Time for a Cool Down

Well, it's happened, as it does most years around this time: the heat of Miami has gotten to me. When the Ds were little, we always scheduled vacations in August, mostly for an escape from the heat. The two best were Alaska, and a Baltic Sea cruise, where I loved wearing sweaters while everyone home was sweating. This year, Wifey's bad back has reared its head, and the only traveling she could do was a week in Atlanta, to see her best friend Edna. Quadriplegia won't prevent THAT trip. But I'm feeling more and more that I need a few days away. Today's travel section has stories about visits to Alaska, Maine, and North Carolina. I'd love to hop up to those last 2, but a they aren't the best places for a single guy. Staying at a romantic bed and breakfast alone is downright creepy... The good news is that our firm's shared cases have some meetings and depositions coming up, and I may just volunteer to handle them as a pretext to get away. D1 is off to England this week, and she'll have some cooling in Manchester and London. D2 goes back to college the following week -- Gainesville is hotter than Miami in the summer, but surrounded by her great friends and the hubbub of starting her junior year, I don't think she'll notice the weather. That leaves me. As the heat is oppressive, I'm ready to fly the coop for awhile.

Reinventing Oneself

Yesterday I spent a lot of time with my old friend Mirta. We met when she became our receptionist, and, with the challenges of being a single mother, earned a Bachelor's degree, in Business. Over time, my firm and my roommate Mark's firm used her for a variety of tasks. When Mark's mother was in the final months of her life, Mirta acted as her case manager -- coordinating care for the old lady -- until she passed away. Over time, my partner Paul and I brought her to work for us exclusively, and she rose to become manager. Mirta was like Radar O'Reilly on "MASH" -- she knew all the shortcuts in our building -- who to call, and who to call upon to get stuff done. When Paul and I turned over the firm's daily operation to Stuart, we made him hire Mirta, but it didn't last too long. Stuart has a very different style of running his business, and he and Mirta clashed. Actually, Mirta clashed with Stuart's staff -- including one lady whose shortcomings, as pointed out by Mirta, turned out to be dead on... Anyway, Mirta started collecting unemployment benefits, and learned of a retraining program where the State would pay for her to attend nursing school. It was an accelerated program, where in 15 months, with intense study and practical training, you could earn your LPN. Afterwards, there was a "bridge" program for an RN. She's 4 months in to her program, and she's doing great. She's the grandma of the class, but still getting high grades. When Mirta's mother died, the family relied heavily on a hospice nurse, and that's Mirta's calling. In the meantime, at lunch last week, we came up with an idea. Mirta has Friday's off, and she LOVES caring for old folks. I hired her part time to visit my mother at the nursing home. Mirta volunteered, but I insisted she be paid for this babysitting job. Yesterday we travelled to see Mom. We fibbed to her, and told her Mirta needed to "visit a nursing home patient" as part of her training. Had I told Mom that Mirta was being paid to visit, she'd have declined. As it is, next Friday will be the start of what will hopefully become, for Mirta, "Fridays with Sunny." Afterwards, we went to dinner with Wifey and D2. Mirta's nephew is an old elementary school friend of D2's, and he was out waiter at the local Ale House (home of the best Cobb salad in Miami, in my opinion). I remember Brian as a little boy -- he's now about 6'2" and in local college -- paying his way by waitering... We enjoyed our company, and laughed about the old times at the firm, and the unique peccadilloes of our co workers. I love that D2 knows Mirta. Mirta is a true mentor to her, in the sense that Mirta's life was anything but easy, but Mirta soldiered on and on, and now has the strength and wherewithal to change careers towards her calling at nearly 50. I'm so proud of Mirta. And now she's back in our family. I asked her to visit with Mom for an hour or two, but Mirta says that's too short a time -- Sunny likes to talk, and Mirta likes to listen, so she thinks longer visits will be the way to go. How can you thank someone for making your mother's final years easier and more fulfilling? I just finished a book about a Navy SEAL. There was a line that the SEALS are the guys who clean up the crap, so that we can enjoy our lives. Many talk about helping, but some folks in life actually put in the time. Mirta is one of these. In the Yiddish tradition, we call her mentsch...

