One of the best things about FaceBook (tm) to me, other than how much money the stock has made D2, is when friends post videos of old song performances. This am, and old high school acquaintance posted Harry Chapin singing "Cat's in the Cradle," and it took me back in time.
I remember buying the album, "Verities and Balderdash," and knowing each song. "Cats" was a hit for Harry, who was from Long Island. One afternoon, my Dad and I sat in our den watching the Mike Douglas show -- we both liked it, as he had on guests from my Dad's WW II years as well as new guests appealing to Boomers. Harry Chapin came on and sang his song.
My Dad liked Chapin immediately. After the song, he turned to me, wistfully, and said "That doesn't describe us, right?" I laughed -- no, Dad, you are the exact OPPOSITE of the father in the song. I mean, here we were on a weekday afternoon, spending time together. Some Dads attended Little League games -- my Dad attended practices. No -- the concept of the father too busy for his son, until it was too late, was thankfully very foreign to me.
A big part of that was the luck of timing. I came along when my Dad was 42, and down to working one normal job from the three he worked after the war to support my Mom and two older sisters. As the 60s turned to the 70s, my father found financial success -- he was a top salesman for his company, Toscany, and many of his earned commissions came in without him having to actually go out and sell. A few big clients, like Alexander's stores, and Al's Pottery, paid him handsomely.
And most importantly, it gave him free time -- more than my other friends' Dads, who had to work regular hours. And my father spent that time with his family -- my Mom, Long Island sister and brother in law and their kids, and California sister when she would visit, or we would travel to the left coast to see her.
So I dug the song, for its story, like all of Chapin's stuff, but it didn't reflect my life.
I met Harry at my high school. We had a benefit night for the kids of Willowbrook, following a Geraldo Rivera investigative piece on them. Rivera and Chapin played in a charity basketball game in my school's gym, and as some kind of student representative, I met them both.
Years later, Chapin played at UM -- in the Spring of '80. I went to see him on the Patio, holding my freshman Bio test in hand -- I had received an A for the class. After the concert, he sat on a bench and signed autographs.
I handed him my exam, and said "Harry -- I'm a fellow Islander, and I got an A on my final. Would you sign it?" He smiled and said "I will if you contribute a buck to help feed the hungry in Miami. I mean, literally a buck." I took out a dollar (I probably had $10 all together) and slid it into the bucket. He signed the test -- I think I still have it somewhere among the detritus of my college days, stored in a container, probably getting moldy in the garage.
Of course, soon after that, Harry Chapin was dead -- killed in a crash on the Long Island Expressway -- or maybe of a heart attack that preceeded the crash. Either way -- he was gone too young.
But today he played on my computer's speakers, and for that and the warm memories, I am thankful.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Our Generation's Pearl Harbor Day
I was driving up Dixie Highway on a bright September morning, and Wifey called. "Good thing your office is on the ground floor," she said. "Someone just crashed a plane into a high floor at the World Trade Center." We both assumed it was some errant private pilot. I immediately thought of the historical crash of an Air Force bomber into the Empire State Building -- my Dad told me about that one.
By the time I got to Brickell, we knew more was going on. Wifey fetched the Ds from school, and called to confirm they were safe at home.
Paul and I had a case closing -- with our old boss Ed. Some folks from a trailer with a failed smoke detector were coming to the office to get their check -- a huge one -- and we were going to get paid, too. Ed and Paul met with the parents of the little girl -- her name was Cheyenne, as I recall -- and closed the case. I watched on an office TV as the second tower crumbled.
The clients left, and we let the staff leave, too. I was going to head home. Paul was already an empty nester -- his kids were both off at college. Ed said, in his famous way "Well, we gotta eat," and so we drove over to Morton's on Brickell, for a lunch of steaks and martinis.
The place was mostly empty, and we knew Florida's only involvement in the affair was that President W had been in Tampa reading to grade school kids when word of the attack came in -- I still remember his goofy expression as he learned the information.
Ed and Paul and I talked -- I happened to know the most about Arab terrorists, and I shared my information with Paul and Ed. And it struck us -- we had all made 7 figures of money that day, our nation was under attack, and we were eating steaks and drinking martinis. There was really nothing else to do.
Of course, so much changed that day. Air travel became more of a hassle. We attacked Iraq -- as it turned out, for nothing at all. We ended up getting the mastermind of the terror stunt, Bin Ladin, years later after the loss of many more military lives.
But life goes on.
