Lord. What's a Cubit?

The above is the punchline from a classic Bill Cosby routine, in which he is Noah, and God is giving him instructions about building an ark...

I thought last night that we'd have to build one, too. It rained and rained and rained...

Wifey and I settled in for a marathon watch session of our newest favorite show, "Breaking Bad." Around 630, it started coming down pretty hard. At 930, we realized that the rain had never let up. It was like a tropical storm, except the latest cyclone was no longer in existence.

It turns out that a storm cell, which would typically have blown through, got trapped by a stalled cold front right over Southeast Miami Dade. In other words, right above our heads.

We walked into our garage, and there was a fast moving stream from the pool area, through the foundation, and out the front. There were also, hopping around, 2 bullfrogs the size of ham sandwiches...

Luckily, the garage is the only part of our house at ground level. The builder and prior owner was an architect, and he over built the place, so that the lowest living area is probably 8 feet above grade. If there has to be a flood, the garage is the place to have it.

I next went around to my pond, and saw it had breached its banks. The water was actually higher than it was during Hurrican Katrina, which is the highest since we've lived here. Wifey yelled to the fish and turtles to stay where they were...

Fortunately, the rains stopped about 10, and by 11 the water had all receded. You couldn't even tell, in our garage, that there had been a flood. The water all found its way to the drainage system that sits to the South of the house. All we had was a cleaner concrete floor...

I called my friend Jeff, whose house is cut out of the oolite, and sits pretty low. Sure ennough, he had about 2 inches covering his whole first floor, but all the floors are stone, so he wasn't too concerned.

We were more anxious about our friends across the street, Pat and Susan, who have a rarity in Miami --a basement. They have a sump pump that keeps it dry, but sure enough Pat texted this am to tell me the basement was flooded, and a crew was coming out to pump out and dry the area.

Wifey thinks we should call a contractor, and see about waterproofing the foundation and wall of the garage. I don't think so. If we get a wet 1/4 garage every 10 years or so, I figure its simply our sacrificial offering to the rain gods...

Jeff's take is his usual funny one: time to move to a condo at, at minimum, the 3rd floor...

So into each garage some floodwaters must occasionally come. The bullfrogs are gone --I guess they figured it wiser to leave than be tortured by our 2 permanent and one visiting dog.

The pond is now barely lower -- and so far, no fish are flopping at the sides.

It's too cloudy for a rainbow, but that will come, I'm sure.

When Something is Wrong With My Baby...

My longtime law parter and dear friend Paul and I have a lot in common. Our law firm, in its current state (Florida) turns 17 in 2 weeks. But both of us identify first as fathers...

Paul's daughter went through a rough time, and for years, whenever her name appeared on his cell phone, he'd stiffen, expecting to have to deal with some situation. Thankfully, his daughter is now doing great --married to a central casting husband, excelling at her teaching job, and now, the new mother of a delightful baby daughter.

When his daughter calls or texts these days, Paul brightens --knowing the news is likely about some milestone in his granddaughter's life...

D1 went off to college newly diagnosed with a chronic illness, and I likewise had a longtime cell phobia. She did very well, but I was always concerned when I'd see HER name --was she sick, or anxious, or sad?

And then, 3 years ago, I got the worst of the dreaded calls...this time from her passenger, on the Turnpike, to tell me there had been a serious car wreck. Thankfully, it was only a ruined Volvo, a chipped vertebra, and broken hand...

I realize that my mood improves instantly when I get good news about my Ds. I just got a text message about D1's new job -- she's the pretty young girl in the slinky black dress who greets customers at stores with "Would you care to try this new brandy?"

She had her first "gig" last night, and her response to my text quiery about how it went was "excellent" with 3 exclamation points...It warmed me.

D2 is much more like me. She keeps the negative and suffering inside, usually...An exception was last Fall, when she was homesick (probably more boyfriend-sick) her freshman year at UF. She sounded SO sad and low, that I flew up to visit her, to make sure we weren't headed for, God forbid, any more Tom Petty -like "American Girl" tragedies. (Although, according to my research, the claim that the song was about a coed who jumped off of Beatty Towers on the UF campus is just a myth).

Well, thankfully, D2 is doing great, too --enjoying her college years, as she said, more than anyone she knows.

In fact, she called from Jacksonville yesterday, to share some hilarious tales of walking through the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party and encountering some less than gallant Georgia sorority boys.

