined us on her way home from a lunch in the Gables. And I came out: my true preference was to host a cocktail party in my beloved house -- site of SO many great get togethers which ceased on account of Wifey's bad back.

The last straw for her was a T Day where I ordered a caterer, and party delivery, and told her to simply be a guest, but she was unhappy with the dishes placement, or something, and so set about changing things and hurt her back. Since then, T Day is at D2 and Jonathan's, since D2 is young -- and we have sterling times there surrounded by a LOT of Venezuelans.

Paul gave Wifey some tough love -- insisting that her fear of a possible back issue 2 months from now was nonsense -- especially if we hired staff to host the cocktail party. 4 years ago, we had D2's 30th -- probably 50 people, and it was delightful. Couldn't I, the schmuck who busted his ass for years to pay for a grand house, enjoy it in my declining, golden years?

So it looks like that will be the answer -- not even that big -- maybe 20, 25 people -- fewer than TDay even. The Ds have ideas for caterers, and it will be simple -- no sit down dinners, just the people I love in the home I love.

Wifey will sacrifice, as she has done by being married to me nearly 4 decades. That's what long marriages are...

And, as D1 reminded me, it will be a banner weekend. Baby Man turns 4 on 7/11, but D1 has an out of town trip, so we will celebrate his birthday Sunday 7/19. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama have a year old mitzvah kitchen, and they host kids' parties, where the little ones learn basic cooking, and help prepare meals for poor folks, along with fun stuff like foam pits and sensory games. I offered to host that -- so there'll be a good deal of driving around in July.

So a plan has been decided upon. The 2 July birthdays celebrated, Big Man willing, back to back -- with no damage to Wifey's back. I guess it'll be like Thin Lizzie -- with the Boys BACK in town. If MY back goes out -- Medicare can help me right out.

The Things That Pass For Knowledge I Don't Understand

 So the city where I was born, New York, elected the finest mayor in their history: Zohran Mamdani. He's the finest for those of us who live elsewhere, of course, as he continues on a path of new and creative ways to push out the richest residents of NYC.

Recently, he took a shot at Ken Griffin, the billionaire who moved his Citadel hedge fund from Chicago to Miami a few years back, and has since given away hundreds of millions of dollars to local charities -- ranging from the Underline (the linear park beneath Metrorail) to UM, to Miami Children's, to Mt. Sinai's new cancer center.

And Griffin was poised to build a yuuuuge project in NYC, until Mamdani filmed a video outside his most expensive (Griffin's, not Mamdani's) vacation apartment, promising to tax the hell out of it.

Ok -- so I'm no economist, but have some empirical life experience. The Summer of '80, I had a dorm at UM where I lived when I took Genetics, the better to catch up on what would become an aborted pre-med career. The first day, my roomie showed up -- Saudi guy, with an Arab-fro, silk shirt, and gold coke spoon. He was a character out of a Hiassen novel, and said the following: "I have a hot Argentine girlfriend with an apartment in Kendall. I live with her, but my father, the Sheik, has no idea. He will call twice during the Summer asking for me. Please tell him I'm at the library, and then call me at this number (he handed me a card). If you do that, the room is a single for the price you're paying for a double."

We shook hands, and sure enough, the next week the phone rang -- it was the Sheik calling from Riyadh -- courtly fellow, with an Arabic accent. He knew about me -- I was an American from NY named David. (I guess this was a form of an early Abraham Accord). "Hello David, I am looking for my son Mohammed. Is he there?" I followed instructions to a T. Indeed, the Sheik called a second time, like abacus clockwork, and I did the same. I never heard again from either my 10 minute roomie or his Dad -- hopefully he wasn't one of the 19 on 911.

But the thing was, it was terrific for me. I had the room to myself, to entertain whoever I chose, and to scream at the small black and white TV as the Islanders won their first Stanley Cup. I watched with less wealthy Arab guys, who had zero idea what hockey was.

So Mamdani has all these billionaires and millionaires, who in fact DO pay taxes, and hire folks like contractors and housecleaners and such, and get almost nothing in return in the form of services! Great deal for the City.

Yet this putz is driving them out.

Our neighborhood has, so far as I know, only one billionaire property owner -- a guy named Ron Gutman, and Israeli-American scientist who got an early patent for at home Covid test kits. He moved his company from Silicon Valley to Miami, and bought himself a luxury condo on Miami Beach, and two houses in my'hood for, I am told, relatives to eventually move here.

He's owned the houses for years, renovated one, and kept the other in pristine condition -- looks exactly the same as when long time resident Ellyn sold it to him. He's a perfect neighbor! He pays WELL over $100K in property taxes, keeps up the houses, and adds zero noise or traffic to our 'hood. I guess eventually he WILL move in the relatives, or flip the properties, but for now? Should we tax him for being too rich?

Again -- NYC's losses are Miami (and apparently Texas's) gains. Send us MORE billionaires -- let them give to charity in amounts I could only dream about.

It's true -- as I age -- I lose my liberal leanings -- since, as the saying goes, I have a brain. To NYC and the Dem Socialists: party on. I saw Mamdani recently recognized Nakba Day -- something NYC used to call Israeli Independence Day. That's when the Arabs rejected the UN partition plan, and decided to drive the Jews out -- didn't end well for them.

I suspect the Mamdani Administration won't end well for NYC, either.

Music In Shows

 To me, a mark of a good movie or series is the proper use of music. Not always, but in the way clean restrooms are important to a restaurant...

Wifey and I watched last season's "Your Friends and Neighbors," and it immediately struck me as an updated John Cheever tale. I LOVED Cheever -- read one of his stories in high school, and my Dad bought me the hardcover compilation of his tales -- I still have it. His world was the upped middle class of Westchester -- WASPY at the time. The new show, by a guy named Jonathan Tropper, adds more wealth and Jewish and Asian characters.

We liked the first season, but weren't bowled over. Our son in law suggested we give Season 2 a try, and we did, and is usual with advice from our smart Jonathan -- he was dead on -- it's TERRIFIC.

And sure enough, they use music beautifully -- Jon Hamm's sister is a musician and later teacher, and she tries to teach the snooty private school kids (a Westchester version of our own Miami Country Day) acoustic versions of Ramones songs. Wonderful.

And when she performs acoustic sets at a local tavern, she plays Neil Young's "Comes A Time" and recalls her childhood. For me, it was freshman year of college -- a favorite of one of the Building 22 guys with a guitar.

The pinnacle was the episode where Hamm's Dad drops dead. The daughter played Warren Zevon's "Keep Me In Your Heart For Awhile." I got teary-eyed -- best funeral song ever! Zevon wrote it for his wife when he had terminal cancer and knew he'd be off the mortal coil soon. I would be proud to have it sung at MY funeral -- it's so on point. No "remember me forever" crap -- just the more realistic remember me "for awhile." Because that's how it is.

