I don't keep in touch with my cousins much, and it's too bad. Most of us (at least on my mother's side) live in Florida now, but somehow we find ourselves too busy with our own families and friends to socialize.
My cousin Barry calls me every 2 months ago, but that's just for free legal advice...he always starts the call asking after my wife and kids, but that's not his purpose...it's ok --I always enjoy hearing about his exploits.
My cousin Janet called last week to invite us to her daughters' Bat Mitzvot...My sister also got an invite, and the party is less than 2 weeks away, so we figured the first round of invitees had largely declined, there was a minimum at the catering hall, and so we were second or third tier...that's ok, I try not to stand on ceremony, but I'll be away the date of the party nonetheless, and can't make it.
But Janet told me a great tale, about her father's funeral last year. My brother in law Dennis and I attended the service at the chapel, but then decamped to a local Houston's to toast departed Abe, and blew off the burial. We missed a classic...
Janet told me that her Dad's new wife, who most of the family can't stand, was in the limo in the front with her 2 adult daughters. The caravan of probably 20 cars was ready to go to the cemetary, when one of the ladies heard nature's call...
She ran into the chapel, and took a long, long time, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was holding up the whole show. Finally, she emerged, and realized, red faced, that all eyes were on her, and what her tarrying had done. The caravan left for the cemetery out on US 441...
When they arrived, the gates were closed. Apparently the agreement was to hold the burial before 5, and the bathroom delay caused the party's arrival at 515... The black guy at the gate said they could come in, but they had to pay $300 CASH to pay for the overtime drop into the hole...
My uncle's wife feigned, apparently, grief, and said she "couldn't deal..." My cousin Michael, now a modern orthodox Jew and taking this most seriously, poked his head into the limo and uttered one of the unlikliest phrases heard at a funeral, directed at his "step mother:" "Hey --your daughter chose to take an epic dump --YOU GOTTA PAY!"
According to Janet, no cash was forthcoming. My family isn't exactly from the Rothschilds, so to speak, but eventually Michael and his brother Jeff coughed up the $300, and the casket was approptiately lowered.
Dennis and I were in Boca by this time, with my partner Paul, oblivious to this exquisite event...
Abe had a classic NY businessman's ironic sense of humor. He would have loved to witness this --hondeling and arguing over money before he could be laid to rest...
Out of 5 siblings and their spouses, only my mother and her sister Florence and husband Bernie remain...
Abe's unveiling was a few weeks ago. My cousin Michael called to invite us, but we couldn't make it.
It's probably just as well, The cemetary might have hit us up for a few shekels...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
Dress Down Millionaire
So my rabbi friend called and invited Wifey and me to meet some new Hebrews who moved into the 'hood a few months ago. They're a couple in their late 20s with a baby daughter.
The husband, who I'll call Ben, since that's his name, is a Middle School dropout from the Midwest who started an online company that has apparently taken off like a parrot on fire. They sell daily deals, and have found a major market share.
Ben and his wife like warm weather, and so chose to relocate to Miami. They're building a new headquarters in NW Dade.
So we went over with our friends Jeff and Lili to the big mansion. Ben's wife greeted her guests in a skirt, t shirt, and ball cap. Ben, easily 50 lbs overweight, was wearing his daily business uniform --bathing suit (really), t shirt, and sneaks...
To call this power couple frumpy is charitable...my Rabbi friend prefers "humble."
We ate kosher sushi and pasta, and drank Stoli gold, and heard an inspiring talk from the Rabbi about the coming Days of Awe. To me, that's then Hurricane football starts (and don't get me started on THEM), but of course it's the Jewish New Year, when we're asked to audit our lives and pledge to be better at healing the world...
Meanwhile, most of the guests left. I did a little networking. I introduced Lili to a Jewban guy I've known awhile, as he needed a real estate lawyer. It's so funny to me. Lili met him, and chatted quietly, It never occurred to her to talk about what she does. Then I came over, and told Jacob the Jewban all about her practice. Next I knew, they were talking in Spanish about some deal. Maybe I'll get a meal out of it for my efforts. Probably not...
