Coolest Guy In The Biz

 Years ago, Norman referred me to Danny to fix AC problems. He originally from Argentina, but might as well be Swiss. When you call him, he responds comically fast -- as I imagine service people must do it in Zurich.

I have texted him at 11 pm, figuring he'd call the following day, and I get a call at 11:05 -- "What's up my friend Dave?"

Since Wifey requires we live in a too big house, it actually has 4 separate AC units. The three large ones were installed when the house was built in 1997, and were Trane, which I was told was state of the art. Well, the state of the art each crapped out at about 10 years, which Danny explained was the new normal.

He said I could replace them with with Tranes, which are very expensive, but he warned that it was tough to find Trane parts -- if something broke, it might take a week to get the part. On the other hand, Rheem parts were everywhere -- he carried many on his truck. I went with his advice, and now all 3 units are Danny's -- and I never go more than a day without air when something breaks down.

I joke with Norman that I actually look forward to AC breaking, since Danny is so affable. I spoke to him today.

After we moved in, we completed a "Bonus Room" above the garage. It became my football room/guest house, but we rarely use it. When people stay, they stay in the main house, and I tend to watch games in the family room.

In another sign that the house Wifey makes us stay in is a bit too big, a month might go by without my even setting foot in the Bonus Room. And so it was today. And the heat hit me -- the AC was off.

That unit is a small, 1.5 ton guy, and was originally installed when the room was finished -- probably 20 years ago. Danny said the smaller units last longer.

I took photos of the compressor and handler and sent them to Danny -- asking him to call next week, after the July 4 holiday. He called right away -- on vacation in the Keys. "Danny -- no rush! You know that room -- the AC might well have been broken a whole month." "Nah -- today is a regular day -- the holiday is Monday!"

He had me measure the air handler, and whether there was extra room (there is) and will get my new unit in next week. Danny rocks.

Meanwhile, we have a getty tonight with Deb and Norman. Deb, an exotic Canadian, is calling it the "Day After Canada Day Party." To annoy her, I keep calling it the "Two Days Before Independence Day Party." She may toss me into the pool tonight.

Tomorrow D2 and Jonathan may come by -- leaving the enormous pup with us while they attend a barbecue at their friends Elyse and Brett's Pinecrest house.

Monday we have plans for dinner at Captain's Tavern with Donna and Barry. The past three times there I've had their halibut -- it's flown in daily from the NE and is awesome. Maybe afterwards we'll repair to the house and watch fireworks on TV.

When the Ds were young, we'd often rent a cabana at the Biltmore on the 4th. We'd spend the day swimming and drinking, and then walk to the golf course for the Gables Fourth, which had great fireworks and a pops orchestra. It was lovely -- maybe we'll resurrect that tradition when the Little Man gets a bit older.

I was reminiscing about my first July 4th with Wifey the other day -- July 4, 1984. The Beach Boys were giving a concert on South Beach, and we drove to her friend Yvonne's the night before and shared a single bed -- probably the last time we did that. Yvonne lived in an old building on Washington and 2nd, and we walked over to the beach probably at 11 to get a decent spot.

We spent the entire day there -- Yvonne, Wifey, me, and Wifey's friend Jeannette, down from Brooklyn. Jeannette's cousin Dennis met us. I drank the entire day -- not vodka in those days -- beer and wine. By nightfall, I was quite happy, and the next blanket had some incoming UM freshman, sharing some weed. I was going to teach Freshman Comp that Fall, and told the group I might be their instructor -- which got us some weed.

The show was terrific -- probably 500K people there. The Boys had played at the DC Mall earlier, and flown to Miami -- I think it still holds the record for how many people any band ever appeared before in a single day. They brought guests -- Ringo Starr, and Justin Heyward and John Lodge of the Moody Blues. When Ringo appeared, Jeannette flew towards the stage -- she's such a lifelong Beatles fan. We managed to somehow find her afterwards, but I was so wasted, Wifey had to lead me back to Yvonne's apartment, and drive home. She did so without judging me -- I probably knew then I'd ask her to marry me and someday agree to move into a too huge house with her.

