I'm an unabashed news junkie, and check the headlines several times per day. The running joke is that when Wifey shares something she's seen or read, my reply is "I know already." Well, yesterday am, she was checking the news and told me about a tragic story from Upstate NY -- a limo carrying 18 people crashed, killing all the occupants as well as 2 leaf peepers in a parking lot by a country restaurant.
I was stunned -- we plan to be leaf peepers in Upstate NY in just a few weeks. It could have been us. This am, I read more details -- four lovely sisters were in the limo -- celebrating the 30th birthday of one who was recently married. D1 was married last year and celebrates her 30th next month. Again -- this tragedy resonates.
I started wondering about the surviving family members. There's never getting past anything like this. I lost my Dad four days before I turned 21, and never "got past" it. I've lived a wonderful and full life, of course, but losing a loved one never goes away from your heart.
I'm FaceBook (tm) friends with Richard, the man who built our house. He and his wife Jennifer met at UM and married, and built their dream home here in the 'hood where Richard grew up. Jennifer was a former local beauty queen, and smart and talented. They visited Italy and fell in love with a villa there, and returned determined to recreate what they saw here in the tropics of Miami.
They did -- they bought, cheap, an Andrew destroyed house, and knocked it down, and spent two years. Richard told me they even set up a wood mill on the property, to custom cut all of the roof rafters. The finished product was lovely -- Wifey and I joke that maybe only 2 people who ever visited here didn't like the house -- many people say it's the nicest they ever visited.
And Jennifer and Richard weren't planning on kids, but were blessed with 2 -- a boy and a girl -- lovely blondes like their pretty Mom. We got to know the family pretty well -- Wifey would call Jennifer to ask questions about why she decorated certain ways, and Richard always answered my questions about sprinkler timers, and the fish pond out front. And then they moved to West Palm Beach, and we mostly lost touch.
Until...this model family became the subject of international scandal. Jennifer lost her mind, and shot and killed the then high school aged kids -- both musical prodigies -- and then herself. Richard, who was divorced from her -- discovered the grisly scene.
I saw him a few months afterward. He was visiting his parents, who lived in nearby Deering Bay, and was driving his childhood 'hood. We greeted, and he knew immediately I knew of what happened, and he saved me with "Dave -- there is nothing to say. I just always really liked you, and was glad you and your wife bought this house -- to make your own memories."
I see on FaceBook he stays involved with his kids' high school -- endowing a scholarship in their memory. He also posts daily photos of sunrises -- I guess his way of showing that even in the darkest tragedy, the Big Man gives us all a new day.
I just don't see how one suffers such a profound loss and keeps going on.
In my law career, one family, from Ecuador, always haunts my thoughts. Betty lost her daughter, a superstar, in an apartment fire, and her middle son was horribly burned. The boy recovered nicely, though, only to die years later from leukemia. I remember meeting with Betty, a trained psychologist in her native country, after the second child's death.
I complemented her strength, and told her how much I always admired her. She shrugged, and her eyes had an empty look. "Who can understand the plans of Dios?"
I guess that's the only answer -- the Big Man decides if you go on after a tragedy, or not. All I know is my soul hurts this am for those folks near Albany. May they find peace.
Monday, October 8, 2018
Sunday, October 7, 2018
One For The Ages
So my sister of another mister/football wife Mirta arrived right on time, and we left for the stadium formerly known as Joe Robbie. Kickoff was 3:30 -- we got there a bit after 11:30 and cars were already lined up to get in the tailgating lots. It was FSU day!
We play them every year, alternating in Tally and Miami. Unlike the Gators, who dropped the Canes from their schedule on account of the fact that they got tired of losing to us, the Noles never have. Truth is -- they've always been my second favorite team. When the Canes are down, I cheer for them --while cheering against the Gators and Notre Dame is part of my college football DNA. But not yesterday...
We parked, and Norman and Maria and Ramon were setting up. Everyone brought classic tailgate food -- Publix subs, chicken tenders, meatballs. Eric and Dana brought the greatest appetizer in the history of apps -- pigs in blankets. We ate, and drank, and I got the perfect buzz.
Alex came -- he was celebrating his 40th. He wanted it low key, but Donna and Barry brought him a birthday cookie, and we sang to him. He really appreciated it -- I could tell. We talked about the need to stay in the moment -- leaving anxiety behind whenever possible. Alcohol helps with that very well...
