Oh These Are The People In Your Neighborhood

 What a Martes Gigante we had yesterday! Wifey and I and Bo the ancient Spaniel fetched Little Man from school and gave him his expected honey yogurt, and Wifey put on his cleats and we went to his T Ball activity. Ah, the memories it brought back to me -- of my first day of Little League, at 7, nearly 8 years old.

The manager, Mr. Casale, who was my friend Bobby's Dad and later had to move to Queens after some illegal dips into the widow Mrs. Vukov's well (Mrs. Casale was none too pleased) told me to go warm up the pitcher. I squatted behind home plate, the pitcher bounced the ball on said plate, and said ball hit me square in the right eye. I bawled -- I was NOT a tough kid and not used to getting smacked in the eye. My Dad took me home, we iced the eye, and I announced I was DONE with baseball! Fortunately my Dad convinced me to give it another try, and it became my sport -- I actually made the high school team before dropping out in 11th grade on account of I found girls to be more attractive than daily after school practices.

But now they start them at 5! The coach, an affable Cuban guy, tried to herd 11 of them into drills. On the adjacent field were the older kids -- 9-11, including a girl who hit the hell out of the ball. I banished all thoughts of transgender issues from my mind -- she appeared to be a biological girl just much better than the boys.

I stood out on the field sort of helping the coach -- reminding the running boys to hit the bases as they circled the field. When it came Little Man's turn to bat, he hit a solid shot off the tee, but didn't realize it was time to run, so I encouraged him, and he made his way to first, talking to me the entire trip. Although he has good eye/hand coordination, he seems to run like me, which is to say, slowly. D2 picked that up in the video -- I was never fleet of foot. I guess we'll see -- Joey is pretty fast -- hopefully he got some of those genes from his Dad.

After an hour, he had totally lost focus, and we left. I told D1 and Joey that, in my humble opinion, maybe 5 is too young to start baseball. Joey agrees; D1 is taking it under advisement.

We brought in Anthony's Coal Fired, and there was soccer in the back yard, and a visit from Isabel, an adorable 9 year old who just moved in. She announced that her grandma said she wasn't allowed inside houses, so D1 and I walked over to meet said grandma, a hilarious Russian Jewish lady, probably about 70. She was born in Belarus, and lived in NYC. She was probably a looker back in the days of Glasnost. We liked her right away, and she dug us. She said I "vould drink vodka vith my husband Ilya," and I look most forward to that. I told her my parents always said their parents came from "Russia," but Ina pointed out that the cities, Bialystok and Czernovitz are now in Poland and Ukraine. Lot of shuffling back in the day.

And then we heard about the kerfuffle! D1 and Joey found a true oasis for their home: gated community of 18 houses. The people who bought them new paid between $700 and $900K -- since 2016 they've nearly tripled in value, and to rent one, it costs nearly $20K per month. So one of the owners did just that -- moved elsewhere and are renting -- to a good looking, childless couple who do something that lets them afford this high rent -- and the man, who I'll call Bobby, since that's his name, had a tragedy. One of the kids plastic helicopters, which weighs maybe one ounce, supposably (yep -- keep using that Miami spelling) fell onto his Porshe, "denting it." His wife Amy, not hard on the eyes but apparently not very bright, asked on the neighbor chat whose toy it was, and D1 and Joey's next door neighbor Sara, a lovely Alabama woman, said it was indeed her sons -- the toy got stuck in a tree on Xmas day, and just recently fell out in the wind (proof of how light the toy was). Amy wouldn't return the toy to Sara -- she said her husband needed a "convo."

Somehow D1, working on her balcony on this beautiful day, heard the asshole Bobby yelling at Sara and calling her a "fat ass" before breaking said toy on the ground. Also, Bobby and Amy are angry that kids play in the street (the very reason for this 'hood is the safety from traffic it provides) and refuse to drive slowly.

Hopefully a mediation occurs, or these people move, or get arrested from defrauding people, which would be the MOST Miami ending possible. Drama.

Here, the funny drama is typically the creation of Riva, who has some screws lose. She had published an angry post on Pinecrest Neighbors, which I read since, like the Styx song, I have too much time on my hands. Riva was livid that a neighbor put a dog poop bag into her trash bin.