My father used to recall how he knew, while listening to the radio broadcast from FDR, that his life would change, and indeed it did -- over 4 years in the army. It ended with 2 atomic bombs. By the time I was a kid, lots of people were buying Japanese cars. My Dad taught me the absurdity in that -- mortal enemies became trading partners a few decades down the road.
It's different with the Islamic terrorists -- they continue very much to want us all dead. Thankfully they don't have the wherewithal to win.
Happily, I didn't know anyone killed in the 9/11 attacks. I was worried about the husband of one old friend -- he was a NYC cop, but he was out of harm's way.
But it still resonates. D2's man Jonathan works in finance -- he could have been one of the people in the Towers.
We're all very connected -- even if we think that staying safe in our houses immunizes us from the world's ills.
I pray we don't have another day like 9/11 -- at least not in our lifetimes.
By the time I got to Brickell, we knew more was going on. Wifey fetched the Ds from school, and called to confirm they were safe at home.
Paul and I had a case closing -- with our old boss Ed. Some folks from a trailer with a failed smoke detector were coming to the office to get their check -- a huge one -- and we were going to get paid, too. Ed and Paul met with the parents of the little girl -- her name was Cheyenne, as I recall -- and closed the case. I watched on an office TV as the second tower crumbled.
The clients left, and we let the staff leave, too. I was going to head home. Paul was already an empty nester -- his kids were both off at college. Ed said, in his famous way "Well, we gotta eat," and so we drove over to Morton's on Brickell, for a lunch of steaks and martinis.
The place was mostly empty, and we knew Florida's only involvement in the affair was that President W had been in Tampa reading to grade school kids when word of the attack came in -- I still remember his goofy expression as he learned the information.
Ed and Paul and I talked -- I happened to know the most about Arab terrorists, and I shared my information with Paul and Ed. And it struck us -- we had all made 7 figures of money that day, our nation was under attack, and we were eating steaks and drinking martinis. There was really nothing else to do.
Of course, so much changed that day. Air travel became more of a hassle. We attacked Iraq -- as it turned out, for nothing at all. We ended up getting the mastermind of the terror stunt, Bin Ladin, years later after the loss of many more military lives.
But life goes on.
My father used to recall how he knew, while listening to the radio broadcast from FDR, that his life would change, and indeed it did -- over 4 years in the army. It ended with 2 atomic bombs. By the time I was a kid, lots of people were buying Japanese cars. My Dad taught me the absurdity in that -- mortal enemies became trading partners a few decades down the road.
It's different with the Islamic terrorists -- they continue very much to want us all dead. Thankfully they don't have the wherewithal to win.
Happily, I didn't know anyone killed in the 9/11 attacks. I was worried about the husband of one old friend -- he was a NYC cop, but he was out of harm's way.
But it still resonates. D2's man Jonathan works in finance -- he could have been one of the people in the Towers.
We're all very connected -- even if we think that staying safe in our houses immunizes us from the world's ills.
I pray we don't have another day like 9/11 -- at least not in our lifetimes.
Monday, September 10, 2018
Guava Filled Challah
So we drove to Midtown and fetched D1 and Joey, and drove to Shorecrest to see their brand new house. I loved it -- every window has a view of ancient oak trees, and the layout of the place is terrific -- a gorgeous pool deck which you can see well from the second story master balcony. I joked that it's surely no "starter house," and D1 is a bit overwhelmed. But they'll settle in just wonderfully -- the mover's are coming to my house Wednesday, and I get my garage back from it's current state as a packed storage unit.
From there we drove the three minutes to Joey's parents -- they were hosting RH dinner. Jackie invited some cousins, and the house was filled with laughter and good will. Ricardo joked that we'd say the pre meal prayers in Hebrew, English, and "Mexican" -- a loving poke at the cousins who had moved from Bogota to Mexico City,and had their accents changed.
It being RH, the tradition is to eat sweet things, heralding a sweet year. They had the traditional apples dipped in honey, but they had something else -- something so awesome, I was, well, awed. Challah filled with guava. It was delicious.
The last time a food got to me like this, it was at Sammy's in the Lower East Side, where they served deep fried kreplach. That's Ashkenazi, of course, and the guava challah is Sephardic. The Sephardic food is better, I have to admit, and according to D1, healthier, too -- much more Middle Eastern than Eastern European.
We joked about the differences. Joey took a DNA test and is 15% Ashkenazi. Cousin Ernesto was dismayed -- apparently the Sephardim lampoon us as "gefilte fish eaters." They have a point -- gefilte fish might be one of the worst foods ever invented -- edible to me only when smothered in horseradish.
