A Lovely Weekend

 So Sunday D1 and Joey and the Little Man came over. I offered to make Daddy pancakes, but would have done so with Publix mix. Ha. I might as well have offered D1 toxic sludge cakes -- she is a much healthier eater than to allow the mostly corn syrup successor to Aunt Jemima. We ended up bringing in sandwiches from Boulangerie.

It was a lovely visit -- the Little Man is joyful to us. He fed the fish and tortugas, and ran around playing. D1's childhood friend Nicole came by to drop off a basinet she had borrowed. Nicole and D1 met in Middle School and now they both have kids -- Nicole lives close by, in Palmetto Bay. Nicole's Mom and Wifey met when Wifey moved to Miami in 1972 --both daughters of Survivors. It's so sweet that the friendship has transcended generations.

Meanwhile, up in Canada, D2 and Jonathan had Covid drama -- Jonathan's mother tested positive after the big Canadian Bar Mitzvah. She's ok, but couldn't fly home from Canada with a positive test, and the other guests, including D2 and Jonathan, decided to fly home a day earlier, just in case. Fortunately they made it back Sunday night, and Jonathan got to stream the Heat game. Our team was kind enough to end the season at Game 7, so we could go back to getting to sleep earlier.

Yesterday, we took the enormous puppy to Deli Lane in South Miami, to return the dog and close out our Hotel for Dogs. My longtime waitress Carmen was there -- I hadn't seen her since Covid, and we enjoyed catching up. We got to hear all about the Canada trip, and Betsy reluctantly went home with her actual owners -- she prefers the big yard of our house, I think.

Edna had suggested I might enjoy a new Prime series, "The Offer." It tells the story of the making of "The Godfather," one of my all time favorite movies. I probably quote one of the three movies at least weekly, most often "This is the life we have chosen."

I did something for the first time: I blasted the entire available series -- 7 episodes. Wifey slept through 5 of them, and there are 3 more not out yet. 

It's fictionalized, but I checked: much of the stuff, involving Sinatra and the Mafia's opposition to the book and movie are indeed true, as was the drama with Paramount and Coppola and the producer Ruddy. I truly enjoyed it -- and texted Edna this am to thank her for the tip.

This am it was back to the gym, and Juan having me continue the fight against decrepitude and decay as I near my 61st birthday. 

And then I ordered InstaCart -- my weekly chore. When Wifey does it, somehow it becomes a long, drawn out process. I'm decisive and get it done quickly. Wifey is wise -- like the husband in days of old who purposely stuck the baby with a diaper pin, to buy himself freedom from changing diapers, Wifey gets me to take over many tasks that way. It's fine -- and Rolando is already on his way here, less than 45 minutes after my order.

Tomorrow it'll be back to the office, and then, Sunday, we're having a two week early Father's Day. D2 and Jonathan will be in Atlanta on actual FD, and so we moved it up.

That's ok. FD is at best a very poor relation to Mother's Day, as it should be. I requested we bring in bagels and lox, and it be late enough that my sons in law and I can have a few cocktails. That would be a perfect FD for me.

Everything's Quiet On Memorial Day

 It cracks me up -- so few Americans get the difference between the three military holidays. Veterans Day celebrates those who served. Armed Forces Day celebrates those currently serving. And Memorial Day celebrates those who died WHILE serving. Jeez. It's not that hard.

I'm so old I recall my parents calling Memorial Day Decoration Day, which it used to be until well after WW II. It also makes me laugh when folks say "Happy Memorial Day." It's a day of reflection, not mirth. It's like saying "Happy Your Dad's Funeral Day!," or "Happy Yom Kippur!"

Ay. Whatever. All I know is so many died fighting for the US, and lately, at least, we honor their sacrifice by sucking as a nation. We're terribly divided. Wearing a mask to prevent others from getting the plague is political. Strangely, many of those who say the government has NO right to force them to wear masks thing the government has every right to tell a woman what to do with her body.

And there's this latest school tragedy, in Texas. It is so obvious how many "leaders" are bought and paid for by the NRA, and watching them perform the gymnastics of not blaming the availability of automatic weapons to 18 year old nut cases is blackly hilarious.