This am, I learned the culprit. It was the Doodle Quincy! Actually, Quincy supplied the poop, his dog Mom Elissa tossed the poop, was caught on camera, and received a classic passive aggressive VM from nut case Riva. "Hi. My cameras caught a woman who looks like you walking a dog that looks like Quincy putting dog poop in my trash bin. So you should be ashamed."

I don't know Elissa that well, or as she told the story I would have grabbed her and kissed her saying "It was YOU, Elissa -- you broke my heart!"

We just got a magazine from Pinecrest crowing that crime is at a record low. We had an incident where a homeless creep grabbed a woman as she was on an afternoon jog -- then fled on a bicycle. They arrested him up in Palm Beach County. The long arm of local product Jason Cohen, our police chief, proved too much for the pervert.

So things are pretty damned good. But drama seeking rich folks seem hell bent on creating drama. I hope Riva's show dog loses all his competitions, and Bobby and Amy's Porsche gets wrecked in a parking lot. There -- I said it. May time wound all heels...

A Delightful Voicemail

 So Wifey and I watched "White Lotus" and both are now hooked into how Mike White will take care of the colorful characters. It's nice to have a show you have to wait weekly to see an episode -- brings us back to "The Sopranos" and "Breaking Bad," the latter of which we dipped on a Broadway show in NYC to watch.

This am I got a call from a 239 number, so let it go to voicemail. I played it, and a delightful British accented guy said he was calling from FC Naples to report on the first game Saturday, the "greatest game in the history of humanity."

I called Reese back, and said he was from one of 3 areas: UK, South Africa, or Australia/New Zealand. He said he was indeed from South London -- I dug the guy right away. As an account executive, he was tasked with reaching out to all team investors, including, apparently, even little pishers like me.

He told me the game ended in a tie, tough Naples scored a winning goal which was nullified by a call of offsides, which Reese said caused the "ref to be banished to Botswana." He invited me to meet him when I came to a game -- I will definitely ask Joey to include me next time he makes the drive across the Swamp known as The Everglades.

I ended by telling Reese that the greatest college football game in the history of humanity was played in January of 1984 when the Miami Hurricanes beat Nebraska for our first ring. He answered: Go Canes! I really want to meet this guy.

Wifey's out -- getting a knee injection on account of arthritis, and then takes Bo to the vet for his monthly Lubrella, a stem cell treatment what is giving the old disabled guy some more mobility.

I'll walk my 3 miles, and then tomorrow meet my trainer Jonathan, followed by a drive to Miami Shores for our Tuesdays with Grandparents' day. Assuming no rain, I fetch Little Man at school, and drive him to T Ball. We'll hang around and then probably bring in dinner for the squad. Wifey and I really dig Tuesdays.

My Cali sister called this am, and I told her how much of my life follows the great John Lennon song where he sings about just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.

That said, I still have some case calls this week -- a matter I thought was nothing might actually have some worth -- a fellow playing soccer on a private, for fee field, fell and broke his leg.

I was on my investment site before, which was a bad idea, as the Super Genius president is clearly guiding us to a recession, and major loss of investment value. But as long as the billionaires don't worry, I guess the electorate thinks that's all that matters. What times we live in!

A week from Friday we pack 9 of us into an AA flight to Reagan. D1 reported this am that Little Man is fascinated by mummies. We plan to take him to the Egyptian exhibit at the Smithsonian to give him a look see.

I told her to have him watch "The Americas" on Sunday nights -- a great nature show narrated by Tom Hanks. Last night was about the Arctic tundra, which the native Spanish speakers at school call "Tooondra." Having him get to the stage where he wants to learn and absorb like a sponge is the best.

I'll be having the 5 year old explain soccer to me...

The Lazy Weekend

 So after Kenny, Joelle, and their boy Nathan visited Friday night, Wifey was "socialized out," and so we declined an invite from D2 to visit her house as they hosted Jonathan's family. I could have gone alone, but decided to relate to my inner sloth as well.