So now Wifey and I are IN deep -- we'll blast the rest of Season 2, and look forward to Season 3. It pokes such deep fun at a lot of the foibles of our cohort -- the manic competition to get your kids into great colleges -- keeping up with the (fill in the blank). The hot MILF types dealing with menopause.

And the soundtrack will, I'm sure, continue to impress.

Meanwhile, last night was a Sabado Gigante -- at D1's house. We brought in Bar Bucci -- some of the best pizza ever. Little man, strangely, doesn't like pizza, but he ate the crusts. We drank some vodka and tequila and had an amazing time. We drove home as the boys were going into their bath with such a warm feeling.

Hopefully I don't have to become a cat burglar like Jon Hamm in the Series, to keep up the lifestyle. Speaking of which, we gave the deposit for our December trip from Barcelona to Lisbon -- Barry and Donna are in, too. I got an email saying since this was our 3rd Explora cruise, we got another $500 discount. As I love to politically incorrectly joke -- Finally! Something good for the rich, white man.

Your friends and neighbors...

Shanghaied To Shul

 So my buddy Jeff turned 65 today, and I asked what his plans were. To me, you must celebrate EVERY birthday -- especially if you believe in the Big Man. I was taught years ago that your life is the supreme gift, and if you do NOT celebrate your birthday, it is an act of ingratitude. I never wish to be an ingrate.

Also, I think the 0s and 5s bear special attention. I'm already giving thought to how I wish to celebrate MY 65th  in 2 months. Jeff had no real plans, so I offered to have him and Lili over for drinks after dinner. He doesn't drink -- so really Lili. That turned into a dinner invite at THEIR house -- so I will pack up my shaker, cosmo mix, and some plain Ketel for myself.

Anyway, I left for my constitutional at 730 this am, and just as I got near Jeff's house, I saw him pulling out in his cool new Lucid EV. I asked where he was going so early on his birthday, and he replied "Minyan at Chabad."

A minyan to the orthodox is 10 men, the number needed to say certain prayers, and to read from the Torah on those special days of the week. I used to be a regular "relief Jew," as I named myself -- filling in whenever they were short. But over time, I realized I wasn't a shul going guy -- so I go very infrequently. But today, I asked Jeff if he wished me to join him. He did --so I got into his car and off we went.

Sure enough, they were short a person, and so the fact that I was there let them say Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Rabbi Yossi and Rabbi Moshe were there, and some old friends, and it was a very warm scene. After we un-tefillined ourselves, Jeff and 3 other guys followed Rabbi Moshe into another room, for a short learning session on Tanya.

Tanya is part of Jewish mysticism, also part of Kabbalah. It's become sort of a cool thing -- non Jews like Madonna go to Kabbalah study. But for the real McCoy Jews, so to speak, Tanya is something to be studied only by those with deep Torah and Talmud understanding -- it's a serious endeavor, not a pop fad. The short session was interesting.

Afterwards, Jeff dropped me back to his house, and my walk continued. I ran into Matthew, a rising UF senior whose company I also enjoy, and we walked 1.5 miles together -- he made me pick up my pace as he shared tales of Gainesville. His brother Zach, also a winner, will be a Palmetto High senior next year, and is also applying to UF. They're sort of younger, male versions of the Ds.

Tomorrow evening we're off to D1's, and bring in dinner with the boys. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan join us, too, along with Betsy, the enormous puppy. D2 got her groomed, and they put in dainty yellow ribbons on her head, which are hilarious -- as Betsy is SO large -- not like a little Maltese or Poodle.

So the weekend is here. I said my pre shabbos prayers, and feel spiritually elevated. Tonight we will celebrate a friend I met when we were 22. Lili faces the terrifying prospect of sleeping with a 65 year old man. I guess that's what happens when you stick around a marriage long enough.

Ear Issues...What????

 I've always been blessed with keen hearing --the Ds inherited it. I can tell if a toilet is running anywhere in the house, to Wifey's amazement, all of the time. About 2 years ago, alas, I developed tinnitus, or ringing in the ears.

I saw Dr. Rigo about it, and he said all my tests were normal, and if it didn't bother me too much, leave it be. Luckily it doesn't -- sort of a quiet hiss in the background when it's quiet. He explained it comes from the hairs in the inner ear becoming brittle with age. There are no real cures for it, though the internet is lousy with them. I let it be.

In March, I had Nurse Nancy do her thrice yearly earwax removal. She sort of struggled with the right ear, and sure enough, a few days later, I had ear pain. I saw Dr. Rigo -- eardrum was fine, but I had some sort of irritation, so he gave me drops with 2 antibiotics and a steroid. Sure enough, in a few days all was fine...until...

Mid April, I went swimming with Little Man, and a few days later, my ears itched! This was a new one, and I self treated with the remaining drops. But a week later -- no relief. It was time to see Dr. Brian.

Dr. Brian is a neighbor and great guy. He's in his early 70s, and like me, from Long Island, but a Catholic school guy instead of a public school one. We chat mornings when he drives by in his 911, and the year before Covid, I saw him for a cough and sore throat that wouldn't quit -- convinced I had throat cancer. Nah -- all was fine, but he DID tell me to avoid alcohol mouthwash -- he was sure it would be reported it was harmful. Oh no -- what about drinking? That was fine, he assured -- the booze passes through -- you don't daily gargle with it. He was correct.

I saw him early today, and he said the drops I was given are a 50 year old prescription, and bore a problem: the neosporin tends to kill good ear bacteria, allowing for a fungal infection. He cultured me and would let me know results next week, but put in a powder that killed both fungus and bacteria, to get started.

What about the tinnitus? He has it too, he explained, and as long as I dealt with it -- deal with it. He told me about one patient driven to a suicide attempt by "the noise in his head." I told him I was nowhere near that.

We traded LI tales, as well as those of a former mutual friend we've both lost contact with. Great guy -- I saw him last month at Captain's Tavern while I was sharing Kenny's farewell dinner. He and his wife had Kay along, a lovely widow. The fact that he includes her speaks volumes about Brian and his wife.

So, yet another feature of aging. As if on cue, I got a letter from Medicare today. They had listed my premium as zero, which I knew was a mistake. Sure enough, now that they have checked the files, it will be $446 per month. Adding on the supplements, I'll be paying just under $1K per month -- less than half my Obamacare, and with better coverage. So I got no complaints.

Last night at pre class dinner, Jeff showed Barry and me HIS Medicare card -- he's already using the benefits -- CT scan and other expensive tests. He turns 65 tomorrow, and had no real celebration plans. I invited him and Lili to come by after dinner, and I would make Lili some Cosmos so she could better deal with the fact that she'll be sleeping with a 65 year old man. Scary thought, I would think.

Instead, Lili invited US for dinner -- I will bring my Cosmos and some vodka with me, and we will celebrate. I met Jeff when we were 22. Now 65. Man -- those years fly by.

