And Where Do I Go From Here

People in my world are all uncomfortable with the out of the ordinary. They want you slotted a certain way, like letters in a post office...

When folks learn I've retired from law, or nearly so, they get uncomfortable. "Really?" "You're FAR too young?" "What are you doing next?"

The truth is, the time is more than ripe to get out of the injury business. I know a bunch of long time PI guys going bankrupt, chasing after associate attorney jobs, or otherwise treading water.

A Federal Appeals Court came down with a ruling a few days ago upholding the constitutionality of a cap on damages in med mal cases. We were co counsel on a case 6 years ago that settled for $5M. That case now is worth 1/10 that amount...

Cases against rental car companies, once our bread and butter, are a thing of the past. One of our last big hits, a products liability deal against a car maker, would now be worthless under the Obama recovery plan...

Still, the know it alls DO know something: I am too young to contemplate my navel all day...

I have a meeting later this week with an academic Dean, in hopes of creating a position for myself at a college. I'm not too optimistic; colleges aren't looking to undertake new stuff these days, and there will be committees to meet with other committees...

A friend from Boston called today, to tell me about a new cupcake company looking for franchisees in Miami. I unfortunately have bad experience investing in a franchise, and that's about the last thing I want to do.

I figure something will pop up.

I told Wifey that I did have one dream --something I want to try in my life. I turn 50 in less than 2 months, and now may be the time: go to Key West, and stay drunk for 3 straight weeks.

I've never gotten past a day and a half, but I think with the proper effort and preparation, I could do it.

Wifey doesn't think this is the best idea...

So we'll see.

In the mean time, D2 is sunbathing out front. I think she needs me to bring her some ice water...

LOL

As much as I enjoy a great steak and a piano bar, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I have an awfully annoying habit of waking up early, and after I read the papers, drink coffee, feed the dogs, and mentally solve the world's problems, I'm mighty hungry. Plus, not too many normal folks are up at 630 am...

And my favorite place for breakfast is Lots of Lox. LOL has been in the same strip center in Palmetto Bay for over 20 years. A few years back, it was a bit on the decline, as the owner spent more time fishing in the Bahamas than he did tending to his business. And then, 3 Greek brothers bought the Jewish style deli, and it rebounded wonderfully.

The brothers grew up in Miami, in the Roads neighborhood, long a bastion of Greek and Jewish families. The Greek leader was Mekras, the Cardinal (not Cardinal, but whatever they call the Greek Orthodox equivalent) of the church, and 2 of his sons became urologists. I had the displeasure of meeting them, and one gave me my first prostate gland exam, when I about 20 years ago. You never forget the first guy who does that to you...

Anyway, they have great food, and a staff mostly still the same after 20 years. Lori, my favorite waitress, is now head of staff, and oversees everyone. Lori is probably the consistently happiest human being I have ever met --always glowing, flirting, and joking. I have little doubt she goes home each night and weeps in deep melancholy --No ONE can be that happy all the time!

I often meet my old college friend Vince at LOL. He's now a Public Health doctor, and Lori always jokes with him about gettin food poisoning...We catch up, and compare marriages (Vince is on #3), and kids, and careers...

And I meet Norman, my great law school friend, who Wifey is convinced is my brother of a different mother. It's true --we share identical senses of humor, and yesterday I learned his brother has the same chronic condition endemic to Ashkenazi Jews several of my family members have...

This am, I awoke at 6, fed the ancient Lab, the spoiled grand dog, and the new rescue creature (which we learned to our relief yesterday IS a dog --we had fears Vienna might be some other dog-like animal, like a dwarf hyena), read the Herald, and drank coffee. And then, as if on cue, Norman texted me "LOL at 8 am?"

It was perfect. I fired up the Hyundai and headed over, for great food and even better conversation. Ah, if only Norman and I ran things instead of that pendejo governor Scott of ours --Florida would rock!

Glenn, my old boss's boat captain came in, and told me great tales of my former mentor. And then Sarah came by, with her husband and adorable son, and we caught up a bit.

Norman and I went outside as the tables filled. We laughed at the fact that I used to babysit Sarah back in '79, when I was her mother's student at the U. Sarah was 10, and her baby brother Ari was 4 or 5. We tried to imagine, these days, leaving a teen boy in charge of a young girl --no matter who he was. Ah, sadly, how the world has changed...

Sarah is now a very succesful caterer --Norman's firm uses her.

LOL is really our small town diner.

And the cheddar, tomato, onion, and mushroom omelette was delicious...

Remembrance of Days Past

So Wifey, D2, and I picked up D1 and the spoiled granddog on Brickell, and headed to my in laws' house. D2 brought her laptop, filled with pictures of her trip to Israel.

My mother in law doesn't cook like she used to , but there was still a batch of delicious latkes waiting to do battle with my Crestor...

We ate, and chatted, and D2 started the slide show.

It's funny --my mother in law wasn't too interested. Although Israel represented freedom from the Nazis, she doesn't remember her time there fondly. She had a hard time getting pregnant, and feuded mightily with her extended family. She would sit for hours watching the birds, and bemoaning her seeming barrenness...She asked the birds to help her...and then she became pregnant with Wifey, and named her the Hebrew name for bird...