We wandered over to Mike's tailgate, and said hello. Florida Supreme Court justice Fred was there, and we caught up with him. I asked Alex if he wanted to have me ask His Honor to sing happy birthday, as he did for Paul a few weeks ago. He did not.
We went into the stadium, and it was electric. But the Canes were flat -- looked bad all around. It was 20-7 at half, and I gave up on them. The Canes were favored to win big, and I figured they believed the press and figured they didn't have to play hard.
But then the worm turned. We got a huge turnover. The defense started to dominate. By the 4th quarter, Canes went up 28-27, and we kept the pressure on and won. It was a comeback for the ages.
We celebrated. There's nothing like leaving a packed stadium when the home team wins big. There were random high fives. Shouts of the team cheer. It was awesome.
We got back to the parking lot, and rehydrated. Eventually we left -- and sat in some traffic trying to get on the Palmetto for the ride home. Mirta, who loves to say "I told you so," got to say it to me -- she never lost faith in our team, while I did. I was thrilled she was right.
We pulled into the driveway, and went in with Wifey, who had watched on TV and wanted to know what she missed.
On some level, I wish other things excited me as much as college football. Like maybe opera -- or theater.
But being with my oldest and best friends in a parking lot, sharing our memories and future hopes for our teams -- well, that's as good as it gets for me.
And yesterday was truly one for our Canes ages...
We play them every year, alternating in Tally and Miami. Unlike the Gators, who dropped the Canes from their schedule on account of the fact that they got tired of losing to us, the Noles never have. Truth is -- they've always been my second favorite team. When the Canes are down, I cheer for them --while cheering against the Gators and Notre Dame is part of my college football DNA. But not yesterday...
We parked, and Norman and Maria and Ramon were setting up. Everyone brought classic tailgate food -- Publix subs, chicken tenders, meatballs. Eric and Dana brought the greatest appetizer in the history of apps -- pigs in blankets. We ate, and drank, and I got the perfect buzz.
Alex came -- he was celebrating his 40th. He wanted it low key, but Donna and Barry brought him a birthday cookie, and we sang to him. He really appreciated it -- I could tell. We talked about the need to stay in the moment -- leaving anxiety behind whenever possible. Alcohol helps with that very well...
We wandered over to Mike's tailgate, and said hello. Florida Supreme Court justice Fred was there, and we caught up with him. I asked Alex if he wanted to have me ask His Honor to sing happy birthday, as he did for Paul a few weeks ago. He did not.
We went into the stadium, and it was electric. But the Canes were flat -- looked bad all around. It was 20-7 at half, and I gave up on them. The Canes were favored to win big, and I figured they believed the press and figured they didn't have to play hard.
But then the worm turned. We got a huge turnover. The defense started to dominate. By the 4th quarter, Canes went up 28-27, and we kept the pressure on and won. It was a comeback for the ages.
We celebrated. There's nothing like leaving a packed stadium when the home team wins big. There were random high fives. Shouts of the team cheer. It was awesome.
We got back to the parking lot, and rehydrated. Eventually we left -- and sat in some traffic trying to get on the Palmetto for the ride home. Mirta, who loves to say "I told you so," got to say it to me -- she never lost faith in our team, while I did. I was thrilled she was right.
We pulled into the driveway, and went in with Wifey, who had watched on TV and wanted to know what she missed.
On some level, I wish other things excited me as much as college football. Like maybe opera -- or theater.
But being with my oldest and best friends in a parking lot, sharing our memories and future hopes for our teams -- well, that's as good as it gets for me.
And yesterday was truly one for our Canes ages...
Saturday, October 6, 2018
House For Sale
So over a year ago, I drove D2 to the house on Long Island where I grew up. We were parked out front, and the nice old lady who owned it came out -- we talked. It was the woman my parents SOLD the place to in 1979. We talked -- she was such a sweetheart -- she had heard my Mom passed away and said a "prayer for huh" in perfect LI accent. She told me she planned to sell, finally, to be closer to her grandkids in Suffolk County. She also told me to look up her son, Mark, on Facebook. Mark was a toddler when they moved in -- he was now a grown man, with kids of his own.
I indeed friended Mark, and over the years we've traded tales of growing up on Charles Lane. He went to Catholic school, so no East Broadway/Salk Junior High/MacArthur High experience for him. But he also had a great childhood there -- the saddest part being his father dropping dead of a heart attack, as mine did.
