So yesterday was a pretty good one, in this time of the plague, and we enjoyed it. But then I got annoyed on FaceBook, again, for a cutesy disclaimer many people post. I have been cooped up too long.
Wifey and I had no seder plans, but Joey changed that -- be ready for a Google Hangout for a virtual get together. We actually left the house -- for 2 errands.
First -- Wifey switched her pharmacy, at my urging, from Publix to Walgreens. To use Publix, she'd have to, well, visit Publix, and not something we want to do these days. I switched to Walgreens delivery -- they were terrific -- but you need at least one "live" pickup before they start delivering -- I guess to avoid you becoming a pill mill or something. So we drove to a Walgreens on 132 Street, and saw a green Jaguar with a black lady parked a bit back from the drive through. Wifey joked social distancing in cars. There was one car being serviced, so I drove behind the Jag and waited. And waited. We decided to leave and come back, and I realized the car at the drive through had left -- the idiot in the Jag had just parked in such a way that it looked like she was waiting for service -- and she wasn't. I felt a tad of road rage, but let it pass -- we took our place, and Walgreens got it done properly.
From there we went to LOL for the food pickup. It's funny -- I was there about 10 days ago, and ran into Richard, Norman's brother. Sure enough -- there he was again -- fetching Seder supplies.
Wifey waited her turn, and fetched our stuff. And then, at 4, I had an actual human visitor.
Kenny drove up, parked his car, and joined me for a long walk -- 4 miles or so. We caught up on his job at Baptist -- and his hope he and Joelle make it to their beautiful lake house in Maine by June. I hope they do, too -- it's gorgeous there, and truly the place they love the most. Meanwhile, their youngest is set to graduate from college soon. Kenny joked that somehow there was no refund of the huge tuition, even though the last classes were online, like the University of Phoenix, instead of a prestigious Liberal Arts college.
Kenny left, and I came in dripping with the sweat of a long walk in now hot and humid Miami. I showered, and then Joey texted -- we would gather earlier. So we put out the matzho, a couple of wine glasses -- Wifey's with water, mine with vodka and tonic, and Wifey got the matzo ball soup heating on the stove. We were ready.
I downloaded a Google App, which had the hagada Joey had written several years ago in honor of his late, namesake abuelo, and we saw Joey's parents, and D1, and Joey, and, later, D2 and Jonathan. Joey's older brother and sister in law made an appearance, too, and we all read our part, and prayed for actually being together next year. It was moving. It was joyous. And it was Part I.
Later on, D2 and Jonathan sent a link -- to join Jonathan's family seder on Zoom. It was his parents and young sister in Aventura, his sister and brother in law north of Toronto, another sister and brother in law in Riverdale, in the Bronx, and his brother and sister in law in Kansas City. Later, his uncle and wonderful grandmother Judy joined from their place in Sunny Isles, as did the oldest brother and his family in Kendall. We were part of a large, wonderful group.
They chatted. We laughed. There were blessings over the cups of wine. I was a little buzzed, and got a text from D2 -- I might be talking a bit too much. So I shut up and just took part in their wonderful get together -- it spanned hours. Dogs were featured, from 2 separate countries.
Finally, around 10, I was falling asleep, and sort of slipped off the group. It was, by far, the most memorable seder of all time for us.
And then I checked FaceBook, and there were the greetings, including some with the annoying "To those who celebrate." It got my gourd. I never mind, and in fact enjoy, being wished Merry Christmas and Happy Easter. It shows the speaker cares, and wishes you to have the good spirit, too.
As I said -- I guess the crankiness is rising a bit. But I vented that pet peeve.
One thing I miss, though, about seders past. Joey's family has an adorable tradition, started by his grandfather. After the special matzo, the akikommen, is found, he would cut it into small pieces -- maybe 1/2 inch by 1/2 inch, and wrap it tightly in paper -- to be given as a good luck charm to each of the seder attendees. I kept mine in my wallet for the past 2 years -- and you get a replacement each Passover. My 2019 model will have to get some more use...
So -- Passover continues. And Sunday is Easter. I'll post greetings for that holiday, as well as the start of Ramadan, which comes a bit later, but only to those who celebrate.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
And So This Is Pesach
But for the ponderous plague, tonight we would be at Bob and Vera's house -- my son in law Joey and D1's brother and sister in law. They had invited us to their family seder -- and we were SO looking forward to it -- they make it joyous, fun, and meaningful.
Their beautiful daughter, now a toddler, would be there -- as well as her baby cousin, our wonderful grandson. There would have been much kvelling. Instead, we exchanged texts about how much we miss each other, and let us be together next year.
D1 and Joey texted -- they are going to host a virtual seder. They bought some seders in a box from a local place, Blue Collar, and had matzoh delivered. We did, too -- 2 boxes -- from my rabbi Yossi here in town, and another from the UF Rabbi, Berl, who I have befriended. At 7 Joey will lead us -- D2 and Jonathan for just a bit before they jump off for another virtual seder hosted by Jonathan's parents. So we will celebrate best we can.