Still, she felt no closeness to Israel, and happily left 4 years later. To this day, her longings are for her youth in Poland (she's been back 3 times to visit), even though that was the place where the Poles and Nazis killed her family. They stole her youth, too, and in many ways this 86 year old is trapped, emotionally, as a teenaged girl...Enough of this psycho babble. Bottom line: she doesn't miss Israel.

My father in law is completely different. He reminds me of the great book about old Cuban men living in Miami: "In Cuba I Was a German Sheperd." The book refers to little old men playing dominoes, and having little power in the US, but pining for the years where they were young, and vital --like great dogs.

My father in law fought in the IDF Special Forces in '48, and thereafter was an aide to big shots, like Moshe Dayan...He was at the height of his powers. The US always (and continues to) befuddle him. The roads, even in simple grid-like South Florida, are "stupid." He knew Israel like a London cab driver knows London, and it empowered him. His 8 years in Israel were truly his golden ones, and I think he still regrets emigrating to the US...

And so, he watched D2's slides with great focus --gaily shouting "I know Dat place!" and "I vas der MANY times!" He beamed, and was thrilled about D2's new love of Israel...

And then D2 played some Israeli music. He listened, enjoying the Hebrew lyrics. A young girl, with a voice like Jewel (Ofra something or other) sang "Jerusalem of Gold." Her rendition was pained and haunting, as is the song itself.

I looked over at my father in law, and saw something for the first time in the 28 years I've known him: he was crying. Not weeping, of course, but the tears were there --tears of missing his country, and his strength, and his youth.

In this space and time, he is an old man who barely walks. In 1948 he was a conquering soldier, building a homeland in the memory of his murdered family, and for the future of all of us.

I rarely cry, but my tears flowed, too. Sometimes it takes a man to understand a man's feelings. We didn't embrace or say anything, but yesterday afternoon, in the Century Village apartment I bought and paid for under some world class Jewish guilt and coercion, I felt more connected to my father in law than I ever had.

So, march on, Richard. Sometimes moments of exquisiteness and connection come at the most unexpected times.

Nostalgia Night

So D2 was showing me pictures of her Israel trip, and there was the obligatory shot of her floating in the Dead Sea. I told her there was slide of ME doing that, back in '69.

Next thing, the two of us retired to our "Bonus Room", so named because when we bought the house, that's what the realtor called the second story above the garage, which we finished and turned into a guest house/ game room...And I found my family's old slide projector and slides.

Sure enough, the nearly 50 year old thing worked, and I projected the historical shots onto a wall where I took down my photos of the Orange Bowl...

One lesson we learned right away: when on a family vacation, never let the 8 year old take the trip's photos. I was clearly more interested in industrial sites, mines, cool buildings, and zoo animals than I was snapping people...

Still, there we found my parents and me --floating in the Dead Sea, walking at the Kotel, and drinking sodas in Tel Aviv...

D2 wss shocked at the sheer level of dorkiness of her father --particularly my choice of colorful seersucker pants, and many colored shirts (purple was a favorite). Hey --these were the Mod days in the Middle East!

We continued through the show, and found many other shots. My sister Susan and her Southampton College friends, circa 1967. My sister Trudy and brother in law Dennis at Southhampton, oh, a few pounds ago...

And one baby kept popping up in many of the slides. A young man who was clearly loved and worshipped by all in the family, who's now approaching 40, and hasn't been happy in years. D2 saw he was clearly a family favorite --first grandson and nephew, and treated as such.

There were shots of my 3rd grade field trip to the statue of liberty, where some of my current friends were clearly seen --Eric Grossman, Mark Anderson, and Mike Monahan. We're all now 50 or close -- 8 year old boys in the slides...

And my father. Oh, how I miss him so. He was my age in most of the slides, and he looked like a man in full. He was clearly so proud. My mother was truly a beautiful woman, always decked out in elegant clothes.

He had achieved some financial success: there were shots of a Miami Beach trip where he took his family PLUS my sister, brother in law, and grandson.

He was the Big Daddy in every sense. And the last thing on anyone's mind was that he'd have less than 15 years left on this planet when the photos were taken.

And so, I floated in the Dead Sea in 1969, and D2 did the same 42 years later. It mayt be time for another trip to Israel with Wifey and BOTH Ds...


I asked D2 if she thought the 8 year old boy in the slides ought to go again. She smiled and nodded...

All in the 305

So D2's death flight arrived at MIA, and I picked her up. She said the stewardess did not announce "Please be careful stepping over any corpses which may have died during the flight..." She didn't think that was funny. Hey --the dude was 73. As Chris Rock says, anyone who dies who is 70 and over dies of natural causes...

She loved Israel, as I thought she might. She wants to do her summer abroad at UF there. Hopefully things will quiet down by the time she wants to go...Ha. As if.

She called D1 and the two chatted happily. It's so great to have them both in my bailiwick, at least temporarily...

