Liberal Guilt

 So yesterday there was a despicable shooting in Buffalo, in a market in a Black neighborhood. A skinny loser white kid, who actually bears some resemblance to the skinny loser white kid who shot up Douglas High in Broward, drove to Buffalo and killed 10 people.

The victims were salt of the earth types, at least the two identified. A retired Buffalo cop working security and the mother of the retired fire chief.

May justice be swift for the racist scum who did this. May the web pages like 4chan where he learned some of the hatred that fueled him, be taken down, and their writers prosecuted as well. It was a tragedy.

But just a bit ago, I read an article in the Sunday NY Times, about the segregated history of the neighborhood where the shooting happened. The subtext was that Buffalo had a nice Black middle class hood, like Overtown was in Miami, and racist planning put in a highway, the Kensington Expressway, in the early 70s, that "ruined" the area. And...so?

Had they not put in the road this wouldn't have happened? Like the psychopathic killer couldn't have found a majority Black group somewhere else to carry out his evil plan?

I have little hope for the future of the Democratic Party because of thinking like the Times' writer. Of course there were segregationist city planning policies -- all over the US. They need to be reversed, of course, in the courts.

But the ultra left doesn't seem to get that elected officials appoint Federal judges, and as long as the Trumpians are in power, ain't nothing going to be done to help.

And the only way forward for the Dems is appealing to centrists -- not by alienating people by telling them THEY'RE the problem.

I heard a great line by Mark Caputo on the radio Thursday -- not sure if it is his or not. He said that the language of the Democratic party used to be the union hall, and now it's the elite college faculty break room.

In Florida, Cubans were always GOP voters, largely, but the rest of the Hispanice tended Democratic. No more -- the I-4 corridor, largely Puerto Ricans from Orlando to Tampa, is skewing more conservative.

DeSantis is going to win re-election so hugely it'll be absurd.

I really dislike losing -- whether a different law firm got a case I wanted, my sports teams, or my political party. And when I DO lose, I despise excuses -- "he didn't play FAIR."

And in current politics, I don't blame Republicans -- they're just outplaying the Dems on so many levels. It took a sociopath president and a centrist Joe Biden to get rid of Trump. If the Dems don't find another Bill Clinton before 2024 -- it'll clearly be Trump 2.0, or DeSantis 1.0.

So of course I feel terrible for what happened in Buffalo. But do I blame the 60s era Buffalo City Commision and Department of Transportation for it? Of course not.

The Travel Bug Only Bit One Of Us

 With rare exceptions, Wifey has been the engine behind our travel. When I was younger, I yearned to visit places, but as the years went by, and I had, like Johnny Cash, been everywhere, man, I was happy to stay close to home -- other than visits to the Ds when they lived in Gville and NYC, and the stray Canes away game trip.

And the pattern was the same: Wifey would plan a trip, like our 2 Med cruises, and I'd end up having a terrific time.

Well, as the plague seems in retreat, Wifey is Jonesing badly to travel again, and I'm the wet towel. I think our typical pattern will return.

As of now, we have tentative plans to visit our friends Kenny and Joelle at their gorgeous Maine lake house -- probably over Labor Day. AA has a non stop from MIA to Portland, so getting there should be easy.

After that, Joelle has found and suggested a French river tour -- and sent an itinerary for October. It includes the Rhone River, and basically consists of eating and drinking amazing food, and walking as much as you want through the vineyards. I must admit -- it's right in my wheelhouse. Hopefully we get it together, and that trip takes place.

Wifey has long wanted to go to China. I have less than zero desire -- the only place in Asia that holds any interest for me is Japan, and it's not on my list of must see places. And Africa? My friend Norman has said he never had any desire to go, and it turned out his was the trip of a lifetime -- he wants to go again.

For me -- eh. I'm not that into animals, other than dogs, and that seems to be the big draw to go there.

Wifey and I agree on Sedona -- that'll likely make the list. Dr. Eric and Dana have been several times, and have ready made itineraries.

I met three neighbors this am all of whom have big upcoming trips. Karen and Robert are leaving for Iceland this weekend -- a full week driving around, seeing herring and hobbits.

Ellen is headed to Colombia. I told her a must see in Cartegena is the Inquisition Museum -- a place I learned a lot about an event I had fully understood.

And Allison and her family are off to South Africa, where they honeymooned 25 years ago. This time they're taking their boy Jack, a rising Iowa sophomore.