Well, the other day Mark posted a cheer for the Yankees -- they made the playoffs. I commented that the house was a Mets house, even though my parents both grew up in the Bronx, but indeed we shifted to the Bombers in the late 70s when the Mets were unwatcheable and the Yanks had Reggie Jackson. I have warm memories of watching games with my Dad -- he called a famous Graig Nettles home run right before it happened. Mark thanked me for the warm sharing, but said, alas, his mother was putting the house up for sale this weekend. I saw the Zillow posting.
Charles Lane was the only address I knew from childhood. We moved there when I was 2, and left a month before I turned 18. It seemed we lived there FOREVER, but in fact we've now been in Villa Wifey longer. And Mark's family has lived there nearly 40 years! Talk about a legacy address...
I was so fortunate to have a wonderful childhood. I played with neighbor kids -- baseball and football in the yards, and basketball in a half court my Dad had put in for me in the back yard. I knew every neighbor on the street. Mel, a Grumman engineer, who helped build the Lunar Landing Module, and had such bad arthritis he walked completely bent over. The Perotas across the street -- classic Italian family, with Big Jimmy working as a paper distributor for the Times, but reading only the News. Still, early Sunday am he'd drop off the huge paper to several of us, and Dad would always thank him by leaving bagels or crumb cakes on his doorstep.
Next door the kindly old Larkins, who sold to the power couple the Cunninghams. The Dad Tom looked like a Kennedy, and had a pretty blonde wife and 2 pretty blonde daughters. Tom worked on Wall Street, and became a big shot and his wife found out he was tapping into talent at work -- they divorced. They had a black cat named Tabitha, after the girl on Bewitched, and while I was petting it scratched me and opened a gash on my forearm, forever planting in me a distrust and dislike of cats. To this day I avoid them.
Across the street, next to the Perotas were the Schonbergs, with a weird son who was a CPA and never left home. He bought the block's first Mercedes -- and told us all it cost $28K. My friends started calling him "28 Bonzo."
As I aged, my friends and I spent countless hours in my 12 x 15 room, listening to records and talking endlessly about life. Eric became a computer engineer in California, but not a wealthy one -- but still did well enough that he only works half a year and travels the rest. Mark also got an electronics degree and has worked for the same scanning company since the 80s. He married Rita, a classmate early who got sent to Catholic school later. Mike became a printer, and hurt his back in his early 30s -- been living off the fat of the state all these years. He fishes in the Great South Bay daily -- lives with his fellow bachelor brother Bobby, a retired FDNY guy, and they're like the Ed Norton movie "Brothers McMullen." And John, the smartest but without good grades, started at community college, caught fire academically, and ended up in the CIA, where he captured and interrogated Saddam Hussein and wrote a best seller about it. And, now they're making a movie about his book, and we all joke on FaceBook that he needs to be played by some dashing young actor, like Armie Hammer...
Years ago, we had neighbors who were Jamaican Chinese. They told us that they believed that houses have souls, and an owner must insure that whoever buys the house after them sells it to appropriate people. They gave our friends Mike and Loni a great price because they knew there'd be a fine family moving into a house that had brought much luck to them -- until Hurricane Andrew smashed it up.
Maybe they're right. If so, we sure sold to a great family, who got 4 decades of joy on Charles Lane. I hope the next stewards likewise find happiness.
My dream was to give the Ds the same security in a home I had. We moved to Villa Wifey when they were 12 and 9. This house has always meant sanctuary to them, wherever in life they have roamed. It's a lovely thing, I think.
So farewell, Charles Lane split level. And thanks for the memories...
I indeed friended Mark, and over the years we've traded tales of growing up on Charles Lane. He went to Catholic school, so no East Broadway/Salk Junior High/MacArthur High experience for him. But he also had a great childhood there -- the saddest part being his father dropping dead of a heart attack, as mine did.
Well, the other day Mark posted a cheer for the Yankees -- they made the playoffs. I commented that the house was a Mets house, even though my parents both grew up in the Bronx, but indeed we shifted to the Bombers in the late 70s when the Mets were unwatcheable and the Yanks had Reggie Jackson. I have warm memories of watching games with my Dad -- he called a famous Graig Nettles home run right before it happened. Mark thanked me for the warm sharing, but said, alas, his mother was putting the house up for sale this weekend. I saw the Zillow posting.
Charles Lane was the only address I knew from childhood. We moved there when I was 2, and left a month before I turned 18. It seemed we lived there FOREVER, but in fact we've now been in Villa Wifey longer. And Mark's family has lived there nearly 40 years! Talk about a legacy address...
