Ever since I was in high school, I've loved the idea of a nice tavern. On Long Island, my friends and I, with nicely done fake IDs, used to sneak into a fern bar on Hempstead Turnpike, and order wine and listen to bad folk music.
When I was a new lawyer, my mentor, Ed, took me to a place called Fox's Sherrin Inn. He said, while I was driving him home one night: "Dave, turn here. We're not going home yet. We're stopping at Fox's, for a martini this fu***** big." I complied, and visited for the first time.
Supposedly the upstairs was a brothel in the 50s and 60s. I consider it my country club.
After Hurricane Wilma, my friend Pat and I visited HIS country club, Riveria, for dinner. On the way home, we stopped at Fox's, despite the curfew. There was a fellow at the bar who said he had moved to Minneapolis in 1975, and was visiting for the first time in 30 years. He was shocked to see the red naugehyde chairs and black and white bar awnings were the same as he remembered. The only thing missing was the acrid cigarette smoke, thanks to the ban.
Last New Year's, D1 went to a party there with some college friends. Their waiter, Nelson, treated her and her boyfriend like royalty.
Last night, I was supposed to meet my friend John at my OTHER favorite tavern, Tobacco Road. He had business in SOuth Miami, so we switched to Fox's. The food was fine, and the laughter flowed freely, as we spoke about the characters we've both dealt with in our combined 50 years of Miami lawyering.
Nelson took care of us. I asked him about my daughters' friends behavior New Year's Eve. "Hey --you know I subscribe to the bartender/patron confidentiality rule!"
I always think about Ed when I'm at Fox's. He died too soon, in his early 60s. He'd have been there last night, if he were in town, wearing his brightly colored golf pants ("I learned my sense of style from the Polish Bowling Leagues of Milwaukee") and maybe a sweater, for the cool night.
Fox's is a fine place. May it never meet the fate of the Orange Bowl...
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Macabre
As I slouch along as a lawyer, it seems the only interesting matters I handle are the ones I do pro bono for friends.
Yesterday I represented a dear old friend at a deposition in a case that was out of a movie.
My friend is a professor, and used to volunteer as a member of the bioethics committee at a local hospital. The committee would typically hear "cases" presented by doctors and patients or patients' families involving end of life decisions.
This one involved a toddler who had a terminal, awful condition that left him in a vegatative state. The doctor and his parents agreed that the only reasonable course was to let the baby die, without further stringing along his corpse-like existence by artificial means.
The committee agreed, and the orders were written to allow the natural death. The mother got into bed with the baby, to hold him and let him pass.
Not so fast! A nurse on the unit, a strict Catholic, decompensated. She started raving that she was going to the press to expose how the hospital kills babies, how this was terrible, etc...
So, of course the hospital took the nurse off the case, explained that a wrenching decision had been made, and that although she was allowed her feelings, she was not to interfere with a parents' decision and doctor's order that was approved by an ethics committee. NOT!
The hospital caved in, and told the parents that they had reconsidered, and decided to keep the toddler going along for awhile!
And, for good measure, the hospital or one of its staff called Child Protection officials to report the parents for abuse --just in case they decided to go ahead with letting the toddler die! As Dave Barry always writes, I'm not making this up.
Well, the parents essentially fled the hospital with their baby, checked into a hotel room with him, and let him die. They then hired a fine young lawyer (I'm getting so old I remember his father well) and sued the doctor who reversed his order, and is about to sue the hospital.
My friend isn't going to be sued, but he's a star witness in the case --he confirmed that the commitee was asked to consider this worst of all situations, and agreed with the course of action.
The lawyer for the doctor is an old timer --good med mal defense lawyer, although he defended another doctor friend of mine several years ago, which led to a multimillion dollar judgment against him. (I got that one settled after suing the insurance company that left my friend hung out to dry).
My guess is that the hospital, at some point, will realize that although they have a lot of legal defenses to the claim, damn well better settle. Their handling of this matter was at best clownish, and at worst terribly cruel.
A close friend , also a top defense lawyer, called me to ask how the depo went. I asked him how the hell he even knew about the case. It turns out he was hired by one of the doctors who cared for the child, but one who won't be sued, either. The difference is that my buddy's getting paid for babysitting HIS deponent, while I worked for, I must say, a rather good Cuban chicken (pollo) lunch.
Once again, another example of how Miami is such a small town of a big city. At least in legal circles, there's never more than one degree of separation.