Anyway, we then chatted with Ben and his wife. He has 100 employees, and Rabbi said he gives HALF his profits (which are HUGE) to charity. I can believe it --he certainly doesn't spend money on clothes. My friends, especially my Metrosexual partner Paul, constantly badger ME about my dress. Compared to the young millionaire, I could be in GQ!
So we surely have some colorful new neighbors. Ben wants to host weekly Torah study at his house, and I think I'll go to some. Meanwhile, he told me that his company's new CFO is a dinosaur --he's 38. The young folks call him "Grandpa."
No wonder I'm feeling more and more irrelevant.
So, power to you, young man! Keep on earnin' and keep on givin'.
The husband, who I'll call Ben, since that's his name, is a Middle School dropout from the Midwest who started an online company that has apparently taken off like a parrot on fire. They sell daily deals, and have found a major market share.
Ben and his wife like warm weather, and so chose to relocate to Miami. They're building a new headquarters in NW Dade.
So we went over with our friends Jeff and Lili to the big mansion. Ben's wife greeted her guests in a skirt, t shirt, and ball cap. Ben, easily 50 lbs overweight, was wearing his daily business uniform --bathing suit (really), t shirt, and sneaks...
To call this power couple frumpy is charitable...my Rabbi friend prefers "humble."
We ate kosher sushi and pasta, and drank Stoli gold, and heard an inspiring talk from the Rabbi about the coming Days of Awe. To me, that's then Hurricane football starts (and don't get me started on THEM), but of course it's the Jewish New Year, when we're asked to audit our lives and pledge to be better at healing the world...
Meanwhile, most of the guests left. I did a little networking. I introduced Lili to a Jewban guy I've known awhile, as he needed a real estate lawyer. It's so funny to me. Lili met him, and chatted quietly, It never occurred to her to talk about what she does. Then I came over, and told Jacob the Jewban all about her practice. Next I knew, they were talking in Spanish about some deal. Maybe I'll get a meal out of it for my efforts. Probably not...
Anyway, we then chatted with Ben and his wife. He has 100 employees, and Rabbi said he gives HALF his profits (which are HUGE) to charity. I can believe it --he certainly doesn't spend money on clothes. My friends, especially my Metrosexual partner Paul, constantly badger ME about my dress. Compared to the young millionaire, I could be in GQ!
So we surely have some colorful new neighbors. Ben wants to host weekly Torah study at his house, and I think I'll go to some. Meanwhile, he told me that his company's new CFO is a dinosaur --he's 38. The young folks call him "Grandpa."
No wonder I'm feeling more and more irrelevant.
So, power to you, young man! Keep on earnin' and keep on givin'.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
FDOS
Monday passed, another First Day of School...and Wifey and I looked on like elderly spectators, which we are.
I joked with D2 and asked if I could drive her to FIU for the start of her second year of grad school. Absolutely, she answered --that way she wouldn't have to park at a distant spot, and risk damage to her car...
D2 is so out of it due to the stresses of sorority recruiting, that in her first class at UF, the professor asked how many students were freshmen, and she raised her hand. This gaffe was duly reported on FaceBook (tm) within moments...Ah, living in the age of social media...D2 later recalled she was, in fact, a sophomore...
I spoke to my friends about their FDOS experiences. Barry's oldest started high school, and he told me about dropping his 6'3" freshman off at West Broward, and how his wife Donna began to bawl...Barry reminder her that Scott wasn't going off to Iraq as a soldier --he'd be back that afternoon.
But of course Donna was crying for the passage of time, the bittersweet "Sunrise, Sunset" of our lives.
I purposely stayed home on Monday. Luckily, the threat of Hurricane Irene was enough to keep me occupied in my news junkie state. And, the talk of Irene moved news of the Miami Hurricanes and all their luridness out of the news...