Lili has VERY serious hearing issues -- if you are behind her and call her name...nothing. She has begun lip reading. So I guess the conversation will be LOUD tomorrow evening -- with lots of "Ehs?" and "Whats?"

Old age sounds different, it turns out.

Grandma Sleepover

 Wifey and I have been blessed with our parents -- beloved by both mom and dad - though Wifey's parents did their best through the trauma of The Holocaust. In contrast, my parents Great Depression and WW II childhoods and youth were walks in the park (Crotona Park, in The Bronx). But in the grandparent department...

Wifey never met hers on account of the Nazis killed them along with much of my suegros' family. My paternal grandfather Simon died 6 years before I was born, and my maternal grandfather Isidore died when I was, I guess, 4 or 5. I have one memory of a very old man (he was probably my age) in a hospital bed -- so no impact on my life.

My Dad's Mom Jennie spoke English, with a slight Yiddish accent, but never seemed much interested in me. My memories were going with my Dad to visit her in Jackson Heights to bring her groceries, and my holding my nose against the stink of urine. It was a relief when we were able to leave and go upstairs to my Aunt Anne's apartment where there was, mercifully, no incontinence. But I recall zero conversations with Jennie -- really until the final year of her life, and that had funny consequences.

Wifey and I were together, I guess '84 or '85, and we went to visit her. I tried to see Anne, to introduce her to my intended, but Anne had a lunch with friends that day she apparently couldn't reschedule (my Mom said she was petrified she might have had to buy us or prepare lunch). So we found Jennie, and she was SWEET. This was a woman I never saw smile, but in her dementia was positively lovely. I introduced Wifey using her Yiddish name, Faygele, and that was the last time I saw her.

Later, Anne called my Mom and said she never knew I was gay. Apparently her mother said "David was here with his faygele," which is Yiddish slang for gay, and so my Mom laughed heartily and explained. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that.

My maternal grandmother, Anna, both mumbled and had a HEAVY Yiddish accent, such that I truly never understood a word she said. She was warm to me -- I recall one visit to our house on LI, and visits to her in Spring Valley where she stayed with my Aunt Lorraine in the Summer, and Miami Beach where she snowbirded at the "Edvaard" (Edward) Hotel on 10th and Collins. My mother said she was a woman of great folk wisdom, and I assume she was -- I just never got it first hand. One tidbit I recall is her answer when her kids complained of life being too hectic. "You want peace? There's peace in the tomb." Indeed.

So it brings me great joy to see our grandsons being so close. And yesterday, Wifey drove to Miami Shores, fetched D2 and Betsy, and then they got Little Man. They were selling Italian Ices outside of his school, and he allowed as how D1 "never lets me have this," so Wifey bought him one. From there, they spent time at D1's, and enjoyed the afternoon, and when it was time for Wifey to re-home D2 and Betsy, Little Man begged for "Ippi" to spend the night.

She did -- after the short dropoff to Miami Shores, and texted me about post bedtime story conversations with the VERY bright 6 year old -- about religion, why Jesus was killed if he was a nice man, etc...He thinks more deeply than most kindergartners.

Wifey got up 5 am to pee, and was met by him "Are you up now? Are you going to do morning things?" As Dean Martin sang: "Memories are made of this."

I read recently that the best a grandparent can do has zero to do with gifts -- or even experiences, like taking them on trips. Rather, the grandchild should know that when they are together, the grandchild is by FAR the most important person in the room. And so it is with our boys -- they definitely know that.

So it was a lovely evening. Hopefully I see them this weekend, but it seems their days are mighty packed with activities. If so, I'll cruise up next week for a visit -- but I won't sleep over. Wifey has more patience than I -- and I mind driving less.

Wifey is exploring cruises for this Fall. She has a milestone birthday in December, which number cannot be revealed or even hinted about by saying things like she was born when Eisenhower was president. In January we celebrate our 40th anniversary. July I turn 65 -- so yeah -- bunch of big signs marking time on the trail of life.

Maybe it'll be Portugal. Barry and Donna have interest -- I sent info to Mike and Loni last night, though they have a granddaughter coming in July, and I think they have visited the areas already, as have Dana and Eric. Joelle and Kenny have taken one of the cruises we're considering -- and they'll be in Maine this Fall. So we'll see.

But as we pass these milestones, indeed grandkids are a highlight. Pretty sure if you asked the garrulous grandson -- he'd agree.

Graduation Days Of Yore

 So my alma mater held its graduations last week and weekend. I saw one pic photobombed by Jon Bon Jovi -- turned out his son Romeo graduated the Music School. And my friend Norman attended his step son's med school graduation. And then I saw the speaker at the UM Law ceremony was Judge Roy Altman, my new man crush, as D1 noted. Ah, the spigot of memories opened.

I don't clearly recall my HS graduation, in June of '79. In my mind, I was already headed away from Long Island to Miami. I DO recall that my friend Eric (LI Eric, not Miami Eric) did one of the meanest passive aggressive stunts ever -- surely the biggest to that date. My HS girlfriend Alison and her parents threw me a surprise going away/graduation party at their house. I had zero idea about it, and the plan was Eric and I were to head to Alison's to fetch her and head to a local diner.

On the way, Eric said to me "You know about the surprise party, right?" Um, no dude -- what are you talking about? He feigned shame, but I knew right away he told me out of envy -- he had no girlfriend, and was headed to Nassau CC instead of university. So, I walked up to the house, and faked surprise -- the Cohen's had at least 25 people there, including my parents -- and everyone yelled "Surprise!" and handed me a UM T shirt (the Ibis was still smoking a pipe back then). It was a lovely party, and very nice bon voyage, and the next day Eric (putz), Mark, Mike, John, and Gerry gathered in front of our house to say goodbye.

We caravanned the 2 cars (my '78 Firebird and my Dad's '75 Olds 98) to Virginia, boarded the Autotrain the next am, and we were Florida bound. Au revior, Long Island!

Well, the next 4 years a lot happened. On the great side, I made lifelong friends (Eric and Barry and I are still brothers), I fell in love, had my heart truly broken. On the awful side, my Dad died in my arms the Summer before Senior year, in a barbershop chair.

I clearly recall college graduation. It was on the green by the library, outside and hot as hell. My Mom had been seeing a guy -- I barely knew him and was annoyed that he got to be part of my graduation -- that was pride saved for my beloved Dad. But Mom liked the fellow, who was named Bernie if memory served.

The speaker was a South American president with an impenetrable accent. Afterwards, we went out with Eric and his parents and sister, and my friend Jeff and his brother and parents. We were all solidly middle class -- the meal was at Steak and Ale in Kendall -- with a salad bar! After dinner, Jeff and Eric went home to their Kendall houses, Sunny back to Delray with Bernie, and I went to spend the final night in my on campus apartment.