Watching organizations scramble to ass cover when bad things happen has been one of my career's guilty pleasures. This case takes the cake.
Yesterday I represented a dear old friend at a deposition in a case that was out of a movie.
My friend is a professor, and used to volunteer as a member of the bioethics committee at a local hospital. The committee would typically hear "cases" presented by doctors and patients or patients' families involving end of life decisions.
This one involved a toddler who had a terminal, awful condition that left him in a vegatative state. The doctor and his parents agreed that the only reasonable course was to let the baby die, without further stringing along his corpse-like existence by artificial means.
The committee agreed, and the orders were written to allow the natural death. The mother got into bed with the baby, to hold him and let him pass.
Not so fast! A nurse on the unit, a strict Catholic, decompensated. She started raving that she was going to the press to expose how the hospital kills babies, how this was terrible, etc...
So, of course the hospital took the nurse off the case, explained that a wrenching decision had been made, and that although she was allowed her feelings, she was not to interfere with a parents' decision and doctor's order that was approved by an ethics committee. NOT!
The hospital caved in, and told the parents that they had reconsidered, and decided to keep the toddler going along for awhile!
And, for good measure, the hospital or one of its staff called Child Protection officials to report the parents for abuse --just in case they decided to go ahead with letting the toddler die! As Dave Barry always writes, I'm not making this up.
Well, the parents essentially fled the hospital with their baby, checked into a hotel room with him, and let him die. They then hired a fine young lawyer (I'm getting so old I remember his father well) and sued the doctor who reversed his order, and is about to sue the hospital.
My friend isn't going to be sued, but he's a star witness in the case --he confirmed that the commitee was asked to consider this worst of all situations, and agreed with the course of action.
The lawyer for the doctor is an old timer --good med mal defense lawyer, although he defended another doctor friend of mine several years ago, which led to a multimillion dollar judgment against him. (I got that one settled after suing the insurance company that left my friend hung out to dry).
My guess is that the hospital, at some point, will realize that although they have a lot of legal defenses to the claim, damn well better settle. Their handling of this matter was at best clownish, and at worst terribly cruel.
A close friend , also a top defense lawyer, called me to ask how the depo went. I asked him how the hell he even knew about the case. It turns out he was hired by one of the doctors who cared for the child, but one who won't be sued, either. The difference is that my buddy's getting paid for babysitting HIS deponent, while I worked for, I must say, a rather good Cuban chicken (pollo) lunch.
Once again, another example of how Miami is such a small town of a big city. At least in legal circles, there's never more than one degree of separation.
Watching organizations scramble to ass cover when bad things happen has been one of my career's guilty pleasures. This case takes the cake.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Indian at the Gate
I love a good practical joke, particularly at Wifey's expense, but yesterday D2 called me, out of breath from laughing, to report the results of a NON-prank that turned out hilarious.
Wifey is sometimes Mr. Magoo-like, and she forgets to do things like open the gate for food delivery men. Last year I arrived home to see and angry Chinaman from Canton, whose calls were being ignored. I paid him, and then called and left a scathing message, in my fake Chinese accent, about how I was losing money, and how rude and inconsiderate "you wich rite people are." There is zero political correctness in my house...
Last night, Wifey again ordered Canton, and 30 minutes or so later, there was a call at the gate. She answered and let the man in, but reported to D2 that it really WASN'T the Canton man, because he had a "fake Indian accent."
No, Wifey concluded, it must be me again, lampooning her tardiness in responding to delivery men.
A few moments later, there was a knock at the door, and D2 asked whether Wifey was going to answer. "No," Wifey replied in her sing-song way, that retains the inflections and tone of her Canarsie, Brooklyn youth, "It's NOT the Canton man --it's Dad!"
Well, the knocking became more insistent, and angry, and finally Wifey responded to the poor, subcontinent delivery man, who wondered why he was being ignored.
"I thought you were my husband, pretending to be the Canton man."
Indian Canton man: "You husband no work for Canton! If he did, why he need me to deliver. I no understand."
Well, D2 had a bout of laughter so hearty that it may have purged most of the angst of her difficult high school senior year, and when we reported this latest Mr. Magoo-ism to D1 in Gainesville, she savored it as well.
So --the fable is true. The one about the boy who cried Canton.