I was so fortunate to have a wonderful childhood. I played with neighbor kids -- baseball and football in the yards, and basketball in a half court my Dad had put in for me in the back yard. I knew every neighbor on the street. Mel, a Grumman engineer, who helped build the Lunar Landing Module, and had such bad arthritis he walked completely bent over. The Perotas across the street -- classic Italian family, with Big Jimmy working as a paper distributor for the Times, but reading only the News. Still, early Sunday am he'd drop off the huge paper to several of us, and Dad would always thank him by leaving bagels or crumb cakes on his doorstep.
Next door the kindly old Larkins, who sold to the power couple the Cunninghams. The Dad Tom looked like a Kennedy, and had a pretty blonde wife and 2 pretty blonde daughters. Tom worked on Wall Street, and became a big shot and his wife found out he was tapping into talent at work -- they divorced. They had a black cat named Tabitha, after the girl on Bewitched, and while I was petting it scratched me and opened a gash on my forearm, forever planting in me a distrust and dislike of cats. To this day I avoid them.
Across the street, next to the Perotas were the Schonbergs, with a weird son who was a CPA and never left home. He bought the block's first Mercedes -- and told us all it cost $28K. My friends started calling him "28 Bonzo."
As I aged, my friends and I spent countless hours in my 12 x 15 room, listening to records and talking endlessly about life. Eric became a computer engineer in California, but not a wealthy one -- but still did well enough that he only works half a year and travels the rest. Mark also got an electronics degree and has worked for the same scanning company since the 80s. He married Rita, a classmate early who got sent to Catholic school later. Mike became a printer, and hurt his back in his early 30s -- been living off the fat of the state all these years. He fishes in the Great South Bay daily -- lives with his fellow bachelor brother Bobby, a retired FDNY guy, and they're like the Ed Norton movie "Brothers McMullen." And John, the smartest but without good grades, started at community college, caught fire academically, and ended up in the CIA, where he captured and interrogated Saddam Hussein and wrote a best seller about it. And, now they're making a movie about his book, and we all joke on FaceBook that he needs to be played by some dashing young actor, like Armie Hammer...
Years ago, we had neighbors who were Jamaican Chinese. They told us that they believed that houses have souls, and an owner must insure that whoever buys the house after them sells it to appropriate people. They gave our friends Mike and Loni a great price because they knew there'd be a fine family moving into a house that had brought much luck to them -- until Hurricane Andrew smashed it up.
Maybe they're right. If so, we sure sold to a great family, who got 4 decades of joy on Charles Lane. I hope the next stewards likewise find happiness.
My dream was to give the Ds the same security in a home I had. We moved to Villa Wifey when they were 12 and 9. This house has always meant sanctuary to them, wherever in life they have roamed. It's a lovely thing, I think.
So farewell, Charles Lane split level. And thanks for the memories...
Friday, October 5, 2018
Lovely Memories
Sometimes just sitting around drinking coffee on a quiet Friday morning, your brain can treat you to a pleasant memory. It happened to me today.
For some, or no particular reason, as Forrest Gump would say, I got a vision of a little guy named Vinnie. He was really short -- probably just over 5 feet, and I worked with him during the summer of '81.
I was home from UM, and still pre med, and had applied to work at the nearest hospital, which was Boca Raton. At first there were no openings, and I accepted a job at the newly opening Bennigan's on Federal Highway. I was going to be a host -- I went to two training sessions, and learned the Bennigan's birthday song, which remains embedded in my brain to this day. But the day before I was to start, Boca Hospital called -- they DID have an opening -- so I called Bennigans and begged off.
They put me in the pharmacy, and I met some great and colorful characters. The pharmacists were all Gators, and we kidded each other about our football rivalry. And the techs, like me, were undergrads -- I was the only Cane -- most of the rest went to FAU which they called "Find Another University."
Vinnie and I worked side by side. He appreciated that I would happily reach the higher shelves for him, and never take shots at his diminutive size. Among the men there was good natured busting of balls -- they loved talking to me in the Yiddish accent of many of the old patients, as I was the only young Jew -- but I could tell right away Vinnie was sensitive about his height, and I kept that out of the game.