My friend Jean, who is a non practicing lawyer I still see, was one of the only other people in the building. She was leaving for Duluth for the Summer, and then off to UCLA Law. I had a bottle of fine wine (either Mateus rose or some blush stuff) and we drank together and toasted -- both of us realizing we were at an inflection point in our lives, with treasured memories from Building 22 -- including theme parties that were the envy of many (Serbian New Years, AntlerFest, Super Bowl, Drinks Around the World).

I left the next am for summer in Delray -- a great job as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital before returning to Coral Gables for Law School. Barry dipped on Eric and me on plans for a 3 bedroom place by Dadeland, and so it was besheret that we pick a different garden apartment where a quirky, funny, pretty 26 year old was living upstairs -- later to become Wifey.

That same month, I also met Mike, Jeff, and Norman as 1 Ls, and our friendships endure to this day -- trips together around the world, and too many great times to mention -- spouses, kids, and for Mike and Jeff and me, grandkids. Yeah -- lots happen over 4 decades.

Law School graduation was mercifully inside, at the Dade County Auditorium. This time I think I fetched my Mom -- no random dudes. Wifey and I were "Exclusive!" as the Ds love to lampoon, and she was there -- beaming with my Mom.

The speaker was the Dean they named a month before, and none of us knew her. We wondered why our beloved Dean, Claude Sowle, was benched, and sort of protested by talking on the stage while the random new woman spoke.

I really don't recall where we celebrated, but since my future in laws were probably present, I'm guessing it may have been Canton, which we all loved -- maybe a large "special steak" which came sizzling.

The next Monday I was back at work, for my comically anti semitic boss Dan, where I was clerking ("Hell, I thought you were German, like me. I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew! I hate Jews and Cubans."). Maybe Miami wasn't the right match for Dan, though he as born and raised here and died here years ago. I didn't mourn his loss -- kind of chuckled when I read the obit.

So those were the 3 graduations for me. We got to see a combined 6 for the Ds -- high school, college, and Master's programs. D1 graduated high school 20 years ago this June. I AM old...

But I love graduations -- our next is May 29th -- the kindergarten ceremony for Little Man. That's one I WILL remember.

MD 2026 In The Books

So this am I got in my more than 7K steps, part of which was with neighbors Hilit and Alex, two academic docs who live in the 'hood. They stopped to say hello, and I asked them if they had seen the classic Bill Murray film "Groundhog Day." They had, and so I told them I would play the part of the annoying insurance salesman and tag along for part of the journey. I learned their youngest is starting PT school in Boston, and their oldest lives in D.C. doing I forget what. But I wished Hilit happy MD -- she adores her girls, and they adore her.

Then I called Barry to tell him a funny anecdote but also to tell him I felt for him -- the first MD following the loss of Bev. He was philosophical about it, of course, and then I called his sister Phyllis to leave her a VM  with the same sentiments. She texted back -- it was a tough day. We agreed you don't "get over" a parent's loss, but the years lighten the sadness.

Wifey and I got into a wonderful talk about the nature of our 40 year (almost) marriage, and how we each put up with family annoyances for each other. We also talked about how young and clueless we were at 25 and barely 30, and how neither of us was dying to have kids, but doing so was the best thing we ever did.

Sure enough, the oldest one came over soon after, and we traveled to meet D2 and Jonathan at Platea, a local steak and ceviche place. They had an MD brunch, but also the regular menu, and since we didn't see the need for 5 desserts, opted to family style share some lamb chops, 2 steaks, a seabass, and ceviche. Oh -- sides, too, and a few adult beverages. Even Wifey had a prosecco! It was a festive, wonderful celebration -- we laughed, and spoke of life, and of days past and to come. I toasted my Baby Momma Wifey -- best in the business.

Earlier, D1 had sent her an email, which Wifey may print out and frame. It was hilarious and loving -- D1 is indeed self aware, and Mother aware. D2 is now on the clock. I know her email will be terrific, too. As we all agreed, you do NOT blow past MD or Wifey's birthday, even though, as D1 wrote, Wifey has zero cruel bones in her body. She does have guilt-producing ones, when triggered.

D1 came back with us, and had some calls while we got to pet the skittish Spaniel. She left for an early dinner with her friend Nicole and family at Nicole's Mom's boyfriend Jay's house in the Grove. I watched some NBA playoffs, and have but one activity left: the new episode of "Rooster," which Wifey and I like -- chuckle producing with Steve Carell. Not liking Steve Carell is like not liking Dolly Parton -- everyone likes them.

Tomorrow my workout awaits, and a trip to Total Wine, as I am running perilously low on vodka and Cosmo mix, and Lili comes to play mah jong each Wednesday and expects her Cosmo, even though the game now conflicts with Bible Study, and she has to shake her own.

I think Wifey and D2 are fetching Little Man at school tomorrow. I may sit it out -- let the ladies have their time with the grandsons and nephews.

We're considering a Euro cruise in the Fall -- Donna and Barry have interest, now that they have become Explora addicts, as we are. Kenny and Joelle already took the route we're considering, and will be in Maine in the Fall, anyway.

Lots of moving parts putting together these trips, though I joked that these days, they may offer Hantavirus discounts.

I've never been to Portugal, the place we're considering, so I'm not kicking and screaming as I tend to do when offered Euro trips. Wifey is always the driver behind them, and I end up having a great time. I expect if we go, that will be the protocol.

It's funny -- some dear friends chose their mates precisely because they wanted the best mothers for their kids. That didn't even occur to me. I just dug Wifey, knew our values were the same, and if there were kids -- well -- as I mentioned to D1's hilarity -- I kind of wondered how maternal she'd be.

When we first met, in the Summer of '83, she had just returned from visiting her friend, who had a baby girl. Wifey showed me pictures of her holding the kid, and made a face of disgust -- as if her friend, a housewife in suburban Atlanta and part time helper of her husband's chiropractic office, had a reason to NOT become a mother. But Wifey still saw the 2 of them as years away from motherhood. I guess I recalled that in 1988, when Wifey got pregnant after a year of marriage.

Boy, was I off! Wifey turned out to be the most wonderful, loving, mother. Just today, the Ds said how they always felt safe and loved by her, and still do. D1 said she patterns herself as a mother after Wifey, though with less patience for her "feral racoons" disguised as young boys.

So there was proper honoring today, as is tradition (Love that South Park reference).

Next up: Little Man's kindergarten graduation at the end of May. Man, the years sure do slip by fast.

Extended Family Best Left Alone

 My many Latin friends and family are involved in the lives of cousins, aunts, and uncles. My friend Jeff, too -- seems to ALWAYS be attending a function involving an aunt or uncle or cousin -- even out of town stuff. That long ago fell away for Wifey and me, with a few small exceptions.