We ended up having 2 Zooms to attend. The first was our Boston friend Mark, who suffered a devastating stroke on a golf course over 2 years ago. He's in a nursing home for the rest of his life - he just turned 70 - but recovered his ability to speak, and is now doing inspirational gigs. His first was at his shul on the North Shore, and Wifey and I were thrilled to watch -- he was wise and funny - and most of all -- cognitively all there.

His girlfriend Sheryl called afterwards for our critique -- we told her it had made our day. When the stroke first happened, it appeared non-survivable, or, if he DID survive, wouldn't have wanted to. Although he'll need physical help forever, he has a lot left to share -- more than many people who still have their physical abilities.

After that, Wifey and I watched some episodes of "Kugel," the Israeli prequel to "Schtisel," about the haredim. Eh. It was ok.

I realized, though, that it was time for Zoom #2 -- Stuart was hosting one for his Dad Bill's 90th birthday. Bill had a bad fall in November, and has been bedridden since, though he's back at home with 24 hour care. The screen was filled with Philly accents -- old friends and family jumping on to honor this terrific man. I called Paul to remind him -- he joined, too. I noticed Stu had a highball glass and poured myself one, too, and we gave Bill a "L'chaim!"

When Paul visited him in Aventura hospital weeks ago, Bill said he had 2 goals: to return home, and make it to 90. Mission accomplished -- so now he's playing with the House's money, as the saying goes.

The rest of the evening was kvelling over pics of the grandsons -- Baby Man in Miami with D1, and Little Man with Joey in Naples. Last night was the first game of FC Naples, the soccer team Joey's brother founded, and we were so proud of him.

Little Man got to go onto the field with the other owners' and players' kids -- he looked so happy. They played to a 1-1 tie, and are a big deal in Naples now -- first pro team there ever! My boredom with soccer will of course be eclipsed by my desire to hang with my son in law and grandson -- I'll probably tag along next trip. 

I emailed Bob this am. What courage -- cashing out his investments to follow his dream! I want to see him soar.

I'm the smallest level investor. If I were more of a douchebag, I'd go around telling people "I own a soccer team," but at least in that regard, I'm LESS of a douchebag.

Nothing is planned for today, either, but I hope to at least get my normal 3 mile walk in. Yesterday one of my hips was a bit dodgy, as the Brits say, and I decided to give it a day of rest.

As Wifey and I note, just about each day brings a new pain or malady of some type. Ya gotta just keep on keepin' on, I guess.

So after we watch "Sunday Morning," the news show for Boomers (we laugh -- ALL ads are for different pharmaceuticals), it'll be to the street.

I guess lazy weekends are better than lost ones...

Taking The Hint

 My Cali sister and I were talking yesterday -- we speak a few times a week, philosophizing about the world's problems, and the subject I never tire of: human nature.

I told her that one thing I had learned well over my years on this planet: how to take a hint. My sister agreed she has never truly learned to do this -- she makes the same mistakes over and over with people, assuming their better souls will eventually win out and she'll be treated well. They rarely do.

We compared notes about gifts to now estranged family members. Years ago, when I learned of a little girl who loved marine science, I called her local aquarium and sent a yearly membership for her and her family. Months later, at a family gathering, I asked how it was going. Her Dad replied: "Well, since your membership didn't include the dolphin encounter, and that costs extra each time, we don't really go." That was a hint to cease my giving in that direction.

On the other hand, my sister gives gifts there, never gets a thank you, and instead hears how her gifts are fodder for their laughter -- how silly and strange she is. But she keeps on doing it over and over -- never took the hint.

As I age, I seek the company of fewer and fewer people. My circle of friends is sacred to me, but I'm not looking to add to it. If I ask you to go out socially, know I TRULY wish your company -- gone are the days of taking people out for business purposes.

We used to share space with a nice fellow -- moved to Orlando years back. We had a lot in common -- even learned we were both born at Long Island Jewish Hospital, though he's a few years younger, and his family moved to Miami soon after, where he was raised. We enjoyed doing business and each other's company -- my Ds used to babysit his 3 sons, all of whom are now grown.

We spoke a few months ago about a case I tried to refer his way, and I followed up a request for a call to catch up. Never heard, and that's ok -- I can take a hint. We have a mutual friend whose Dad we both really like a lot, and he appears to be nearing the end of his life journey. Maybe we'll catch up at a shiva...