I look forward to hearing about their journeys when they get back to Miami, but hearing about the trips stirred no desire in me to go.

Yes -- Wifey will have to push -- again.

You're GOOD -- Yes You Are!!!!

 So several weeks ago, I developed a nagging pain in my right hip. Not debilitating, but probably pain of 6 out of 10 when I moved certain ways.

I couldn't trace it to a single event, though probably the jumping and movement I do with my trainer Juan triggered some or it. Plus, being overweight isn't helpful, nor is my family history of very bad hips.

My Mom had both of hers replaced, and my California sister was the recipient of one of the first artificial hips, implanted at Columbia Presbyterian in the early 50s. Both Ds have had issues -- D2 has something called "clicking hip" which is what it sounds like. Fortunately, our local ortho, Julio Robla, says none are surgical candidates.

My local gym has several PTs on location. They do "concierge PT," which means you pay directly -- no insurance taken. The PTs are well trained, and the thought is when you combine the PT with the expert training, it's a seamless way to get better.

My man Juan suggested I see Dr. Mike. And so I did -- he evaluated me carefully, and was confident my pain was NOT joint related, but rather muscular. Of course, he said, at nearly 61 there was some arthritis, but most of my issue could be helped with special strengthening exercises and stretching. And so he did -- moving my right leg in ways it hadn't moved since I was an undergrad.

Juan told me to skip the next workout session, and resume the following week, which was last week. Well -- today, the problem is essentially gone!

I saw Dr. Mike  this am and, since like me he's a fan of The Sopranos and mob movies, did my best DeNiro from "Analyze This," saying "Doc -- you're GOOD -- yes, yes you ARE!" He laughed, and appreciated the well earned compliment.

And I was happy to avoid the whole orthopod/insurance PT/anti inflammatory thing. I'm sure that'll come at some point, but for now I'm good to go with one PT session.

To "celebrate" my recovery, Juan had me do twisting exercises with a ball -- again moving me in ways that haven't happened in decades. Another trainer was working with a gorgeous client -- probably a woman in her 40s. I told Juan he had drawn the short straw by having me -- he ought to try to switch with Jonathan. Again -- more male based laughter.

I really DO need to lose weight. I probably lost 40 lbs during the early part of the pandemic -- I walked daily 10 miles and ate little out of anxiety that my family might be lost. Well, now that it seems the plague will spare us mortality and serious morbidity, I walk less and eat too much.

But at least I DO move more, and am getting more flexible and stronger. Fat but strong? Maybe that's not a great marketing slogan for a gym.

Meanwhile, my old gig as Leche Dave, the keeper of D1's frozen breast milk for distribution to appreciative Moms, is long ended. My new gig is Uber/Hotel for granddogs.

Betsy spent the day and Sunday night here, lest she be lonely while D2 and Jonathan were at the F1 race. Last night I met Jonathan at a great Italian place in South Miami -- Wifey met us, too - and we had a fine dinner before I gave back the pony-dog.

Tomorrow, after a late lunch with my S Fla visiting sister and brother in law, we go fetch Madeleine, the spoiled Spaniel, for 2 nights -- D1 and Joey's house is getting tented for termites. Friday I have to get Betsy again, as her parents are going to a luxe Miami Beach hotel, courtesy of Jonathan't company.

So we'll have a hotel for FOUR dogs.

Good thing I have the flexibility to herd them all.

Ah, Sunny

 So today is Mother's Day, and as I, using my typical maudlin sense of humor reminded my family at Friday's early MD dinner, I'm the only one our family ain't got no mother.

We had a lovely time -- D1 picked out a place called Tigre, right near her house. We fetched D2 and spent some great time with the Little Man, and then Joey came home and we all lit the shabbat candles, before we watched him go into full very smart toddler mode and begin his negotiation for more play time before bed time. He is precious.

Tigre sits on the Little River, and is a gorgeous setting. The food was good, but the "for 2 to share short rib" was for 2 super models to share -- and Joey and I are no supermodels. I contrasted the portion with an enormous steak we shared at Cafe Royale in NOLA years ago -- now THAT was manly beef! Still, the mothers in our group enjoyed the evening, as we did. 

But no Sunny is around -- and hasn't given me a living Mom to celebrate for MD since 2013. Wow. 9 years as an orphan for me.

When Dad was alive, and we would discuss MD plans, he'd sing an old TV jingle from the 50s "Every Day is Mother's Day for Me." And it was -- we treated Sunny like the queen she was.