We'd all get together at apartments the staff had rented, and one night Vinnie hosted a party. There were a lot of beers, and some weed, and then Vinnie took out an old Martin guitar. He sang -- he had an amazing voice, and was very talented. And his favorite band to cover was Aztec Two-Step, an acoustic duo from his native Boston.
Everyone listened, and raptly so. Vinnie was good. He'd also play stuff more familiar to us, like Neil Young, and we'd sing along. These were lovely get togethers, and a delightful summer for me.
My college friend Vince, also Italian, hosted an epic July 4th party, and many of my co workers made the trek from Palm Beach County. Vince lived in North Miami , and the Boca folks thought it was a big deal to go to tough Miami. In fact, it was rough then -- we had just had the McDuffie riots, and were dealing with the Mariel Boat lift.
I can't recall if Vinnie came to that party -- I don't think he did.
The Summer ended, and we all moved on. My life would change radically the following summer -- Dad died. By then, I was no longer pre med, and my summer job was a salesman at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall.
I sort of slept walked through my senior year, and at the beginning of the summer of '83 Boca Hospital called -- would I come back and be a tech again? I would -- the pay was great, especially compared to Jordan Marsh, and I wanted to save some money for law school, which would begin that September.
Vinnie wasn't there, though. One of the other techs said he had moved back to Boston. I never heard from or saw Vinnie again.
I hope he's fine, and had a good life. I also hope he still shares his music -- maybe by now with grown kids and even grandkids.
All I know is, the memory of his playing brought me warmth today -- in my mind, I guess I went back to Boca...
For some, or no particular reason, as Forrest Gump would say, I got a vision of a little guy named Vinnie. He was really short -- probably just over 5 feet, and I worked with him during the summer of '81.
I was home from UM, and still pre med, and had applied to work at the nearest hospital, which was Boca Raton. At first there were no openings, and I accepted a job at the newly opening Bennigan's on Federal Highway. I was going to be a host -- I went to two training sessions, and learned the Bennigan's birthday song, which remains embedded in my brain to this day. But the day before I was to start, Boca Hospital called -- they DID have an opening -- so I called Bennigans and begged off.
They put me in the pharmacy, and I met some great and colorful characters. The pharmacists were all Gators, and we kidded each other about our football rivalry. And the techs, like me, were undergrads -- I was the only Cane -- most of the rest went to FAU which they called "Find Another University."
Vinnie and I worked side by side. He appreciated that I would happily reach the higher shelves for him, and never take shots at his diminutive size. Among the men there was good natured busting of balls -- they loved talking to me in the Yiddish accent of many of the old patients, as I was the only young Jew -- but I could tell right away Vinnie was sensitive about his height, and I kept that out of the game.
We'd all get together at apartments the staff had rented, and one night Vinnie hosted a party. There were a lot of beers, and some weed, and then Vinnie took out an old Martin guitar. He sang -- he had an amazing voice, and was very talented. And his favorite band to cover was Aztec Two-Step, an acoustic duo from his native Boston.
Everyone listened, and raptly so. Vinnie was good. He'd also play stuff more familiar to us, like Neil Young, and we'd sing along. These were lovely get togethers, and a delightful summer for me.
My college friend Vince, also Italian, hosted an epic July 4th party, and many of my co workers made the trek from Palm Beach County. Vince lived in North Miami , and the Boca folks thought it was a big deal to go to tough Miami. In fact, it was rough then -- we had just had the McDuffie riots, and were dealing with the Mariel Boat lift.
I can't recall if Vinnie came to that party -- I don't think he did.
The Summer ended, and we all moved on. My life would change radically the following summer -- Dad died. By then, I was no longer pre med, and my summer job was a salesman at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall.
I sort of slept walked through my senior year, and at the beginning of the summer of '83 Boca Hospital called -- would I come back and be a tech again? I would -- the pay was great, especially compared to Jordan Marsh, and I wanted to save some money for law school, which would begin that September.
Vinnie wasn't there, though. One of the other techs said he had moved back to Boston. I never heard from or saw Vinnie again.
I hope he's fine, and had a good life. I also hope he still shares his music -- maybe by now with grown kids and even grandkids.
All I know is, the memory of his playing brought me warmth today -- in my mind, I guess I went back to Boca...
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Getting Fit to Get Fit
For those who don't exercise, which describes me most of the time, few topics are as insufferable as the exercise habits and routines of others. So today I shall describe my situation.
In the Spring, the Ds had an intervention with Wifey and me. They tearfully begged us to get in shape, and reminded us that round was not the correct shape. They knew well how my beloved Dad died at 63, and wanted to avoid that. I felt like Sally Field at the Oscars: they really, really LIKE me.