Wifey is sometimes Mr. Magoo-like, and she forgets to do things like open the gate for food delivery men. Last year I arrived home to see and angry Chinaman from Canton, whose calls were being ignored. I paid him, and then called and left a scathing message, in my fake Chinese accent, about how I was losing money, and how rude and inconsiderate "you wich rite people are." There is zero political correctness in my house...
Last night, Wifey again ordered Canton, and 30 minutes or so later, there was a call at the gate. She answered and let the man in, but reported to D2 that it really WASN'T the Canton man, because he had a "fake Indian accent."
No, Wifey concluded, it must be me again, lampooning her tardiness in responding to delivery men.
A few moments later, there was a knock at the door, and D2 asked whether Wifey was going to answer. "No," Wifey replied in her sing-song way, that retains the inflections and tone of her Canarsie, Brooklyn youth, "It's NOT the Canton man --it's Dad!"
Well, the knocking became more insistent, and angry, and finally Wifey responded to the poor, subcontinent delivery man, who wondered why he was being ignored.
"I thought you were my husband, pretending to be the Canton man."
Indian Canton man: "You husband no work for Canton! If he did, why he need me to deliver. I no understand."
Well, D2 had a bout of laughter so hearty that it may have purged most of the angst of her difficult high school senior year, and when we reported this latest Mr. Magoo-ism to D1 in Gainesville, she savored it as well.
So --the fable is true. The one about the boy who cried Canton.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
And It's All Right Now...
I ran into an old college friend yesterday, in my office building. He's a financial guy who seems to be prospering despite the bad economy. We joked and compared pre-empty nester stories, and then I asked him about a mutual friend.
The mutual friend, who'll I'll call Sean (NOT his real name), went to college and became a professor. He's been "writing his great book" since 1980, and "recording his great song" since about 1983. Despite being more of a dreamer than doer, I always admired him and thought he was pretty happy. Whenever we'd meet, usually at Canes games, he'd seem delighted to see me, and we'd exchange our, as Bruce Springsteen called them, "boring stories of Glory Days..."
Well, I hadn't spoken to Sean in over a year. I'd called a few times, and he never got back to me. He's a confirmed Luddite, so email is out of the question. I asked Financial Guy after him.
"Well Dave, you might as well know this. Sean CAN'T stand you. He admitted to me he tolerated you for years, mostly because you always picked up dinner and bar tabs, but when you slowed down in that department, he really saw no point in continuing to have anything to do with you."
I was surprised, since I had never considered Sean disliking me so much. Financial guy explained more. Sean sees me as an always happy, know it all, who thinks he's better than everyone. He resents how I throw money at people and think they ought to appreciate it. He sees my self deprecation as simply a twisted exhibition of my supreme arrogance.
He begrudges what he sees as my idyllic life, with a stable marriage, and 2 daughters I adore. He knows I give my time and money to charity, but he thinks that's simply another way I go around "subtley showing off."
I listened to all of this, and felt like I was the object of the great Bob Dylan tell off song "Positively 5th Street."
Financial Guy felt bad about telling me this stuff, but I appreciated it. I guess I was truly tone deaf about this old buddy's true feelings. If nothing else, I can take a hint --I'll no longer call the old professor (middle aged professor). And I'll wish him well.
I don't know. I never begrudge anyone success and happiness. In fact, I HOPE people I know win the Lotto, so they can give more to charity, and pay for some of MY dinners.
The great Brendan Behan line about "Fuck the Begrudgers" came to mine, but I really don't feel that way about Sean. More precisely, I hope someday he finds inner peace, and the ability to admire without envy.
In the meantime, I guess I've learned my lesson well: you see you can't please everyone...
The mutual friend, who'll I'll call Sean (NOT his real name), went to college and became a professor. He's been "writing his great book" since 1980, and "recording his great song" since about 1983. Despite being more of a dreamer than doer, I always admired him and thought he was pretty happy. Whenever we'd meet, usually at Canes games, he'd seem delighted to see me, and we'd exchange our, as Bruce Springsteen called them, "boring stories of Glory Days..."
Well, I hadn't spoken to Sean in over a year. I'd called a few times, and he never got back to me. He's a confirmed Luddite, so email is out of the question. I asked Financial Guy after him.
"Well Dave, you might as well know this. Sean CAN'T stand you. He admitted to me he tolerated you for years, mostly because you always picked up dinner and bar tabs, but when you slowed down in that department, he really saw no point in continuing to have anything to do with you."