Before then, I have planned some near human contact. Captain Doctor Kenny is due here at 4:15 to join me in my constitutional around the 'hood. We'll keep our distance, of course, but it will be nice to talk to my brilliant and funny friend from across a road instead of on a phone.
The green shoots of hopeful news continue. The model I keep checking, from U Washington, today revised DOWNWARD its projected death totals. The thing has been fairly accurate, and says Florida will peak on cases and deaths on April 21. It also projects Florida has plenty of regular and ICU beds to handle the surge -- an upside, I guess, to our overly expensive health care industry here.
There remains, of course, plenty of negativity. The virus could surge again. Maybe being exposed and not sickened doesn't confer immunity...
Well -- of course more bad can happen. I have coined my own term for the next plague -- the schmutzvirus, with schmutz being Yiddish for dirt. Why not. Corona is too regal -- meaning crown. Something that kills and sickens ought to have a name associated with filth.
But as for me, and my house (I love those signs on Christian folks' front doors) I worship cautious optimism.
Rabbi Yossi posted my favorite Passover story on FaceBook. It involved a young rabbi who went to the Baal Shem Tov, the leader of the Chabad movement, and told him he really wanted to see Elijah, the prophet for who the door is left open and a chair unoccupied at seders. The Rebbe told him he could -- bring a box of food to a poor family and attend their seder. He did so -- had a lovely time with the destitute schtetl folk, but complained he still didn't see Elijah.
The Rebbe told him to return for the final seder and do the same, but this time wait outside and listen before going inside. The young rabbi did, and heard the children complaining there was no food. The mother told them to have faith -- after all -- didn't Elijah indeed visit them the first night and bring them food?
The young rabbi understood. If you want to see the prophet -- BE the prophet. Yossi called me to say that Wifey and I were the first angels they met when they moved to Miami . It warmed me.
So of course, this Pesach we find ourselves slaves again. Not to Pharaoh, but to a dread disease.
We were freed. We were freed many times. May this Passover mark the beginning of our latest emancipation.
Their beautiful daughter, now a toddler, would be there -- as well as her baby cousin, our wonderful grandson. There would have been much kvelling. Instead, we exchanged texts about how much we miss each other, and let us be together next year.
D1 and Joey texted -- they are going to host a virtual seder. They bought some seders in a box from a local place, Blue Collar, and had matzoh delivered. We did, too -- 2 boxes -- from my rabbi Yossi here in town, and another from the UF Rabbi, Berl, who I have befriended. At 7 Joey will lead us -- D2 and Jonathan for just a bit before they jump off for another virtual seder hosted by Jonathan's parents. So we will celebrate best we can.
Before then, I have planned some near human contact. Captain Doctor Kenny is due here at 4:15 to join me in my constitutional around the 'hood. We'll keep our distance, of course, but it will be nice to talk to my brilliant and funny friend from across a road instead of on a phone.
The green shoots of hopeful news continue. The model I keep checking, from U Washington, today revised DOWNWARD its projected death totals. The thing has been fairly accurate, and says Florida will peak on cases and deaths on April 21. It also projects Florida has plenty of regular and ICU beds to handle the surge -- an upside, I guess, to our overly expensive health care industry here.
There remains, of course, plenty of negativity. The virus could surge again. Maybe being exposed and not sickened doesn't confer immunity...
Well -- of course more bad can happen. I have coined my own term for the next plague -- the schmutzvirus, with schmutz being Yiddish for dirt. Why not. Corona is too regal -- meaning crown. Something that kills and sickens ought to have a name associated with filth.
But as for me, and my house (I love those signs on Christian folks' front doors) I worship cautious optimism.
Rabbi Yossi posted my favorite Passover story on FaceBook. It involved a young rabbi who went to the Baal Shem Tov, the leader of the Chabad movement, and told him he really wanted to see Elijah, the prophet for who the door is left open and a chair unoccupied at seders. The Rebbe told him he could -- bring a box of food to a poor family and attend their seder. He did so -- had a lovely time with the destitute schtetl folk, but complained he still didn't see Elijah.
The Rebbe told him to return for the final seder and do the same, but this time wait outside and listen before going inside. The young rabbi did, and heard the children complaining there was no food. The mother told them to have faith -- after all -- didn't Elijah indeed visit them the first night and bring them food?
The young rabbi understood. If you want to see the prophet -- BE the prophet. Yossi called me to say that Wifey and I were the first angels they met when they moved to Miami . It warmed me.
So of course, this Pesach we find ourselves slaves again. Not to Pharaoh, but to a dread disease.
We were freed. We were freed many times. May this Passover mark the beginning of our latest emancipation.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Time Passages
Another night of abridged sleep. I got 5.5 hours, so I guess that's not too terrible, in this time of the plague. And I have nothing but time to nap today. Even the idiot White House, which was just saying all would be fine by this Sunday, is now saying this is the week we really all need to stay home. Oh boy.
We were going to have our long time cleaning lady Miriam back this Wednesday. We've been sending her weekly checks, and telling her to stay home, and thought this would be her return, but now have decided to give it another week. Someone asked me why I keep sending her checks. I replied that maybe there are some folks who can live in 7 figure houses and not pay folks who have served them, but I'm not that guy.