Now, Irene has shifted, and we're out of the cone of death, as I call it.
The Ds are both in class, and by now, the freshness of FDOS is gone. I'm sure the first trips to the principal's office have been taken, and maybe the first poor grades have been earned.
Our kids move forward in their lives, and Wifey and I watch from the sidelines. It's a nice time, really.
I'm meeting my old friend Kenny for lunch today. We met in the 7th grade, in Levittown. He became a father later than I did, on account of a career in the Navy. His boys are in 8th and 10th grade, so he has a few years left of relevance as a dad.
Wifey found an old picture of the Ds, and posted it on FB. It shows adorable girls headed to First grade and preschool. I'm sure soon after the photo, I marched them off to stand in front of a newly planted tree, to compare their growth to the tree's...
I drove past our old house west of the Falls the other day. Sure enough, the black olive trees I planted when we moved back in, after Hurricane Andrew, are flourishing. They're a good 50 or 60 feet tall. The Ds are a more modest 5'3" and 5'5"...
Might Wifey and I someday walk grandkids into their first class?
I joked with D2 and asked if I could drive her to FIU for the start of her second year of grad school. Absolutely, she answered --that way she wouldn't have to park at a distant spot, and risk damage to her car...
D2 is so out of it due to the stresses of sorority recruiting, that in her first class at UF, the professor asked how many students were freshmen, and she raised her hand. This gaffe was duly reported on FaceBook (tm) within moments...Ah, living in the age of social media...D2 later recalled she was, in fact, a sophomore...
I spoke to my friends about their FDOS experiences. Barry's oldest started high school, and he told me about dropping his 6'3" freshman off at West Broward, and how his wife Donna began to bawl...Barry reminder her that Scott wasn't going off to Iraq as a soldier --he'd be back that afternoon.
But of course Donna was crying for the passage of time, the bittersweet "Sunrise, Sunset" of our lives.
I purposely stayed home on Monday. Luckily, the threat of Hurricane Irene was enough to keep me occupied in my news junkie state. And, the talk of Irene moved news of the Miami Hurricanes and all their luridness out of the news...
Now, Irene has shifted, and we're out of the cone of death, as I call it.
The Ds are both in class, and by now, the freshness of FDOS is gone. I'm sure the first trips to the principal's office have been taken, and maybe the first poor grades have been earned.
Our kids move forward in their lives, and Wifey and I watch from the sidelines. It's a nice time, really.
I'm meeting my old friend Kenny for lunch today. We met in the 7th grade, in Levittown. He became a father later than I did, on account of a career in the Navy. His boys are in 8th and 10th grade, so he has a few years left of relevance as a dad.
Wifey found an old picture of the Ds, and posted it on FB. It shows adorable girls headed to First grade and preschool. I'm sure soon after the photo, I marched them off to stand in front of a newly planted tree, to compare their growth to the tree's...
I drove past our old house west of the Falls the other day. Sure enough, the black olive trees I planted when we moved back in, after Hurricane Andrew, are flourishing. They're a good 50 or 60 feet tall. The Ds are a more modest 5'3" and 5'5"...
Might Wifey and I someday walk grandkids into their first class?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Septic Tanks and Tropical Cyclones
I'm not very mechanically inclined, but I do closely observe stuff around the house to try to ward off major repair issues...
And Friday afternoon, I was walking in my dog infested back yard, when I noticed the septic tank cover askew...
I am a religious fanatic about having the tank pumped out every two years (in May, to commemorate the Communists), and 2 pumps ago my friend Wendell Smith, owner of Smith Septic, told me to replace the concrete cover with a riser and plastic cover, to make pumpings easier...I agreed.
Our first house had MAJOR septic issues. The owner, a sleazy little guy who owned a bikini store in South Miami, and had a gorgeous, airhead girlfriend ("He's asking $125 K but I know he'll take less than $90K for the house --giggle giggle")knew he had major drainfield issues, and concealed it from us. So we spent our 4 years there always afraid of a putrid back up...