The Ds' memories of their Grandma are all pleasant -- she was already quite old, but always loving and gentle with them. I'm so glad they got to know her. D1 finds it endlessly amusing how clearly my charming passive agressivity is so clearly from her. It was never "I'm hungry," but rather "Ok -- who wants me to treat them to Fuddruckers?"

Paul reminded me of a great MD story from either the late 90s or early aughts. Wifey was working three days per week as a marketing director for an Ecuadorian flower company, and Paul asked if we might get roses directly from them. We could, and so drove to her company in Doral to fetch a case -- I think it had 2 dozen roses, all bundled up and fresh from the cooler. We put it in the trunk of my Jaguar, and drove towards the office, when we came upon an attractive young woman with a broken down Mercedes. We pulled over to help.

It was a well known local news reporter, Michelle Gillen. She was all aflutter -- she needed to be at the station for the noon broadcast. We offered her a ride, and while at first she had Ted Bundy fears, she got in. Paul and I were dressed in our expensive lawyer suits, and she took a chance, and I drove her to the station. We chatted happily. We arrived, and she got out, but I said "Just a minute, ma'am," and opened the trunk and gave her a dozen roses."

She went into reporter mode: "So let me get this straight. Two good looking guys in a Jaguar cruise Miami, looking to aid damsels in distress, and then send them off with beautiful roses?" "Yes, ma'am, that's who we are and what we do." She laughed, and gave the then single Paul her card and asked him to call her. Unfortunately, back then he didn't date damsels so close to his own age, and never called her.

We arrived at the office, and put our young staff to work -- arranging the flowers into vases. The lunchroom looked like the back of a floral shop. Our man Uncle Lou was in town, and we hired him to deliver the flowers all over town -- to secretaries we worked with, female staffers at referral firms, etc. 

But Lou's first stops were in Palm Beach County -- Paul's Mom Lillian, and my Mom Sunny each got 2 dozen roses, for MD. And Sunny had Lou in and made him one of her signature tuna sandwiches. It was lovely all around.

Lillian and Sunny are both now long passed. And Michelle Gillen, the reporter, died last year at 66 -- never having married, I think.

But my thoughts today are on Sunny. I am so blessed to have had her. I can't imagine, or actually I can, how tough it must be to have had a mother you couldn't stand. We all know the cliche about women with Daddy issues. Probably a man with mommy issues is MORE screwed up -- he has the ability to truly make his life partners miserable.

So if there's an afterlife, I hope Sunny is soaring in it today and for all eternity. She always made me feel so loved; so important. And today is her day -- even though it's in the Great Beyond.

Early Mother's Day

 So the Ds and their men are headed to the Formula One race Sunday, which is causing an early Mother's Day for us. Wifey and I are leaving around 3, fetching D2 on Miami Beach, and heading to Shorecrest to spend a few hours with the Little Man. We have dinner reservations at 7:30 at an Argentinian place right by D1 and Joey's house, after which we'll drive D2 back to her place. I told her never Uber when Dadber is free.

I thought about getting Wifey something for MD, even though she my baby mama and not actual mama. And then I hit on the idea that always is a good one: tzedekah. I gave a donation to Lotus House in her and D1's honor. D2 is a great dog mommy, but that's different.

Lotus House is amazing -- it's the largest shelter in the US for only women and children. NO men are allowed. Wifey and I think the Ds have been there to visit -- it's an amazing place. The founder was a corporate lawyer who married a very rich older man. After their divorce, this became her life's work, and it's soaring.

I figured better to help some moms whose decisions about MD are tougher than the mothers in my orbit. D1 agreed -- sent me a beautiful email. I know Wifey and D2 agree, too.

Of course, I think about my mom on MD. Wifey just found a picture of herself outside of her parents' candy store, circa 1965. She was dressed like the Madeline cartoon. It was in Garden City Park.

It's funny -- I was living just a few miles to the east, and I was 4. A local lady, Mrs. Nash, ran a primitive preschool out of her house, and several neighborhood kids were sent there. I attended for a few weeks, but wasn't happy that going prevented me from watching "Leave It To Beaver" reruns -- my favorite show. I told Mom I didn't see the need to attend, and she let me have my way, as usual.

D1 said it was an early example of my charming passive aggressivity. She was correct. I remember about that time, my Dad said we were going to East Broadway School, where I would attend kindergarten the following Fall. I was to get a sugar cube to eat. Of course, it was the polio vaccine -- I still remember the nurse putting it in my mouth and telling me not to chew it, but to let it melt.