Australia had a similar shooting, and the next year bought back the majority of guns. And the Aussies are no leftist bleeding hearts like, you can argue, Scandanavians are. But it worked -- no shootings there since the late 90s.

Here, the NBA teams dare to urge people to action, and little weasels like Little Marco Rubio, as Trump called his now lapdog, whined about "Don't make this political!" He doesn't say that when he gets his millions from the NRA. Sickening.

One of my FaceBook friends, Jay in North Carolina, said it best: "After Sandy Hook, we did nothing. Let's be honest -- we're a nation that truly thinks killing little children is ok." He's correct.

I try to remain an optimist, thinking that politics is a pendulum and things have just swung too far to the right. I hope that's the case -- maybe the quiet majority, who is pro choice and at least partially for gun control, will wake up and vote in the coming elections. If not, the VERY active voters, angry white trash and their fellow travelers who blame immigrants for their loserhood, will continue to control things.

And the Democrats have a lot of blame, too, allowing power to creeps like AOC and Omar. Where have you gone, Bill Clinton? Our nation needs a charismatic centrist again -- and maybe it's safe for even those with over active sex drives now after Trump got elected after his "I can grab 'em by the pussy" claim.

Well, thankfully we're having a nice MD weekend. D2 and Jonathan are in Canada, and we're dog sitting the enormous puppy. Yesterday Donna and Barry hosted a brunch at Mo's in Aventura with their boy Josh and Paul and Patricia. They gave us the back room, and we sat and ate and talked for hours. Both owners came by -- Mo, the hilarious Egyptian man, and Paul, the gregarious Venezuelan Jew.

Paul is running for Aventura City Council. The entire council is Jewish. Aventura has a total of 12 synagogues and zero churches in its borders. We all found that hilarious. Josh asked about diversity.

I assured him there were BOTH Ashkenazi AND Sephardic congregations.

Today D1 and Joey and the Little Man are coming over, early. Wifey remains asleep -- I figure the Little Man will enjoy getting to wake her up when he arrives.

With our new stovetop with working exhaust fan, I can make pancakes again -- that will be on the agenda. And maybe a visit to Amalie Park -- our next door neighbor's amazing tot lot. 

Tonight we'll watch Game 7 of the Eastern Finals. I think Wifey is more into the Heat than I am, but I like it when they win. It truly raises the spirits of a city when there's a championship, and the Heat have delivered three already in their relatively short existence.

D2 and Jonathan are due back tomorrow evening, and probably Tuesday there'll be a dog exchange again.

And tomorrow I WILL spend some time reflecting and giving thanks to all of our greatest who died for all of us. I will also pray their sacrifices weren't, ultimately, in vain.

A Cool and Frozen Ending

 So we ordered our new absurd refrigerator last September, and on account of Covid, it was delayed coming in. Delayed nearly 9 months! We could have had a baby. Well, not Wifey and me, but a fecund couple...

Anyway, it was due to be delivered Wednesday, and I told Wifey she could handle overseeing that job. Somehow when I'm there, I always get sucked into some kind of homeowner drama, and I chose to avoid it this time. The delivery folks said they'd be there from 11 to 3, and I spent the day at the office.

At 530 I headed home, and as I would have guessed, no delivery. Apparently the truck broke down. But now I was on a quest -- a quest to stay away from this simple task. Everyone ought to engage in stupid and futile gestures every once in awhile, and this was to be mine.

So I pulled into Captain's Tavern, ordered a martini, and got text updates from Wifey. I had the grouper -- amazingly fresh. I struck up a conversation with some fellow gringos at the bar -- a retired criminal lawyer who was good friends with some of my friends, and the longtime corporate counsel from Ryder Trucks -- now 88 and awaiting his "hot young wife." She showed up -- she's 65. I guess everything is contextual.

Now it was 8, and the delivery guys had arrived, but needed backup. This damned built in is SO heavy -- I would never have bought it, except our kitchen was designed for a flat, built in.