Anyway -- as I lay in bed after my 4 am wake up, I tried to fall back asleep thinking of my parents. It occurred to me: one week from today is my dear Mom's birthday -- or was it? She always told us it was April 13, 1920. Then, when I took over her affairs, her Medicare card said some other date in April -- maybe the 11th? That was classic Mom -- when she liked something or someone, her mind was made up -- facts be damned. And she loved the number 13.
So sticking to her chosen birthday -- next week she's have turned 100. Wow. She was 41 when she had me -- a so called change of life baby. Dad was 42.
I reflected back on her early life -- a very happy childhood, though poor, in the Bronx. She had a warm and loving family. She used to tell me tales of her father, whose name was Goldsmith, though he worked as a silversmith (roofer) packing up an old car and driving to "the country," which were the Catskills, and having wonderful family picnics. My Mom developed an absolute love of grilled hot dogs. They remained her favorite food, long after her finances changed, and she was privileged to travel the world, and eat at fine restaurants. Nothing like a good kosher dog from the grill, with mustard and sauerkraut.
She had a childhood boyfriend from across the street -- a bookish boy, not at all into sports. He was drafted into the Army 4 months after Pearl Harbor Day, and they kept their relationship going through letters, and the occasional long distance call. I would have loved to have seen those letters, but my Mom tossed all "that old crap" when she moved to Florida.
They decided to marry while my Dad was stationed in Pasadena, and I picture my Mom, who had never been out of the NYC area, boarding a transcontinental train, alone, for a 4 day trip. What an adventure it must have been -- greeted by her beloved at the end of the line.
A rabbi chaplain married them, and they began their life together. They found a bungalow up in the hills off Colorado Boulevard, and Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably, at the time, fully involved in the Manhattan Project, though Mom never knew, or spoke of it. She did speak fondly of the Dean, though, a true Southern Gentleman. I want to say he was a Vanderbilt man.
Living in this WASPy world, Mom was sensitive about her Jewishness. But she recalled the day before Yom Kippur, and the Dean told her he'd see her after the holiday. Mom wasn't religious, and told the Dean she'd be working, but he responded that Jews were the older brothers of true Christians like him, and she NEEDED to honor G-d on the holiest day. Mom never forgot that.
She got pregnant, in April of '44, and took the long train home to the Bronx to have my sister. The war was still raging, and my Dad had no idea where he'd be -- better for Mom to be home.
Years later, he told me not staying in Southern California was a regret -- he loved it there. He wondered whether a guy like him might have found work, post war, in the entertainment business -- as a writer or editor. Instead, his fate took him back the the Bronx, and three jobs to support his growing family.
But back to Mom. She was so blessed with a wonderfully sunny disposition. She always saw the bright side. In her later years -- she kept negativity away from her aggressively.
I was always a news junkie, and after Dad died, my senior year of college, I would come to Delray for the weekends. I noticed the paper wasn't delivered. Mom said all the bad news saddened her -- she stopped reading it. I had to drive to the local Stop N Shop for my daily news fix.
Later, she stopped watching all the news. Her TV had old movies, nature documentaries, and, to my great amusement, basketball. Her companion Max, from Detroit, was a huge Pistons fan, and turned Mom into a fan, too, but she liked the Heat. I remember a surreal moment when she asked me about Glenn Rice...
Mom was wise. I wish I could follow her wisdom, instead of sucking up every horrible detail of the plague. When will it peak? Will Miami escape the horror going on in NYC now?
I envision Mom, if she were alive and with us -- just insisting the TV show animal shows. Wifey would have complied.
My reverie about Mom included her death day. I knew her end was near, and was on my way to Miami Jewish Home early on April 27, 2013. There's that 13 again. I stopped for gas on NW 2nd Avenue, and got the call from the staff -- she had died within the hour. I drove over, and went to her room. The crew had been through -- cleaned it well, though that sickly smell of disinfectant hovered over.
Wifey came, along with Edna, who was in town visiting her parents. Wifey wasn't answering her phone, and was wheeling her father, a fellow resident, over for a visit. Richard had an awful fear of death, and I didn't want him to see Mom. I met them in the hall, and Wifey returned Richard to his building, and came back.
And then Barry was there -- to visit Sunny -- not knowing he would be there to support me in her death. And so it was a small vigil of shomrim in her room -- Wifey, Edna, Barry, and me. The burly guy from the funeral home was there pretty quickly, and put Mom into a blue velvet sack, and gently wheeled her out. She was so light, he didn't need any help.
We went over to nearby Soyka, and D1 joined us. D2 was up at UF, in Gainesville. We toasted Mom, and her life.
It's funny -- my parents had three kids, and somehow I was the only one to see both of them dead. Sometimes I envy my sisters this. Sometimes I don't.
Mom made to 93. She had a wonderful, happy, and very fortunate life. I have a feeling she'd say about the current plague that the world has seen worse, even in her lifetime, and will endure.
I suspect she is right.