The cousins told tales of childhoods in Bogota -- featuring "Ibrahim," the Palestinian spice merchant who visited, comically. I loved watching Ricardo -- laughing to the point of tears. Apparently one of the cousins' fathers was once outraged when a Shabbat meal included quesadillas -- "The house doesn't smell like shabbat!" Everyone laughed at that memory.
As we left, we hugged Jackie and Ricardo tightly. I told them that I always considered myself a lucky man, but that level of blessedness soared when D1 married into their family. They said they felt the same way.
So we got to ring in 5779 in the right style -- surrounded by love, and warmth, and sweetness. And I have to find out where one buys this guava filled challah...
From there we drove the three minutes to Joey's parents -- they were hosting RH dinner. Jackie invited some cousins, and the house was filled with laughter and good will. Ricardo joked that we'd say the pre meal prayers in Hebrew, English, and "Mexican" -- a loving poke at the cousins who had moved from Bogota to Mexico City,and had their accents changed.
It being RH, the tradition is to eat sweet things, heralding a sweet year. They had the traditional apples dipped in honey, but they had something else -- something so awesome, I was, well, awed. Challah filled with guava. It was delicious.
The last time a food got to me like this, it was at Sammy's in the Lower East Side, where they served deep fried kreplach. That's Ashkenazi, of course, and the guava challah is Sephardic. The Sephardic food is better, I have to admit, and according to D1, healthier, too -- much more Middle Eastern than Eastern European.
We joked about the differences. Joey took a DNA test and is 15% Ashkenazi. Cousin Ernesto was dismayed -- apparently the Sephardim lampoon us as "gefilte fish eaters." They have a point -- gefilte fish might be one of the worst foods ever invented -- edible to me only when smothered in horseradish.
The cousins told tales of childhoods in Bogota -- featuring "Ibrahim," the Palestinian spice merchant who visited, comically. I loved watching Ricardo -- laughing to the point of tears. Apparently one of the cousins' fathers was once outraged when a Shabbat meal included quesadillas -- "The house doesn't smell like shabbat!" Everyone laughed at that memory.
As we left, we hugged Jackie and Ricardo tightly. I told them that I always considered myself a lucky man, but that level of blessedness soared when D1 married into their family. They said they felt the same way.
So we got to ring in 5779 in the right style -- surrounded by love, and warmth, and sweetness. And I have to find out where one buys this guava filled challah...
Sunday, September 9, 2018
Home Opener
A lovely Saturday...Paul and Alex stopped by with Roger and Enid, and Wifey and I got some future grandparent practice, with those gorgeous and active kids. It reminded us we'd better get in better shape if we're going to be involved grandparents of young kids...we welcome the challenge.
The Canes had their home opener, and both my legal (Wifey) and football (Mirta) wives were busy, so I headed up the Palmetto myself. My friend Steve the Cop wanted to go, and he met me there after his shift keeping MIA safe from terrorists and drunk tourists -- luckily many more of the latter.
Mike and Chris and Chris's lady were already in the Blue lot, and while Mike set up his frozen drink machine, I sampled some of the gluten free Stoli I brought. I couldn't taste the absence of gluten. Barry and his boys joined us -- Scott flew down for the Jewish New Year, and got to see 2 straight Canes games.
Then I ambled over to Norman and Maria's tailgate, where Maria was putting out her delicious kosher style pork sandwiches. I caught up with 2/3 of Norman's son brigade -- Michael is headed back to Israel this week. Old friend Jim was there with his young man Jake -- they were double dipping -- Canes Saturday, and Fins today.
After a few more Stoli shots, Steve and our mutual friend Darren, a former Cane, wanted to see Mike's set up, so we walked back over there. Darren knew Mike's sister from the days where Ed used to host freshman who didn't travel -- these days the NCAA doesn't allow that stuff. Then we headed into the stadium.
The game, as expected, was a joke. The Canes won 77-0 -- their largest margin of victory ever, against a Savannah State team that would have lost to many local high school teams. Still -- we enjoyed watching our boys bounce back from their awful first game -- and we got to see the better, younger quarterbacks who will take over from our current mediocre one.
Steve and Darren left in the third quarter, to go to a rib place in Perrine owned by Darren's friend. They invited me, but ribs at 930 pm didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I caught up with Scott -- he's thoroughly enjoying his senior year at Maryland.