When flat screens came out, they were absurdly expensive, but now are cheap. Flat fridges went the other way in price -- when we bought a replacement for the original one in '07, it cost $6K. Now it's over $10K. And they last, if you're lucky, only a decade. We'll see...

I drove home and saw the blinking yellow lights of the van parked next to the delivery truck. I parked next to Jeff and Lili's -- now bound by ridiculous duty to NOT go home until the work was done. It was 8:45 and I listened to the first quarter of the Heat game. Finally, at 9, Wifey called -- the job was done.

The new behemoth was in the kitchen, and the free HD unit in the garage -- the simple garage fridge taken away, with a case of Bud Light I told Wifey to have the delivery guys take -- leftovers from D2's party in February. I drink little beer, and when I do, like the World's Most Interesting Man, it is NOT Bud light. The guys appreciated it.

So I drove home, figuring the guys were just hanging out chilling. We watched the Heat lose -- the Finals ought to end tonight in Boston.

At 11, I took out the trash -- and the truck was still there! The driver, a very nice fellow from Detroit, said he was waiting for a tow truck -- no easy feat for something to tow a big box truck on a Wednesday night. I invited him in, or offered some cold drinks. "I'm fine," he said "enjoying the beer from your wife. Thanks." Finally at 11:30 they towed him away.

So this latest classic First World Problem seems over. Wifey is happy with her new appliances.

I told the story to neighbor Ellen today, and she smarmily said "Oh -- so with state of the art appliances, your Wife's going to cook now?" Ha. As if. Not at all, other than the pasta I make, along with the Daddy eggs and pancakes, but it does look spiffy.

Meanwhile, Betsy is here for the weekend. D2 and Jonathan are north of Toronto for Jonathan's nephew's bar mitzvah. I imagine spirits will be lower as the rabid Leafs fans saw their team stink again this year. But they'll have some nice, cool weather -- they're due back Monday night.

In honor of their Canadian visit, I'm playing Neil Young, though I think he may have become American. That's ok. D2 and Jonathan just landed safely, and I sent them a bunch of Canadian stuff -- the MaKenzie brothers, and the trivia nugget that Rick Moranis and Geddy Lee, two famous Toronto Jews, grew up together. Moranis is much funnier.

It's Memorial Day weekend, and we plan to see D1, Joey, and the Little Man Sunday. And Monday I WILL remember those who died for our now divided country -- with the hopes that we somehow stay together even though many of us care more about outlawing abortion than they do about protecting school age children from mass shootings.

Oh boy. Better to worry about expensive refrigerators.

Death and White Butterflies

 So the other day I mistakenly texted something to my cousin Barry, instead of my usual recipient, Dr. Barry. Cousin Barry loved --probably some politically incorrect humor my friends and I share -- or maybe the type of hot woman Wifey loathes when she sees it. Whatever.

Barry used it as an excuse to call, and we caught up. My first cousins are all third generation Bridge and Tunnel Jews -- grew up in the suburbs surrounding The Bronx, where our parents were born and raised. But Barry has totally kept his identity -- he talks like he could be a Jewish associate of the Sopranos -- lots of Yo! and Geez!

He's 69 and grew into a Trump Republican, like many of my cousins have, even though we all started out Democrats. The leftward shift of the party of our grandparents and parents has done the trick.

Anyway -- Barry married a lovely woman when he was in his early 20s -- Jackie, who hailed from England. Jackie was a favorite immediately -- smart, funny, and immediately adapted into the world of NY Jews. Barry and Jackie had one child, a son, later in life, and he's turned into a charming young man -- a salesman like his Dad -- smart but uneducated.

Jesse is even more of a Trumper. We're FaceBook friends, and he often gets put into FB jail for anti vax, the election was stolen sort of crap. Jesse got married a few weeks after D2 and we were invited, but skipped out. But it worked out -- they then invited "Plan B" guests, and so other folks got to go. We sent a generous gift.

Well -- at the wedding, Jackie was on her last legs -- ravaged by early onset Alzheimers.  Barry was a wonderful caregiver -- kept her home to the last, with the help of nurses. He adored Jackie, and her death devastated him.