Ah, Mom. My memories of her come into focus when I was in kindergarten. She'd pick me up in her 1965 gold Pontiac Catalina, and we'd drive to McDonalds on Hempstead Turnpike for lunch, which we'd eat in the front of her car. The glove box door had little indentations for cups, and I would put my orange aid there.

After lunch, we might shop. If there was a reason, like a positive school report from Miss McNamara, I might get a Tonka truck. It was a lucky, happy childhood.

Ah, Miss McNamara. I actually looked her up about 10 years ago -- she was retiring as the longest serving teacher in the Levittown School District. We emailed for awhile -- I guess she's in her 80s now -- never married. Supposably, as Miamians say, it's because she was closeted, and long time partners with my pretty third grade teacher Miss Dempsey. Ah -- the secrets people had to keep back then.

But after tonight, we'll have celebrated MD properly. Sunday I'm driving to the Grove to pick up D2 and Jonathan's enormous dog -- they don't want her to be left along all day while they're at the auto race. D2 is indeed a devoted dog mommy -- I hope someday to see her give it a shot with a human or humans.

For now, though, MD is here. And it's a nice mix of memories and current experiences.

All of the at home DNA testing has amplified that we may not know who our fathers are, but we all know who our mothers are. And this is their day.

All Jabbed Up And Nowhere To Go

 So Wifey and I drove over to the Pinecrest Covid Center, at a local park. A very nice nurse was there all alone -- complete contrast to the days of Covid frenzy when cops needed to direct traffic. We had decided on Moderna for jab number 4, even though our first three were Pfizer. After 35 years of marriage, you get variety where you can find it.

The nurse noticed that my Covid card had my birth year wrong -- 1955 instead of 1961. Hmmm....how did THAT happen, I wondered? But she drew me up a new one, and now I have an accurate record of my shots -- sort of like our dogs at the vet. Bill Gates has all the records anyway.

We celebrated with a lunch at LOL. By evening, Wifey's arm was sore; mine not so much. Yesterday it really hurt her, again with mine, not so much. This immune system is a many splendored thing.

Yesterday am I did something for the first time in awhile: I attended a Zoom Court hearing. I put on a jacket and tie, but left on the shorts. I considered honoring Jeff Toobin, but thought better about it instead.

I was there as a party -- not a lawyer. We have a lawyer, Scott, representing us, in a fee dispute with a TV lawyer I call Saul Goodman, since his advertising firm is just like Saul. The owner is a smarmy prick, and 4 years ago he hired away a lawyer from our group, who stole some cases. The one at issue is the final one for Paul and me -- and Scott is fighting to get us paid for the six!! years of work we did before the midnight theft of the file.

If there's something more unseemly than lawyers fighting over a fee, like wild dogs over a carcass, I don't know what it is, but when you associate with conmen like Fredo, the name I gave to the former close friend who betrayed us, sometimes these unseemly things occur. 

I spent the rest of the day chilling -- using the jab as an excuse for fatigue that in truth is here because I'm old as fuh, as the young ones say.

Today I'm off to the office to  take a look around, see which way the wind blows, as Morrison sang. And this evening Wifey and I are hosting our HOA Executive Committee, a 7 member Board for our voluntary homeowners' group. We plan an annual party, keep after the landscaping at the entrances, welcome new residents, and generally keep our finger on the pulse of our great community.

One of the members, LeeAnn, is off to see her youngest graduate from Colorado, and so won't be there, but Gloria, Ellen, Allison, and Denie will all attend. They're a cool group of women -- smart and "get 'er done" types. I'm the only member with a Y chromosome, and I play the role of the clueless husband/dinosaur guy who tells silly jokes. We all get along swimmingly.

The Ds and their men are going to the F1 race Sunday, so Mother's Day will be celebrated Friday evening. We'll drive to D1's and spend some time with the Little Man, and then D1 has reservations at a local Argentinian place right off Biscayne, on a canal that apparently attracts manatees. It also pours a nice drink, I am told.

D2 and Jonathan called last night, concerned that the enormous puppy would be lonely left home alone during the long F1 day. Could we watch her? We could, and so Sunday I'll drive to the Grove to do a dog exchange. 

Somehow the first quarter of 2022 just flew by. That seems to happen a lot lately -- 6 months to my 20 something self was a LONG time -- now it seems like a fortnight, to use a term we ought to use more.