An old man was in front -- asking about Eric, who used to sit near him in the Orange Bowl. He was a nice enough fellow -- I figured he was about 70 -- and then he told us he graduated UM in '81, He was only two years older than I am! Caramba. Scott and Josh assured us that Barry and I looked much younger. I didn't believe them...
I listened to the post game on the way home -- I flew -- took me less than half an hour. Canes games are such an important part of my happy leisure time -- being close is terrific for me.
Right after I pulled in, Wifey was behind me -- she had gone to a movie at the Tower Theater in Little Havana with her friend Maureen and some of her crew.
I turned on the TV and watched the Gators lose to Kentucky for the first time in 32 years. I really wish I could get over that schadenfreude -- both Ds attended UF -- a total of three degrees between them. But I still love watching them lose.
Speaking of schadenfreude -- Fredo -- the betraying lawyer, went to both UVA and UF. They BOTH lost yesterday. I enjoyed that immensely.
Of course, tonight starts Rosh Hashonah, the Jewish New Year, and a major theme of these days is forgiveness. I forgive all other trespasses, but Fredo -- well, he's nothing to me -- not a brother, not a friend, as Michael said in II.
We have a dinner planned at Joey's parents' house -- near D1 and Joey's new house. So we'll stop there first, and then meet the awesome suegros.
Tomorrow I don't plan on attending services, but I will stay home. D2 and I discussed this earlier -- in 1987 Wifey and I were out with our friends Kathy and Ronnie. Ronnie is an Ecuadorean Jew, and he asked where we attended services. I told him we didn't, and in fact I worked on the High Holidays. Ronnie admonished me -- don't disrespect your own people, even if you don't go to services. His words resonated with me -- so I will stay away from the office. I may even drive over to Matheson Hammock and symbolically toss my sins into the water.
D2 will do the same -- no work tomorrow, but also skipping services.
Regardless -- I ask the Big Man for a healthy and sweet new year. I savor all of the days -- and hope there are plenty more to come...
The Canes had their home opener, and both my legal (Wifey) and football (Mirta) wives were busy, so I headed up the Palmetto myself. My friend Steve the Cop wanted to go, and he met me there after his shift keeping MIA safe from terrorists and drunk tourists -- luckily many more of the latter.
Mike and Chris and Chris's lady were already in the Blue lot, and while Mike set up his frozen drink machine, I sampled some of the gluten free Stoli I brought. I couldn't taste the absence of gluten. Barry and his boys joined us -- Scott flew down for the Jewish New Year, and got to see 2 straight Canes games.
Then I ambled over to Norman and Maria's tailgate, where Maria was putting out her delicious kosher style pork sandwiches. I caught up with 2/3 of Norman's son brigade -- Michael is headed back to Israel this week. Old friend Jim was there with his young man Jake -- they were double dipping -- Canes Saturday, and Fins today.
After a few more Stoli shots, Steve and our mutual friend Darren, a former Cane, wanted to see Mike's set up, so we walked back over there. Darren knew Mike's sister from the days where Ed used to host freshman who didn't travel -- these days the NCAA doesn't allow that stuff. Then we headed into the stadium.
The game, as expected, was a joke. The Canes won 77-0 -- their largest margin of victory ever, against a Savannah State team that would have lost to many local high school teams. Still -- we enjoyed watching our boys bounce back from their awful first game -- and we got to see the better, younger quarterbacks who will take over from our current mediocre one.
Steve and Darren left in the third quarter, to go to a rib place in Perrine owned by Darren's friend. They invited me, but ribs at 930 pm didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I caught up with Scott -- he's thoroughly enjoying his senior year at Maryland.
An old man was in front -- asking about Eric, who used to sit near him in the Orange Bowl. He was a nice enough fellow -- I figured he was about 70 -- and then he told us he graduated UM in '81, He was only two years older than I am! Caramba. Scott and Josh assured us that Barry and I looked much younger. I didn't believe them...
I listened to the post game on the way home -- I flew -- took me less than half an hour. Canes games are such an important part of my happy leisure time -- being close is terrific for me.
Right after I pulled in, Wifey was behind me -- she had gone to a movie at the Tower Theater in Little Havana with her friend Maureen and some of her crew.
I turned on the TV and watched the Gators lose to Kentucky for the first time in 32 years. I really wish I could get over that schadenfreude -- both Ds attended UF -- a total of three degrees between them. But I still love watching them lose.
Speaking of schadenfreude -- Fredo -- the betraying lawyer, went to both UVA and UF. They BOTH lost yesterday. I enjoyed that immensely.