I was surprised, since I had never considered Sean disliking me so much. Financial guy explained more. Sean sees me as an always happy, know it all, who thinks he's better than everyone. He resents how I throw money at people and think they ought to appreciate it. He sees my self deprecation as simply a twisted exhibition of my supreme arrogance.
He begrudges what he sees as my idyllic life, with a stable marriage, and 2 daughters I adore. He knows I give my time and money to charity, but he thinks that's simply another way I go around "subtley showing off."
I listened to all of this, and felt like I was the object of the great Bob Dylan tell off song "Positively 5th Street."
Financial Guy felt bad about telling me this stuff, but I appreciated it. I guess I was truly tone deaf about this old buddy's true feelings. If nothing else, I can take a hint --I'll no longer call the old professor (middle aged professor). And I'll wish him well.
I don't know. I never begrudge anyone success and happiness. In fact, I HOPE people I know win the Lotto, so they can give more to charity, and pay for some of MY dinners.
The great Brendan Behan line about "Fuck the Begrudgers" came to mine, but I really don't feel that way about Sean. More precisely, I hope someday he finds inner peace, and the ability to admire without envy.
In the meantime, I guess I've learned my lesson well: you see you can't please everyone...
Sunday, January 3, 2010
A Real Dog
D1's puppy Madeleine has really grown on me this Winter break. She's truly a cute little girl, but not too fufu like a Yorkie or other might be.
She hops into my lap, and licks my face. She also has an adorable habit of finding a napping human, and curling up around his or her head. I'm told this is a "Mads hat."
This morning, she was romping around in the back yard, on this chilly January morning, and dragged what I thought was a small piece of a tree into the family room. I looked closer --it was a dead rat! For all I know, she might have even killed it outside. Wow --she's a real dog, too!
Yesterday Wifey and I traveled the parent circuit. First we saw my mother, and she seemed happy enough. Wifey bought her a new wardrobe, since she (Mom, not Wifey) has shrunk so much her old clothes hang on her. She seemed to enjoy the gifts.
Later, I told her that when she needed cash, she simply needed to have her aide take her to the bank, and she could use her debit card to withdraw what she needed. I've taken over her finances, and the only transaction she makes is paying a cleaning lady and Louise, her drive and assistant.
She called me this am, having "been up worrying the whole night" about the simple instruction. She's going to have Louise call me this am, and I plan to take over even that simplest of operation --paying for rides. Everything is so daunting.
Wifey's prediction is right --we're going to have to move her to Miami, probably this year, so Wifey and I can be closer to her. She really needs family visits at least a few times per week, and Delray Beach is just too far. Once she's closer, we can keep a closer eye on her.
She'd prefer to stay in her condo, where she's been for 30 years, but that just won't be in the cards very soon. Her decline is going to force a move sooner than later.
Next stop --Wifey's folks. Her mother, 85, is fit as a fiddle --even worrying about her weight. She led me to her condo's trash room to throw out a plant, and I could barely keep up with her.
We took my in laws to a Village Tavern, and they grumbled about how fancy and expensive it was. I ordered for the both of them, and fortinately my father in law didn't make some offensive racial comment to the Black waiter. Still, I needed 2 stoli martinis to make it through my visit.
The Ds and Thomas had a blast at Lady Gaga, and are sleeping in. D1 and Thomas head back to Jacksonville today, and then Gainesville tomorrow. D1 will commence her final UF semester.
I agree with Wifey -- we're going to miss D1 AND her wonderful puppy. She's won a place in our hearts, and now has utility: she can help control the rats!
She hops into my lap, and licks my face. She also has an adorable habit of finding a napping human, and curling up around his or her head. I'm told this is a "Mads hat."
This morning, she was romping around in the back yard, on this chilly January morning, and dragged what I thought was a small piece of a tree into the family room. I looked closer --it was a dead rat! For all I know, she might have even killed it outside. Wow --she's a real dog, too!
Yesterday Wifey and I traveled the parent circuit. First we saw my mother, and she seemed happy enough. Wifey bought her a new wardrobe, since she (Mom, not Wifey) has shrunk so much her old clothes hang on her. She seemed to enjoy the gifts.
Later, I told her that when she needed cash, she simply needed to have her aide take her to the bank, and she could use her debit card to withdraw what she needed. I've taken over her finances, and the only transaction she makes is paying a cleaning lady and Louise, her drive and assistant.