We were going to have our long time cleaning lady Miriam back this Wednesday. We've been sending her weekly checks, and telling her to stay home, and thought this would be her return, but now have decided to give it another week. Someone asked me why I keep sending her checks. I replied that maybe there are some folks who can live in 7 figure houses and not pay folks who have served them, but I'm not that guy.
Anyway -- as I lay in bed after my 4 am wake up, I tried to fall back asleep thinking of my parents. It occurred to me: one week from today is my dear Mom's birthday -- or was it? She always told us it was April 13, 1920. Then, when I took over her affairs, her Medicare card said some other date in April -- maybe the 11th? That was classic Mom -- when she liked something or someone, her mind was made up -- facts be damned. And she loved the number 13.
So sticking to her chosen birthday -- next week she's have turned 100. Wow. She was 41 when she had me -- a so called change of life baby. Dad was 42.
I reflected back on her early life -- a very happy childhood, though poor, in the Bronx. She had a warm and loving family. She used to tell me tales of her father, whose name was Goldsmith, though he worked as a silversmith (roofer) packing up an old car and driving to "the country," which were the Catskills, and having wonderful family picnics. My Mom developed an absolute love of grilled hot dogs. They remained her favorite food, long after her finances changed, and she was privileged to travel the world, and eat at fine restaurants. Nothing like a good kosher dog from the grill, with mustard and sauerkraut.
She had a childhood boyfriend from across the street -- a bookish boy, not at all into sports. He was drafted into the Army 4 months after Pearl Harbor Day, and they kept their relationship going through letters, and the occasional long distance call. I would have loved to have seen those letters, but my Mom tossed all "that old crap" when she moved to Florida.
They decided to marry while my Dad was stationed in Pasadena, and I picture my Mom, who had never been out of the NYC area, boarding a transcontinental train, alone, for a 4 day trip. What an adventure it must have been -- greeted by her beloved at the end of the line.
A rabbi chaplain married them, and they began their life together. They found a bungalow up in the hills off Colorado Boulevard, and Mom got a job as a secretary to the Dean of Cal Tech -- probably, at the time, fully involved in the Manhattan Project, though Mom never knew, or spoke of it. She did speak fondly of the Dean, though, a true Southern Gentleman. I want to say he was a Vanderbilt man.
Living in this WASPy world, Mom was sensitive about her Jewishness. But she recalled the day before Yom Kippur, and the Dean told her he'd see her after the holiday. Mom wasn't religious, and told the Dean she'd be working, but he responded that Jews were the older brothers of true Christians like him, and she NEEDED to honor G-d on the holiest day. Mom never forgot that.
She got pregnant, in April of '44, and took the long train home to the Bronx to have my sister. The war was still raging, and my Dad had no idea where he'd be -- better for Mom to be home.
Years later, he told me not staying in Southern California was a regret -- he loved it there. He wondered whether a guy like him might have found work, post war, in the entertainment business -- as a writer or editor. Instead, his fate took him back the the Bronx, and three jobs to support his growing family.
But back to Mom. She was so blessed with a wonderfully sunny disposition. She always saw the bright side. In her later years -- she kept negativity away from her aggressively.
I was always a news junkie, and after Dad died, my senior year of college, I would come to Delray for the weekends. I noticed the paper wasn't delivered. Mom said all the bad news saddened her -- she stopped reading it. I had to drive to the local Stop N Shop for my daily news fix.
Later, she stopped watching all the news. Her TV had old movies, nature documentaries, and, to my great amusement, basketball. Her companion Max, from Detroit, was a huge Pistons fan, and turned Mom into a fan, too, but she liked the Heat. I remember a surreal moment when she asked me about Glenn Rice...
Mom was wise. I wish I could follow her wisdom, instead of sucking up every horrible detail of the plague. When will it peak? Will Miami escape the horror going on in NYC now?
I envision Mom, if she were alive and with us -- just insisting the TV show animal shows. Wifey would have complied.
My reverie about Mom included her death day. I knew her end was near, and was on my way to Miami Jewish Home early on April 27, 2013. There's that 13 again. I stopped for gas on NW 2nd Avenue, and got the call from the staff -- she had died within the hour. I drove over, and went to her room. The crew had been through -- cleaned it well, though that sickly smell of disinfectant hovered over.
Wifey came, along with Edna, who was in town visiting her parents. Wifey wasn't answering her phone, and was wheeling her father, a fellow resident, over for a visit. Richard had an awful fear of death, and I didn't want him to see Mom. I met them in the hall, and Wifey returned Richard to his building, and came back.
And then Barry was there -- to visit Sunny -- not knowing he would be there to support me in her death. And so it was a small vigil of shomrim in her room -- Wifey, Edna, Barry, and me. The burly guy from the funeral home was there pretty quickly, and put Mom into a blue velvet sack, and gently wheeled her out. She was so light, he didn't need any help.
We went over to nearby Soyka, and D1 joined us. D2 was up at UF, in Gainesville. We toasted Mom, and her life.
It's funny -- my parents had three kids, and somehow I was the only one to see both of them dead. Sometimes I envy my sisters this. Sometimes I don't.
Mom made to 93. She had a wonderful, happy, and very fortunate life. I have a feeling she'd say about the current plague that the world has seen worse, even in her lifetime, and will endure.