Anyway, I wenr over to the cover, and tried it with my foot, and, sure enough, it was LOOSE! There was the open tank, with brown water, and roaches scurrying about...
It was 6 pm, but I called Smith, and left them a message to call me Monday. Wifey and I then left for a movie and dinner date...
And at 7, I got an unfamiliar number on my cell. I answered. It was Wendell Smith, asking about the problem...
This man is to septic tanks what the top neurosurgeon is to brains. I told him he needn't have called, but he heard the message and wanted to respond. He told me he's send "his man" over Mnday, to refasten the cover, and if any kids or dogs fell in over the weekend, "Well just fish 'em out, Dave!"
Our sewage is in fine hands...
And now, in the news, is the first media frenzy of the season involving tropical cyclones. Storm Irene is hitting Puerto Rico, and MAY come our way as a Cat 1 cane.
The latest models show it veering North, and maybe hitting Florida near D2!!!! Whatever.
My storm rules are simple. All of my women are to keep gas tanks above 1/2 level during hurricane season (lest another monster like Andrew show up, and we need to decamp to Orlando), and I don't do too much unless we're onder a hurrican WARNING (which means a cane is likely in the next 24 hours). Other than that, all the hoopla is just a conspiracy between the media and its customers to sell more media AND hurricane supplies. I'm convinced that when the cone of death appears, and Miami is anywhere near its center, managers of Home Depot, Lowes, and Publix all get aroused...
So for now, all systems are on regular setting...
But if the septic tank ain't happy, ain't nothing in the house happy...
And Friday afternoon, I was walking in my dog infested back yard, when I noticed the septic tank cover askew...
I am a religious fanatic about having the tank pumped out every two years (in May, to commemorate the Communists), and 2 pumps ago my friend Wendell Smith, owner of Smith Septic, told me to replace the concrete cover with a riser and plastic cover, to make pumpings easier...I agreed.
Our first house had MAJOR septic issues. The owner, a sleazy little guy who owned a bikini store in South Miami, and had a gorgeous, airhead girlfriend ("He's asking $125 K but I know he'll take less than $90K for the house --giggle giggle")knew he had major drainfield issues, and concealed it from us. So we spent our 4 years there always afraid of a putrid back up...
Anyway, I wenr over to the cover, and tried it with my foot, and, sure enough, it was LOOSE! There was the open tank, with brown water, and roaches scurrying about...
It was 6 pm, but I called Smith, and left them a message to call me Monday. Wifey and I then left for a movie and dinner date...
And at 7, I got an unfamiliar number on my cell. I answered. It was Wendell Smith, asking about the problem...
This man is to septic tanks what the top neurosurgeon is to brains. I told him he needn't have called, but he heard the message and wanted to respond. He told me he's send "his man" over Mnday, to refasten the cover, and if any kids or dogs fell in over the weekend, "Well just fish 'em out, Dave!"
Our sewage is in fine hands...
And now, in the news, is the first media frenzy of the season involving tropical cyclones. Storm Irene is hitting Puerto Rico, and MAY come our way as a Cat 1 cane.
The latest models show it veering North, and maybe hitting Florida near D2!!!! Whatever.
My storm rules are simple. All of my women are to keep gas tanks above 1/2 level during hurricane season (lest another monster like Andrew show up, and we need to decamp to Orlando), and I don't do too much unless we're onder a hurrican WARNING (which means a cane is likely in the next 24 hours). Other than that, all the hoopla is just a conspiracy between the media and its customers to sell more media AND hurricane supplies. I'm convinced that when the cone of death appears, and Miami is anywhere near its center, managers of Home Depot, Lowes, and Publix all get aroused...
So for now, all systems are on regular setting...
But if the septic tank ain't happy, ain't nothing in the house happy...