So, as usual, the lyrics of classic rhythm and blues songs ring true: "When something is wrong with my baby...something is wrong with me."

Fortunately, the converse is axiomatic for me, as well: when my Ds soar, my heart is light, and I'm happy.

Jackson Down

So Wifey and I and friends Rob and Monica had a fine dinner at Titanic, near the UM campus, and then headed over to the Gusman Theatre to see Jackson Browne.

Jackson is a friend of UM alum Bruce Hornsby, who hosts a music festival each Fall, and he did the show as a benefit to Hornsby's endowed music writing program. At the threatre, folks held signs begging for tickets -- the 600 person venue was small for even a fading star like Browne, and there was a nice buzz outside.

I ran into at least 20 folks I knew, all of whom are now empty nesters. One group included D1's former roommate's parents, who thanked me for finding out about the show by my FaceBook (tm) post. Amy and Marty were standing with 2 other couples. Wifey was in the bathroom, and they asked after her.

"Oh, you didn't hear about me and Wifey?" I asked, serious faced. Just then Wifey came over. The middle aged women scowled at me -- I guess that jokes about mid life crisis husbands bolting aren't too funny to them. Oh well...

We took our seats, which were in the front row, only by chance. Several of our acquaintances passed by, on their way to higher rows, and I told them that being a Cane alum was what did it...I think they believed me.

Anyway, on came Jackson...I've read that the reason kids don't like spicy foods is that their taste buds are too sensitive and active. Only as we age, and lose this, do we enjoy spiciness.

It occurred to me that the same is true of musical tastes, at least for me. I was BORED. Jackson is a great lyricist, but has, to me a whiny voice, and plays everything down tempo...YAWN.

I guess I need an entertainer, these days, like Springsteen, or Bono, or even rappers who dance around and show passion for what they do.

Jackson NEVER smiled --he just looked VERY serious, as he commented on the songs, and his guitars, and the fact that he wasn't as good of a musician as Bruce Hornsby. He was right about that. The one not so boring part of the show, for me, was when Hornsby played his mandolin, and sang along...

Wifey has exactly the opposite opinion. She was, in her own words, "mesmerized." Of course she was! She, like every other suburban, middle class, thoughtful girl, spent countless hours in her room in the 70s, listening to Jackson Browne songs, and even weeping over his lyrics, which spoke so honestly about losing love, and how lovers change, and missing out on love leaves one "late for the sky..."

Rob's girlfriend Monica felt the same. She joined Wifey in standing ovations for several of the songs, especially when he played "The Pretender."

For me, as I left the theatre, felt like Butthead, who is returning to MTV apparently, with his sidekick Beavis. "Chick music!" is all I could think of...

But, it was worth it, for how much Wifey enjoyed the evening. And, as the Cane I am, I was happy to see the Music School raise probably $300k by Jackson Browne's charitable act.

But, alas, yet another form of music I enjoyed is now past me. I knew I was getting old about 10 years ago, when I came to the realization that over produced groups I really enjoyed, like Yes and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, was a bunch of crap...

Is this the time for me to stick to singers and standards, and jazz, and maybe just classic, rock a billy?

On my way home from Delray the other day, I was listening to Judy Garland sing "You'll Never Walk Alone," and the power and sadness in her voice brought me some tears...

Sorry, Mr. Jackson Down, as we used to call him even in the 70s, to make fun of my friend Debbie's devotion to him -- you don't blow my skirt up.

Sinking, Sinking...

Yesterday was my bi weekly visit to ancient Mom. I got to her condo, and, despite our frequent entreaties to her to leave her door unlocked, found it tight. I had my key, and let myself in.

We have a running sick joke in our family. Whenever several of us arrive at the condo, we shout "Not it!" so that someone else has to be the first to enter, and possibly find a deceased occupant...

That wasn't the case yesterday. I went in, and her tiny, frail frame was sitting at her dining room table, reading. I walked right up to her, and placed a book Wifey had sent in front of her. She startled a bit, and then laughed...

I sat before her to put on her shoes. She said "Very nice --a son has to put shoes on a mother." I reminded her that she shoed me at the beginning of my life, and now it was my turn.

She attempted to get out of the chair, and really couldn't. I gave her a gentle tug on the back of her pants, and she made it. I asked her how she got up in the absence of an aide, and she said she did just fine...

