The Long and Winding Road

I have loved the Beatles since I can remember. When I was 6 or 7, my sister took me shopping one day, and a local store called Genovese has a record department. She told me to pick out an album, and I did: the Beatles "Magical Mystery Tour." I took it home and played it on our family's gray, primitive stereo player, and I played it over and over again. The album came with a picture book that followed the British TV special that accompanied the album, and I read each page, along with a strong memorization of the lyrics. I still have the album, all these years later, and it's been through many moves and Hurricane Andrew. Now it sits in a wall unit in a room above our garage where mold has been found -- we're awaiting word from the insurance company about remediating the situation. I may have to finally toss my first Beatles album... Several years after the shopping trip, my sister had me stay with her and her young husband in NYC, in their apartment on the Upper West Side. I must have been about 9 or so, and one of the reasons I thought my brother in law Jeff was the coolest older guy I knew was because he loved the Beatles, too. One evening during my stay, he called me over the the TV set. A show was featuring an animated take on "The Long and Winding Road." I remember parts of it to this day -- a prisoner was released, and had to find his way back to his wife or girlfriend's house, as the soaring and beautiful voice of Paul McCartney accompanied his journey. I was young, but I guess destined even then to be an English major, albeit one who is always a sucker for the obvious symbolism. And sure enough, it turns out that life for all of us is indeed a long and winding road, where many times we're alone, and many times we cry. But still, as the song teaches, we're lead back -- to SOMETHING. And so it is with a young man I know well -- who turns 33 this month. His has been a very long and winding road. He's still out on that road, and I pray he returns home safely.

And A Fine St. Paddy's Day...

I grew up on mythical Isle of Long, and my friends were either Jewish or Catholic. In fact, as kids that's what we asked of each other. I recall one friend, Lee Ann, telling the class she was "Episcopalian," and we all giggled because of the part of the name that had "piss" in it. Other than Lee Ann, I think most of my friends were one of the NY Ethnic Two. Also, their ancestral homelands were either Ireland, Italy, or Eastern Europe for the Jews. The only Hispanic kid was named Ralph Ramirez, short for Rafael, and he was Puerto Rican and a foster child of a Jewish family. And so on Long Island, St. Patrick's Day was a big deal. You wore green to school, and if you happened to wear orange, teachers like Miss Dempsey and Mrs. Raynor said you were pro British and insulting. I stuck to green. (Years later, D2 came home from First grade, smiling and laughing that her teacher Mrs. Cochran had pinched her on St. Patrick's Day for not wearing green. But D2 couldn't stop laughing -- she said the pinch "really" came from a lebrechaun... Years ago, business called me to NYC in March, and I stayed at the Plaze Hotel on 5th Avenue. I watched the famous parade go by -- thousands of NY cops and firemen -- and more bagpipes than I ever hope to hear again. Bagpipes are an instrument that, to me, sounds great for about 15 minutes, after which it's as pleasant as nails on a blackboard. I was done with my depositions early, and I took part in that great celebration -- the parade participants all filed into bars off 5th Avenue, and drank heartily. I met a group of LI firemen, and when I told them I moved to Miami, was asked how it was living with "all dem Puerto Ricans you got down dere." I replied that Miami's Hispanics were mostly Cuban. "Same difference!" was the reply. Locally, I prefer JohnMartin's Pub on the Day -- they block off the street in front and put on quite a party. This year I emailed my friends Pat and Vince -- both fully Irish -- and told them I wished to celebrate St. Paddy's Day with 2 actual Irish guys. Both were Catholic school raised -- in Pittsburgh and LA -- and fit the bill. We plan on going to Mary Brickell Village, a place we visited last year, where the pub Fado hosts a grand time as well. And, as the true Irish guys they are, they very much appreciate the young Latinas who also love to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and as a "guest" of their holiday I think it my duty to watch along with them. And so may it be a fine St. Patrick's Day to all. Somehow, to me, Purim as a celebratory holiday, doesn't quite cut it, although a poppy seed hamantaschen is ok...