I suspect she is right.
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Best Saturday Of The Pestilence So Far
So the day started like all during this time of the plague -- got up, shaved, fed the dogs. Young Josh texted -- was there walking on Saturday? The gentle nudge was great -- there WAS -- and I called and we chatted during my first 2.2 miles around the 'hood.
We joked it was to be a busy day -- at least with deliveries. Some custom sofas Wifey had bought months ago were finally brought -- in 2 separate deliveries. So Wifey busied herself with one of her young decorators, making sure it was placed and arranged in the right way.
And I got a delivery -- my New Balance kicks were dropped off by our friendly mailwoman. I ordered them last week, and there they were -- I came close to wearing through the soles of my other two pairs with all the anxiety walking I've been doing.
I called my California sister, and was off again -- through the 'hood -- another couple of miles in the still beautiful weather. Alas, soon the humidity and mosquitoes will return -- and other than dawn and dusk with copious sprayed Cutter -- the walks won't be so pastoral.
We were expecting yet another delivery -- the weekly Publix Instacart. They were due between 6 and 8.
At precisely 6:58 I poured my quarantini -- Tito's and a bit of tonic water -- the better to give myself the quinine they say may help. I texted young Josh -- we had set up a 7 pm happy hour -- and gave him my Hyman Roth line about if he calls, I'll know I have a drinking partner -- if he doesn't; I'll know I don't.
Sure enough, just as I took my place out by the pool on the composite Adirondack chair, came the FaceTime. It was lovely -- as the Tito's worked its magic, we had fine conversation. Wifey joined us, and asked me to go get her a soda from the fridge -- her knee hurts, and she can't descend the 5 steps. I grabbed a soda in the darkness, but it was a tragic mistake -- it was NOT diet. Her reaction about having actually sipped half of the outlawed beverage gave us all some laughs.
D1 and Joey joined the virtual party, as did D2. Scott and his lady Sam up in Virginia wanted to see the new puppy -- the baby was asleep. The youngest couple is thinking of adopting a cat -- and had to endure the playful objections of the mostly dog loving crowd.
Well -- turns out those Instacart folks are sneaky -- they had delivered to our front door without our noticing. So we schlepped while FaceTiming -- and showed off the Publix sub we had for dinner. Dr. Barry, Donna, and Josh had Japanese, and Sam had made her and Scott chili. Oh, I love chili...
Anyway -- we said our goodbyes, and I went upstairs for my nightly hot shower. Afterwards, I went out onto the bedroom porch -- in all my glorious nakedness. I plopped into a chaise. I put on an old hit from 1969 -- "Reflections of My Life" by the Marmalade -- I had heard it earlier in the day as part of the sound track on a roman a clef movie I watched based on Robert Lypsyte's "One Fat Summer."
The breeze was exquisite. The music heavenly. I left my phone perched on the nearby window sill, and "YouTube" worked its magic -- choosing a set list for me. Next was Alan Parson's "Eye in the Sky" -- a live jam version that went on, thankfully, and on. And after that was a long intro to a song I first thought was by Dire Straits -- but it was old Pink Floyd.
Lately, I switch off Pink Floyd because Roger Waters is such a slimy anti semite. But I let him sing a long "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" followed by "Us and Them." That latter one brought me back to my friend Eric's room in Levittown, probably 1976, when he, Mark, John, Fitz, Gerry and I would listen to that album over and over, as Eric's homemade oscilloscope gave us a light show.
Probably an hour passed. I knew those I loved most were safe for the night. I was still buzzed from the vodka. The sky was cloudy and deep shades of black, blue, and gray. That breeze kept literally caressing me.
I was at true peace.
I hope for, and will seek out, more of these moments as these scary times play out, and plan to go back in my mind to the zen of last night when the tensosity creeps back.
We joked it was to be a busy day -- at least with deliveries. Some custom sofas Wifey had bought months ago were finally brought -- in 2 separate deliveries. So Wifey busied herself with one of her young decorators, making sure it was placed and arranged in the right way.
And I got a delivery -- my New Balance kicks were dropped off by our friendly mailwoman. I ordered them last week, and there they were -- I came close to wearing through the soles of my other two pairs with all the anxiety walking I've been doing.
I called my California sister, and was off again -- through the 'hood -- another couple of miles in the still beautiful weather. Alas, soon the humidity and mosquitoes will return -- and other than dawn and dusk with copious sprayed Cutter -- the walks won't be so pastoral.
We were expecting yet another delivery -- the weekly Publix Instacart. They were due between 6 and 8.
At precisely 6:58 I poured my quarantini -- Tito's and a bit of tonic water -- the better to give myself the quinine they say may help. I texted young Josh -- we had set up a 7 pm happy hour -- and gave him my Hyman Roth line about if he calls, I'll know I have a drinking partner -- if he doesn't; I'll know I don't.