We're well over 2 years in the Covid era, and living with it, it seems. I spoke to Mike yesterday -- as far as he knows, the superspreader rabbi only infected our friend Jeff -- and that was because they shared a long car ride. I was happy to hear that -- I had predicted Her Holy Viralness might have done a lot more damage that night.

The other big news is that someone leaked a Supreme Court decision which is overturning Roe v. Wade. Everyone knew that was coming -- now it'll be up to the states. I'm hoping that maybe the right wingers have gone too far, finally, and the majority of people who don't wish a Handmaid's Tale nation will finally get off their asses and vote the bums out. We'll see.

In the mean time, I have advised all young men I know that the safest strategy is to only date post menopausal women -- the surefire way to avoid unwanted pregnancy.

If we can't laugh at these absurd times, we have a real problem.

Oh yeah -- post menopausal women who have all 4 vaccines. One must be careful in all ways.

Lovely Weekend

 So our friends from Stoke were in town, staying at the Palms Hotel, (not the Royal Palm, as I learned later) and Wifey and I met them at South Pointe. Wifey and I arrived and the skies were threatening, but the host assured us the rain had passed. It was beautiful -- right on Government Cut, watching the boats go by, but on Thursday evening, none of the behemoth cruise ships were there.

Wifey actually got a prosecco, and I my usual martini, and we toasted our blessings. Sandra and Dave arrived, and it was a lovely reunion. We met 18 years ago, under strange circumstances. We were on a Med cruise, and D1 became friends with 2 British girls, Sorrel and Esther. Sorrel is Dave and Sandra's only child.

On Mykonos, D1 sliced her ankle VERY badly, requiring a taxi ride (no ambulances there) to a clinic, and a stitch up from an Italian trained doc. Thankfully, the coral slice missed a vessel, or things could have gotten much more dicey. But still, we got her back to the ship, and I went to the clinic to borrow crutches. Nope -- they had ONE !!! pair, and it had been given out earlier. to, strangely, a Miami lawyer who broke his ankle on a rented scooter. Really -- no other crutches?

Well -- Sorrel had an answer. Her Dad Dave had lost a leg to cancer as a young man, and traveled with a special cane and had an extra set of crutches! Of course D1 could use them -- and so we bonded with them. Also, Sandra, a nurse, was kind enough to do D1's wound care, and sat with her so Wifey and I could see some more sights. Dave is a doc in England, and was terrific, too. A very lovely friendship developed from D1's injury.

We've stayed in touch over the years. We never made it to Stoke, but did meet them in Ireland for a very fun few days while D1 was visiting the girls in their town. Dave and Sandra, and Sorrel and Esther, have stayed with us, and one time I met them in NYC, on a supposed couples' trip. Alas, Wifey missed out on account of her back pain, so my sister Sue filled in "There will be a substitute. Dave: A prostitute?" Yes -- we share a sense of humor.

Anyway, our teen girls are now grown ass women -- Sorrell has two boys, married to young Dave, to distinguish him from Old Dave -- and D1 has one and another on the way. Lovely to pass through life together.

After dinner, we drove to D2's apartment, for a nightcap, and to fetch Betsy. Wifey had to drive, on account of the drinks. and I directed her to the Royal Palm -- which Sandra and Dave recognized as NOT their hotel. The correct one was just a mile away.

Yesterday, I drove to Shorecrest and spent a delightful few hours with the Little Man and his parents. Joey was building his bed, so he can relinquish his crib to his baby brother, due to join the band in July. He cracked us up actually helping -- he loved hammering some pieces together, with his VERY handy Dad, while his NOT handy grandpa watched.

From the youngest family member visit, I drove to the Palace to see the oldest: my suegra. She keeps on rolling along, like Ole Woman River. There was another awful odor -- I ignored it for an hour, and then had to leave. Wifey's less sensitive sense of smell served her well.

I had dinner plans with Dr. Captain Kenny. I arrived early, and heard a hearty hello from the bar: my urologist Dr. Bob. He was meeting his brother and sister in law, and came over to chat with Kenny and my. It occurred to me I was with one of my oldest friends, along with the man who knows my physically better than any other man. Laughter ensued -- nothing like a good prostate rectal exam joke to bring out humor in men of a certain age.

Today is a chill day. We still have the horse sized dog -- D2 and Jonathan are due back from Austin tonight -- I'm guessing they'll be too cream crackered, as the Brits say, to come fetch her. So the Betsy return will be tomorrow.

So a lovely weekend -- may there be more and more of them.