When we spoke the other day, though, he shared with me the details of  Jackie's ending. She was cremated, and paid the funeral director extra to have her cremains (love that word) spread in the Atlantic quickly. Barry found out the cremains languished -- the guy was waiting for more customers before chartering the boat -- and Barry was livid.

He's a big, tough guy, and told the fellow if Jackie wasn't interred in the sea right away, the funeral director would be. He complied.

A few weeks later, Barry and Jesse and Jesse's wife went to the beach, to offer a prayer. Here's where things got unusual. Barry reported that as they were by the seaside, a gorgeous white butterfly flew by -- and he had never before seen one there. He took it as a message from his beloved wife.

I got some chills when he told me that, and then, though it's not easy to get in words with my talkative cousin, shared my tale.

Back in May of 2013, when we had my Mom's cremains, I took Wifey and the Ds to Matheson Hammock, to spread her into Biscayne Bay, an estuary of the Atlantic. We walked through the mangroves to do the task, and WE saw a group of white butterflies, too -- and likewise, in my 40 years of visiting Matheson Hammock, had never seen that before.

So -- who knows? Jackie and my mom Sunny always really dug each other. Were they likewise talking to us together from the Great Beyond? It sure is a beautiful thought.

First World Problems

 Nobody knows the trouble each of us has seen -- nobody knows but the Big Man (and his alleged son, if you're Christian). But it's nice when the problems are decidedly First World, and I've had a few of those comical ones lately. 

First -- new kitchen appliances. Wifey decided that it was time for new matching stainless steel appliances, and so she said not to worry -- she would handle all aspects of that project. At the same time, I said I would be starting at First Base for the Miami Marlins. Neither event happened.

I dealth with the entire project, which we put in motion in September of last year, and now, 9 months later, the refrigerator is supposedly here! Wow. nine months. We could have had a baby in that time, but for the menopause thing. Well -- the installers are scheduled to come Wednesday, and I will be at the office, and so Wifey is tasked with overseeing that -- the free refrigerator I finagled from Home Depot on account of they're idiots, and instead of giving me a credit for a botched delivery/removal of the old built in, credited me the entire appliance -- $1800! Finally something good for the rich, white man! Anyway, that puppy needs to go in the garage, and the old garage fridge taken away.

Lord willing, Leche Dave will ride again this summer, and I need the extra freezer space to help distribute "human milk," the new politically correct term for breast milk, to needy Moms in Miami Dade -- assuming our skinny daughter becomes cow-like again, like last time.

And then came the new First World problem, which turned out to be pretty comical. We're planning our first big trip since Covid. Kenny and Joelle have asked us to accompany them on Joelle's 60th birthday trip -- a lovely river cruise from Lyon to Avignon, France, in late October. Wifey is major jonesing to travel again. I'm content to stay local -- maybe an away Canes game, but that's it.

Our pattern is , and has been, that Wifey is the engine behind our trips, I'm lukewarm, and then I have a great time and I'm thankful Wifey pushed me to go. Hopefully that will be the case this time, and we're not slaughtered by Euro terrorists, or an errant Russian missile, or one of the many mishaps I have come to learn with my addictive watching of Smithsonian Channel's "Mayday -- Air Disasters."

Anyway, Joelle did all the research and found a charming trip -- basically consisting of eating great food, drinking great wine (I'm sure they'll have vodka) and walking around the places that inspired Van Gogh, Gauguin, etc... Apparently Lyon is a MAJOR food place -- even more than Paris -- and so this trip has my name on it.

I was on one Euro river cruise -- the Danube -- with the Ds years ago, when Wifey couldn't travel on account of her back. The Ds and I enjoyed it, even though I was the youngest passenger except for the Ds, who despite being in college and high school, were essentially infants.