The message resonated with me. I joined a gym. Wifey is refractory. She's so afraid of her bad back rearing its ugly head, that she hasn't succumbed to the intervention.
So I joined, and Enrique has become my guru. I really dig him -- he's a quiet but smart young guy. He lets me talk a lot, but always leads me back to the routine.
Today, we realized I was nearing the end of the first phase: I was nearly fit to get fit. That is, I can handle a full, strenuous workout -- both cardio and strength. I have walked up the equivalent of 100 flights of stairs. I did 30 real pushups. I sweat like the proverbial pig, and don't run away from it.
I tried running on the treadmill, but that led to a lot of knee pain. So no more running for this still 50 lbs too heavy 57 year old. We stick to fast walking and bike. I plan to start swimming soon, too -- might as well use the long pool the house's builder designed for laps. The dogs enjoy the company outside.
So I plan to keep it up. I notice that even walking around Brickell, I'm not winded like I used to be. When I park kind of far from the tailgate party, I don't sigh and curse like I would have last year -- I just hoof it more.
As the weather cools, I'll power walk more around my 'hood -- and maybe bike, too. D2 is coming for Thanksgiving -- last year we spent a beautiful day riding to Deering Estate, drinking coffee at the nearby Starbucks, and figuring out life. I want to do that again.
So I plan to continue sweating, for now. There's lots to savor in this life -- might as well try to stick around as long as I can...
In the Spring, the Ds had an intervention with Wifey and me. They tearfully begged us to get in shape, and reminded us that round was not the correct shape. They knew well how my beloved Dad died at 63, and wanted to avoid that. I felt like Sally Field at the Oscars: they really, really LIKE me.
The message resonated with me. I joined a gym. Wifey is refractory. She's so afraid of her bad back rearing its ugly head, that she hasn't succumbed to the intervention.
So I joined, and Enrique has become my guru. I really dig him -- he's a quiet but smart young guy. He lets me talk a lot, but always leads me back to the routine.
Today, we realized I was nearing the end of the first phase: I was nearly fit to get fit. That is, I can handle a full, strenuous workout -- both cardio and strength. I have walked up the equivalent of 100 flights of stairs. I did 30 real pushups. I sweat like the proverbial pig, and don't run away from it.
I tried running on the treadmill, but that led to a lot of knee pain. So no more running for this still 50 lbs too heavy 57 year old. We stick to fast walking and bike. I plan to start swimming soon, too -- might as well use the long pool the house's builder designed for laps. The dogs enjoy the company outside.
So I plan to keep it up. I notice that even walking around Brickell, I'm not winded like I used to be. When I park kind of far from the tailgate party, I don't sigh and curse like I would have last year -- I just hoof it more.
As the weather cools, I'll power walk more around my 'hood -- and maybe bike, too. D2 is coming for Thanksgiving -- last year we spent a beautiful day riding to Deering Estate, drinking coffee at the nearby Starbucks, and figuring out life. I want to do that again.
So I plan to continue sweating, for now. There's lots to savor in this life -- might as well try to stick around as long as I can...
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Is That A Hint Of Less Humidity?
So it's October, and still hot and humid as hell. This is the time of year where I'm ready for some cooler temperatures. I almost felt the smallest of breezes at lunch today, as we walked to the cafeteria in the next building. I checked my phone thermometer -- it was 85, and "felt like" 92. Yesterday the "felt like" value was high 90s -- maybe there is a change in the air.
Wifey is making plans to head out of the heat. She's heading to Atlanta on the 15th for three days with bff Edna, and then Elizabeth will join them, from Orlando. The three ladies will then drive to western North Carolina for some leaf peeping. I will watch the dogs.
It seems that about every fifth year, there is lovely weather around Halloween. After Hurricane Wilma, in '04, it was lovely. We were without power for awhile, and the sleeping sans A/C was just fine. I'm guessing we won't get that this year.
Wifey is due home on the 25th, and then we leave the next day for LGA. D1 and Joey will go before us, to stay with D2 and Jonathan, and I'll fetch everyone and drive up to the Hudson River Valley. We booked a family trip to Mohonk Mountain House, a resort I've been to and loved. There'll be hiking, and eating, and drinking, and time on the huge porch rocking chairs for some Fall reading. I guess I'll get my cooler weather then.