We went to the local deli, a true God's Waiting Room. Walkers, canes, and wheelchairs clogged the aisles. One Boca mom came in pushing a stroller, with a sleeping baby. She was clearly an older, new mom, probably in her 40s, with plastic surgery and dripping jewelry. She sat at the table next to us, and carried on a loud cell phone conversation in a nasal, New York accent.

The food is great at the Gramercy Deli, but the atmosphere sucks...

Mom and I spoke, sort of. She told tales of my California sister, until I realized she was talking about her OWN sister Florence, the only other survivor of 5 siblings...

I told her about my cruise, and my friend Eric, who is her cardiologist, and like a second son to her, and she asked me if he was still getting disability payments after leaving law. She thought I was talking about my friend Jeff...

We drove back to her condo, and sat for awhile in her Florida room. She was happy. I again broached the subject of getting her more help. She dismissed the idea outright.

I left for home, sad as always.

At dinner with Wifey, she again brought up the usual discussion about how we need to get my mother a cap-tel phone, or maybe ask Eric to order some more physical therapy for her. Wifey's right, of course, but it's not going to happen. The continual downward spiral will happen, is all.

The Best Season

Finally, some of the oppressive heat has gone, and we are in the first of the 2 best seasons in Miami. The second is winter to early Spring.

Assuming we get past this final hurricane, Rina, causing mischief in the Yucatan area, we'll be all clear, weatherwise.

D1 came by my office yesterday, to tell me she got a new part time job, offering samples of some new high end brandy at stores and hotels and restaurants. It pays $25 per hour, and gets her away from the extremely high end restaurant where she was a hostess --a job that, due to dictatorial managers and absurdly spoiled clientele, had grown stale for her.

D2 is in her sophomore year's high season. She's headed to Jacksonville this weekend with some friends for the annual Florida-Georgia game. They're not going to the actual game, but want to be part of what's called the world's biggest cocktail party. I'll be a happy Dad when I know she's safely back at UF Sunday night...

D1 then heads up to visit her sister for the UF homecoming called Gator Growl, which has become the best event of its kind in the US. The following weekend, Wifey and I and some friends head to Gainesville. We'll drop off Wifey for D2's mother/daughter sorority weekend, and then drive to FSU to watch the Canes play our old rivals.

Ah, Fall...

Thanksgiving is right around the corner...For the 4th straight year, we're heading to brunch at a local hotel. My sister hosted the family for many years, but these days visits her daughter and grandkids in Tampa, so we've become hotel brunch fans.

D1's boyfriend's family is coming in from Indiana, so we'll have a large group feasting and celebrating --should be 9 or 10 of us, I think...

My friend Steve the crazy cop was officially divorced yesterday. He came by my office for some moral support, and lunch. We chatted at a table with my friend Joel the crazy lawyer --the two of them get a huge kick out of each other.

We made plans to all attend this Thursday's Canes game together --and we're going in style --Steve is chauffering us in his patrol car. Talk about a magical, mystery tour --ah, when grown men have the toys they wished they had when they were teens...

So I'm about to go wake Wifey, and take a walk through the 'hood, before I leave for Ancient Mom's house and my bi-weekly visit. She's been confusing the days of the week lately. Ah, the lovliness of human decay...

Still, the cooler weather perks us all up. Maybe I'll take Mom to the shore, and push her in a wheelchair so we can talk to our long gone Dad/ husband.

Seasons change.

Back On Land

So Wifey and I drove to Lauderdale, and got there too early to board the Allure of the Seas...so I pulled into Lester's Diner, for a pre cruise stomach stretching...We ate huge sandwiches and shared blueberry pie...NOW we were ready!

We met Eric and Dana and Marc and Edna. Our travel agent Marge had sent us some fine champagne, to thank us for our business, and we made short work of the bottle. The eating and drinking orgy began, in earnest.

The ship is a true wonder. It's ENORMOUS. It has an entire "central park" on a deck, mall, theatres, skating rinks, zip lines, diamond mine, and 5 olympic sized pools. Not really, but it just might have.

One way they fit so much on the ship is by taking room from the staterooms, at least ours. Wifey and I literally bumped into each other constantly, and the shower was the size of a tube out of the Star Trek transporter room. When I dropped the soap (ha!), I had to get out of the tube to pick it up...

Still, the 6 of us laughed, and ate, and drank. The shows were top quality, especially this water show with divers and gymnasts --like Circ de Soleil, only less homoerotic.