And infants brings me to the latest daunting task. Last night, after a few cocktails, I went on the AA site, to make, at least, a temporary reservation for our trip. I can no longer multi task, and several times I asked Wifey to please stop peppering me with questions as I attempted to input all our info -- I promised I wouldn't buy the tickets until we discussed it -- and so Wifey kept peppering me with questions until I exploded, Ralph Kramden-like, and told her SHE could book the freaking trip -- she wanted to go, anyway.

She apologized, and asked me to do it -- she knew it was probably beyond her ADHD capabilities -- we'd end up booked to Chile in 2024 instead of France this October -- but I stormed off.

I actually just made it to the other computer, where I continued my work -- only to get stymied by the dreaded "please correct these nine errors" before continuing. And the "errors" were that I failed to give information about the infant that would be sitting on my lap!!! Infant? I'm nearly 61, and not one of those pathetic guys with a much younger wife and accompanying infants! 

So I called American, and was told the wait time for help was 3 hours. I then stormed off to bed and told Wifey -- "Your airplane. Good luck."

But in the light of a new day this am I tried again. And this time I got creative -- I asked for "internet help" on the phone instead of "help with reservations." And Chris, a lovely woman with a subcontinent accent (can you say that anymore?) got on the phone and was most helpful.

She asked what browser I was using. I told her the one with the blue and green wave looking icon. Ah -- Microsoft, she correctly concluded. Did I have Google Chrome? I did.

She talked me through the process like a gifted air traffic controller, once  I switched to Chrome, which apparently doesn't make crap up like the Microsoft browser does, and Voila! That's French for "Son of a bitch -- it works!" I was able to get 'er done, as they say in Avignon.

So I placed to reservations on hold. I have to go find the ticket number for our aborted trip to D.C. in late March, which we had to cancel on account of I got Covid -- and apply the credit to this new trip.

For now, at least, First World problems solved. Also, it's a trip that shows my love for Wifey. I'll be missing the home FSU game. Maybe they have Le ESPN in Southern France.

Not Judging The Conspicuous Spenders

 So earlier this week I was chatting with someone without much money, and she was telling me about some reality show where crazy rich Asians, I think, spend absurdly high amounts of money on parties, possessions, houses, etc... I think she expected me to join her in the disgust about these lifestyle choices. I kept mum.

And then I remembered how I used to share those populist sentiments, and how my dear friend Eric called me on them. It involves cars.

It was 1984 or '85, and the car my parents had given me in high school was wrecked by a red light running woman in North Miami. Actually, it was '84, because Wifey was living on NE 135th Street, having moved to get away from me in Kendall, on account of her wishing a different relationship than the one I was perfectly happy to have. But that's a different story.

Anyway, the Firebird was wrecked, and the insurance company gave me a rental -- a Dodge Omni. It was the most basic car you could buy at the time -- Chrysler's attempt to compete with Toyota on cheap, small cars, and I loved it. It was boxy and therefore roomy for a small vehicle, the AC blew cold, and it even had a decent stereo. I drove it for the 3 weeks my car was in the shop.

One night, Eric and I went out, and I proclaimed that a car like the Omni was all anyone ever needed -- good, basic transportation. Eric was more into cars, and he disagreed -- hoping someday to have something far snazzier than his 10 year old Celica. Not me, I proclaimed -- no matter what - -I was an Omni type guy.

Well -- fast forward to 1994 -- a mere decade later. Paul and I had started the firm, and I was driving a Mitsubishi Diamante, a sort of fake luxury car. I still recall the monthly lease price: $199. Paul correctly decided that we, as new guys seeking clients, had an image we needed to project, and Mitsubishi wasn't that image. He already had a big, black Benz.

So I went out and leased a Jaguar -- I had gone from populist to James Bond, in my mind. I drove it by Eric's house, and he took it for a spin -- it performed well -- and we tooled along the Palmetto.

When we got back to his house, as he was appreciating the fine walnut dash, he turned to me and said "Wow -- it's amazing how Dodge upgraded to Omni." I was busted.

The lesson came home again earlier today, when I got a call from Al, our appliance guy. Wifey wanted new appliances -- we needed a new refrigerator -- and the one for our kitchen is a large built in. We ordered it last Fall, and it took until today to come it -- Al was calling for payment, and to set up installation tomorrow.