Years ago, we deposed the CEO of a local company, in a case where we blamed his company for starting a fire which maimed a toddler. Of course, the mother left a superheated appliance on a bed with the baby. Ah --American law is great! Anyway, during breaks in his testimony, I asked him about his kids. He had grown ones, and I asked where they live. His response "They're allowed as far north as West PAlm Beach --they must stay in my territory."

He said this so matter of factly, as if there WAS no choice. I get it now. I plan to be that type of CEO Dad... I already am.

So we have D2 here for a month, before she and I drive back to Gainesville, and I fly home. She's doing a summer research project, and tells me that summer school at UF is essentially adult sleepaway camp.

D1 is busy taking classes at FIU, and finds out soon if she got a job as a restaurant hostess, to earn money to support her addiction: shopping.

I'm a big happy Daddy in the USA...

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Ah, relief for this paranoid, anxiety ridden father. D2 made it out of Israel no problem, with no hint of trying to make her an Israeli Private Benjamin because of Wifey's Haifa birth...

She was picked up at JFK by another Birthright Mom, and taken to Merrick, an Aventura of Long Island, for some princess-philic activities: lunch and frozen yogurt. Then she was spirited to JFK, and boarded a flight home. She called me as they were pulling out of the gate at 630. I went for Chinese, and to kill time before her 930 arrival.

And then my phone buzzed at about 8. It was D2. How could this be?

Emergency landing at Norfolk, VA, for a medical emergency. A 70 something was having a heart attack. She said word was that the passenger (still don't know if it's a man or woman) was on the aisle, and they were doing chest compressions, while the pilot asked for a doctor on the plane...

It turned out the poor person died, and all were escorted into the terminal, a noun that now had George Carlin meaning...

As this is NOT Switzerland, a Norfolk CSI or ME had to come, to certify whatever needs certifying when someone drops dead on a jetliner, and the waiting was on.

About 10, the gate agent said that although all was ready to resume, the flight attendants were "too broken up" about what happened, there was no available relief crew, and so it was on to the Norfolk Holiday Inn for the night. Those with connecting flights to South America or the Islands, were, well...

And so it went. No luggage, so D2 got to stay in the same clothes she put on the day before. She's fastidious, so this is a concern for her.

As I write, they're due to leave VA around 10, and arrive at MIA around noon. I'm making a welcome home sign.

It'll be great to have her back.

High Anxiety

My father was a nervous wreck about his family; my mother was (and still is) a happy idiot. I always hoped I'd be more like my mother, but, alas, I am my father's son.

I had coffee with my Rabbi friend last week. We've known each other 15 years, and had deep discussions about faith and family. He had no idea what a mess I am. He went on and on about how fortunate I am to have such a sunny disposition. When I told him about the demons in my head (I can't hear an ambulance without picturing one of my Ds mangled in the back), he was shocked.

He offered spiritual guidance: the number of a psychologist recommended by one of his OCD constituents. I'm guessing that thinking positive thoughts and xanax did the trick for the fellow. I'll stick to the occasional martini or two...

So D2 is in Israel --a PERFECT place for a paranoid father like me. In fact, all was well until Sunday, when the monkeys on the borders decided they'd celebrate their "Catastrophe Day" (when Israel was created) by simply marching across the borders in Syria and Lebanon.

The Syrian and Lebanese governments, in the midst of uprisings due to the "Arab Spring," figured this was a good way to divert attention away from their killing of their own peeps, and so gave the tacit go ahead.

Israel, the grumpy old man who tells you to keep the F off his lawn, reacted as expected: they shot the invaders and killed 15 of them.

Here it comes, my paranoid mind thought: all out war while my lovely D2 was shopping on Ben Yehuda Street.

Well, fortunately, things seem to have quieted down, at least for now. D2 is set to leave at 5 am tomorrow, so then my fears can switch to air travel across that enormous ocean, or, even worse, the Swiss in Zurich, her stopping point...

My mother really has it figured out. No worries. Wifey has my mother's thoughts, too. When I ask Wifey, incredulously, if she isn't petrified about all the things that petrify me about the Ds, she says, nonchalantly: "My mind doesn't go there..."

Back to my ancient mother. She stopped her newspaper subscription 20 years ago, and rarely watches the news. "Why do I need to hear all the bad things?"

She has passively-aggressively manipulated all of us into NEVER telling her any bad, or even possibly unsettling news. She simply keeps her head clear.

Oh, she gets sad. On Saturday she allowed as how she misses talking to her grandchildren. Most of them have simply stopped calling her, and one (her long favorite, who lives less than a half hour away) hasn't visited her in over a year.

But, like the great Eric Idle song, she always looks on the bright side of life. She's 91, so there's wisdom there.

I have a dinner meeting tonight with a quadriplegic client and his family. (My line of work, with death and life ruining injuries, has proven perfect for my anxieties).

I figure I can hang on until tomorrow am, and anxiously await the call Wednesday from JFK from D2, telling me she's on the last leg of the trip.

2 or 3 more martinis ought to be enough...