I'm guessing this year's 4th will be a bit tamer, and that's ok. Main thing is, the AC is working in most of the house.

Head Service

So this morning I have back to back services for my head, to use a body metaphor. At 8 I see Lucy, the dental assistant I've been seeing for decades, for my thrice yearly cleaning, and at 930 it's back across town to Dania, my haircutter for 25 years.

I am indeed a loyal patient/customer. I saw Dr. Milton and his staff since law school, and then when he retired, went to his suggested colleague, Larry Huber. Luckily, I seem to have inherited my paternal grandmother's teeth -- she died at 97 with all of them. I have had exactly three cavities my entire life -- the last of which was filled when I was 12. So Dr. H and I just catch up about grandkids and grown kids, and Lucy does the real work. She is very skilled and pleasant -- I don't mind the visits at all.

I wonder also how much credit I owe childhood dentist Charles Levine for my dental luck. He offered what was then cutting edge: a coating on the teeth which was dried with an ultraviolet gun. Maybe that protection was enough to get me through young adulthood, where I would go years without seeing the dentist. 

Wifey more than makes up for my lack of contribution to the dental economy. She is always going, with new and complicated issues involving gums and cavities and "deep scale" cleanings. Hopefully the Ds favor their father's side in the dental area.

I met Dania when D2 and her girl Lindsay were in kindergarten. I learned she cut hair, and started seeing her. In 1/4 century, I "cheated" on her just once. I figured my loyal patronage got me special favors, and once asked for a next day appointment before going on a trip. She was unavailable. Annoyed, I went to a barber in Sunniland, who was less than half the price. He also did a crappy job. I came crawling back.

During Covid's early days, I also missed a few appointments -- my son in law Joey actually did a fine job on me with his haircut contraption. And then, Dania came over and serviced me on the front porch. It's nice to get back into the shop again -- Lindsay has a baby, and she and her husband Rob, a school boyfriend, moved home to Miami from Texas, so Dania is very excited.

Her husband, not Lindsay's Dad, still wants out of Miami, though. He was born in Havana, but finds Miami too Cuban for his liking. I always get a kick out of that when Dania reminds me -- he thinks he'd be much happier surrounded by gringos in North Florida.

My busy day continues after the head services. I meet Paul and Stuart for lunch -- they're coming to Dadeland for a meeting we have with a TV lawyer about a dispute over a fee. I'm pretty confident the matter will NOT settle, and we will litigate against the fellow I call Saul Goodman, on account of the fact that he has ads just like that wonderful character from "Breaking Bad" and "Better Call Saul." We'll see how it goes.

In any event, I shall be attending this meeting with newly sparkling teeth and a cute haircut, as Wifey always notes. I don't think our unworthy adversary will even notice. 

Back To The Falls

 So we have an open air mall nearby that we used to frequent. Hell, it opened when I was in college, and it was a hangout then. There was a UA theater, and since Barry's weekend job was at the UA theater in Davie, we'd get in for free movies. They had a great Mexican place, El Torito's, which is Spanish for The Toritos, and we'd frequent their happy hour. Mike in particular loved their margaritas. Back then I was more of a Kahlua and cream guy, embarrasingly.

The place was destroyed in Andrew, but rebuilt,and our frequent date night -- dinner, maybe at TGI Fridays, or Los Ranchos, and then a movie. It was a major teen hangout for the Ds -- they'd shop and see a movie, or use a drop off at the Falls as a pretext to then be taken to some questionable house party. We've been learning these truths years later. And now D1 has a boy who will likely pull the same stunts with her. The circle of teens...

Anyway, we don't go there much anymore, except for a place called Bulla, which is actually on the curtilage. Ha. That's a word I haven't used since 1L year. But they built Bulla attached to a parking garage, and they have fine tapas.

But last night, sort of last minute, we invited our neighbor and friend Gloria to dinner. She lost Ben 2.5 years ago -- he was a health nut who had a sudden heart attack while running in our 'hood. I walk.

