And When You're Rich They Think You Really Know

So 2016 is here, and one of the resolutions I'll probably keep until about February is to not give advice to people any more, unless they pay for it in my law practice. Actually, I've done less and less of it as the years have gone by, but I truly need to focus my efforts at more restraint. I have a dear friend who advises readily. In fact, I once dubbed him Bronson, after the early 70s TV show "Then Came Bronson," which was about a fellow who'd motorcycle into a town, fix whatever was wrong (usually something like a corrupt police force) and then bike away into the sunset. My buddy rides in, deems things to be a certain way, and then leaves. Typically things don't change, despite his best and heartfelt efforts. Wifey and I have stayed married for 29 years, so some call upon me for advice in that area. I've learned that people react to relationships uniquely, in the same way bodies react to drugs. One man may be perfectly happy in a situation another will deem untenable. It's certainly true for me -- I hear about situations all the time that make me wince -- and the man or woman in the relationship says it's perfectly acceptable. So my advice will be really only the obvious -- life is short -- either stay or go -- living in purgatory is indeed the worst. One area I've had success is in knowing who to refer people to -- I get called on to say who are the doctors, accountants, or lawyers to use, along with the best plumbers, septic tank people, etc... With rare exception, I've stopped recommending people, too. It seems things often go bad, and somehow I'm blamed, or end up having to consult for free. This happened recently with a lawyer -- the client first asked for my referral, ended up hiring someone I didn't know, and then still asked me how to proceed. The lawyer was poised to settle a case far too cheap -- I suggested a course of action, which the client took, and the settlement was for more than 10 times the amount it might have been. I'm happy for the client, of course, but some hack lawyer will now make a much fatter fee than he deserves. As Tony S says, what are ya gonna do? The doctor thing is definitely changing. A cousin I last spoke to during the Clinton administration called me about her mother -- since I had friends in the medical profession in Palm Beach County, could I ask about a vascular surgeon. I called Dr. Eric, and he gave me three names. I called the cousin back -- her Mom had been to all three, and found all three uncaring -- "interested only in her fat Medicare check," as she said. Now, I know the cousin is really upset about her dying Mom, and NO ONE would be satisfactory -- but next time I get the call, the answer will be "No -- my friends all died -- no one to recommend." It's funny, while I'm getting out of the referral business, Wifey seems to be getting in. About once a month she asks me for a recommendation -- typically in the medical field. My new response is "The UM MEd School website is a good place to look." People rarely take sage advice anyway. All they want is support and cheer leading. We all have to, in the end, cure ourselves. I have three separate financial people giving investment advice. When the market is up, their advice is good. When it's down or flat, like it was last year, their advice is questionable. But I do pay them, regardless. How dumb is that? I probably need to start by NOT following my own advice in life...

Back To The Walks

So it was a record hot December in Miami, which gave me a ready excuse to procrastinate about resuming my daily walks, but last night D1 gave me that doe eyed look that said "Dad -- I don't want you to drop before I have grandkids for you to meet," so I took the cliched route and pledged to eat better and exercise more in the new year. The leftover bagels from last Sunday's brunch are now safely gone (I polished them off), and breakfasts will be healthier oatmeal with fruit. Lunch will be taking the great line from the Sopranos, when Bobby toddled onto a scene "Ya know, you could eat a SALAD once in awhile." And I plan to walk at least 10 miles per week, global warming or not. I started last night, with the strange rescue dog. I only encountered the FHP trooper, and we exchanged New Year's greetings, and then I admired some of the lovely holiday lights my neighbors installed. This am I decided to go it dog-less, and the beauty of the route struck me, as always. We truly live in a tropical park, and the sights of the foliage and smells of the blooms are delightful. I encountered my neighbor Mike, a retired property management exec, whose daughter is a little older than D1. He told me Katie was married, to a Yale med school student, and they have a condo in the Gables. Katie works at her Dad's management company, and had a furry sister, a black lab named Sophie. Alas, Sophie was put down last year, but now there is Julia, a yellow pup who bounded over to me in the way only Labrador pups do -- all happiness and energy. We caught up about kids, and dogs -- classic suburban Dad stuff. And then I walked around the corner and encountered another neighbor, walking his dog. He's a long time government lawyer -- already over 25 years and another 8 to go, and we caught up on our kids. I told him about D1 opening her practice, and he said "Wow -- that's a big step for someone so young -- going out on her own," it it struck me that a professional who has always worked for a large organization would feel exactly that way. This fellow has always soldiered on dutifully, doing a good job, but if he had to start his own practice, would probably jump out of a building, instead. On the other hand, if I had to work in a large corporate setting, I'd jump out of the building, rather than put up with silly rules and power hungry bureaucrats... Different strokes, as the saying goes... So here's to a leaner Daddy in the USA as the year glides on... There ARE lots of reasons to want to stick around.