Wifey has 2 cousins we like -- Sandy and Mark -- sons of Wifey's late uncle Lou. We've gotten together over the years -- most recently about 5 years ago when we met Mark and his Boston born wife Susan for sushi in Doral -- but Wifey hasn't followed up, and just follows their lives on FaceBook. Her maternal side cousin, a lovely frum fellow from Baltimore, calls EVERY Jewish holiday -- Wifey never returns his calls -- and does it out of a sense of duty to his late aunt, Wifey's late mother. When Wifey asked how many grandkids and great grandkids they have, she heard "We don't count -- you don't count people like things." I kind of liked that.

On my end, I speak once in awhile with my cousin Steven, a lifelong bachelor in Queens. Often he calls for free legal advice about car wrecks, landlord/tenant stuff, and we catch up, but I no longer initiate contact.

And the other day, I reached out to my favorite cousin Jeff, and we had a long catch up talk, where I learned his older sister had died. I FaceBook (tm) messaged the surviving son, Isaac, but haven't heard back. I likely won't, since the middle aged man has only met me once, and he probably figures -- "ah -- who IS this guy?" And that's fine, too.

Jeff ended our call saying he very much wanted to get together -- I should call in a month or so to set something up. "Old Dave" would have -- I enjoy his company, and we have tales to tell of days past and future, but "New Dave" won't make the effort.

Wifey long ago pointed out the difference, when you speak to old friends or relatives, between "We should get together," and "How's next weekend?" I used to be the one to follow up and plan -- now -- not so much. I guess it comes with the crankiness of accepting old man status, but Wifey's right -- if I truly wish to see someone, I will make it happen. If it's "that would be an ok visit," -- why bother?

Last Spring, when we returned from a Danube River cruise with Eric and Dana (and the new Penn State friends they made), I got a call from my cousin Barry. He's, to quote Joni Mitchell, a rambler, and a gambler and a sweet talkin' ladies man -- a truly loveable scoundrel.

His lovely English wife died several years ago, and Barry, who has made tons of money and lost tons of money, called me in dire straits -- the IRS was a-comin', and he needed a few k to fend them off. Could he borrow a few thousand?

No -- he could not. I long ago got out of the lending business -- nearly cost me a close friendship - and DID cost a close friendship when I refused to loan a doc friend $50K to open a pain clinic -- Medicare and Medicaid fraud traps, it seemed to me.

But, I sent Barry a gift -- told him I never expected repayment. I made it clear it was a one and done -- he could ask me for anything in the future, but the spigot was off. Still, he sent a series of texts blessing me, telling me I was always the star of the family (apparently other cousins blew him off -- many of whom are broke ass themselves, I assume), and I deserved EVERY blessing I had in my life, and I suffer from an embarrassment of those, for sure.

Wow, as I told Wifey. Turned out it was a good investment. The charity we give to UM, FIU, Chabad, and others NEVER bestow blessings like that -- well -- maybe Chabad does. I was glad I helped him.

But going forward, I don't plan to have much to do with the cousins. The aunts and uncles are all long gone -- the Greatest Generation crossed their bridges.

And now, among the first cousins, of my Mom's side, there were 16 of us. Now there are 14. My sister Trudy is the oldest surving one, and she turned 81, I'm the youngest -- turning 65. I know from chats with Barry that many of the survivors are VERY sick -- dementia, various forms of cancer. So really it's just now a waiting thing -- who among our cohort will be next to meet the Grim Reaper?

And when they do -- will I find out about it closer in time than Gloria's passing months ago? Maybe; maybe not. May they all be blessed with many more years, and good health.

It's funny -- I don't like to think of myself as a grudge keeper, but I am. Back in 1987, after seeing most of the cousins at our wedding, I told Wifey I wished to rehabilitate the cousins' get together of my childhood. Most lived then in South Florida, and I invited all of them to our first house. This was pre-D1.

All accepted, and I fetched, I still recall, $200 worth of Canton takeout, and bought plenty of adult beverages. At the appointed time, Jeff and Lynn showed up. As the time went on, no one else did. So as Jeff and I tore into a 5th of Absolut, and ate lots of ribs and egg rolls, I started calling the other 12 or so who were due to come.

I got lots of "Wow -- was that TODAY?" and "Sorry -- something came up." So the party ended up being just 2 couples -- and a big waste of money -- back in the day when $200 was a big hit for our social budget.

I vowed to NEVER be the coordinator again, and I haven't. A few years ago, my cousin Linda's daughter Rachel, a sweet woman, now middle aged, as well, suggested we have a get together -- there are still plenty of us in the 3 county area. I responded that sounded great. But, of course she meant I ought to plan it. Nope -- homie don't play that game twice -- even decades later.

And so it shall be -- the cousins will float along, apart. And that's ok.

Planning MD 2026

 So last night I met Barry for pre- bible study dinner -- at a strip center we used to visit a LOT! It's on Ludlam and the Highway -- where our beloved Canton was located. Last night we got salads at a place I had vowed to D2 to never visit again, after I paid a LOT for a salad, years ago. But Barry wanted salads, and so we went -- and the Cobb was actually not bad.

But the memories! It was our go-to Chinese place, especially when Colin, our Hong Kong born and raised roommie, was a waiter there. He would give us extra portions, and one night was an unwitting part of a laugh experience that I truly worried caused Barry and Mark to go into respiratory failure.

It was a cool night, and the apartment windows were open, and I heard Barry and Mark walking back to our apartment. You couldn't NOT hear Mark -- the now big shot neurosurgeon was comically loud. As I awaited them, I spied Colin's red Chinese waiter jacket hanging from a door knob, and was seized by comic inspiration. I put it on (the cuffs came to my elbows), and when Barry and Mark walked in, greeted them in a way that would totally get me canceled today. "Welcome back to humble abode, most honorable students -- may your important studies continue." And I bowed, like Charlie Chan.

I still recall their faces. There was a beat or two of silence, and then both literally doubled over with laughter that, as I said, got me worrying I might have to call 911. Any time I need to cheer up Barry, I just go into the awful fake accent and call him "honorable." Yeah, 4.5 decades ago I was a funny and politically incorrect guy. Nothing has changed as the undergrad has transitioned into an old man.

But anyway, after  Torah class, which was terrific, by the way (a discussion and analysis of the basis of morality -- human created versus that given by the Big Man), I showed Barry my family's text chain about planning for this Sunday.

Jonathan has noted that we share TOO much, while his family probably shares too little. The details of Wifey and the Ds, plus D1's comically busy schedule made for more fodder. We finally settled on Platea, our local prime beef and ceviche place -- they have a MD brunch. We're going at 1, so D1 can make it to an am appointment in the Grove, and a birthday dinner/MD meet with her dear friend Nicole.

Everyone in this family knows, when it comes to Wifey, do NOT blow past 2 events: her birthday and MD. NYE, Jewish holidays, even T Day, which is MY favorite -- eh. But there damn well better be a note and a get together for her Big 2. And for good reason.

Wifey is the best mother I know. When we first married, I wondered whether, as an only, spoiled child, she would be very maternal when we had kids. Indeed, the plan was she would stay home for 3 months after D1 came, and then get child care and return to work. Nope. She fell in love head over heels for our baby girl -- and embarked on her life's work: a (pause) mazing mother.