Of course, tonight starts Rosh Hashonah, the Jewish New Year, and a major theme of these days is forgiveness. I forgive all other trespasses, but Fredo -- well, he's nothing to me -- not a brother, not a friend, as Michael said in II.
We have a dinner planned at Joey's parents' house -- near D1 and Joey's new house. So we'll stop there first, and then meet the awesome suegros.
Tomorrow I don't plan on attending services, but I will stay home. D2 and I discussed this earlier -- in 1987 Wifey and I were out with our friends Kathy and Ronnie. Ronnie is an Ecuadorean Jew, and he asked where we attended services. I told him we didn't, and in fact I worked on the High Holidays. Ronnie admonished me -- don't disrespect your own people, even if you don't go to services. His words resonated with me -- so I will stay away from the office. I may even drive over to Matheson Hammock and symbolically toss my sins into the water.
D2 will do the same -- no work tomorrow, but also skipping services.
Regardless -- I ask the Big Man for a healthy and sweet new year. I savor all of the days -- and hope there are plenty more to come...
Saturday, September 8, 2018
First Closing
So yesterday I was treated to one of those pleasures lucky parents of adult children get: D1 and Joey's first house closing.
It was held at the developer's office on 72 Ave, just North of Miller Road. I took the Spoiled Spaniel, who has been bunking here since D1 went to a wedding in Utah, but was needed for a therapy dog session this am. The Spaniel attracted the attention of the not appearance challenged receptionist -- she asked if she could have her. No -- D1 wouldn't have liked that.
Salome (her real name) came, from the developer, followed by Joey's cousin Isaac, who is the realtor, and finally Jose, the real estate attorney. Salome kept the papers in order, and all went smoothly.
The Spaniel snored loudly on the floor. She found the legal stuff boring.
At the end, Salome handed D1 and Joey the keys to their new house. I snapped a photo. It was grand. I told them this "starter house" cost 10 times what Wifey and I paid for our first place. Times have changed.
I remembered our first closing -- also in September, but the year was 1986. My Mom had given each of her three kids a $10K gift, and we used $8650 of that for our down payment. We were so thankful to her. We still are.
When we walked into our 1400 square foot, tree covered house on SW 125 Terrace, we felt like true grown ups. I was 25 and Wifey was 29. We have lived double those years since...
Unlike me, Joey is very handy. He really looks forward to DIY projects. I found them daunting. He installed two Nest thermostats for us in about 10 minutes. I wouldn't even have attempted the feat. I can tell he's way excited to have his first house -- DIY projects in a high rise, his current place, are limited.
Sunday night begins the Jewish New Year. We're invited to Joey's parents for Rosh Hashonah dinner. They live just a few blocks from D1 and Joey. The plan is for us to go early -- Wifey is very good at helping to pack and unpack.
I figure moving into a new house during the New Year period must be a good sign. New beginnings all around.
D1 and Joey laughed at the note they signed. It said the note would be paid off in 2048 -- 30 years into the future. They know it's not likely they'll still be living in the house then. We've been in Villa Wifey 18 years -- by far the longest stretch in one place I've ever had.
Still, three decades have a way of flying by. It seems like a few years have passed since I took the Florida Bar. That was 32 years ago.
It's a blessing to mark the wonderful milestones -- and first house together is surely one of those. I thanked the Big Man on the way home, and asked that D1 and Joey's home be one of good health, love, and dare I hope ??? -- children.
Let it be so...
It was held at the developer's office on 72 Ave, just North of Miller Road. I took the Spoiled Spaniel, who has been bunking here since D1 went to a wedding in Utah, but was needed for a therapy dog session this am. The Spaniel attracted the attention of the not appearance challenged receptionist -- she asked if she could have her. No -- D1 wouldn't have liked that.
Salome (her real name) came, from the developer, followed by Joey's cousin Isaac, who is the realtor, and finally Jose, the real estate attorney. Salome kept the papers in order, and all went smoothly.
The Spaniel snored loudly on the floor. She found the legal stuff boring.
At the end, Salome handed D1 and Joey the keys to their new house. I snapped a photo. It was grand. I told them this "starter house" cost 10 times what Wifey and I paid for our first place. Times have changed.
I remembered our first closing -- also in September, but the year was 1986. My Mom had given each of her three kids a $10K gift, and we used $8650 of that for our down payment. We were so thankful to her. We still are.
When we walked into our 1400 square foot, tree covered house on SW 125 Terrace, we felt like true grown ups. I was 25 and Wifey was 29. We have lived double those years since...