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Biking
Wifey was just chock full of good ideas today. We went to bed late, after a lovely night out in the Gables with Norman and Deb, and Scott and Liz. The sextet saw a good French rom/com, followed by free drinks by Bacardi, and then dinner on Miracle Mile. We're all empty nesters except for Deb, who has a few more years to go, and enjoyed sharing tales of college and grad school for our offspring, as well as what the hell we all want to do with our lives at the mid century mark.
Despite the late hour of getting to bed, we were up at dawn, and Wifey suggested a bike ride. We haven't done that in awhile, and I put air in the tires and we saddled up the old Treks for a treck down Old Cutler. The county just resurfaced the Old Cutler bike path, and it's gorgeous --it takes you past mangroves, and the Bay, and the house where Sean Taylor was killed by inviting the WRONG party guests to his mansion...
We drove all the way to Franjo Road, and saw a new Cuban place had opened. We went in for a great and cheap breakfast. And then the rains came --pouring down, like they usually do in the afternoon when the storms blow in from the Everglades.
We waited for awhile, and then left for him in a drizzle. It was beautifully cool, and the smell of the damp vegetation was wonderful. We joked about the Neil Sedaka song...
Then Wifey put on another foreign film, from Argentina, and it was ALSO good --a murder mystery where the widower ends up imprisoning his wife's killer for 25 years...
And THEN Wifey suggested we go try a new healthy fast food place, Energy Kitchen, for dinner. I had a spicy chicken sandwich and baked fries, and the baked fries took me back to the ones they served in Levittown schools in the 70s. Since it wasn't the South, they didn't actually fry stuff...
So all in all, a fine Saturday. Tomorrow Wifey is headed to the Beach to meet her friends Cara and Linda on Linclon Road, and I'll head up to see ancient Mom.
We made plans about 2 hours ago, and she just called me --to make sure that today was Saturday, and tomorrow Sunday when I would be visiting...
Wifey is chock full of ideas about ancient Mom, too, but Mom won't listen...
Despite the late hour of getting to bed, we were up at dawn, and Wifey suggested a bike ride. We haven't done that in awhile, and I put air in the tires and we saddled up the old Treks for a treck down Old Cutler. The county just resurfaced the Old Cutler bike path, and it's gorgeous --it takes you past mangroves, and the Bay, and the house where Sean Taylor was killed by inviting the WRONG party guests to his mansion...
We drove all the way to Franjo Road, and saw a new Cuban place had opened. We went in for a great and cheap breakfast. And then the rains came --pouring down, like they usually do in the afternoon when the storms blow in from the Everglades.
We waited for awhile, and then left for him in a drizzle. It was beautifully cool, and the smell of the damp vegetation was wonderful. We joked about the Neil Sedaka song...
Then Wifey put on another foreign film, from Argentina, and it was ALSO good --a murder mystery where the widower ends up imprisoning his wife's killer for 25 years...
And THEN Wifey suggested we go try a new healthy fast food place, Energy Kitchen, for dinner. I had a spicy chicken sandwich and baked fries, and the baked fries took me back to the ones they served in Levittown schools in the 70s. Since it wasn't the South, they didn't actually fry stuff...
So all in all, a fine Saturday. Tomorrow Wifey is headed to the Beach to meet her friends Cara and Linda on Linclon Road, and I'll head up to see ancient Mom.
We made plans about 2 hours ago, and she just called me --to make sure that today was Saturday, and tomorrow Sunday when I would be visiting...
Wifey is chock full of ideas about ancient Mom, too, but Mom won't listen...
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
This is the End My Hurricane Friends...
I tend to think in terms of song lyrics, and with the awful news about my beloved Canes, the great Doors work comes to mind.
Last May, there was a small article in the Herald about a ponzi schemer named Shapiro. He was being sentenced to 20 years in Federal prison, and he claimed he was writing a tell all book about his involvement with the football program.
We all sloughed it off...no one I knew heard of the guy, and it appeared he was just a bitter felon looking for some local notoriety...