I remain very friendly, to the point several neighbors call me "Mr. Mayor, " which is funny since the actual mayor of Pinecrest lives in our 'hood. A few different couples mentioned going to dinner with Wifey and me, and though it's very nice -- probably it won't happen. We both have plenty of friends.

This is why the thought of running for office makes me tremble. Meeting tons of people, having to have meals with people? Yuck, as Wifey says...

Tonight we're having Kenny and Joelle over, with their wonderful younger son Nathan in tow. Nathan's between engineering jobs, and will be leaving, I think in Spring, for Connecticut. In the mean time, I asked if he would join us tonight, and Joelle said he REALLY enjoys my company, as I do his, so he will be making craft cocktails while I pour my simple concoctions.

It's great having a young person here -- it keeps down the otherwise normal talk of various health ailments. And I love that this interesting young man enjoys our company -- as I always tell the Ds, borrowing from "Freaky Friday," "I'm a COOL Dad -- not a regular Dad."

Two weeks from tonight, Big Man willing, our entire crew will be in D.C. for the first of 4 wedding events for Scott and Samantha. I think Friday is a shabbat dinner. D1 already has museum visits planned out -- the evenings and Monday am are spoken for.

That will be a place, and with people I very much savor and look forward to sharing precious time with. No hints to take then...

Let There Be Light

 So last night was our 4th of 6 Talmud class given by Rabbi Moshe, or, as I have begun calling it since going to "No Party" on my voter's registration: Bible Class.

Barry, Norman, and I took a Bioethics class last year and enjoyed it, and when we heard about Talmud study, we re-upped. Jeff is in, too, though he's too busy to meet us for our pre-class dinners -- my favorite part of the evening.

We had no class last week on account of Rabbi's wife giving birth to their second child, a girl. He's 25, and only has 2 kids -- dude needs to step up his game! Before class, I told him that when his parents moved here, they had just the one child, Mendel. Jeff and Lili kept up with his parents through 3 kids, but then Rabbi Yossi and Nechama pulled away. They have 9!

Last night we met at One Thousand Sunny, an Asian place in the Center across from the office building which is the temporary Chabad HQ. The Center has a comically high number of restaurants -- Roasters for breakfast, and just about every other kind of food. One Thousand Sunny was ok -- I think next week we may go simple, per Norman's request: Jersey Mike's Subs.

The class last night was a lot of history of the Talmud -- the various rabbis from about 300 BCE to 300 CE and how they put the great document together. Honestly, much of the history went over my head -- I don't see bringing up Talmudic history at future cocktail parties - but at the end of the evening, the class resonated with me.

Rabbi Moshe told of a parable of a young Rabbi asking his much wiser Rabbi suegro why goats walking always seemed in front of ewes. The elder rabbi said "Like the world, darkness comes before light."

And we learned the Hassidic view of creation. The Big Man was infinite, and had G-d light far greater than can be imagined. He decided to create the world, and made it a dark place, until He said, famously: "Let there be light." And then there was the day and night, forever -- light following darkness.

Rabbi explained that was the way of all the world -- we all have darkness from which we must emerge to live in enlightenment -- whether a disability, or challenge. Since all religion is personal, I reflected on my own life: the darkest day being July 14, 1982 when my Dad died in my arms, and how, as my life went on, I was bathed in an enormously huge amount of light in the form of my family and dear friends.

Since great, or at least mediocre Talmudic scholar minds think alike, after class I said to Barry and Norman I was thinking of the Gloria Estefan song "Coming Out of the Dark." Norman already had the lyrics on his cell phone -- it occurred to him, too. Gloria's song is about emerging from the darkness of a bus crash that nearly killed her, and her long rehab allowing her to again perform and soar.

There are 2 more classes, and I look forward to them. Life has fallen into a lovely rhythm -- Tuesdays with grandkids, Wednesday class. I'll probably sign up for the next JLI class, too. Wifey is committed to Wednesday night mah johng, so she'll probably skip, but maybe Norman and Barry and even Jeff will wish to continue.