Another neighbor, Denie, had told me that Friday she and her husband had a good meal at a new place that opened where TGI Friday's used to be,  and so we decided to give it a try. We drove over, and all three agreed we almost never visited the Falls -- for no particular reason. Wifey and Gloria noted all the new stores, and the demolished Bloomingdales. I was thinking about all the JAP jokes that involve Bloomingdales, but kept them to myself. Gloria is Italian.

We got to the place, whose name doesn't stick, but has "Food" in it, and there was a sign -- saying opening Monday. Gloria, the smartest girl in the room, usually, and I, not the smartest boy, surmised that there had been a soft opening which Denie attended. So we decided to walk to Los Ranchos, a Nicaraguan steak place, and try our luck there.

It had changed since our last visit. It had gone downscale -- paper on the tables, and most of the tables not cleared off. But the hostess brought us to a corner table, and we sat, even though Wifey trying to say "three" fell upon Spanish only ears. She held up 3 fingers.

I sat under a blinking light. The waiter came over, and couldn't understand Wifey's request for "water with lemon." When he realized we only spoke English, he kind of annoyedly took out a pen and motioned me to circle what we wanted to order. And he flounced away. But wait, I thought -- what if we had to describe how we wished our churassco cooked? And then I looked at all the dirty tables. And I invoked Dad's Rule.

Dad's Rule is that if your initial greeting or experience at a restaurant is poor -- get up and leave. Things only get worse. Gloria was aboard -- Wifey -- who is slightly allergic to having to walk elsewhere -- protested. We outvoted her, and walked out -- both Gloria and I got bad vibes.

We walked around to Bulla's and had a very nice meal. Wifey was starving and ordered paella while Gloria and I were still reading the menu. The waitress told Gloria the fish special was cod, which Gloria usually doesn't like, but the young lady offered a deal: try it, and we'll take it back if you don't approve. Gloria pronounced it delicious.

We talked of our grown kids -- Gloria has two accomplished sons, and one son in law -- and our wonderful neighborhood. Gloria is like me -- wants to die here. Wifey would like to die elsewhere. But she is roughing it and staying.

One of the folks who moved in the late 60s is putting her house on the market. Ellyn serves on the HOA with us -- she's taking advantage of the absurd prices of late, and moving to an apartment on Brickell. She summers in Maine, and was getting tired of a big house as a 70 something year old single woman. Wow -- over 50 years in our 'hood.

Ellyn is born and raised in Queens, and when we hosted the HOA Exec meeting, her and Wifey's Bridge and Tunnel accents were out in force. Gloria is from The Bronx, but lost her accent, and the other two members there were from Michigan and a Miami native -- so they got a kick out of hearing the B and T banter.

We wish Ellyn well.

For us, it was a lovely Sunday night -- and happily home early. For a change, no TV -- I played DJ on the Sonos, and finally got Wifey to listen to the lyrics of Dylan's pretty new "Key West" song. She loved them.

I gave her my little music lectures, about local guys like Fred Neill, who wrote "Everybody's Talkin At Me." It was a nice nightcap.

And Wifey was inspired. When we woke up today, she was not only singing "Monday Monday," she was reading me song facts about the song -- the first #1 single for the Mamas and Papas.

How about that?!

And When I Die, And When I'm Gone...

 My father DETESTED the funeral industry. He read exposes about how they preyed upon people at their most vulnerable, upselling them when they couldn't afford it. He was also a proud Jew, but rebelled against the "hocus pocus" part of it, as he said, and put his body where his mouth was: he prearranged cremation instead of a funeral, lest those "bastards rip him off." My mother followed suit, reminding us often in the later years that "I prepaid the Neptune Society -- don't let them charge!"

My in laws, in contrast, felt strongly about a traditional Jewish funeral, and back in '04 Wifey found them 2 gravesites in Mt. Nebo in Kendall, "slightly used," I joked, but actually second market -- sold by a family who had moved away from Miami and no longer wanted them. My in laws also proudly paid for all funeral expenses -- on a monthly plan, and all was set. Or was it?