Out With The Old 2015

So Wifey and I decided to do something different for this NYE, but we couldn't decide what it would be. Both of the Ds were busy -- D2 going to the Mondrian on South Beach, and D1 attending a great party in Coconut Grove, so I suggested maybe getting a table at Ball and Chain, the cool retro nightclub in Little Havana. The great Tito Puente, Jr was playing, and a table for 6 was the not crazy price of $750.00. One by one my friends all begged off -- most to stay home, look at each other, and admit it was all over -- any semblance of youth and vitality. I wasn't giving up, not this year. Then we learned some couples were going to local seafood place Captain's Tavern -- a restaurant we attended several years in a row when our friend Crazy Sheryl was in town. Sheryl always has a way of making events fun, and for a few NYEs we went with her and friends. Mike and Loni said they'd come, and then Diane and John added on, too. The only problem with The Tavern is its nasty owner and host -- a Filipina woman who is akin to Seinfeld's Soup Nazi. The food and prices at the Tavern are good, but the woman told Stacy, the organizer, that our group of 14 needed to be "all present" by 6:15, and maybe she'd seat us by 8. This development led to a spate of texts from Wifey to our friends -- they then begged off. The Tavern wasn't Joe's, and the thought of starting off the year kow towing to a nasty restaurant owner didn't sound appealing. Wifey and I got dressed, and then realized our friends Mike and Loni and Diane and John were right -- so we begged off, too. Diane and John had reservations at a place in the Grove called Strada, and Wifey got them to add 2 more spaces. We fetched Diane and John and got to Strada at 8 -- Diane and I shared a bottle of Stag's Leap Cab, and we all feasted on the great food. From there we went back to Diane's condo, where she popped a bottle of Veuve, and we stood on the 14th floor balcony watching fireworks. We left around 11. We watched PitBull's NYE, which was far better than what's left of Dick Clark's Times Square show. Pitbull had Earth, Wind, and Fire, and Wifey danced. We got texts from the Ds, and then we lay awake in bed, and looked back and forward. This was the 31st NYE we spent together. For the first several, we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and then husband and wife. Somehow, over the years, we also became partners in real estate, most importantly, parents, and then caretakers of the elderly. We cared for my Mom until she passed, now going on three years, and we still care for Wifey's parents. It occurred to us that it's easy to forget our original relationship. I asked Wifey out and she accepted. So we're going into 2016 renewing that, and it makes us both happy. Plus, the Ds say I'm fat, and they're right, so I'll work on healthier eating as well. Tomorrow the Ds are joining a few of Wifey's friends for a delayed birthday celebration -- they're going to a luxury movie theatre that just opened in North Miami Beach. D2 is here until Sunday night, and then she heads back to NYC -- the weather will finally turn winter-like -- she'll go from the low 80s in her home to the teens... And a new year is upon us, on top of a string of truly awesome years. Maybe next year I'll go to the salsa place -- just Wifey and me.