Speaking of Barry, his boy Scott's Big, Fat, Media wedding draws nigh. We're scheduled to muster, 9 of us (Ds, husbands, boys, nanny Lizeth, and Wifey and I) in 2 Fridays at MIA and fly up to D.C. Hopefully the weather is tenable, and the cherry trees in bloom. If not -- plenty to do inside -- I can't wait to see the faces of Little Man and Baby Man when they see the rocket ships and dinosaur skeletons.

Yes, life holds darkness -- each night, certainly, and sometimes even when the sun shines. But oh that light is so beautiful...

Scammers!

 So we were at D2's as per our typical Tuesday. Wifey and D2 and her friend Olivia were being pilateed by Stephanie, and D1 came over with Lemon. We had brought Bo, the elderly Spaniel, and so it was a 3 dog afternoon with enormous Betsy happy to host the small dogs.

I got a call from a local number identified as "Chase," one of our banks, and so answered. The fellow, who identified himself as "Michael Martinez" and was clearly a Miami Cuban, was calling about the Zelle linked to our checking account. He said 2 items were "held" because of suspicious activity -- did I have a Samsung phone? I did not. Did I Zelle $1850 to Shanteria Watson, and $1500 to Kenyatta Jenkins? I did not. (These guys are so clever, I would learn, that they use subtle racism in their con).

Michael said that he was transferring me to a Zelle rep, at an 800 number, and I needed to share with them a security code and 2 case numbers, to eliminate the fraudulent charges. He did so. I told "Victor Diaz" I would call him back, and he freely gave me an 844 number and an extension. He then said he needed the codes I was given to be "inputted " into my Zelle contact list, so they could mark them as fraudulent before they were debited from my Chase account.

This raised my Spider Sense, and I told him I needed to take a business call and would call back. Victor became stern, and asked if I knew how critical this was -- these people could take ALL our checking account funds! 

After being put on hold and redirected by the Chase national numbers on my app, I was told the truth: there had been no fraud at all, and these guys were trying to have me add their numbers to my Zelle contacts, and then they would indeed access my Zelle.

D2 did some quick research. Yep. Sure enough, it's rampant, and Zelle doesn't get your money back or credit you like a credit card company -- they're not your bank -- just a service linked to your bank. And once you "Zelle" with permission from your bank -- your bank won't help you either.

Sure enough -- I looked at the "case codes" they had given me. They contained letters, but in the middle were 2 phone numbers with 201 area codes. The bastards were NEW JERSEY Cubans!

These guys were good. I can see how they typically succeed -- they keep assuring you they want no passwords or personal information from you -- they criteria we're all told to watch for in fraudsters. But once they access your Zelle with contact numbers, indeed they can Zelle away until you shut down your account. They went to far as to say that during the process, our Zelle would be inactive for 48 hours. Now I realized this it so give them 2 days to clear you out without you checking on what's going on.

Hey -- crappy new world -- although I'd rather worry about cyber crime than getting mugged on the street. Fortunately, in most of Miami, that sort of thing is pretty rare -- unless you get into a beef outside of certain clubs and get a cap busted in yo tuches...

Little Man was to play baseball, but it was raining, and so we took him to Chick Fil A instead. D2 ordered us Carrot Express, with wraps for Joey and Jonathan to eat afterwards -- those hard working sons in law of mine. I poured myself a Tito's and D2 a glass of chablis and enjoyed the boys.

This am D1 shared a testing report from a school psychologist she took Little Man to, to test for gifted programs that start, now, I guess, in Kindergarten. Not surprisingly, his verbal skills were in the 99.9th percentile. I told D1 that Jewish Moms of the 50s and 60s would have said "So, nu -- who got the full 100%?" Now I guess Asian and Indian Moms do that sort of thing.

Little man indeed does NOT talk like a preschooler. He begins many of his declarations with "Actually..." He's just beginning to read -- the psych said it is essential to stimulate him lest he get bored and rebellious -- he is quite spirited. He also says "I prefer..."

I have ZERO doubt, not even .1% doubt, that D1 is up to the task of handling a gifted child -- she was one herself, as was D2. D2 was far quieter, but actually ended up getting a perfect 5 on the "Florida Writes" exam while D1 got a 4. The things you recall from nearly 3 decades ago...