The Retiring Professor

In 1980, U Miami's new Religious Studies Chair, Jim Ash, recruited several young superstar professors. Jim was a true Willy Wonka/Music Man type fellow, and he convinced these academic heavyweights from Duke and U Chicago to come to Coral Gables to help lift UM out of its Sun Tan U reputation. It worked. I was an undergrad in those days, and took several classes with Steve Sapp. Steve and I became friends, and he and his wife Mary even asked me to watch their young sons when they attended an out of town event. I moved into the house, fed the boys, and got them off to school for a few days. They're now accomplished men -- Eric a political consultant in D.C. and David a monstrously succesful public interest lawyer in California. Anyway, after 35 years as a professor, Steve decided to retire, to move to Virginia to be closer to his eldest son, daughter in law, and grandson. And there's a granddaughter on the way. Steve has been one of my true mentors in life, and last night one of his long time colleagues, Dan Pals, hosted a retirement party. It was lovely. I was the only former student there, and Steve's colleagues roasted him good naturedly. We ate and drank and talked of years gone by. Another colleague, Dave Kling, read some exerpts from letters he collected from former students and colleagues. They put these all in a book which they gave to Steve. Dave estimated that Steve has taught nearly 20,000 students. Many, like me, remained dear friends. Steve is an expert on Ethics, Human Sexuality, and Aging. He joked that over the years, he's been his own research subject -- particularly in aging, as he approaches 70. In two weeks, the university is hosting a retirement party for Mary -- also a long time UM employee, in the Provost's office. Apparently there's a rule that only administrators' retirement parties can be held on campus. Wifey and I plan to attend, to also say thanks and goodbye to our dear friend. On the way home, it occurred to me that one thing the Ds missed out on was forging friendships with their college professors. Maybe it's because UF is so large, or maybe times have changed, but there are 4-5 former professors I still count as friends. We plan to visit Steve and Mary in Virginia, and gave them an open invite to stay with us when they return to Miami. After 35 years in South Florida, I have a feeling they might need some respite from winter weather. Some of the new faculty attended last night, and they looked to be about the Ds' age. They were close -- early 30s, newly minted PhDs. In deciding to retire, one of the factors to Steve was the understanding that older professionals OUGHT to move aside -- to give younger folks an opportunity. That's so typical of him -- doing what's best for the greater number. Somehow, though, I don't see Steve just hanging on a golf course or club. He's a born teacher, and will continue to teach. American U and GW students are in for a huge treat...

The Abdication of the Committee Chair

Sometimes I do thinks, like Forrest Gump, for no particular reason. Last weekend I decided to give up my position as the welcome guy in our homeowner's association. It wasn't a hard task, but I figured that after serving in the position for 10 years, it was time for someone else to keep track of the new neighbors, go buy cheap but drinkable wine, and ask the president for another "welcome package" which contains the directory and helpful advice, namely, DON'T pluck any ferns, as they may be endangered. So I emailed the Pres and Treasurer, and then emailed another neighbor and asked if she wanted to take over. She said yes, and so the changing of the guard was complete. Ha. As if. The neighbor I asked, whose name is eerily similar to the fictional character who died in a tragic kiln explosion at Emily Dickenson College in "Animal House," except that her name is Ann instead of Fawn, happens to be a realtor. And, she happens to get many of the local listings. Our venerable board member, and by venerable I mean 94, is also a realtor, and despite her advanced age, continues to get new listings. She's a real cool lady, and, self described "Non shrinking violet." Well, it seems the rest of the board is fearful of naming Ann, lest she "use this position" for "personal gain" in contravention of the strict rules of homeowner's associations which exist in the minds of the people who take these things very seriously. There have been several emails back and forth discussing the appropriateness of allowing Ann to be the person who delivers the bottle of wine and "Howdy Neighbor!" greeting. This cracks me up, although I have not been guffawing as loudly as I was during the previous neigbhorhood kerfuffles: one involving peafowl, and the other dog poop. Those were truly epically hilarious events -- this one is just puerile. Wifey, who has far more patience and tolerance for following rules than I, continues to serve as Crime Watch Chair, and also helps keep the directory current. Thankfully, being Crime Watch Chair in our over patrolled 'hood is tantamount to being the keeper of wafers and sacrificial wine at an Orthodox shul, but Wifey soldiers on. As for me, I can now descent into unfettered curmudgeonliness -- free to be a wise ass without worry of exposing the Homeowner's Association to libel or slander attacks. The whole thing has reinforced that I can never live in a place with any more control than this -- like zero lot line homes with an association with real power, or worse, a condo. No, I may just live out my years here, like the 94 year old realtor, or our neighbor Irv, who is 93 and still playing golf and cheering the Canes. It could be worse...

The Block Party

Ah, I become my beloved father more each year...When I was a boy, I asked why he never joined any social groups, or even took part in weekly card games, like some of my friends' fathers did. He'd reply, simply, "Well, I'm not a joiner." He was shaped by his experiences during WW II. He was compelled to join the army,and served without question, as many of his generation did, but he was never happy about it. He developed a healthy distrust of groups, and of being told what to do and when, so that in his free time, he avoided those entanglements religiously. Religion, too, by the way. Although he was a proud Jew, and Zionist, he never joined a Temple. The first time some member of the brotherhood would have directed him to do something stupid, he'd have been out the door. Well, I was and have been more of a joiner. I served on several committees at UM, and got involved for awhile in our synagogue. I'm more social than my father, and got enjoyment from my many groups. When we moved to our current home, nearly 15 years ago, I became the welcome chair, since the job was simply to greet new neighbors with a bottle of wine and the local directory. Our voluntary association is supposed to have a yearly party. Wifey and I hosted one when we moved in -- we sprang for the booze and appetizers. It was a nice party, but other than our friend Diane, who hosted two times, no other neighbors would have the party. So it was switched to an outdoor block party, and somehow the last one took place 4 years ago. This year, Wifey, the crime watch chair reached out to the Pinecrest Police about their program. It's funny -- Pinecrest has very low crime, and our 'hood, with an off duty FHP trooper, has less still. But I guess one can never be too careful... Anyway, the public service officer told Wifey that our rich Village pays for food and sodas for neighborhood groups that host crime watch meetings -- and they prefer block parties. So Wifey put into motion this year's party, and it took place today. Over 80 people responded they'd come, but since people typically suck, only about 60 did, and the light rain drove many away early. Still, the sergeant got to give his talk, which was essentially "Call us about any minority people in the hood NOT holding leaf blowers..." He didn't say it that way, of course, it was "Call at once if anyone who DOESN'T BELONG is there," but the meaning was the same. And our nice array of neighbors was in attendance -- from a young wife who was dressed provocatively, to Bobbe, the 94 year old original resident. Bobbe's neighbor Betty was there, looking sad. She was selling her house, where she's lived since the 50s. She's moving to Delray Beach, to a luxury ALF on AIA. I congratulated her, but she was sad. "David -- the OLD people live in Palm Beach County!" She's 86. All in all it was a lovely event. Kids bounced in the bounce house, and our friend Lili painted a few faces before the rain came. No one took seriously my idea of the last hour being "Adult Bounce." The house remained safe for the kids. I came home and napped, and awoke to the happy text that D2 had made it safely back to UF for her final grad school weeks. She's due to graduate May 1. And I emailed our neighbor Ann, a very active realtor. She lists many of the houses in our area, and I offered to let HER become the welcome chair. She has accepted. I am withdrawing my group memberships, one at a time. I am becoming more and more like my father, and I like it...