Monday am, I got a call from the friendly Director at Mt. Nebo, who said that while he had record of the prepaid gravesites, he found nothing about the funeral services -- stuff like the casket, rides around town, etc...Wifey is NOT the best keeper of records, but she had the contracts, and I took photos of her mother's and emailed it. 

"Oh yes - there it is! Your in laws bought their plans during the merger of companies, and that's why they slipped through the system! We're all good to go."

It occurred to me that it made no sense that the gravesite contracts were in their records, but not the funeral service. So -- was it really a harmless mistake, and an attempt to have us pay probably $6K improperly, or was it nefarious? I know what my Dad would have said. Bottom line was, the only charge was for copies of the death certificates -- no big whoop.

In any event, Hashem and Delta cooperated, and Rabbi Yossi made it back in plenty of time. Wonderful Nechama, his amazing wife, came as well, and though Wifey had asked for just immediate family, Joey's parents asked if they could come to honor Rachel -- and Cipora said of course.

It was blessedly overcast at the gravesite. It started to rain, but stopped before the shoveling of soil -- so the weather more than cooperated.

Yossi read the prayers, and asked us to speak. I simply couldn't resist one mother in law joke, a true one: as I stood about to talk about Rachel, it occurred to me it was the first time in nearly 4 decades that I could speak without her interrupting me. But then I thanked her -- for the gift of my life partner, who in turn gave me the greatest gifts of the Ds, and their husbands, and the amazing grandson.

And I shared something I never had before. My life is largely the soul/blues song "When Something is wrong with my baby...something is wrong with me." And even when I suffer with Wifey and the Ds through their darkest times -- whether sadness or physical ailments -- I always take comfort knowing they come from true Survivor stock -- and will somehow emerge from their crises. That has always brought me comfort.

Wifey spoke about how she always felt loved fiercely by her mother, and how Rachel's optimism about life got her through the immeasurable tragedies of her younger days.

The Ds spoke of happy memories, and also feeling immensely loved, and how their Sabta was a role model of love and strength. 

This was no background woman -- she always let you know her feelings and thoughts, sometimes to comical effect.

After some more prayers, we set about the actual work of a "Full burial," the orthodox tradition of having the family cover the casket with the soil before the rest of the hole is filled. Ricardo, Jonathan, Joey and I did the work -- again -- in blessedly mild conditions. And then we said our goodbyes.

Rabbi and Nechama left to go back to their works -- they're in the midst of building a new Friendship Circle and shul -- to serve hundreds of special needs kids.

My consuegros left to fetch the Little Man from camp -- and the Ds and their men came back to the house. I poured martinis and we toasted Rachel over lunch from Roasters. Afterwards, Wifey retired to the couch for a nap, and the kids left. I followed with a vodka flavored nap.

So a true matriarch of our family now resting peacefully next to her husband of nearly 70 years. She died with the love and respect of her family -- and they thank her for all she meant to them, and lessons taught.

Brava, Rachel. A life early tragic, and later resurrected to one of true meaning. I guess I'll even miss being interrupted...

Rest in Peace, Rachel

 My mother in law Rachel died last night, at the Palace, in Kendall. She had just passed the 97.5 year mark. She had stopped drinking anything on Tuesday, and lapsed into unconsciousness, so we knew the end was imminent. But a person's death is still shocking, and Wifey cried and cried deeply last night, as she was with her mother as she took her final breath.

I had left Wifey at the Palace for the vigil, and drove back close to 11 pm. Since Rachel was under the care of Vitas Hospice, they had to be the authority to pronounce her, and about midnight an affable fellow arrived -- their chaplain. He asked if we were Christian and wished to pray, and I told him thanks, but we were all set in that Department -- the prayers were similar, but we don't talk about the son, only Dad. He understood. The also affable driver came from the funeral company, and after the paperwork was done, explained that they would be taking Rachel's body to a facility in North Miami Beach, and from there to the cemetery in Kendall when we had a date and time for the burial. We're hoping it takes place tomorrow afternoon -- our Rabbi Yossi Harlig is coming back from a Brooklyn wedding, so Hashem and Delta Airlines willing, he'll make it home tomorrow.