Unlike me, Joey is very handy. He really looks forward to DIY projects. I found them daunting. He installed two Nest thermostats for us in about 10 minutes. I wouldn't even have attempted the feat. I can tell he's way excited to have his first house -- DIY projects in a high rise, his current place, are limited.
Sunday night begins the Jewish New Year. We're invited to Joey's parents for Rosh Hashonah dinner. They live just a few blocks from D1 and Joey. The plan is for us to go early -- Wifey is very good at helping to pack and unpack.
I figure moving into a new house during the New Year period must be a good sign. New beginnings all around.
D1 and Joey laughed at the note they signed. It said the note would be paid off in 2048 -- 30 years into the future. They know it's not likely they'll still be living in the house then. We've been in Villa Wifey 18 years -- by far the longest stretch in one place I've ever had.
Still, three decades have a way of flying by. It seems like a few years have passed since I took the Florida Bar. That was 32 years ago.
It's a blessing to mark the wonderful milestones -- and first house together is surely one of those. I thanked the Big Man on the way home, and asked that D1 and Joey's home be one of good health, love, and dare I hope ??? -- children.
Let it be so...
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
Deep In The Heart of Texas
So on Saturday am, Wifey and I ubered to MIA and had breakfast at the Centurion, where we met Paul and Patricia. And then we boarded the 7-3 for the flight to DFW. Mike and Loni had rented a SUV, but had to meet their girl Amanda, and so we Ubered to the hotel -- in a place called South Lake.
SouthLake was nice -- sort of like Weston. The hotel was abutting a Trulucks, so I felt right at home. We dropped our bags and then Mike fetched us -- he had the line on a bbq place called "Meat U Anywhere." Indeed, we had some of the best brisket we ever had. And then we learned something about Texas -- some counties have only wine and beer stores -- no liquor. So we drove to an abutting town and stocked up for Sunday.
That night Paul and Patricia stayed and ate at Trulucks, and we drove to Fort Worth, to the Stockyards, which used to be where the cows came home. Now it's South Beach in Western Gear -- packed with restaurants and bars.
We gathered in the basement of the Lone Star Bistro -- there were 20 of us at two tables -- and plenty of LSU fans. The waiter said he was "Switzerland." As we drank more, the "Let's Go Canes" cheers started, followed by "Tiger Bait." One fellow had an actual felt purple tiger tail attached to his jeans. Loni asked him if he realized that. He said, in perfect La drawl "Sure do, darlin' -- why don't you show us YOUR tail?"
There was another group, from Arkansas, and they were hilarious -- saying they only had 6th grade educations, and while they married their cousins, some of them looked like Melania Trump. Darriel ordered shots for them, and the waiter brought shots for ALL of us -- some kind of vanilla tasting stuff. We left the place very happy.
We walked around the corner and went to the White Elephant, which had an awesome outlaw country group. I really like Outlaw country, and the band was excellent. We two stepped, or maybe 5 stepped -- Wifey had a blast, and was shocked to see that the men really wore cowboy hats, and the women boots and hot pants. She decided it was an easier look than the skimpy clothing of South Beach.
Sunday we drove to the stadium -- Jerry's World -- and found great parking. Barry and his family saved the day -- no one of us remembered to buy food, and Donna provided for us wonderfully -- wraps, shrimp, ribs, and chicken. We did have plenty of alcohol, and had a fine tailgate.
We found our seats -- I had the best I ever had -- 30 yard line, 10 rows from the field. But the Canes sucked early and often -- the game was essentially lost by the second quarter. The "other than THAT, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you enjoy Dallas?" jokes started right away.
Monday we were true tourists. Mike took us to the 6th Floor Museum, where JFK was shot. They had a fascinating exhibit -- all about the JFK years, and a recreation of Oswald's perch. We spent a good few hours there -- very well done museum.
Tragedy made us hungry, so we found a great pizza place called Piggies, in the SMU campus. We ate heartily, and then headed to the George W Bush Library, also on the SMU campus. I'm no W fan, though the current idiot in the White House makes me long for his administration. Still, the library was gorgeous and well done -- especially the 9/11 exhibit. We all enjoyed ourselves.
That evening, Becky rejoined us, along with my my school friend Alison, who now lives in Keller. We compared our lives since we last saw each other -- in the late 80s. She had kids older -- a daughter is a college sophomore, and her son still in high school. They suffered a tragedy -- her husband was killed crossing a street near their house. But Alison has soldiered on -- no depression for her.