She called me this am, having "been up worrying the whole night" about the simple instruction. She's going to have Louise call me this am, and I plan to take over even that simplest of operation --paying for rides. Everything is so daunting.
Wifey's prediction is right --we're going to have to move her to Miami, probably this year, so Wifey and I can be closer to her. She really needs family visits at least a few times per week, and Delray Beach is just too far. Once she's closer, we can keep a closer eye on her.
She'd prefer to stay in her condo, where she's been for 30 years, but that just won't be in the cards very soon. Her decline is going to force a move sooner than later.
Next stop --Wifey's folks. Her mother, 85, is fit as a fiddle --even worrying about her weight. She led me to her condo's trash room to throw out a plant, and I could barely keep up with her.
We took my in laws to a Village Tavern, and they grumbled about how fancy and expensive it was. I ordered for the both of them, and fortinately my father in law didn't make some offensive racial comment to the Black waiter. Still, I needed 2 stoli martinis to make it through my visit.
The Ds and Thomas had a blast at Lady Gaga, and are sleeping in. D1 and Thomas head back to Jacksonville today, and then Gainesville tomorrow. D1 will commence her final UF semester.
I agree with Wifey -- we're going to miss D1 AND her wonderful puppy. She's won a place in our hearts, and now has utility: she can help control the rats!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Families
Wifey and I have long admired our friend Norman's extended family. He used to be married to Julie, and we'd visit for birthday parties for their 3 sons, and it always seemed that everyone got on so well.
Norman and Julie split up a few years back, and Norman married Deb, a very classy Canadian. They now live in a beautifully renovated house, and yesterday hosted a New Year's Day brunch. We still admire their family...
There qwas Norman in the kitchen, making waffles for his nephews and nieces, as well as the kids of some of his law partners. His parents, blessedly still alive were there, along with his sister and brothers, all with their now grown kids. They're an old Miami Jewish family, and seem to truly savor their time together.
As we left, Wifey turned to me and said "Well -where is THEIR family pathology?" I'm sure it's somewhere, deeper, but surely not apparent, and being among them was a stellar way to start 2010.
I spent the rest of the day watching college football and taking a prodigious nap. I only left the house later, briefly, to drive the girls to Blockbuster (tm) to take out a TV series. We talked about the demise of that company, due to NetFlix and all the computer availability of shows. We remembered going to the video store when the Ds were little, on a Saturday night, and finding it packed with families renting movies. The Ds realize their old enough now to watch corporate births and deaths...
Today, Wifey and I are doing the octogenarian circuit --first visiting ancient Grandma Sunny, and then taking HER parents for a late anniversary lunch, at some diner they like in Broward. In the back of our minds is the question of how many more turns of the year these 3 will see...
The Ds, D1's boyfriend Thomas, and D2's friend Rebecca, are going to see a pop performer called Lady Gaga. It's at the Knight Center, attached to the hotel where Wifey and I married 23 years ago tomorrow.
As a former English major, I can never let symbolism pass, and this week was DRIPPING with it. D1 attended a New Year's Eve party across the street from South Miami Hospital, where she was born, and now BOTH Ds are heading to a show in the same buliding where our family started. Joyce and his Dublin ain't got nothing on us!
Paths cross, people come, and people go. A lot happens...
Norman and Julie split up a few years back, and Norman married Deb, a very classy Canadian. They now live in a beautifully renovated house, and yesterday hosted a New Year's Day brunch. We still admire their family...
There qwas Norman in the kitchen, making waffles for his nephews and nieces, as well as the kids of some of his law partners. His parents, blessedly still alive were there, along with his sister and brothers, all with their now grown kids. They're an old Miami Jewish family, and seem to truly savor their time together.
As we left, Wifey turned to me and said "Well -where is THEIR family pathology?" I'm sure it's somewhere, deeper, but surely not apparent, and being among them was a stellar way to start 2010.
I spent the rest of the day watching college football and taking a prodigious nap. I only left the house later, briefly, to drive the girls to Blockbuster (tm) to take out a TV series. We talked about the demise of that company, due to NetFlix and all the computer availability of shows. We remembered going to the video store when the Ds were little, on a Saturday night, and finding it packed with families renting movies. The Ds realize their old enough now to watch corporate births and deaths...