Wifey, D2, and I read Little Man stories, while Baby Man was being put to bed. The little guy is something, too -- he grabbed my hand and said "Come!" as he wanted to play soccer.  He's not as verbal at 2.5 as his brother was, but watching learn and grow will be a joy, too. He's already tougher than his brother -- when Little Man takes something from him, he gets it back with violence. I have a sense that someday the older one is going to be saying "You do that again and I'm bringing my little brother here."

Again -- we'll see. Que sera, sera.

Tonight I meet Barry and Norman for dinner at 6. Jeff meets us later, at Bible Study, as I call the Talmud class. My trainer Jonathan has asked to tag along -- he's known Rabbi Moishe since he was just Moishe.

Hopefully we can squeeze him in -- I love being around young people. Barry and Norman get that privilege all the time at work. For me, it's when we visit the Ds and their families...

But Zelle scammers: thwarted! I hope their dogmas get run over by karmas. Bastards.

To Sleep, Perchance To Sleep

 Wifey and I have another thing in common as we journey down Aging's path together: we have trouble sleeping! Just yesterday, we sat outside enjoying our dinner, some takeout from a place called 1000 Sunnys, which I knew I would like since it shares my late Mom's name. And Wifey said she only got 5 hours the night before. I bragged -- ha -- I got seven -- though in 2 parts.

Well, the sleep schadenfreude caused me soporific karma: last night I fell asleep 11, was up at 4 am, and there was NO getting back to sleep. I got out of bed with the sunrise, let the Special Needs Spaniel out (he sleeps VERY well), and will take my walk. I'm guessing a long afternoon nap awaits later on.

When we first met, we were, like most young adults, very adept sleepers -- Wifey better than I. She fell asleep in any moving vehicle. I needed a bed. But once I went to sleep, I stayed asleep, until my old school clock radio alarm woke me. There were no overnight pee visits. My brain happily shut down, as opposed to these days, when my return to bed brings with me all the anxieties of the world -- at 4 freaking am!

I know we're not alone, and we're both fortunate that we have flexible schedules and very few work responsibilities. I can't imagine practicing law full time this way -- I would leave lots of stuff out. Worse would be driving, or practicing medicine. Sleep is so essential.

After a few nights go by, I go the xanax route -- that OTHER little blue pill gives me a solid 5-6 hours. I know xanax isn't really a sleep aid, but it works for me -- with zero hungover feelings in the am.

I read about a newly approved drug, , the hard to say Quviviq, which apparently works differently than the stuff you get addicted to. My doc wrote me a scrip, but my Obama Care plan said no. I could pay for it, but a month's supply is like $500.

I found a coupon to try it, but Walgreens still refused -- since I HAD insurance, they said, the coupon wasn't valid. I know I could go into another pharmacy, not linked to my insurance plan, and get the stuff. But so far I lack the initiative -- probably because I don't get enough sleep!

Wifey asked, many times, as Wifey is wont to do, if this sleep issue really bothered me. I told her I just chalk it up to another aging thing -- like making noises like my Dad did whenever I get up from a plush sofa, which is low to the ground, like the one we have! Note to self: next Family Room sofa needs to be higher.

It's funny -- at the Palace, when we visited my suegra, all of the chairs and couches have inflated cushions -- so the really old can get up more easily. I used to laugh at that. Now it's much less funny.

Another thing I've noticed is the different ways women and men deal with empty nesterhood. I was discussing this with Jamie at his late girlfriend's Bagel Emporium shiva. Jamie, like me, finds that the older he gets, the less change he wants. He's 68 and knows he has it pretty good.

Wifey, and the two other women at the table, Lori and Jackie, feel exactly the opposite. Jackie, like Wifey, has "had enough of the suburbs" and wants to live somewhere where "you can walk to stuff." Lori says she thinks about selling her big North Palm Beach house in favor of 2 smaller houses -- maybe one closer to the stuff going on in Miami.

I remind Wifey that there are many more widows than widowers, and if she just hangs around a bit, she can choose to get rid of our big house and live wherever she pleases -- and travel constantly. I neither wish to move or travel much. She says she doesn't like it when I talk that way. Again, I blame sleep deprivation.