Tuesday we had breakfast at the hotel, and then off to DFW. I thought Tropical Storm Gordon might affect us, but only delayed our departure by a half hour.
We had left the dry heat of Dallas for the wet heat of Miami. It was lovely to get home.
SouthLake was nice -- sort of like Weston. The hotel was abutting a Trulucks, so I felt right at home. We dropped our bags and then Mike fetched us -- he had the line on a bbq place called "Meat U Anywhere." Indeed, we had some of the best brisket we ever had. And then we learned something about Texas -- some counties have only wine and beer stores -- no liquor. So we drove to an abutting town and stocked up for Sunday.
That night Paul and Patricia stayed and ate at Trulucks, and we drove to Fort Worth, to the Stockyards, which used to be where the cows came home. Now it's South Beach in Western Gear -- packed with restaurants and bars.
We gathered in the basement of the Lone Star Bistro -- there were 20 of us at two tables -- and plenty of LSU fans. The waiter said he was "Switzerland." As we drank more, the "Let's Go Canes" cheers started, followed by "Tiger Bait." One fellow had an actual felt purple tiger tail attached to his jeans. Loni asked him if he realized that. He said, in perfect La drawl "Sure do, darlin' -- why don't you show us YOUR tail?"
There was another group, from Arkansas, and they were hilarious -- saying they only had 6th grade educations, and while they married their cousins, some of them looked like Melania Trump. Darriel ordered shots for them, and the waiter brought shots for ALL of us -- some kind of vanilla tasting stuff. We left the place very happy.
We walked around the corner and went to the White Elephant, which had an awesome outlaw country group. I really like Outlaw country, and the band was excellent. We two stepped, or maybe 5 stepped -- Wifey had a blast, and was shocked to see that the men really wore cowboy hats, and the women boots and hot pants. She decided it was an easier look than the skimpy clothing of South Beach.
Sunday we drove to the stadium -- Jerry's World -- and found great parking. Barry and his family saved the day -- no one of us remembered to buy food, and Donna provided for us wonderfully -- wraps, shrimp, ribs, and chicken. We did have plenty of alcohol, and had a fine tailgate.
We found our seats -- I had the best I ever had -- 30 yard line, 10 rows from the field. But the Canes sucked early and often -- the game was essentially lost by the second quarter. The "other than THAT, Mrs. Kennedy, how did you enjoy Dallas?" jokes started right away.
Monday we were true tourists. Mike took us to the 6th Floor Museum, where JFK was shot. They had a fascinating exhibit -- all about the JFK years, and a recreation of Oswald's perch. We spent a good few hours there -- very well done museum.
Tragedy made us hungry, so we found a great pizza place called Piggies, in the SMU campus. We ate heartily, and then headed to the George W Bush Library, also on the SMU campus. I'm no W fan, though the current idiot in the White House makes me long for his administration. Still, the library was gorgeous and well done -- especially the 9/11 exhibit. We all enjoyed ourselves.
That evening, Becky rejoined us, along with my my school friend Alison, who now lives in Keller. We compared our lives since we last saw each other -- in the late 80s. She had kids older -- a daughter is a college sophomore, and her son still in high school. They suffered a tragedy -- her husband was killed crossing a street near their house. But Alison has soldiered on -- no depression for her.
Tuesday we had breakfast at the hotel, and then off to DFW. I thought Tropical Storm Gordon might affect us, but only delayed our departure by a half hour.
We had left the dry heat of Dallas for the wet heat of Miami. It was lovely to get home.
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away
I've always dug Willie Nelson, and in a few hours Wifey and I are off to his native land, Texas. We're going with many friends to watch the Canes open up the season against LSU, alma mater of David Duke, at Jerry's World, which is supposedly the finest sports stadium in America.
We're staying in SouthLake, which is somewhere between Dallas and its poorer sister, Fort Worth. A bunch of us are booked into the Hilton there, on the recommendation of Becky, and old Miami friend who ditched her husband Rob and Miami, and is now living in Fort Worth.
I've been to Texas twice. The first time was a college conference, in the Fall of '81. I was active in something called NCHC, which was a national council of honors' programs, and in that year it was hosted by Texas Christian U.
I remember the trip well. It was near Halloween, and the TCU kids invited us to their big bash -- a showing of the then 5 year old movie, "Halloween." I was used to a bit more racy fun back at UM -- parties in the Grove and all, but I remember thinking how exotic Fort Worth was to this LI born and raised guy. We went to a country bar, of course, and everyone kept yelling "Dallas sucks!" I guess there was a rivalry...