Today, Wifey and I are doing the octogenarian circuit --first visiting ancient Grandma Sunny, and then taking HER parents for a late anniversary lunch, at some diner they like in Broward. In the back of our minds is the question of how many more turns of the year these 3 will see...
The Ds, D1's boyfriend Thomas, and D2's friend Rebecca, are going to see a pop performer called Lady Gaga. It's at the Knight Center, attached to the hotel where Wifey and I married 23 years ago tomorrow.
As a former English major, I can never let symbolism pass, and this week was DRIPPING with it. D1 attended a New Year's Eve party across the street from South Miami Hospital, where she was born, and now BOTH Ds are heading to a show in the same buliding where our family started. Joyce and his Dublin ain't got nothing on us!
Paths cross, people come, and people go. A lot happens...
Friday, January 1, 2010
Coming Full Circle
In the early years of our time together, Wifey and I always hosted big New Year's Eve parties. In our first house, which was smaller than 15oo square feet, we once had over 100 people attend.
There were parties where faded rock stars sang, and work friends announced they had to leave at 11:30 pm to rush back to their Hialeah apartment so they could "synchronize new year sex." (I never learned whether they were succesful).
Our last big party was at our last house, for the '99-'00 event. We probably had 50-60 folks there, including a bunch of sleep over guests.
Over the past few years, we've been partial hosts for progressive neighborhood dinners, and last year we actually went out to a club in Coral Gables to hear a fine local blues musician.
As the Ds got older, sometimes we'd drop them at parties.
Well, last night, D2 went to a big bash, where one of her friends, a budding DJ, hosted 50 guests.
And, D1 and her boyfriend Thomas, both 21, went to Fox's. And here's the kicker --Wifey and I DROVE them over there! They didn't want to drive, of course, so Dad was the chauffeur again! I loved it!
D1 looked gorgeous as she left the house, as did D1. They both wore black, and were elegant. D2 and I spoke shortly after midnight, and she sounded as excited as my not too effusive teenager ever gets.
D1 called to tell me my favorite waiter at Fox's, Nelson, was taking care of them. I spoke to Nelson, an affable Puerto Rican chap, and he promised he'd watch out for and take good care of my "stunning" daughter.
He must have been succesful, as D1 and Thomas, laughing out loud, crackled up the gravel driveway at about 3:30 this am.
So, it's the first day of 2010, and I'm the only one awake. What else is new?
Wifey and I are heading to my old, dear friend Norman's for a New Year's Day brunch. His lovely wife Deb is back from her native Canada, and the two of them are gracious and funny. One of my resolutions is to see more of them in 2010.
And, of course a major resolution, is to continue to savor life. Who knew that I'd still get to drive my grown up daughters to parties?
There were parties where faded rock stars sang, and work friends announced they had to leave at 11:30 pm to rush back to their Hialeah apartment so they could "synchronize new year sex." (I never learned whether they were succesful).
Our last big party was at our last house, for the '99-'00 event. We probably had 50-60 folks there, including a bunch of sleep over guests.
Over the past few years, we've been partial hosts for progressive neighborhood dinners, and last year we actually went out to a club in Coral Gables to hear a fine local blues musician.
As the Ds got older, sometimes we'd drop them at parties.
Well, last night, D2 went to a big bash, where one of her friends, a budding DJ, hosted 50 guests.
And, D1 and her boyfriend Thomas, both 21, went to Fox's. And here's the kicker --Wifey and I DROVE them over there! They didn't want to drive, of course, so Dad was the chauffeur again! I loved it!
D1 looked gorgeous as she left the house, as did D1. They both wore black, and were elegant. D2 and I spoke shortly after midnight, and she sounded as excited as my not too effusive teenager ever gets.
D1 called to tell me my favorite waiter at Fox's, Nelson, was taking care of them. I spoke to Nelson, an affable Puerto Rican chap, and he promised he'd watch out for and take good care of my "stunning" daughter.
He must have been succesful, as D1 and Thomas, laughing out loud, crackled up the gravel driveway at about 3:30 this am.
So, it's the first day of 2010, and I'm the only one awake. What else is new?
Wifey and I are heading to my old, dear friend Norman's for a New Year's Day brunch. His lovely wife Deb is back from her native Canada, and the two of them are gracious and funny. One of my resolutions is to see more of them in 2010.
And, of course a major resolution, is to continue to savor life. Who knew that I'd still get to drive my grown up daughters to parties?
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