What a life Rachel had! She was born 12/15/24 in Sosnowiecz, Poland, sort of a small industrial city. She was one of 7 siblings, and had a loving, wonderful childhood. Her father was a flour salesman, who sold to local bakeries, and they were solidly middle class, by pre War Poland standards. But when Rachel was a teenager, the ugly Winds of War came, and the Nazis took everyone. Rachel's entire world of people were brutally murdered, except for one younger brother Alter, who, like Rachel, miraculously survived concentration camps and slave labor camps.

After she was liberated, Rachel went to a DP camp in Feldafing, Germany. There she learned her third language, German, to go along with her native Polish and Yiddish. Hebrew and English would follow -- fully fluent in 5! languages. After Feldafing, Rachel emigrated to Haifa, and joined the IDF. There she met a tall, handsome soldier in Special Forces, my father in law Richard. They would marry and together fight for the creation of the State of Israel.

Rachel desperately wanted a child, but couldn't conceive. Finally she became pregnant, but tragically had a still born son in 1952. In later years, this seemed more tragic to her than the Holocaust -- she talked wistfully about that baby who was not to be. She and Richard saw "Professors" in Jerusalem, I guess early fertility specialists, and they were not optimistic. But then, just like the miracle birth in Israel in December some 2050 years ago, there was an even BIGGER one in 1956 -- a beautiful blue eyed baby girl, who would become Wifey someday -- 30 years later, to be exact.

Life in Israel was tough, and Rachel and Richard had surviving siblings in the US, and so emigrated here in 1960. They first moved to Miami, and then NY. Wifey was, for a time, literally a kid in a candy store, as her father owned one in Garden City Park, and they lived behind it. When Wifey was entering dating age, they feared the lack of Jewish boys, and so moved to Canarsie, where there were more of them. Being tone deaf about practical things, they then decided to pull Wifey out of school in the middle of her junior year at high school in Brooklyn, and relocate back to Miami, in 1972. Wifey was no worse for the wear, making friends at Killian High School, and ultimately meeting a barely legal boy when she was living in Kendall. That was me -- the original boy toy.

Anyway, Rachel got a job that she loved -- working at gift wrap at Burdines in Dadeland Mall. She took great pride in her work, and had customers who would only let her wrap their items. Her years there led to a comically small pension -- from Macy's, which bought Burdines. She receives about $30 per month.

Rachel and Richard retired around the time D1 was born. Oh how they adored their granddaughter, as well as D2 who came three years later. They moved to Century Village in Pembroke Pines, where several of their fellow Holocaust Survivor card playing partners (not friends, as Richard always made sure I understood) had relocated.

And Wifey took her parents on their private March of the Living, and later, took Rachel alone back to Poland. She loved it. Though Poland was the place that took so much from her, it was also the place of a happy childhood and early adolescence.

My father in law was diagnosed with Alzheimers in his mid 80s, and we moved him to Miami Jewish Home. Rachel, through rides arranged by Wifey, visited him several times each week. Right after he died, in January of '16, she insisted she MUST move -- it was THEIR apartment, and she wanted to spend no more time there. Of course, she had lived there for years when Richard in Miami Jewish, but Rachel sometimes had her own internal logic.

So Wifey redecorated a 2 bedroom condo we owned in Palmetto Bay, after we kicked out the nice schlumpy tenant who had been there nearly 10 years. Poor Lenny -- he had come to really feel the place was his, because I never raised the rent. I reminded him we were month to month, and it was time to go. He sadly moved away.

After a year, Rachel HATED living alone in the apartment. It was time for the Palace, a luxury ALF in Kendall. She lived there most of 4 years, but began to decline, sadly. Finally, 4 months ago we switched her to the nursing home, and the decline continued.