Mean time, the tree trimmers are hard at work. Every two years or so they come for a few days and cut back the growth -- I like to keep stuff from our roof, lest animals find a way into the attic. Also, the pool man appreciates when the oak stops dropping many leaves into the pool. It's the joy of homeownership...
Big game week for the Canes -- we play FSU Saturday afternoon. The Canes are heavily favored, but somehow those games are always close. Mirta is due over Saturday at 11, and we'll head to the stadium early for a major tailgate party. Paul's boy Alex is turning 40, and we plan to celebrate that major milestone there. A Canes victory would be nice, too...
So Fall is here in the Tropics. It's a nice time -- the cooler temps will come and make it it better...
Wifey is making plans to head out of the heat. She's heading to Atlanta on the 15th for three days with bff Edna, and then Elizabeth will join them, from Orlando. The three ladies will then drive to western North Carolina for some leaf peeping. I will watch the dogs.
It seems that about every fifth year, there is lovely weather around Halloween. After Hurricane Wilma, in '04, it was lovely. We were without power for awhile, and the sleeping sans A/C was just fine. I'm guessing we won't get that this year.
Wifey is due home on the 25th, and then we leave the next day for LGA. D1 and Joey will go before us, to stay with D2 and Jonathan, and I'll fetch everyone and drive up to the Hudson River Valley. We booked a family trip to Mohonk Mountain House, a resort I've been to and loved. There'll be hiking, and eating, and drinking, and time on the huge porch rocking chairs for some Fall reading. I guess I'll get my cooler weather then.
Mean time, the tree trimmers are hard at work. Every two years or so they come for a few days and cut back the growth -- I like to keep stuff from our roof, lest animals find a way into the attic. Also, the pool man appreciates when the oak stops dropping many leaves into the pool. It's the joy of homeownership...
Big game week for the Canes -- we play FSU Saturday afternoon. The Canes are heavily favored, but somehow those games are always close. Mirta is due over Saturday at 11, and we'll head to the stadium early for a major tailgate party. Paul's boy Alex is turning 40, and we plan to celebrate that major milestone there. A Canes victory would be nice, too...
So Fall is here in the Tropics. It's a nice time -- the cooler temps will come and make it it better...
Monday, October 1, 2018
Two Funerals, No Weddings
So D1 came to our local rich, reform synagogue and attended the memorial service of Dr. Michael. We spoke later in the day -- she said it was so horrible, she didn't want to talk about it. Some of her close friends flew in from California and Chicago -- to support the doc's daughter Caroline. I'm guessing that seeing the loss of a father hit too close to home for D1. I get it.
Meanwhile, Wifey and I drove to the Palace, and Wifey helped my suegra get ready. She typed out "Lou died -- we're going to his funeral" and Rachel understood, at first. She peppered us with questions -- her short term memory is mostly gone. But we wrestled her still sizeable body into the car, the wheelchair fought me going into the trunk, but I won..and we were off.
I so rarely drive to Broward anymore, but this trip was to a cemetery off Sheridan -- where our friend Edna's father was buried a few months back. We were early, and I stopped for gas. My mother in law awoke, and bellowed that she needed the bathroom. So Wifey took her. This turned out to be a mistake.
The walk through the convenience store knocked the old lady out. She slumped, dramatically, next to a car parked next to mine, "unable" to get back into our vehicle. I grabbed her and led her in. Miraculously, she perked up again as we drove to the cemetery. But Wifey and I concluded she probably didn't need to leave the Palace in the future. She's fine in the wheelchair -- any walking at all is too much for her and us.
I unloaded her, and we went inside. Lou's family was gathered. His widow Sally came over in her walker and greeted us. My mother in law didn't recognize her sister in law, and didn't hide her disgust when we told her it was Sally.
Inside the chapel, she started loudly explaining how old and terrible Sally looked, and we shushed her. My mother in law thinks she and her contemporaries have frozen in time in their 60s or 70s. They have not.
Lou was 95, and his sons and 2 grandkids spoke lovingly about him. The rental rabbi was the same one who had performed Edna's father's service, and the guy has skills. He did a great job speaking lovingly about men he had never met. I was impressed -- I complimented him afterwards.
The coffin was no plain pine box -- it was a piece of polished furniture befitting a carpenter like Lou. The coffin was wheeled to a mausoleum -- the industrialist Victor Posner had a prominent place, so I knew this was an expensive piece of final real estate. The elevated Lou to the third floor, and pushed in the coffin. I noticed the space was left for another coffin. I could tell Sally was thinking the same thing.