With tax, the fridge cost just over $10K. We replaced it previously, and it was about $6K, but they've gone up a lot. Somehow, 4 figures for a single appliance made an impact.

Many of our friends have even more expensive appliances -- one friend has a $30K fridge. But for me, paying the bill via my credit card reminded me that this thing was more than 1/3 of my first salary as a lawyer -- back in 1987.

I guess in many ways, you can never take the working class Long Island out of this Miami boy.

As for the car thing -- I returned to my more humble ways, sort of. I lease a stripped mid sized Lexus -- not the car to impress anyone. But it's comfortable and reliable -- a plusher version of the Omni, after all.

But as for those crazy rich reality TV folks -- hey -- party on! I'd much rather watch or hear about people pissing away money than I would hearing about them hurting each other.

I mean -- I don't think I'd ever pay six figures for a party where the kid has to decide what kind of pet to get -- but then again -- you never know.

Playoff Fever

 So both the Heat and Panthers are hosting late round playoff series -- the Panthers advancing out of the opening round for the first time since 1996, and the Heat trying to make the Finals for the seventh time.

Wifey and I watched the roundballers last night, even though the game didn't begin until 8:40 -- often about the time I'm getting ready for bed. It was a close game for awhile, as the supposedly tired Celtics played great, but the Heat, as they often do this season, put the game away in the third quarter.

The Panthers, alas, apparently collapsed in the final quarter and lost to, as Dave Barry says, the Canadians from Tampa. Also, the Marlins were at home, and beat the Senators, um, Nationals, badly.

It's cool to live in a city with the Four Major pro teams. When I moved here, the only team was the Dolphins. I was privileged to see the very first Heat game, first Panther game, and first Marlins game. The Heat and Panthers played at the Miami Arena, long since demolished. The Marlins played at Joe Robbie, the football stadium before it got a roof and was re-named Hard Rock.

And it's funny -- I can afford to attend any of the matches I wish, but would rather watch on TV. Except for the Hurricanes -- those games, with their exquisite tailgate parties, are must attend for me.

I guess there'll be a time when those become TV, too. I well recall my friend and mentor Ed, like me a double Cane, and huge supporter of the program. Back in the day it was allowed, he'd host the freshmen who didn't travel to away games at his house. I got to meet Bernie Kosar, Daniel Stubbs, and other future stars.

Ed loved hosting tailgates in the East end parking lot. And then, one year, when he was, I think, about 62, he told me he was watching a big game at home. It may have even been Notre Dame. I was shocked -- how could one NOT attend the holy ground of the Orange Bowl for a game like that. But now I get it -- the hassle of parking, schlepping to seats, dealing with crowds -- this stuff becomes more and more daunting as I age.

Wifey and I use that word more and more: daunting. Things that were second nature now require focus.

Just the other day, we left for D1's, and as I got on the Palmetto, it began to pour down rain. I never cared about that -- and that day I felt I truly needed to focus and make our way through the storm. Ah, aging...

Speaking of which, we visited the ancient suegra yesterday. She's nearly totally incoherent, but still physically strong. After a half hour or so, I told Wifey I would wait outside -- she typically stays an hour. But she came with me, noting her mother really didn't even appreciate her presence.

We came home via Sunset -- to fetch Wifey's SUV at the PT office, a building I had visited MANY times. It was owned by Larry Forman, our go-to rehab expert. Larry sold it, and now the complex hosts many different offices.

I saw a Sports Grill, and we stopped there. I thought about ordering a healthy salad. Our dear friend Elizabeth always ate healthy and clean, and was meticulous about exercising. At 63, she had the body of someone 20 years younger. Still, she died in her sleep of a heart attack. 

I ordered and savored the patty melt.

It truly lifts a community's spirits when a team wins a championship. I remember standing in front of my Brickell building when the Heat's championship parades went by -- everyone was high fiving each other.

And each of the Canes 5 (should have been 6) rings put my friends and I in happy moods for the entire year following.

Hopefully it happens again.