She did get to meet her great grandson, even through the Covid restrictions at the Palace. The two of them locked eyes outside on the patio. They had a connection, even though Rachel was already losing it. They smiled at each other. 

I like to think the enormity of  surviving the Shoah long enough to have a great grandchild resonated with my mother in law. It was really something.

Fast forward to last night. Vitas Hospice was short staffed, and the nurse leaving at 7 said she would be back in the am, but no one was there to sit bedside. So Wifey did -- I drove in a nasty T storm to Publix and CVS, bought her a phone charger and some dinner. I got a dozen donuts for the Palace nurses.

I drove home, and called the funeral folks -- to see about transport. While I was on the phone with them, Wifey clicked in -- Rachel had died.

Wifey was balling. She had never been in the presence of someone dying. It was peaceful, and yet shocking.

I drove over and we waited for the hospice rep to arrive -- they had to pronounce the death. A very nice Baptist chaplain came to do the task. He asked if we wanted to pray with him. We said thanks, but different team. He understood. The transport man was there, and we left as they were taking Rachel to a facility in NMB I called the hotel for dead people.

This am I spoke to the funeral director -- we're set for burial at noon tomorrow. Rabbi Yossi is coming on an early flight -- he's due home by 10. He has a backup rabbi in case his flight doesn't make it. He also is a wise guy -- he suggested maybe Mark Kram as a backup rabbi -- knowing that Kram bolted out a week before he was to marry Wifey and me back in '87 for a last minute free trip. Kran soured us on organized Judaism for years -- until our friendship with Yossi and Nechama. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Anyway, if all goes as planned, the Ds, Jonathan, Joey, Wifey and I (not sure about the adorable grandson) will gather and bury Rachel next to the love of her life -- my father in law. They were married nearly 70 years.

Wow. What a long, long, meaningful life. Years ago, Wifey's friend Maureen had Rachel over for a lunch with people studying the Holocaust. They asked Rachel how she survived. She replied: "Because I am an optimist. I always look forward to things getting better." And so they did. And she leaves a beautiful legacy, literally out of the ashes.

Erev Father's Day

 So tomorrow is the po relation of Mother's Day, and I'm just hoping to not spend it in the cemetery. Actually, I guess that won't happen, as my Suegra is still among us. Remarkable -- day 4 with zero water or food.

I'm guessing the privations she suffered as a young woman, in the camps and slave labor places, conditioned her body this way. I know for a fact she went for long stretches with no food, and I'm guessing little, if any water. It must have prepared her body for this end.

But back to FD. The last one I got to celebrate with MY beloved Dad was in June of '82. He may have been in the hospital for that one, recovering from the heart attack he had suffered. He recovered and got out of the hospital in early July -- only to die of a massive MI on July 14, 1982. So I've been fatherless more than three decades now.

As Tony S says -- it sucks, but hey -- what are ya gonna do?

I never got over Dad's death. We were so close -- he was like a grandfather and father in one, as he was 42 when I was born. He was my best friend, and I'm someone who was always blessed to have very dear friends -- going back to grade school.

I remember well the end of my Spring semester of 1981, when I was sure I was going to disappoint him. After years of pre med studies, I came to the conclusion that med school wasn't for me. Getting Cs in science classes and As in humanities may have done the trick. I went to see Dr Davidoff, one of my mentors, a brilliant neurologist who let me work in his lab one summer, and even included my name on two scientific journals. He tried to talk me into staying the course -- saying if I got decent MCAT scores, he would do all he could to get me admitted somewhere. But I didn't want it, and thanked him.

His wife Judy, an English professor, talked me out of my first idea of getting a PhD in English and teaching. In the early 80s, Stanford and Harvard English grads were waiting tables -- it was the tail end of the Baby Boom, and academic jobs were scarce. Judy was the one who suggested law school, since I could read and write critically -- might as well have a profession where "a nice Jewish boy like you could support a family some day." Boy, was she right.