We drove to Sally's condo for a shiva. I caught up with Lou's boys Mark and Sandy -- two great guys I always liked a lot. Mark has three awesome sons and they were there, with Sandy's son and twin girls.
All 5 kids are terrific -- loving, accomplished, wonderful young people.
As Sandy said about his father, many people say they had a tough life, but compared to Lou, they're minor league sufferers. Lou made it though the Holocaust. But he built a loving family, and the grandkids are the proof.
So no, no tears for a 95 year old who lived such a wonderful life. Wifey and I came home repeating my favorite Lou story -- one I wasn't present for.
Barry went to a Barnes and Noble in the late 90s. At the cafe, he saw my father in law Richard loudly arguing with another older guy. They were gesticulating wildly, and Barry went into protective mode -- he used to be a bouncer at the UM Rathskellar, and he was remembering the technique for breaking up a fight without getting hurt yourself. He figured my father in law and the smaller, wiry man were about to come to blows. He went in...
No, my father in law explained, this was his brother Lou! They were just debating some point -- probably the name of some long dead person from Lodz, Poland. The loud talking and gesturing was just how they spoke.
RIP, Lou -- a life well lived.
Meanwhile, Wifey and I drove to the Palace, and Wifey helped my suegra get ready. She typed out "Lou died -- we're going to his funeral" and Rachel understood, at first. She peppered us with questions -- her short term memory is mostly gone. But we wrestled her still sizeable body into the car, the wheelchair fought me going into the trunk, but I won..and we were off.
I so rarely drive to Broward anymore, but this trip was to a cemetery off Sheridan -- where our friend Edna's father was buried a few months back. We were early, and I stopped for gas. My mother in law awoke, and bellowed that she needed the bathroom. So Wifey took her. This turned out to be a mistake.
The walk through the convenience store knocked the old lady out. She slumped, dramatically, next to a car parked next to mine, "unable" to get back into our vehicle. I grabbed her and led her in. Miraculously, she perked up again as we drove to the cemetery. But Wifey and I concluded she probably didn't need to leave the Palace in the future. She's fine in the wheelchair -- any walking at all is too much for her and us.
I unloaded her, and we went inside. Lou's family was gathered. His widow Sally came over in her walker and greeted us. My mother in law didn't recognize her sister in law, and didn't hide her disgust when we told her it was Sally.
Inside the chapel, she started loudly explaining how old and terrible Sally looked, and we shushed her. My mother in law thinks she and her contemporaries have frozen in time in their 60s or 70s. They have not.
Lou was 95, and his sons and 2 grandkids spoke lovingly about him. The rental rabbi was the same one who had performed Edna's father's service, and the guy has skills. He did a great job speaking lovingly about men he had never met. I was impressed -- I complimented him afterwards.
The coffin was no plain pine box -- it was a piece of polished furniture befitting a carpenter like Lou. The coffin was wheeled to a mausoleum -- the industrialist Victor Posner had a prominent place, so I knew this was an expensive piece of final real estate. The elevated Lou to the third floor, and pushed in the coffin. I noticed the space was left for another coffin. I could tell Sally was thinking the same thing.
We drove to Sally's condo for a shiva. I caught up with Lou's boys Mark and Sandy -- two great guys I always liked a lot. Mark has three awesome sons and they were there, with Sandy's son and twin girls.
All 5 kids are terrific -- loving, accomplished, wonderful young people.
As Sandy said about his father, many people say they had a tough life, but compared to Lou, they're minor league sufferers. Lou made it though the Holocaust. But he built a loving family, and the grandkids are the proof.
So no, no tears for a 95 year old who lived such a wonderful life. Wifey and I came home repeating my favorite Lou story -- one I wasn't present for.
Barry went to a Barnes and Noble in the late 90s. At the cafe, he saw my father in law Richard loudly arguing with another older guy. They were gesticulating wildly, and Barry went into protective mode -- he used to be a bouncer at the UM Rathskellar, and he was remembering the technique for breaking up a fight without getting hurt yourself. He figured my father in law and the smaller, wiry man were about to come to blows. He went in...
No, my father in law explained, this was his brother Lou! They were just debating some point -- probably the name of some long dead person from Lodz, Poland. The loud talking and gesturing was just how they spoke.
RIP, Lou -- a life well lived.
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