Well, we learned yesterday it appears to all be true. It turns out that, for most of the decade, starting in 2000, the Canes program was something out of a Carl Hiassen novel. This guy Shapiro had a mansion and yacht, and gave money to the program (legitimately) but also got hookers and money and abortions for the players and their bitches, to use the correct term...
And, he apparently did it for over 70 players, including most of the current starters!
If proven, this will mean the "Death Penalty" for the program --what happened to SMU 30 years ago...
The truth is (apparently despite Shapiro's dirty gifts) the program was in decline. After the last regular season loss to South Florida, where the players quit, I left the stadium thinking I was giving up my tickets for the first time in 31 years. The Canes were then embarrased in a bowl game against hated Notre Dame, and I was even more resolute in my revulsion.
And then --a new, young, energetic coach was hired: Al Golden. A tough Italian from Penn State. He brought his best buddy, Mark D'Onofrio, to coach defense. I remember THAT guy --he played against the Canes with a broken arm! And then Golden hired a brainy Jewish guy, Jedd Fisch, to coach the offense.
Things were looking up. There was optimism. I ran into a legendary assistant coach, Art Kehoe, who had been hired back by Golden. Kehoe is my age, and had seen it all. He pointed to Golden, waiting to be introduced at a basketball game, and said "He's the best we've ever had. Just watch."
I was re-energized as a fan. I bought tickets to 2 away games (Maryland and FSU) as well as renewing my tickets. The season tickets just arrived last week, and I brought them home from my office last night.
And now it clearly looks like the end.
But, I have my memories. They can't take that away from me...
Danny Miller kicking a last second field goal to beat the Gators in '81, and Barry and Eric and I nearly thowing ourselves down the stands in the Orange Bowl as we rejoiced.
The best game in history, in my opinion: the upset victory over Goliath Nebraska, for our first championship (4 more would follow, and it should really have been 6 more).
I'm not a big Van Halen fan, but as I look back, I recall one of their lyrics:
They were good times. DAMN good times...
Last May, there was a small article in the Herald about a ponzi schemer named Shapiro. He was being sentenced to 20 years in Federal prison, and he claimed he was writing a tell all book about his involvement with the football program.
We all sloughed it off...no one I knew heard of the guy, and it appeared he was just a bitter felon looking for some local notoriety...
Well, we learned yesterday it appears to all be true. It turns out that, for most of the decade, starting in 2000, the Canes program was something out of a Carl Hiassen novel. This guy Shapiro had a mansion and yacht, and gave money to the program (legitimately) but also got hookers and money and abortions for the players and their bitches, to use the correct term...
And, he apparently did it for over 70 players, including most of the current starters!
If proven, this will mean the "Death Penalty" for the program --what happened to SMU 30 years ago...
The truth is (apparently despite Shapiro's dirty gifts) the program was in decline. After the last regular season loss to South Florida, where the players quit, I left the stadium thinking I was giving up my tickets for the first time in 31 years. The Canes were then embarrased in a bowl game against hated Notre Dame, and I was even more resolute in my revulsion.
And then --a new, young, energetic coach was hired: Al Golden. A tough Italian from Penn State. He brought his best buddy, Mark D'Onofrio, to coach defense. I remember THAT guy --he played against the Canes with a broken arm! And then Golden hired a brainy Jewish guy, Jedd Fisch, to coach the offense.
Things were looking up. There was optimism. I ran into a legendary assistant coach, Art Kehoe, who had been hired back by Golden. Kehoe is my age, and had seen it all. He pointed to Golden, waiting to be introduced at a basketball game, and said "He's the best we've ever had. Just watch."
I was re-energized as a fan. I bought tickets to 2 away games (Maryland and FSU) as well as renewing my tickets. The season tickets just arrived last week, and I brought them home from my office last night.
And now it clearly looks like the end.
But, I have my memories. They can't take that away from me...
Danny Miller kicking a last second field goal to beat the Gators in '81, and Barry and Eric and I nearly thowing ourselves down the stands in the Orange Bowl as we rejoiced.