Having the Pack Together

D2 moved to NYC in September, and hasn't been home to the 305 in nearly 4 months. We've visited her twice in that time, but there's nothing as great as having her here -- especially when she and D1 both stay over. That's happening now. Yesterday we hosted a brunch to meet D1's boyfriend Joey's family, and as expected, they were terrific folks. Jackie, Joey's Mom was there, with her three boys and one (so far) daughter in law, Vera. Joey's Dad was at work -- they recently bought a franchise of green, dry cleaners, and Sunday is the day he does his organization. We'll meet him at another time. Joey's family are Colombian Jews, and they first moved to Cincinnati when they came to the US. They were the only Latinos in their class, and the boys were welcomed because of their supposed soccer prowess. Roberto, the oldest, was called "The Brazilian" -- close enough, it seemed, for the clueless Ohioans... We ate at a lovely table set by Wifey, and talked of wonderful things. Vera, a Jewish Peruana, is also a research scientist at the U, and she regaled us with tales of keeping stem cell colonies alive -- the Ds wondered if they were like so many puppies... Vera is half Ashkenazi and half Sephardic, and her new husband Roberto, fully Sephardic, makes fun of her Ashkenazi ways...It seems the major difference to me is rice -- the Sepharads consider it a holy food, and to our Eastern European folks, it is something foreign... D2's man Jonathan was a no show, unfortunately, as he brought home a nasty virus from NYC. He's on the mend, and the Ds and their men are double dating tonight -- they can talk Venezuela versus Colombia -- which, near as I can tell, is sort of like NY versus New Jersey... No talk of marriages yet, but this lucky man would be absurdly lucky to have this pair of South American Jewish men as sons in law -- even if they'd rather watch soccer than real football. Jonathan is a Heat fan, too, and I think Joey might tolerate some roundball... After the company left, the Ds and Wifey and a surplus of dogs all assumed their posts on the family room couch, and it was sacred to me. I flash back to them as adorable toddlers somehow grown into beautiful women. Wifey was 26 when I met her -- between the Ds' ages, and somehow now my baby girls are women, too. D2 went to a get together at her lifelong friend Amanda's house -- daughter of my law school best friend Mike -- and came home late to share her room with D1. We still keep posted a drawing D1 did in kindergarten, in which she was asked to draw her "favorite thing to sleep with." She drew a little girl and a smaller one next to her -- her favorite thing to sleep with was her baby sister -- and 22 years on, little has changed. So we walk towards 2016, and there's no better way for me to celebrate it. Wifey and I celebrate our 29th anniversary on January 3, so the holiday season for us is always packed --wifey's birthday on December 25th, New Year's Eve, and then our anniversary. D1's man is heading to Utah to snowboard, and he asked D1 to come along, but she's politely begging off the zero degree temps, and reminded him she's starting her business right after the New Year. D2 and Jonathan have South Beach plans. Wifey and I are undecided. There's a great nightclub in Little Havana called Ball and Chain, and they have Tito Puente, Jr playing. I tried to entice some friends to go, but they've begged off so far. I posted a not about it on FaceBook, and the owner, who is the friend of a friend, personally invited us, so we'll see. However we ring in 2016, I am one cool, lucky Daddy in the USA.

Into Each Life Some Excrement Must Fall

So Wifey and I had a great trip to the Left Coast -- saw my nephew Henry and his wife Valerie, and my sister Sue. The 5 of us toured great wineries in Sonoma and Napa, and then spent three rainy but still great days in Half Moon Bay, where Steely Dan would have written, the Asian gentlemen sleep all day. We ate and drank exceptionally well, and took the red eye home yesterday am. I went to the office to toss out the last of 2015's junk mail, and returned to two flooded toilets and a bathtub with an inch of brown water. I'm no handy man, but Wifey is truly clueless --thinking it a bad coincidence that two toilets went on the blink at the same time! I explained it was a systemic problem -- a back up somewhere -- and called Smith Septic, one of my favorite companies. It's owned by Wendell Smith, now near 80, who has the sense of humor required of one who has literally dealt with shit for his entire career. The message was cheerful but upsetting -- they close EVERY year before Christmas through New Year's, but recommend emergencies call A Above All, their Homestead neighbor. I did, and Ken answered right away -- he could come by first thing next am. He called at 7 having just serviced his biggest customer -- the Fountainbleau on the Beach. He told me that baby wipes are a property owner's nightmare but a plumber's dream -- they clog the pumping stations and keep him busy. We recognized each other -- Ken had been out over 10 years ago to pump sludge out of the bottom of my fish pond -- Wendell Smith referred him -- as his company has the most powerful trucks. Ken is a little fellow -- maybe just 5 feet -- and also possessed of the great sense of humor required of a long career in the doody field. He opened our clean out, and put down first a high pressure hose, and later a metal snake. Sure enough -- some white paper products -- maybe feminine -- sloshed out into the septic tank. He had me flush toilets, and joy and flowing water returned to Villa Wifey. But not so fast... he said the reason for the clog was probably roots making their way into the line -- truly fixing the problem would take digging and cost $575. The pump out was only $150. I was going to have Ken return Sunday, but remembered D1's boyfriends parents are coming over to meet us, and having a septic guy there might not give the finest appearance. So we made a date for the following Sunday -- which happens to be Wifey and my 29th anniversary. I figure the symbolism is too perfect -- she's been puttnig up with my crap all these years, why not have a guy over who keeps the literal type flowing where it should. So the end of the year approaches, and for now, we have working plumbing. As it should be. Enjoying the greater things, and dealing with the excrement -- isn't that, at end, all it's about?