Everything she did, she did for them, and now there is exquisite return: 2 beautiful boys from D1, and hopefully more from D2. The oldest, Baby Man, looks JUST like D1, so it's a wonderful recapitulation of her early years -- with an all boy switch. 

And now they're grown ass women, as I remind them, the Ds truly still adore and love their mother. And this brings me joy.

I don't really know bad mothers. Well -- at least not "Mommie Dearest" bad. Well -- that's not true either -- I DO know some crappy mothers -- but not many, in our orbit, at least.

But the Ds and I will celebrate Wifey this Sunday -- even though, like the ditty my Dad sang, EVERY day is mother's day for her.

And speaking of Barry...this is the first MD for him and his sister Phyllis without their beloved Bev. I know Phyllis, especially, is not looking forward to Sunday. Donna has her two boys, who adore her, too.

I remember MD 2013, after Sunny died. It was indeed a hollow day -- just the memories were left. It turned out her cremains were delivered the day before, and so the Ds, Wifey, and I went to Matheson Hammock to commit them to the sea that sad MD.

Her spirit is very much with us -- just a few weeks ago, we took my nephew Henry to the spot, during his 305 visit, and we told Sunny stories. We shall tell more Sunday, as well as Rachel tales -- those are funnier and more absurd. She was an adoring mother and grandmother, too -- Wifey got it from her.

And I have to make my annual call -to Jeff. For reasons now lost to the fog of history, in law school I started calling him each MD to wish him a happy day. Probably it had something to do with the OTHER "mother" word -- as we were budding, bad ass (ha!) lawyers. But I shall call him Sunday -- his Mom Judy is long gone, too, but will celebrate the life work of Lili -- another awesome mother.

And in June? Father's Day. Ha. Talk about the po relation. In my case, truly EVERY day is Father's Day for me.

Skipping The Line

 My mother was one of  5 -- the eldest, Marty, then Dorothy, then my Mom, then Lorraine, and the baby Florence who was called Giggles since she cried all the time and we are ironic Bronx born Ashkenazim. Marty and the husbands of the 4 Goldsmith sisters were all WW II veterans, and the first born cousin was Arlene, born in, I think, 1944. Next was my sister Trudy, born in January of 1945, and then a bunch more -- all the way down to me. I am the youngest first cousin, born in 1961.

Years ago, I read that Boomers were akin to high schooler students, demographically. You had your seniors, born 1945-1950, juniors born 1950-1955, sophomores born 1955-1960, and then the freshman born '60- '64. All may go to the same school, but seniors have little in common with freshmen. I always found that description quite apt.

In my family, true to natural form, the first of us to pass was Arlene. She had a most challenging life -- in and out of mental hospitals, with movie-like episodes of psychotic breaks. Once she took a garden hose to the inside of her house. Another time she wandered naked in the Arizona desert. Her husband Bill, a handsome Irish guy, took off like a parakeet on fire, leaving the 2 boys for family to watch and raise. I still recall housing the little guy, Brody (now goes by Darrin) when he was a toddler. He grew up well --works for the Highway something or other in upstate NY. Gavin, the older one, who is nearing 60, became a full Army colonel and lives in Mass.

Arlene died some years ago. We joked with my sister Trudy that she was next oldest, and indeed Trudy turned 81 in January. Well today, I called my cousin Jeff, on account of a life connection, and learned that his sister Gloria died 2 months ago. She skipped the line, so to speak. She was 77.

The funny connection is that Jeff's son in law Josh is a cardiologist at Holy Cross in Lauderdale, and Dr. Barry is going to start doing some administrative work for the UM residents and students up there. He will surely cross paths with Josh. So I called Jeff to catch up -- he and I were always close, though the years without contact have a way of piling up. He told me the news about Gloria.

Gloria also had challenges -- mental health requiring hospitalization, too. The sad truth is it seems to be a Goldsmith trait -- and none of us have any direct Holocaust connections! But Gloria, a true hippie, met a man 14 years her senior, and lived a colorful life. Martin was a NY teacher, and truly an OG hippie -- so much that years later, after he friended me on FB, I had to unfriend him because of his virulently anti-Zionist posts.

But the two of them were married forever, and had one son, Isaac, who became a plant pathologist, with a doctorate from UC. They all moved to a farm in rural NC, where they raised goats and chickens. I think Isaac married and does botanical consulting from there -- apparently he inherited the land.

I last saw Isaac years ago, at Jeff and Lynn's son's wedding in Broward. He was nice and impressive -- got his Dad's intellect, but also the missing practicality his Dad never had. It's probably been 30 years since I saw Gloria and Martin.

Still, Jeff told me he went to NC for the memorial. Gloria and Martin, who died in '23, were both cremated, and Isaac buried their cremains on the land, and planted pomegranate trees there. Everyone took turns shoveling soil -- sort of a nod to Jewish tradition. Jeff's brother Michael, who became, I'm not making this up, a frum chiropracter in Monsey, NY, was there, even though he and Jeff were estranged years before. Their sister Janet, a non-frum chiropractor in Boca, skipped out.

Sadly, the family exploded apart after my uncle Abe died -- accusations over supposably (Miami spelling) stolen estate property was a cause.

I joked with Jeff that the days of the Kessler Cousins' Circle (my maternal grandmother's maiden name), where everyone was close and shared their lives -- were 2 generations gone -- coming up on 3.

In fact, when I texted the Ds after the news, D1 asked "Who in the world is Gloria?" I guess I spoke little of her, though she was a first cousin.

This made last week even more special. The Ds have only 4 first cousins, on account of Wifey being an only child, and of the 4, only Henry and the Ds have any contact. Such is the American modern family.

But for now, I'm sure my sister is happy that a younger cousin skipped the line to eternity. She has lots of living to do. And as for me -- hell -- no way the youngest is next, right? Only the Big Man knows...

Cinco de Mayo en El Torito

 Today is Cinco de Mayo, the fake Mexican holiday created to sell margaritas and nachos in the US. It drove me down Memory Lane.

Mike used to LOVE El Torito, a Mexican place in the Falls shopping center. We would go often, and back then I wasn't a margarita guy (still aren't), and so I would drink Kahlua and creams. I was The Dude before The Dude! Cinco de Mayo Mike would arrive early, to secure us a table, and Wifey (before she was Wifey -- she was just bottom, um, girlfriend, would arrive, as would Jeff and then girlfriend Cheryl, and maybe Dave S, and other UM Law stragglers. Every once in awhile, Eric would come with some of his Med School buddies, too, and we would eat and listen to mariachi music and have a gay all time, as the Flintstones theme sang.