Sure enough, just as I took my place out by the pool on the composite Adirondack chair, came the FaceTime. It was lovely -- as the Tito's worked its magic, we had fine conversation. Wifey joined us, and asked me to go get her a soda from the fridge -- her knee hurts, and she can't descend the 5 steps. I grabbed a soda in the darkness, but it was a tragic mistake -- it was NOT diet. Her reaction about having actually sipped half of the outlawed beverage gave us all some laughs.
D1 and Joey joined the virtual party, as did D2. Scott and his lady Sam up in Virginia wanted to see the new puppy -- the baby was asleep. The youngest couple is thinking of adopting a cat -- and had to endure the playful objections of the mostly dog loving crowd.
Well -- turns out those Instacart folks are sneaky -- they had delivered to our front door without our noticing. So we schlepped while FaceTiming -- and showed off the Publix sub we had for dinner. Dr. Barry, Donna, and Josh had Japanese, and Sam had made her and Scott chili. Oh, I love chili...
Anyway -- we said our goodbyes, and I went upstairs for my nightly hot shower. Afterwards, I went out onto the bedroom porch -- in all my glorious nakedness. I plopped into a chaise. I put on an old hit from 1969 -- "Reflections of My Life" by the Marmalade -- I had heard it earlier in the day as part of the sound track on a roman a clef movie I watched based on Robert Lypsyte's "One Fat Summer."
The breeze was exquisite. The music heavenly. I left my phone perched on the nearby window sill, and "YouTube" worked its magic -- choosing a set list for me. Next was Alan Parson's "Eye in the Sky" -- a live jam version that went on, thankfully, and on. And after that was a long intro to a song I first thought was by Dire Straits -- but it was old Pink Floyd.
Lately, I switch off Pink Floyd because Roger Waters is such a slimy anti semite. But I let him sing a long "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" followed by "Us and Them." That latter one brought me back to my friend Eric's room in Levittown, probably 1976, when he, Mark, John, Fitz, Gerry and I would listen to that album over and over, as Eric's homemade oscilloscope gave us a light show.
Probably an hour passed. I knew those I loved most were safe for the night. I was still buzzed from the vodka. The sky was cloudy and deep shades of black, blue, and gray. That breeze kept literally caressing me.
I was at true peace.
I hope for, and will seek out, more of these moments as these scary times play out, and plan to go back in my mind to the zen of last night when the tensosity creeps back.
Friday, April 3, 2020
The Pond Is Back to Normal
So strangely, a few weeks ago, as we were getting into the coronavirus life, I noticed a foul smell coming from my pond out front. This means a fish kill, which has happened several times over the years -- when the power is out and the aerator shuts off. Typically the koi would die off, and the smaller cichlids and hearty plecos would survive. The last time it happened was after Hurricane Irma -- the power was off a good 10 days, and I had to buy new koi. The raccoons and other scavengers took care of the fish corpses...
This time, though, the aerator was fine. The older, larger plecos were dying. I counted a total of 6 of them. I assumed there was some disease that affected only them. Once again, the scavengers took care of the carrion. One am I saw one of the fish floating, fileted as if done by a human. It was pretty impressive.
For about a week after, the water didn't look so great. The fish seemed sluggish -- schooled together in a shady part of the pond, near the papyrus plants that grow on the western bank. The foul smell lessened, but the pond was still sickly. There wasn't anything for me to do but hope nature healed the little world out front. Nature worked.
Today I was outside, and the water was crystal clear. I fed the fish -- they swam happily and rapidly. And, happiest of all, several of the plecos survived. One attached his sucker to the shell of a passing turtle -- cleaning his pondmate's shell. It was lovely.
I always enjoy sitting by the pond, watching the microcosm it is. The bubbling of the air stone is relaxing. Butterflies, and rarely, hummingbirds fly over.
We had some lime green iguanas, and I hadn't seen them in awhile. Today a younger one darted around.
I was sitting there alone, and was joined by an even more exotic animal. A black and white furry creature, about 16 pounds, ambled his way over the stone bridge, joining me in the shade of an overhanging ficus. He was the crippled Spaniel, Bo, and I hoisted him to my lap, and we sat for a good, long while.
He lifted his adorable little head, and enjoyed a cool breeze. It was lovely.
I hope our world follows the example of my pond -- the killer virus passes, and we can heal. I truly hope that comes sooner than later.
This time, though, the aerator was fine. The older, larger plecos were dying. I counted a total of 6 of them. I assumed there was some disease that affected only them. Once again, the scavengers took care of the carrion. One am I saw one of the fish floating, fileted as if done by a human. It was pretty impressive.
For about a week after, the water didn't look so great. The fish seemed sluggish -- schooled together in a shady part of the pond, near the papyrus plants that grow on the western bank. The foul smell lessened, but the pond was still sickly. There wasn't anything for me to do but hope nature healed the little world out front. Nature worked.
Today I was outside, and the water was crystal clear. I fed the fish -- they swam happily and rapidly. And, happiest of all, several of the plecos survived. One attached his sucker to the shell of a passing turtle -- cleaning his pondmate's shell. It was lovely.
I always enjoy sitting by the pond, watching the microcosm it is. The bubbling of the air stone is relaxing. Butterflies, and rarely, hummingbirds fly over.
We had some lime green iguanas, and I hadn't seen them in awhile. Today a younger one darted around.