Trulucks

So about 4 years ago, or maybe it was 5, I forgot to send a lease renewal letter to our landord SunTrust. When I remedied the mistake, they said -- sorry -- we have BIGGER plans for the space in the lobby of the building -- we were out. Turned out to be a great thing. The bank, back then still run by locals who cared, graciously built out space for our operation on the building's 4th floor -- keeping our rent well below market rates, a discount enjoyed all these years later by our friends and their friends. And as for our old space, which we occupied from '95-'10 or so, it became a restaurant and bar. When Trulucks first opened, I went often, and befriended all the staff. I also referred MANY people there. Over the years, typical of corporate run restaurants, all the staff have moved on -- except one bartender,Victor, an affable Peruano, and the piano player Mike. Last night we celebrated early my sister of another mother Mirta's birthday -- due to a back related cancellation, the Ds came by too, and it was a typical wonderful Thursday night. The girls drank Victor's pomegranit martinis -- I stuck to Tito's, and Mike played on. I gave D2 a bill for his jar -- he had a new singer who was fine, too, and when he looked up and told D2 he hadn't even played yet, she pointed to me, I saluted Mike, and he saluted back. His stylings have provided a lovely background to many great times at the bar there... A court reporter I know came by -- awaiting her friends. We caught up, happily -- her son, a grade schooler when she reported our cases, is now a Maryland freshman. We joked how a dear friend of mine once took her on a date, and she refused another because the friend was "too old for me." So people bellied up to the bar and bellied away, and we laughed and patted backs and celebrated the good in life, together. Good bars are far better uses of space than law firms.

The State of Cinema

Wifey LOVES movies, like I love Hurricanes football. When she plans a date night, or meeting old friends, her favorite thing to do is see a movie. Sadly, since her bad back has been rearing its ugly head, she has rarely gone over the past couple of years. I don't complain, since I only like SOME movies, and more often than not, I resent the time I waste watching bad ones. Wifey especially likes critically acclaimed movies, or at least she thinks she ought to watch them. So last night, she asked me to watch "Boyhood" with her -- apparently a partial winner at this year's Oscars. It was a lazy Saturday. We had breakfast with D2 at LOL, and then D2 ran/walked 2 miles around our 'hood, as I rode with her on my bike. Later, she and Wifey did some clothing stuff, which I never understand, and then Jonathan came to fetch D2 --they were headed for a double date with D1 and her boyfriend Adam on Miami Beach. So I aceded to Wifey's request, and she started "Boyhood." As I understand it, the movie was a big deal since it took the director Richard Linklater 12 years to make it -- he filmed over that span so he could follow 2 kids from childhood through, in the boy's case, high school graduation. The movie was loooooooong. I watched, and the music and photography was pleasant enough, and as it was an "award winner," I kept waiting for something cool or dramatic to happen. It never did. The Mom divorced a nice enough guy, played by Ethan Hawke, because, as far as I could tell, he took the kids bowling instead of making them do homework. Mom moved to Houston and married her college professor, who had 2 kids, and all seemed well but he was a violent drunk. So Mom ended up with other people, including an implied lesbian relationship with a black woman, but maybe not, as the black woman came onto the Boy after he graduated. Wifey fast forwarded through a few years, but it was still onerous. I had the reaction I have often with bad movies -- they stole hours from my life that I'll never get back. Fortunately, neighbor Pat called and invited me across the street for some vodka and Heat game watching. I attended. The Heat lost, but it was a good game, and then we watched some college basketball, I think Arizona vs. Utah. Now THAT was spending quality time -- because Pat and I talked crucial things -- like Gators and Canes, and the stock market. So I'm done with movies for awhile, as I ought to be. I'll go if it's part of something else -- like going to the Gables Cinema with Deb and Norman, or the Cosford at UM with Mike and Loni. Then there's dinner, and being in great surroundings. But for the movie alone...NAH.