But Mexico has a far deeper meaning in our lives -- it was where my family truly began. In May of '84, Cheryl and Jeff invited me to go with them to Cancun -- and this was way before Cancun became a Spanish speaking Ft. Lauderdale. Cheryl's step dad Roger (pronounced Ro-HAIR) owned a villa right on the sea, and we could stay there for free, and Mexicana had a $150 round trip flight from Miami. We would go for a long weekend, check out Tulum and Isla de Mujeres (Jeff re-named the place Isla Mujeres Facil), and shake off the mental stress and harm done to us by our 1L year. Cheryl told me to invite proto-Wifey.

But there was a problem. Pre-Wifey had broken up with me for the second and FINAL time weeks before, on account of she was 27 and I was nearing 23 and she wanted us to be EXCLUSIVE (a term that never fails to crack up the Ds) and I wasn't ready. 1992 was a rough year for me -- the college girlfriend I thought I might marry dropped me like I was hot, and far worse, my Dad had died in my arms. So I planned to date for, oh, the next 17 years before marrying when I got to be 40.

Fine, said Cheryl -- pick another date. And I tried -- asking no fewer than 10 ladies I had either dated, or were just old college buddies, and each and every one had a conflict -- ranging from "sorry, dude, working on hooking a Mt. Sinai doc -- last thing he needs to hear is I went away to Mexico with you" to "Oh man -- would LOVE to, but had plastic surgery to fix my broken nose from a bike fall and can't get sun" (my friend Edee the neuroscientist in training then.

I called Cheryl and said I would just come solo -- probably find myself a seniorita like the Jay and the Americans song. NO! Cheryl, always with bad energy, though it took decades to realize that, was adamant -- there would be no third wheel interfering with her and Jeff's romantic time -- get a girl, Dave, or stay home.

So I called Wifey, and got the expected chilly response. "I told you NEVER call me again -- what is it?" I talked fast, like the guy in the old FedEx commercial: "Mexico -- like the Against All Odds movie we loved. Beach. Pyramids. Xel-Ha underwater park..." To my shock, she said she would call me back.

I learned later she called her at that time BFF Linda, who had correctly called me a creep and warned her friend about STDs I must be carrying. I wasn't. Linda, my largest detractor -- said to Wifey, who happened to be on vacation the week of the trip "Go with him. Have a great time. You broke up with the creep 2 times -- why not a 3rd?" And Wifey agreed to come along!

Well, the trip was where I fell in love with her. I loved her before, I guess, but 5 days of pure romance, away from the rigors (and multiple classmates I was dating) of law school were intoxicating. We played Trivial Pursuit, drunk on tequilla (and kahlua for me). We climbed the pyrmamids of Tulum. We snorkeled Isla Mujeres -- except Wifey, who, comically could not because of TMJ.

And we 2 couples laughed -- deep, belly laughs -- the kind that these days cause me to lose my breath. It was magical.

When we came back, we got together, even though Wifey had moved to North Miami to get farther away from me. She was killing it as a flower marketer. I interned at the law department of Key Pharmaceuticals. We had money -- plenty for our needs of going to dinner and concerts. We house sat for 3 weeks for my professor friend Judy and her now late husband Bob -- in the UK for a conference. It was a cool house in the Gables -- we hosted Jeff and Cheryl and Mike and Loni -- pool parties.

The next year, we visited Mexico again -- this time 3 couples -- Mike and Loni joined us, and the laughter memories multiplied like rabbits, including an incident where Mike ended up on the barrel tile roof in the wee small hours in his tighty whities following some squabble with Loni. The details have, to this day 41 years later, mercifully never been revealed.

There was one later, much later, trip to the Yucatan -- a stop on a cruise with Eric and Dana and their family -- to Cozumel. We ended up on a beach, and there was alcohol, and a misheard quote that turned into "What about Louise?" More great times.

So no Cinco de Mayo for us this year, but memories of the place I first read about in Malcolm Lowry's "Under the Volcano."

Their president is, of all things, a Jewess, but an embarrassment like Bernie Sanders -- a self hating Jew is anti Zionist. One would have thought Mexicans were smarter as a nation than tiny Vermont is as a state.

But that's their problem -- not mine. For me, memories of Mexico are as pleasant as the James Taylor song: It sounds so sweet with the sun sinking low. The moon's so bright like to light up the night - make everything all right.

Domingo Gigante

 So Little Man woke me at first light, as Wifey slept on. We fed Bo, the Special Needs and now geriatric Spaniel, and then him -- no going out yesterday, as Donna had sent rainbow bagels home from Mo's. He had a half, and some yogurt for his "growing food" as his dietitian Mom demands, and a fruit and half of an enormous happy face cookie, also courtesy of Donna. We hung about for several hours, and then it was time to wake Ippi, as he calls her.

It was 10:45, and we told Wifey to be ready to leave noon, and around 11:45 she called me on the cell (the comical way we communicate in this too large house now that the 90s era intercom is long ago broken), and asked -- would I make her a yogurt parfait and coffee, as she was "running late?" I chuckled to myself -- talk about a spoiled wife -- but complied, as I always do, and around 12:15 we were off to Loan Depot PArk.

About 5 minutes into the journey, Little Man's banter went silent -- he had PTFO'd, as the millennials say, in his booster seat. I found my preferred parking -- a city lot located right by our beloved, historical tailgate lot from days of yore, on NW 14th Avenue, and we let the boy sleep another 45 minutes, until he woke up "on the wrong side of the SUV," as Tio Barry later noted when he was cranky.

But we found our seats, and Wifey took him for ice cream as Barry, Donna, and Scott arrived, to much happiness, but Little Man, forced to wait until play stopped so he could return to his seat with his chocolate Mister Softee, was none too pleased. Still, he rallied and had a fine time -- climbing all over Scott and Barry and showing the multi decade pediatrician he has "no shortage of energy." Later, a nice surprise came to fruition: Mike had texted me asking where Barry's seats were, and ended up exactly in the row behind -- Loni, Amanda, Chris, young Teddy, and old friend Rebecca -- like Amanda now a transplanted resident of the City of Lost Angels.

It was great to catch up -- Teddy had a blast -- Little Man gave him his yacht hat -- a giveaway. Scott scored he and I a few vodkas. We got Little Man a kosher dog from Kosher Korner, which he ate sans bun and mustard, laughing that Barry said it was a "naked hot dog."

Mike's crew left at the 7th inning. The Marlins starter gave up 6 first inning runs -- the game was essentially over then, but that was ok. The park was lively, with many Philly fans who still love their team but have the sense to no longer actually LIVE in Philly -- and it was a delight.

We stayed until the end, got stuck at the 7th Avenue Bridge, which was up a long time to let all the yachts pass, as this was F1 and Doral Golf weekend, and plenty of machers were afloat. I impressed Little Man by cutting around the traffic -- back through Brickell where I worked for decades, and onto 95. We made it to Luna Pasta by 530 -- just as D1, Baby Man, and D2 and Jonathan were arriving.