The Unwelcoming Welcomer

About 6 years ago, I was asked to become our neighborhood's welcoming committee director. I assumed the job, since it was amazingly easy (greet the one to two new neighbotrs who move in yearly), and fun for an extrovert like me. The job consists of bringing the newcomers our neighborhood's welcome packet, containing the directory as well as information about our unique flora and fauna, and a cheap yet drinkable bottle of wine. For years, I enthusiastically loped up to the doors, and heartily greeted the new folks. I even forgot to get reimbursed for the wine. But now, alas, I grow more curmudgeonly, and realize I may no longer be the right man for the job. I grew tired of making multiple visits to the new peoples' houses, and took to simply leaving the bottle and packet at the front door. But our dear friend Diane moved away from the big house next door, and so last weekend it was my turn to again act in my official capacity. A small child answered my knock, and like a creepy salesman I asked if his mommy or daddy were home. A middle aged guy came down the stairs, protesting he had a cold and was not "feeling too social." That's ok, I told him -- I was just there to drop off the welcome packet. He never invited me past the door post I had crossed thousands of times before, in visits to our friend Diane and her ex husband Charlie. We grew close to them over the years -- even inviting them on a cruise with our closest friends, but, as often happens in a divorce, the outsiders get one spouse or the other, and we inherited Diane. Anyway, I stood there trying to make pleasant conversation with the diminutive lawyer, who in short order told me he had moved from a luxury apartment in the Gables, and was starting trial on a major case Monday. Wow -- I was impressed... He was a few years older than I am, and also told me he has grown kids as well as the little boy. I sort of figured the current kid had a different mom, and sure enough I was proved correct, as a lady in her early 30s flounced down the stairs, in a filled out halter top, with tatoos on both shoulders. She wasn't appearance challenged... The tatoos told me she was under 40, as I believe federal law prevents anyone (certainly a female) born before 1970 to get a tattoo, especially one visible to the general public. So I slouched away, feeling like I was a minor and comedic nuisance to our neighborhood's new version of "Modern Family." That's the point. Instead of embracing our newcomers, I was instantly mocking and chuckling about them. That's not very neighborly. I think I may need to turn in my welcome packet and wine soon. Strangely, Wifey, who was NEVER the friendly one in our marriage, is becoming more so. She's the current crime watch person. Maybe the answer is to switch jobs with her. She can be the warm, welcoming presence, while I report on the occasional thefts of change out of the unlocked car dashboards -- the only crime we've seen in the past half decade. Nah. Last thing I need is to become an upscale George Zimmerman. I'd better just keep to myself.

He Coulda Been A Contenda...

So as I can't seem to find anything else productive to do professionally except the law business, I've been spending more and more time in the law business. Over the last few weeks I've been helping the firm find a new secretary (they did) and trolling for new cases (in progress). Yesterday I had lunch with my former secretary and still friend, Mirta, along with another old friend and former client. We caught up, and spoke of family and kids and, in their case, grandkids. All I had to bring to the discussion were tales of my grand dog... Anyway, the old client told us about her step son -- a young man who has brought nothing but misery to her and her husband. One story in particular struck me -- the boy (though he's past the age of majority, he's no man) turned down an invite to a family weekend upstate, and instead invited his druggie friends over to the house for a huge party. They trashed the house and stole my friend's jewelry. When the homeowners returned, and confronted the boy, his excuse was that he HAD to hold the party, as his Dad and stepmom had left him alone and he was lonely... It was classic. The true province of the loser is creativity with excuses. A loser is better than anyone else at coming up with reasons for failure and disappointment. I asked my friend what plans, if any, the boy had. She told me he KNOWS he could really soar in North Carolina, but he never goes! Why not, I asked. My client the step mom screwed up her face, as she repeated his reason: "He says too many things keep him here." Also classic. In 10 years he'll be telling anyone interested in his tales of misery that he COULDA been something -- he COULDA been a big success, but for some vague reason he was "compelled" to stay here in the cesspool of South Florida. That's another mark of the loser, in my observation. Whereever they live -- it sucks. We said goodbye, and I felt for my old client and friend. I truly did. She loves her husband, but seems destined to be saddled with this failure to launch forever. Meanwhile...Wifey is ready to go up to Boca later today, to sample Dr. Eric's cooking. He's now progressed past his wine hobby, and is learning about craft beers. He's promised to unveil one that is 36 proof. Wow. Powerful beer. What'll they think of next?

More Losing My Religion

I fell for it again! The guilt causing me to come back to shul. Rabbi Yossi prevailed upon me to come last Saturday, to honor the anniversary of my Dad's death -- to calm his eternal soul. I went, and fumbled through the Hebrew transliteration at the Bima, when I was called to the Torah. Afterwards, Yossi whispered that it was traditional for a Yahrzeit son like me to "sponsor" the kiddush lunch -- the small snack afterwards. I always piok up the bill with Yossi, so I said of course. The lunch, for the 30 or so assembled, was some salads and challah bread, and soda. The cost couldn't have exceeded $100. I left the shul, still not "feeling the Lord," but happy. On Monday, I sent in a check for $180 -- ten times the mystical number of 18, which signifies life in Hebrew. Yesterday I got the celestial bill. I was invoiced for $250!!!!! Apparently that's the cost of the kiddush lunch. Wifey, who knows my buttons well, remarked "Oh boy -- that's the worst thing the rabbi could have done." You hate being unappreciated and nickled and dimed." OVer the years, my partner Paul have given donations well north of $100K. We provided the interest free mortgage that allowed him to purchase the property where the center now stands. We were the MACHERS -- the big men on Hebrew campus. Now, donations have trickeled off, of course. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Someone's gotta pay the freight, and schleppers get tagged for the surcharges. But sorry, Dad. In the future, your soul will have depend on the prayers I say to the Big Man when I'm standing by the ocean, or Biscayne Bay. Dad taught me his revulsion to organized religion. Maybe in some metaphysical way, he was responsible for my receiving the bill for $70. Dad always taught, that above all, don't be a schmuck. I'll try not to be in the future...