But I went home to Delray to break the news to Dad. I expected at least a negative head shake. Instead, he said "What took you so long? I always knew you weren't really a science guy. You won the English student of the year in high school -- that's what you should study. You'll figure out how to support yourself -- you're a sharp guy." Wow -- did I love him so then.

My junior year, the first with no science classes, I got a 4.0. I still recall well coming home from my summer job at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall in Boca, anxiously awaiting my grades in the mail. One day I walked into the Florida room, and Dad was in his recliner, holding a letter. He put up 4 fingers, and smiled. He had opened my grades, of course, and was beaming. We probably celebrated with some corned beef sandwiches at a local deli -- he ordered Cel-Ray soda, I'm sure. He was OG Bronx deli man.

So precious few of my friends have living fathers, and I envy them. I spoke to Norman the other day -- his wonderful Dad Max is nearing 95 and doing wonderfully. He's taking Max to Ruths' Chris tonight to celebrate -- I'm so happy for him.

Dana's Dad Ron is with us, still -- I see him on Dana and Eric's weekly Zoom shabbat,and he looks well. My friend Kenny's Dad and Mom just moved into an ALF. Kenny is in an even smaller fraternity -- someone our age with BOTH surviving parents. Not many of those.

So this FD, I'll be thinking of Hy, as always, and be grateful for all the love and support and guidance he gave me for nearly 21 years. He died 4 days before I turned 21.

And I'll kvell about MY girls, the Ds, and my grandson. They feel like they know my Dad, even though he was gone long before they were born, as I try to imitate him as a father each day.

Not Yet

 Wifey and I became friends with an older couple, Helene and Alan, many years ago. We met through our Rabbi and Rebetzin, and liked them very much. Wifey saw Helene, a true mentsh of a mom and grandma, as a bit of a mentor.

Sadly, shortly after they moved to Atlanta to be close to their grandkids, Helene was stricken with terminal cancer. She tried experimental treatment in Seattle, but the end came nonetheless. I still recall, though, Alan telling us about her final moments.

Helene was surrounded by all her family, and she was mostly asleep. Her breathing softened, and the family drew in, thinking she had passed. She opened her eyes, though, and said "Not yet." Typical amazing Helene -- everyone broke out laughing. But the time did come shortly afterward, and she drifted away.

A few years later, Alan was visiting Miami, and had coffee with an old acquaintance, Doreen. Doreen, a South African Jewish lady, lost her husband around the time Helene had died. Well, coffee led to Chapter 2, and Alan sold his Atlanta place and moved back to South Florida. I haven't spoken to him in awhile, but think he and Doreen live in Weston now.

I'm reminded of this because of the vigil for my mother in law. As of early today, her breathing is still strong, vitals fine, but still can't be roused. After Wifey called Vitas Hospice, who has been getting paid a fair amount to do fairly little, they agreed to send a nurse 24/7. They also put in an order for morphine, if needed. So far it's not needed. But today is Day 3 of no water or food, so who knows? The Big Man alone, of course.

I came to the office to avoid my house, as Wifey has her decorators there replacing our old clutter with new clutter. Apparently this is something that becomes essential after living in a house for 20 years.

I know nothing about interior design. But I do know we used to have a set of very large, comfortable dining room chairs that had to go, to be replaced with a set of small modern ones with the comfort one finds at a driver's license waiting room. Isn't that a lyric from Percy Sledge's "When a Man Loves A Woman?" "When a man loves a woman...he agrees to comically uncomfortable chairs...if that's the way she says it oughta be..."

D2 and Jonathan are en route to ATL, and we have the enormous puppy. I was drifting into a post workout nap yesterday, when she began barking maniacally at the pool guy outside. I recalled how much I missed having her at the house. She's actually a sweet, huge puppy, but not a dog for older people...

I think we'll go see the Little Man and his parents tomorrow afternoon. We already celebrated an early Father's Day, so that's in the books.

And as for Rachel...well, she's resting comfortably at the Palace.