At first, they gave us separate tables, and we made one the kids' table -- even though the kids were 37 down to 27, along with the grandkids. As the restaurant opened, Jonathan got us all to one big table, where we shared 2 bottle of good Italian wine, and feasted -- pasta was "top 5" to everyone. It was a truly awesome meal of 2 families -- as D1 noted, our "chosen relatives."

Everyone left, and at home we shared the photos and texts all appreciating the day.

Getting older is fine -- so long as there are days like Domingo gigantes...

The World's Most Interesting Kindergartner

 This is the nickname has given her first born, and it is indeed apt. Yesterday was a lovely one -- I fetched Scott at MIA on the way to Aventura. Scott usually flies into FLL, but with F1 here, flights to the cheaper airport, for crew, were double to MIA, and so he came to the field 25 minutes from our house. We joked that typically, for a fetch or pick from an airport from this old grumpy dude, DNA connection is required, but Barry and his family are exceptions.

There he was, the gentle giant of a nearly 30 year old man, and we delightfully caught up -- matters Miami and D.C. I showed him the stupid soccer team located stupidly, and we both lamented the fact that if they were going to build it anyway, why not double capacity and invite our beloved Canes. The idea apparently never grew legs.

We met his parents at Mo's, and feasted. It was delightful -- they sort of like having him home. His wife had tons of work -- she just switched from CNN to NBC and is getting up to speed. We chuckled at many of our fellow Aventura diners -- average age 50. The men were 80 and the women were FAR younger, and quite heavily botoxed and plastic surgeried...Some jobs were great; others, sadly, clownish.

Around noon we said adios, and I drove down Biscayne to meet D1 and the boys at Diver's Mansion, a marine themed Chucky Cheeses, where a very loud birthday party was in force. We left, and drove back to D1's, where she packed an overnight bag for said interesting child. Donna had sent us from Mo's with enormous cookies -- chocolate chip and happy face, and Baby MAn got to choose -- he picked the chip one, the size of a wagon wheel.

Little Man and I talked the ENTIRE 40 minute drive home -- he is SO smart -- telling me about sea creatures and strange fauna I had no idea existed. Turns out his public charter school is ok. Wifey was thrilled to see him -- it had only been 6 days -- but we kind of dig him.

He requested Anthony's Coal Fired wings, which I ordered, and we fed the fish and lizard hunted in the strange weather -- hot and DRY -- felt like Vegas in June. The rains came this am -- cooler and wet. We watched some of the F1 Sprint Race -- Jonathan is going today, though I wonder if the rain may affect that.

And Wifey and I laughed -- this kindergartner has the vocabulary of a 5th grader, at least, and is SO funny and energetic. We swam -- first time in the pool this year -- and he swims terrifically, though spashing and hunting for floating bugs grab his attention more.

Wifey had taped "Minecraft," thinking it was a cartoon, but it was a live action movie with Jason Mamoa and Jack Black. Little Man LOVED it -- explaining to us who the characters and creatures were, and what they do. "Ok, Grandpa Dave -- this is crazy. These guys sneak up on you and EXPLODE!"

Bed time was some of his beloved IPad, as screen time with D1 is abridged -- here -- less so. And as he watched in bed with Wifey and me, we saw him drifting off, and so I took him across the hall and told him one Nightbird story before he asked to hear again about how his kindergarten aged mother demanded to sleep with D2 -- sort of a living teddy bear. Then he passed out.

This am, we didn't have to hit the bagel shop, as Tia Donna ALSO sent us home with rainbow bagels. "Grandpa Dave -- they LOOK so cool but actually, they taste just like normal bagels." Correct.

We leave around noon for the Marlins game -- today it's good they have a roof! Later, dinner with all of us -- with the world's most interesting kindergartner.

Busy Busy Busy

 I sometimes talk to a person who, objectively, has VERY little responsibilities, and ask what's up, and get the response "busy, busy, busy!" I chuckle to myself, since it's true to them and no one else.

And yet, sometimes I feel the same way. This past week I said goodbye with a brunch with my delightful nephew Henry, at Deli Lane. I hadn't been there in awhile, and know they are moving a block away since, as everyone knows, South Miami needs MORE high rise apartments. Long time server Carmen was there, as she has been for 35!!! years. We dig each other -- for awhile she took care of us at the Brickell location where we would lunch weekly, but they closed, and since then it's back in South Miami. I introduced her to Henry, and we caught up -- I asked if folks had moved into the massive building across the street, where a Winn Dixie say for decades. She said they had, in December, and many were customers, and already complaining that their 4 month old AC units were breaking. Ah, the joy of developers and builders in South Florida!

I dropped Henry at the Thesis, an upscale hotel they built across from UM, where a Howard Johnsons was back in the day. He had a gig at the Biltmore -- left yesterday am -- texting it went well and he loved his stay. We did, too, and hope to reunite soon.

Wednesday was a workout, and later the return of bible class! Barry drove his car to the Dadeland North Metro station, and commuted back to Jackson, and we met at an Italian place for an early dinner, some of which was spent with him on the phone with his Chair about an intern. Medical administration never sleeps! Class was great -- a study of the uniqueness of our peeps, and why Abraham and his monotheism truly changed the world. We got into a discussion about modern false idols -- money, power, stuff, and how we often worship these more than The Big Man.

There was a new couple in class -- handsome, early 50s, and I wise ass welcomed them by warning that they had to read their parts in Hebrew. The husband, a gringo like me, laughed and said "No problem for Karen -- she was born in Israel!" When we got to her, indeed she read the Hebrew part and smiled at me -- I dug her right away.

Driving Barry back to the restaurant lot, we talked about faith, and how great it would be to truly be men of faith. We're working on it...

Thursday was a sort of biz lunch -- fetching a check from an old friend who handles our smaller cases -- and Friday was a haircut, Roasters, and then home for a nap. Oh yeah -- I did some lawyering for D1 about an issue with a consultant she works with. Not to pat my own legal back, but I gangstered it -- worked it out to D1's complete favor, and tamed a bully with a JD from Harvard. Yeah, I guess I still dig that.

Last night, I met Kenny at Captain's Tavern for a farewell dinner. He and Joelle are leaving for Maine next week. They're also going to France in June -- Kenny wants to see Normandy. I told him it was probably my favorite historical thing ever on our Euro trips -- he'll love it, too, though the Bayeux Tapestry is closed for renovation for 2  years -- we got to see it with Loni and Mike and impressed D1 when we told her -- she's a Medeival History buff.

Today I shall walk, and await the call from Barry and Donna and Scott --to meet at Mo's in Aventura. From there, I fetch Little Man for an overnight, and then tomorrow we meet Barry and Co again -- for a Marlins game. And Wifey is attending! Often she blows off multi event days, but tomorrow she's in.

After the game -- dinner with, hopefully, BOTH Ds and Baby Man, too, then likely a tired drive home, F1 and Doral Golf traffic permitting.

So not much, but indeed busy, busy, busy. Nice to have these sorts of things going on.