Shorter of Breath, One Day Closer to Death

So yesterday I turned 51. To D2's annoyance, I keep quoting the great Dave Barry line about a man realizing at a certain age that his birthday is no big deal to anyone, and that age is 11. Still, it's a great time to figure out where I've been, and where I'm going... I spent the day wonderfully. First I had breakfast with my old friend Vince, and we spoke of empty nesterhood, aging, and career changing. We have a history of cracking each other up that dates to 1980, and we were in full and fine form yesterday. Next, I figured I ought to visit the lady who made ALL my birthdays possible, so I headed over to Miami Jewish Home to see Mom. It was remarkable -- she didn't hallucinate at all, and looked well fed and even hale. She had forgotton it was my birthday, but when I pleasantly cross examined her about the date, she remembered. We sat in the garden gazebo there and ate ice cream. Next, I stopped in the office, figured out a couple of issues on cases with Brian and Stuart, and then had lunch with Stu and his Dad Bill. Stu, whose career hasn't been quite as profitable as mine, always tells me how lucky I am. Meanwhile, as I reminded him, he's had his father by his side all this time, and even now they work together. So luck is relative, I guess... I headed home and fetched Wifey, and then we drove to Brickell to fetch D1, D2, and Joel. We headed out to the Palm, which has the best steaks in the city. I had a healthy sized martini, and shared a NY Strip with Wifey. Joel and D2 had never been there before, and were impressed. The place might as well have been in Midtown Manhattan -- top quality, no nonsense food and service. Dr. Eric, who is a pro level photographer and chef, is having us over Saturday, along with Dr. Barry, whose birthday is July 24th. Barry's wife is diabetic, and Wifey is on all kinds of retricted diets as well, so I implored Eric not to bother -- the men could just get together and share some drinks and laughs. He had none of that, and is planning a menu for the persnickety among our number... And so the days pass on, as Pink Floyd sang back when I was in junior high school. The Ds wrote me heartfelt cards, as did Wifey. My name has a Hebrew origin meaning "beloved." They sure made me feel that way yesterday...

Family Feuds

Wifey and I schlepped up to Boynton Beach to attend the wedding of my cousin Jeff's boy Scott. Jeff and his brother Michael are my favorite cousins. I see them rarely, but when we get together, it's like no time has passed. We arrived just as the non religious wedding guy was pronouncing the new couple soul mates, due to bad GPS advice. The contraption led me to SOUTH Federal Highway instead of NORTH. No matter -- the bar was open, and we mingled with other cousins --Linda and her husband Steve. My mother is one of 5 siblings, and there are a total of 16 first cousins. Aunt Dottie, who died years ago, has the oldest, Arlene, who is 70 I think, and I'm the youngest one, about to turn 51. I think Jeff and his son invited most of us, and only Linda, my sister Trudy, and I made it. And most live in or near South Florida. Worse, in talking to Linda, we learned that she's barely talking to her sister Marlene over support issues of their elderly parents, and still has anger toward her other sister Arlene (yes, my brilliant Aunt and Uncle named identical twins Arlene and Marlene) as well as her brother Eddie. Jeff and his sister Janet stopped talking over supposed thefts of estate money from my Uncle Abe, and his brother Michael, who drank the Kosher Kool Aid and became a "modern orthodox" Jew wouldn't come since his nephew married outside the religion. What a mess! Tolstoy was right about unhappy families being unique in their unhappiness. The mixture of family pathology is remarkable. Sadder, Scott, who was close to his grandpa, my late Uncle Abe, never mentioned him. The only mention of the older generation was Abe's second wife, Arden, who replaced Aunt Lorraine. When he recognized this Janey come lately as the "grandma," my sister Trudy and I screwed up our faces. I guess this is the way of the modern extended family. The truth is, at least among these cousins, we have little in common with each other. The only time most of my cousins call me is when they want free legal advice. Although I was happy to comply when I first became a lawyer, that got rather old over the years. Linda had me on the phone a few weeks ago essentially asking me where her daughter could find a quality divorce lawyer -- for free! Still, we enjoyed our time last night. Jeff's daughter Marni is a delight -- she's a practicing GI doc married to a crackerjack young cardiologist. They have 2 lovely daughters, and Jeff's wife Lynn is more a second mother than grandmother to them -- they cling to her and adore her. Wifey and I decided that Jeff and Lynn ARE our kind of folks. Jeff asked again for us to get together, now that we're all empty nesters. Maybe we will, but because we truly like each other, not out of some antiquated family connection. Those days are long, long gone.