I was sitting there alone, and was joined by an even more exotic animal. A black and white furry creature, about 16 pounds, ambled his way over the stone bridge, joining me in the shade of an overhanging ficus. He was the crippled Spaniel, Bo, and I hoisted him to my lap, and we sat for a good, long while.
He lifted his adorable little head, and enjoyed a cool breeze. It was lovely.
I hope our world follows the example of my pond -- the killer virus passes, and we can heal. I truly hope that comes sooner than later.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Well, I Got One In
So no April Fools' Day for me, and it was too bad. My buddy Norman reminded me that last year I had another good one -- posted on FaceBook (tm) that he had left his long time law firm to take over as the new Dean of UM's Law School. Scarily --many people accepted that as truth, despite the fact that other than teaching some seminars, Norman doesn't have much experience in law school academics.
Anyway -- another day slogged by. It finally rained a little, cheering Wifey, who has been watering the plants around the house. We had a record dry March.
I had a nice happy hour with Kenny -- just the two of us -- and compared notes of surviving the plague.
And then, nicely buzzed, I got an email from dear Stuart, my sweetest, most pure hearted friend. He's turning 60 this July, and is still well taken care of by his father Bill. We jokingly call Stuart Alfred E Neuman sometimes -- he refuses to worry about things that most of the rest of my friends and I agonize about.
Well -- he sent me an email with a crash report for a new case we have up in Orlando. I went full nihilist in my response. I told him we're about to die, leaving our kids orphans and HIS elderly parents bereft, and he is trifling with crash reports from Orlando?
This am, I read his response -- he's worried about me -- maybe the whole virus thing was finally cracking my solid base. The guy who had to become an adult 4 days before I turned 21 -- and has remained a caretaker of my family, friends, and elderly and failing parents was finally losing it.
Nah. I told him I had to squeeze out at least ONE April Fools joke. It was late in the day, and the Tito's was working its magic.
But the truth is, these times DO suck. Badly. Of course I daily count my blessings. Wifey and I are quarantined in paradise. Our sacred Ds are married to wonderful men -- able receivers of the torch I passed to take care of them. Our grandson is wildly adorable -- the son of two thin parents, and yet beautifully fat. As Kenny said -- pediatricians love fat babies.
Yesterday we FaceTimed, and then Zoomed, with my mother in law. The audio wasn't working, but we saw her, all plump and strong looking, in bed, her hair and nails done nicely. I have no idea how much she comprehends about the situation -- but she is a Survivor, and is surviving.
The Palace, where she lives, has, I believe, zero covid-19 cases. I'm sure it's because the owner, a savvy businessman, is a former Israeli IDF officer. He runs that place like one would expect -- there WOULD be no visitors during the pandemic. And the place is thriving -- except for the isolation.
I told Wifey I'm not giving up my prediction that her mother might outlive us...
Today -- more of the same. It's funny -- Wifey and I haven't had a regular dinner in over two weeks. We live like college aged roommates -- just grabbing whatever is there. Last night I toasted a frozen bagel, put some cheese on it, and had for dessert a chocolate protein bar. As I was going to bed, Wifey said "Are we ever going to have a normal dinner again?" I said likely not while this is going on.
So we're in the midst of things. Each day...just getting through it. What else is there to do?
Anyway -- another day slogged by. It finally rained a little, cheering Wifey, who has been watering the plants around the house. We had a record dry March.
I had a nice happy hour with Kenny -- just the two of us -- and compared notes of surviving the plague.
And then, nicely buzzed, I got an email from dear Stuart, my sweetest, most pure hearted friend. He's turning 60 this July, and is still well taken care of by his father Bill. We jokingly call Stuart Alfred E Neuman sometimes -- he refuses to worry about things that most of the rest of my friends and I agonize about.
Well -- he sent me an email with a crash report for a new case we have up in Orlando. I went full nihilist in my response. I told him we're about to die, leaving our kids orphans and HIS elderly parents bereft, and he is trifling with crash reports from Orlando?
This am, I read his response -- he's worried about me -- maybe the whole virus thing was finally cracking my solid base. The guy who had to become an adult 4 days before I turned 21 -- and has remained a caretaker of my family, friends, and elderly and failing parents was finally losing it.
Nah. I told him I had to squeeze out at least ONE April Fools joke. It was late in the day, and the Tito's was working its magic.
But the truth is, these times DO suck. Badly. Of course I daily count my blessings. Wifey and I are quarantined in paradise. Our sacred Ds are married to wonderful men -- able receivers of the torch I passed to take care of them. Our grandson is wildly adorable -- the son of two thin parents, and yet beautifully fat. As Kenny said -- pediatricians love fat babies.
Yesterday we FaceTimed, and then Zoomed, with my mother in law. The audio wasn't working, but we saw her, all plump and strong looking, in bed, her hair and nails done nicely. I have no idea how much she comprehends about the situation -- but she is a Survivor, and is surviving.
The Palace, where she lives, has, I believe, zero covid-19 cases. I'm sure it's because the owner, a savvy businessman, is a former Israeli IDF officer. He runs that place like one would expect -- there WOULD be no visitors during the pandemic. And the place is thriving -- except for the isolation.