Bereft Equals Deprived

I spoke with a friend last night, and she was so empty of feeling, so sad, and even morose, I struggled for words. I came up with bereft, and its secondary meaning, which is deprived, as in deprived of feeling. She's dealing with a sick family member, and not the kind of sickness that either gets cured or ends swiftly in death. Rather, it goes on and on, like a years long tsunami, pulling all in its path to waste and ruin. What do you tell someone in that place? The sun will come out tomorrow? Truthfully, as bad as things are, they're only getting worse? Of course, for those who believe in the Big Man, there is an answer. Seek comfort in God, God has a plan, let things flow, there is a reason for all of this, but you can't see it now. I envy my truly religious friends, like Rabbi Yossi. He truly seems to know, in his heart and head, that the reason for ALL we see and hear and feel on this earth is because God says so. When I asked him the cliched question, about why our benevolent Creator allows us suffering, he offers the example of the toddler nearing a busy street. His father grabs him, maybe even gives him a spank, and says NO! To the toddler, who can't comprehend what's truly good for him, this admonition seems only mean and cruel -- let me go where I choose. Later, the toddler will realize his father/God was doing what was best for him. I don't know. I question so much about the whole thing. I do feel who I am, a Jew, and love the symbolism in our religion. Right now, it's Chanukah, and last night I wished the light of the menorah would brighten the darkness my friend is surrounded by. She was telling me she wanted to move, to change everything -- I offered practical advice: don't make permanent life choices when faced with a temporary crisis. But the crisis, sadly, isn't temporary. A sick relative can drain the colors out of all of life's paintings. All appears gray, and I, at least, am powerless to bring back the brightness. Still, tonight I'll turn the electric bulb on, for the third night of Chanukah. The luminosity, like chicken soup to a head cold, at least can't hurt.

Holiday Decorations

And so soon starts Chanukah...and what have you done? Yes, the Festival of Lights begins tomorrow, and the laborious task of decoration falls on me, as Wifey is not into it. So I have to walk all the way to the corner of the garage, dust off the electric menorah, which has great sentimental value, but I can't remember what it is, dust it off, plug it in by the window, and remember how many bulbs to nightly turn on. I'll fetch the regular menorah, too, and if D1 swings by, we'll actually light some candles and sing some songs. I think that menorah might have come from my mother, as I am the only one of three kids who cares about the Jewish holidays, but I don't recall that, either. Still, it's nice to see all the Christmas decorations around, in the stores, and in neighborhoods OTHER than Pinecrest, which seems to have so many Jews and RICH Christians for whom lights are declasse to really put on a good show. But when I drive through Kendall, and especially West Miami, and parts of town near the Gables, there are plenty of lights. Working class Cubans really seem to do it best... My Rabbi friend has invited us to the Falls, for a public menorah lighting, but I think Wifey and I will take a pasadena. We enjoyed these events when the Ds were little, but now Chanukah means only Wifey and the Ds buying themselves gifts and telling me they're from me. I have zero problem with that, as jewelry to me sort of all looks the same. Apparently I hit it right this year with Wifey's bracelet, which will serve as her Chanukah, birthday, AND, maybe anniversary gift, though the last is still under negotiation. December 25th is, of course, the shining height of the season, the day we celebrate the birth of our savior, the one we worship, and whose grace brings light to all of us: Wifey. We usually celebrate by going to a movie, but this year, we're going to lunch instead of dinner at Tropical Chinese, since D2 is arriving on an evening flight from NYC. So D1, her boyfriend Joey, and Wifey and I will head over for some dim sum. I invited Dr. Barry, who will be pulling his usual "I'm the only Jewish attending in the PICU so will take Xmas week" job, and he has said if the unit is quiet, he'll cruise the Dolphin to Palmetto and meet us for some lunch. And then comes New Year's Eve. The Ds and their boyfriends are all invited to the same big party in the Grove -- rich friends who are getting married the next day. Wifey and I haven't yet made plans, though I flirted with the idea of scoring some VIP tickets to see PitBull at the big Miami celebration at Bayfront Park, but the thought of slinky young Latinas twerking us as the hour of the rising Orange approached changed our minds...Wifey's mind, anyway... The Ds plans made me nostalgic for NYE of '86-'87. Wifey and I were to be married January 3rd, and so for NYE we had our "rehearsal dinner" at our tiny first house. My Mom and both sisters were there, as were my inlaws, who seemed at the time so old, and were actually very close to Wifey's age now. We brought in Chinese food, and most of our wedding party attended, and we ate and danced and "rehearsed" to the humorous script I had typed up, calling my Mom MOG (mother of groom) and my mother in law to be MOB (mother of bride). The following night, the Canes played Penn State for the National Championship, and my groomsmen gathered to watch, and eat the leftover Chinese food plus brought in pizzas. The Canes dominated, but Vinny Freaking Testaverde threw 4 picks, the last of which sealed the Canes loss. Several groomsmen looked up from their gloom and asked if I was going ahead with the wedding. Wifey didn't think that was funny. Well, we did, and the Canes won 4 more rings... So for us, the Holiday season starts with T Day, and goes through January 3, our anniversary. This year the number is 29. Nearly three decades. Time truly does fly. But that trusty menorah still lights...