The best game in history, in my opinion: the upset victory over Goliath Nebraska, for our first championship (4 more would follow, and it should really have been 6 more).
I'm not a big Van Halen fan, but as I look back, I recall one of their lyrics:
They were good times. DAMN good times...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Still the Dad
Sunday night Wifey and I went out to dinner with old friends Mike and Loni, whose daughter is a sophomore as USC and son a junior in high school. Loni wanted to know how it felt to be true empty nesters...We said it felt fine.
Of course, in our generation of helicopter parenting, the empty nest is never really empty. I know that when I turned 18, I truly felt adult and independent, even though I spent summers with my parents at their condo. Once I started grad school, there was no chance I was ever going back.
In Wifey's case, she moved out and was independent, but always knew her parents were a lifeboat. Sure enough, after Wifey's roommate was the victim of a crime, back in December of '83, Wifey moved back into her parents' house. She was 27.
So we're IChatting with D2 on Sunday night, when she tells us that her sister was sick, with the "worst sore throat of her life." Sure enough, D1 started emailing me, including a photo showing a thermometer reading of 99.9 degrees!
D1 is just like Wifey: when she's sick, she wants attention and nurturing. D2 is more like me --when we're sick, we want to be left the hell alone, to either recover or die...
I was driving to the office, and near Coconut Grove, got a text from D1. She had made an appointment with our friend Dr. Dave, but was too faint to drive...
Dad sprung into action. I called and told her I'd pick her up, which I did, and drove her to Dr. Dave. Sure enough, he peeked at her tonsils and said "Whoa --that's a mess!" He suspects strep, though the rapid test was negative. He put her on antibiotics, pending the results of the regular strep test...
I took D1 home, and made her tea and put her to bed. Wifey undertook the role of the traditional Jewish mother, with the modern twist: she stopped by a deli for hot chicken soup...
So D1 is here, recuperating. She and Wifey are watching "Millionaire Matchmaker." I've warned them that a viewer loses 5 IQ points for every hour spent watching that mindless drivel. I'll head to the office later.
My friend Norman posted on Facebook (tm) that all 3 of his sons are back at their schools. I felt his relief though the post. But he knows his work is still in progress, and will be forever.
To be a Dad is always to be a Dad...
Of course, in our generation of helicopter parenting, the empty nest is never really empty. I know that when I turned 18, I truly felt adult and independent, even though I spent summers with my parents at their condo. Once I started grad school, there was no chance I was ever going back.
In Wifey's case, she moved out and was independent, but always knew her parents were a lifeboat. Sure enough, after Wifey's roommate was the victim of a crime, back in December of '83, Wifey moved back into her parents' house. She was 27.
So we're IChatting with D2 on Sunday night, when she tells us that her sister was sick, with the "worst sore throat of her life." Sure enough, D1 started emailing me, including a photo showing a thermometer reading of 99.9 degrees!
D1 is just like Wifey: when she's sick, she wants attention and nurturing. D2 is more like me --when we're sick, we want to be left the hell alone, to either recover or die...
I was driving to the office, and near Coconut Grove, got a text from D1. She had made an appointment with our friend Dr. Dave, but was too faint to drive...
Dad sprung into action. I called and told her I'd pick her up, which I did, and drove her to Dr. Dave. Sure enough, he peeked at her tonsils and said "Whoa --that's a mess!" He suspects strep, though the rapid test was negative. He put her on antibiotics, pending the results of the regular strep test...
I took D1 home, and made her tea and put her to bed. Wifey undertook the role of the traditional Jewish mother, with the modern twist: she stopped by a deli for hot chicken soup...
So D1 is here, recuperating. She and Wifey are watching "Millionaire Matchmaker." I've warned them that a viewer loses 5 IQ points for every hour spent watching that mindless drivel. I'll head to the office later.
My friend Norman posted on Facebook (tm) that all 3 of his sons are back at their schools. I felt his relief though the post. But he knows his work is still in progress, and will be forever.
To be a Dad is always to be a Dad...
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