The second trip was for less than 24 hours. The Canes were playing in the Cotton Bowl, and on NYE my boss Frank called -- his travel agent friend had, last minute, package trips to leave early on the First, see the game, have a barbecue, and then fly home. I think they had sold for $600 or so, but the friend was unloading them for $150. Some friends were over at our pre-Andrew house, and we decided to pack it in early and leave .
We got on the charter 727 and Captain Cane, who always dressed for the games, refused to remove his shoulder pads -- the stewardess said we wouldn't leave until he did. After we all yelled at him -- grumpy on New Year's Day at 530 am, he relented, but warned the Canes might now well lose since he NEVER removed sacred Canes garments on game day.
Well, superstition was damned -- the Canes blew out the Longhorns in a game famous for the amount of penalties we got. We loved each minute of the game -- I was surprised how freezing cold Dallas could be.
This trip we get to see more of the place. Tonight we have a reservation for nearly 30 of us at a place called Lonesome Dove Bistro, in the Stockyards 'hood, which I'm told is now their Williamsburg -- lots of cool bars and galleries.
Sunday is game day, and Mike rented a van for us to tailgate -- I have a feeling he'll buy a barbecue and do it up, like we did in Lincoln, Nebraska a few years back.
College games have the best atmosphere, though given LSU's size and proximity to Texas, I'm guessing they'll outnumber Canes fanes like 70-30.
But that's ok -- we ALWAYS have a blast.
Wifey's no big football fan at all, but she has memories of huge belly laughs from our trips to Tennessee, New Jersey, South Bend, and Atlanta. When you convene a fun group of fun loving folks -- well, that's my kind of trip.
So we're off to DFW. Hopefully the Canes win. Regardless of the game's outcome, I'm fairly certain we'll have a terrific time.
We're staying in SouthLake, which is somewhere between Dallas and its poorer sister, Fort Worth. A bunch of us are booked into the Hilton there, on the recommendation of Becky, and old Miami friend who ditched her husband Rob and Miami, and is now living in Fort Worth.
I've been to Texas twice. The first time was a college conference, in the Fall of '81. I was active in something called NCHC, which was a national council of honors' programs, and in that year it was hosted by Texas Christian U.
I remember the trip well. It was near Halloween, and the TCU kids invited us to their big bash -- a showing of the then 5 year old movie, "Halloween." I was used to a bit more racy fun back at UM -- parties in the Grove and all, but I remember thinking how exotic Fort Worth was to this LI born and raised guy. We went to a country bar, of course, and everyone kept yelling "Dallas sucks!" I guess there was a rivalry...
The second trip was for less than 24 hours. The Canes were playing in the Cotton Bowl, and on NYE my boss Frank called -- his travel agent friend had, last minute, package trips to leave early on the First, see the game, have a barbecue, and then fly home. I think they had sold for $600 or so, but the friend was unloading them for $150. Some friends were over at our pre-Andrew house, and we decided to pack it in early and leave .
We got on the charter 727 and Captain Cane, who always dressed for the games, refused to remove his shoulder pads -- the stewardess said we wouldn't leave until he did. After we all yelled at him -- grumpy on New Year's Day at 530 am, he relented, but warned the Canes might now well lose since he NEVER removed sacred Canes garments on game day.
Well, superstition was damned -- the Canes blew out the Longhorns in a game famous for the amount of penalties we got. We loved each minute of the game -- I was surprised how freezing cold Dallas could be.
This trip we get to see more of the place. Tonight we have a reservation for nearly 30 of us at a place called Lonesome Dove Bistro, in the Stockyards 'hood, which I'm told is now their Williamsburg -- lots of cool bars and galleries.
Sunday is game day, and Mike rented a van for us to tailgate -- I have a feeling he'll buy a barbecue and do it up, like we did in Lincoln, Nebraska a few years back.
College games have the best atmosphere, though given LSU's size and proximity to Texas, I'm guessing they'll outnumber Canes fanes like 70-30.
But that's ok -- we ALWAYS have a blast.
Wifey's no big football fan at all, but she has memories of huge belly laughs from our trips to Tennessee, New Jersey, South Bend, and Atlanta. When you convene a fun group of fun loving folks -- well, that's my kind of trip.
So we're off to DFW. Hopefully the Canes win. Regardless of the game's outcome, I'm fairly certain we'll have a terrific time.
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