In Nassau, Eric and Dana and I went to Graycliff, an amazing colonial building where Wifey and the Ds and I have enjoyed 2 of our most memorable dinners. A nice young fellow named McCartney (his real first name, I guess his folks were Beatles fans) gave us a tour, and there's a cigar factory right on premises, which I never knew about! We walked back to the ship in the Bahamian heat.

Tuesday night, after some steaks in one of the "specialty restaurants", which mean you have to pay extra to eat there, Eric said that we had some free martinis waiting in the Schooner Bar, since the ship messed up our first night dinner reservations.

The 6 of us went up, and there was a wedding chapel next door. We walked in to see it, and I was ambushed by marital love! Wifey had planned a 25th anniversary renewal ceremony.

The lovely English director read vows Wifey had written, and she smuggled her wedding veil aboard. A nice, large black lady wandered in, to check out the chapel, and started to leave...I told her to stay, and she did, and ended up crying in the aisle, just like at a real wedding!

Afterwards we toasted with more champagne, and took photos. Then we made it to the Schooner Bar, where the reggae band played our song: "You Send Me." It was most romantic.

And, best for Wifey, her dear friend Edna got to attend. When we married 25 years ago this coming January, Edna was 8 months pregnant, and couldn't travel from Atlanta. This time she took her rightful place as matron of honor...

The excursions were nice: sailing in St. Thomas to a reef, where Eric, Marc, Dana, and I snorkeled with turtles, and fish that were of impossible colors. I'd seen plenty of reef fish before, but some of these looked like a preschooler was given a crayon and told to come up with the most outrageous schemes they could...

The next day we went to St. Maarten, and rode segways on the boardwalk. One of the couples who took the trip was a woman who complained to her nebbish husband the whole time...it was wonderful comic relief...

After St. Maarten, we sailed for 2 days, and there was more eating and drinking and laughter...and we got to watch the Canes beat Ga Tech in the ship's sports bar. A fitting final night!


I made it home in time to watch the Dolphins lose again, and the winning QB Tim Tebow thank Jesus. Oy.

This week, we have Jackson Brown at UM, Canes game Thursday night, and my 25th law school reunion Friday...

Good to be back on land, and in a house where I can freely bend over in the shower...

Ahoy!

The duffels are packed, and in a few hours Wifey will awaken, and we will drive to Port Everglades for a sea cruise. Finally, I'm starting to look forward to it.

Have I become that jaded? Up until now, I hadn't given this trip too much thought. I only packed last night, while I watched the Gators lose ANOTHER SEC game. They'll probably lose all of them this year...

I thought the reason for my malaise is that I'm not working too hard, and don't really "need" a vacation, as in years past. But Eric, who DOES need one, from dealing with the single most obnoxious patient population known to medical science (angry, bitter, old Boca Jews, with money) feels the same way. I spoke to him the other day, and he hadn't given the trip too much thought, either.

I'm sure this is nothing a few martinis deckside, as the horizon stretches out for miles before us, won't change...

Melville's Ishmael said that when he got depressed, and bored, it was time to go to sea. I guess I have the opposite problem; I'm fully content here in Miami.

I live in a tropical garden, with interesting and quirky neighbors. They run the gamut from rich to REALLY rich.

The Ds are on terrific tracks, and we all savor each other's company. D1 just booked Thanksgiving dinner at our favorite hotel, and this year we'll share that with her boyfriend and his family, coming in from Indiana.

D2 is loving college at UF.

Wifey and I approach our 25th anniversary, and incidences of my picking up a machete and threatening to use it are on the decline.

She has never cooked, which means there is little opportunity for her to poison my food --though I have no doubt my incresing crankiness, and OCD behavior, gives her those fantasies from time to time...

So there's little need to get away, I guess...

Still, the sea beckons. I have finally fired up the Kindle the Ds bought me for Dad's Day, and plan to give it a thorough sea trial over the next week...

Snorkeling and Segways await in the Virgin Islands, as well as a tour of the oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere, assuming our new friend's brother, who is a rabbi there, is in town.

Eric and Marc will have their telephoto lenses polished and ready to extend off the balconies. Last cruise we took, each of their "lens envy" was a running joke that never grew stale, at least to my junior high level sensibilities...

So ahoy, Allure of the Seas! Swab the decks, hoist the main engines, grill the steaks, and chill the vodka. We'll be coming aboard in a short fathom or two...