I told Wifey I'm not giving up my prediction that her mother might outlive us...
Today -- more of the same. It's funny -- Wifey and I haven't had a regular dinner in over two weeks. We live like college aged roommates -- just grabbing whatever is there. Last night I toasted a frozen bagel, put some cheese on it, and had for dessert a chocolate protein bar. As I was going to bed, Wifey said "Are we ever going to have a normal dinner again?" I said likely not while this is going on.
So we're in the midst of things. Each day...just getting through it. What else is there to do?
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
April Fool's Day Postponed For Me
As a frustrated comedy writer, which I have been since the age of about 9, I always enjoyed April Fool's Day. I remember learning about it in grade school, and beginning my career like most kids: "Hey -- there's a spider on your head" and progressing to better and more involved pranks. Well -- not this year -- my mood is far too anxious to be silly or funny. If we all get through this, I WILL find my anxiety for nothing funny -- but that will have to come later.
Two of my deeds from past years stand out, in addition to the many claims that Wifey was pregnant -- well past the time of menopause. One involved my friend Peter.
Pete and his partner Gene referred a really good PI case to my old firm. It was a young business executive struck by a drunk in a rental car. Back then, rental car cases were great to have -- unlimited insurance coverage. Now the coverage is capped, and no one wants them.
Anyway, the client, who came to become a friend, had awful injuries, which, thankfully, over time, he recovered from. But we struck fast with the case, and used an overwhelmed older defense lawyer, long gone now, to advise his client they'd better settle fast, and big. They offered nearly $2.5 million -- in late March.
Pete would call each day for updates, and I told him we were close to settling, but holding out for just a bit more. Pete and Gene were in for a healthy 6 figure co- counsel fee, and were already spending money based upon the sure thing. Pete went out and leased his first luxury car.
Well -- he called on April 1, and I was overcome with devilishness. I told him that the client was so determined to show he was still a tough guy, he was out running a marathon, and been recorded by the defense. There would be no settlement. I think I heard an anguished whimper, but there was definitely silence. We hung up. I told everyone in my firm what I had done. They nearly peed their pants.
I'm not THAT evil, so I only allowed my friend's suffering to go on about a half hour. I called him back. He was nearly inconsolable "I took out the LEASE. I don't know what I'm going to do now." I said to him "And to get the news on this, of all days." "Oh -- I know -- I always get bad news on Tuesdays...wait...you son of a bitch!"
He ran to call Gene, and we all laughed the laugh of relief together, and, indeed, there was a fat co -counsel check a few weeks later.
Yeah -- those were the days. April Fool's somehow seemed fun and appropriate. Now I pour through the latest virus news, hoping to see some glimmers of optimism.
That super genius, Michael Levitt, thinks Italy and NYC have peaked -- the end of the plague, for them, is in sight. For us in South Florida -- who knows?
I'm hoping the great Eliot poem is wrong, and in fact April is NOT the cruelest month.
But for now, it's not one, for me, that feels very light hearted.
Two of my deeds from past years stand out, in addition to the many claims that Wifey was pregnant -- well past the time of menopause. One involved my friend Peter.
Pete and his partner Gene referred a really good PI case to my old firm. It was a young business executive struck by a drunk in a rental car. Back then, rental car cases were great to have -- unlimited insurance coverage. Now the coverage is capped, and no one wants them.
Anyway, the client, who came to become a friend, had awful injuries, which, thankfully, over time, he recovered from. But we struck fast with the case, and used an overwhelmed older defense lawyer, long gone now, to advise his client they'd better settle fast, and big. They offered nearly $2.5 million -- in late March.
Pete would call each day for updates, and I told him we were close to settling, but holding out for just a bit more. Pete and Gene were in for a healthy 6 figure co- counsel fee, and were already spending money based upon the sure thing. Pete went out and leased his first luxury car.
Well -- he called on April 1, and I was overcome with devilishness. I told him that the client was so determined to show he was still a tough guy, he was out running a marathon, and been recorded by the defense. There would be no settlement. I think I heard an anguished whimper, but there was definitely silence. We hung up. I told everyone in my firm what I had done. They nearly peed their pants.
I'm not THAT evil, so I only allowed my friend's suffering to go on about a half hour. I called him back. He was nearly inconsolable "I took out the LEASE. I don't know what I'm going to do now." I said to him "And to get the news on this, of all days." "Oh -- I know -- I always get bad news on Tuesdays...wait...you son of a bitch!"
He ran to call Gene, and we all laughed the laugh of relief together, and, indeed, there was a fat co -counsel check a few weeks later.
Yeah -- those were the days. April Fool's somehow seemed fun and appropriate. Now I pour through the latest virus news, hoping to see some glimmers of optimism.
That super genius, Michael Levitt, thinks Italy and NYC have peaked -- the end of the plague, for them, is in sight. For us in South Florida -- who knows?
I'm hoping the great Eliot poem is wrong, and in fact April is NOT the cruelest month.
But for now, it's not one, for me, that feels very light hearted.
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