Adios, 2022

 And so another year nears its place in the dustbin of history. I posted Alan Parsons Projects' "Time" on FaceBook (tm) along with my snarky HNY greeting "To those who celebrate." It's one of my pet peeves -- those who wish holiday greetings with the disclaimer "To those who celebrate." Either give the greeting or don't. If I wish someone Happy Pesach and they don't celebrate -- screw them! Same to me if I don't celebrate, say Kwanza. I really should, by the way -- their menorah has fewer candles.

"Time" is, to me, the perfect song to contemplate a milestone in the calendar -- reminding us that time keeps flowing like a river -- to the sea. There's also a funny connection, back on Wifey's 60th birthday cruise, some, well, a few years back. The ship had a piano bar, and Norman and I befriended the pianist, who wasn't nine inches. For reasons I no longer remember, we asked if he knew any Alan Parson's Project, and he knew "Time," and so he'd play it for us each evening with our cocktails. It became our song.

Anyway, speaking of getting annoyed -- I plan, as one of my lesser resolutions, to work on that. Resolution number one is highly unusual and creative. Hey -- it may be unique: lose weight. But another resolution is to judge people and their actions less. Aging makes me more curmudgeonly, and I tend to get far more annoyed, more easily than the water off a duck's back guy I long was. I'm going to see if I can stave off the angry old man thing for a bit longer.

I spent a very chill last day of 2022, but I DID walk nearly 4 miles. I then went to Walgreen's to fetch a prescription, wearing my favorite cap, which is black and says "Miami AF" in white lettering. Young folks always laugh when they see it. The pharm tech was a Boomer, and said "I didn't know Miami had an Air Force!" Yes, I answered -- it's really the US Air Force, but relates to the base down in Homestead. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth.

I just got off of a lovely FaceTime (tm) with D2, Jonathan, and D1 and the marshmallow. D2 and Jonathan are coming later with the enormous puppy Betsy, and spending the night. They have dinner with their friend Michael, in the Grove, just a stone's throw, literally, from Joelle and Kenny's, where we'll be. 

D1 reported she and her men plan to be fast asleep well before 10. Tomorrow the plan is to start the year at Fairchild Garden -- we'll let the toddler run wild, and get the very white baby some sun. I plan to be up very early to fetch fresh bagels and nova for our houseguests -- D1 reported she and Joey and their men will partake as well, after the garden, nap schedule permitting.

Also tonight, since I am, like the coffee mug I almost bought says, "An Absolute Fucking Delight," I set up a 630 Zoom with Wifey's BFF Edna and her man Marc. I know Wifey savors her friend, and wants to ring out the old, ring in the new with her. So we'll toast and then it'll be on the road to the Grove.

I don't think there is any more to analyze than the fact that there is absolutely no place in the entire world I would rather be than in Miami tonight, and for the coming year.

And, to be truthful to mine own self, I am one extremely blessed, lucky, and overweight Daddy in the USA. Here's to a fine 2023 and all it holds.

Eating My Way Out of 2022

 So the Plague was great for my weight loss. Anxiety about having a newborn grandson with all the unknowns about Covid caused me to walk - a lot. I walked my hood 10 miles most days, and my appetite was limited. Turns out that D1, my Dietitian daughter, is right: eating much less and moving much more leads to weight loss. Who knew?

Well, I kept up with exercise and walking, though not nearly as much. Now most days I try to get to 7000 steps -- about 3 miles. And my appetite, now that I no longer fear awful things happening to BOTH grandsons -- has returned -- to college boy-like proportions. And now I really need to lose a good 50 lbs.

My annual doc visit showed, amazingly, good blood numbers and no high blood pressure. And my twice weekly workouts have kept me somewhat flexible and mobile. But I know the weight has to go -- I don't mind zaftig Dave, but don't want no athletic ability offensive lineman Dave.

So like the immediate world, I plan to start 2023 with more normal eating -- and not the carbs I so love via bread and pizza.

But, alas, the Fates conspired against me these final days of the year. Tuesday night, Barry and Donna came to Miami, on account of the cancellation of their boy Scott's flight, and we went heavy at Cafe Catula -- a local Spanish place.

We had plans for Joe's last night, via Norman's connection that turns the normal 2 hour wait for a table to 10 minutes. And then Eric called -- he and Dana decided to go to Key Largo for Eric's birthday -- would Wifey and I meet for lunch in South Miami on their way? Of course -- so that turned into Cafe Pastis for delicious French inspired sandwiches and pea soup.

And then last night we went HARD at Joe's -- eating jumbo claws and hash browns and creamed spinach and Hawaiian fried shrimp and bread pudding and key lime pie. Oh yeah -- they brought 2 very healthy Ketel martinis, as well.

We had an awesome time. A very large Black man sat next to us, with a very pretty wife and two nerdy looking friends -- one Spike Lee like, and the other an older gent with a beret. I asked the waiter who they were -- at first he said nothing, but after they left said it was Lennox Lewis and his beauty queen wife.

I have little doubt other celebs were there, too -- this is Joe's in December. We had a memorable night -- that will do it for me for another year or so, though.

Tomorrow Kenny and Joelle's son Adam is cooking for NYE. I'm bringing some nice wine and reinforcement of Stoli Elit. 

Since D2 and Jonathan are spending the night, there WILL be fresh bagels and lox on NY Day. And then -- new year, new Dave appetite wise.

The goal is to go from offensive lineman to linebacker, and then maybe normal sized 61 year old non athlete guy. We'll see.

Regardless, I ask the Big Man for a year of great health to those near and dear to me -- and just a little pain -- the kind you get in the belly from laughing too hard. And maybe that belly can shrink a bit.

A Walk Back In Time

 So yesterday I had my annual skin cancer check with Dr. McDreamy, also known as Jeremy Green. For years I saw an old guy at Baptist, while Wifey and the Ds saw Dr. Green, openly admitting to having huge crushes on him -- boyishly handsome, unfailingly sweet -- oh yeah -- and fellowship trained in prestigious programs.

I scoffed, until I realized my old guy missed a lesion what turned out to be a basal cell, and I went to Dr. Green. Turned out I ended up with the biggest crush on him of all. Most of his patients are women, and not at all interested in football. Like me, he's a HUGE Canes fan -- born and raised -- his Dad is the now retired Chief of Neurosurgery at UM, and though Jeremy never attended the school -- he bleeds green and orange. We talked and talked about then new coach Manny Diaz, until his PA politely reminded him he had other patients. So I really dig him.

He sees my whole family, and is particularly vigilant about Jonathan, who is a fair skinned redhead who is most at risk for skin stuff. He always reminds me to remind Jonathan he wants him in a few times per year.

Anyway, he examined me after we exchanged hugs, and caught up about his kids and parents. I pointed to my far too enormous belly and told him I was preparing to help new Canes coach Cristobal on the offensive line this season. "You always look great, David," he lied. Did I mention how charming he was.

Fortunately, there were no lesions to cut off and biopsy, and I left happy about that. I was going to head to Brickell, but the day was impossibly beautiful -- finally warmed up and sunny after a gray, cold few days with London-like drizzle.

Instead, I drove to the University, and parked over by the Lowe Museum. I strolled around -- a lot -- and took in how gorgeous the place was. They finally build the Frost Institute, a $400M center for STEM teaching and research. Phil and Patricia, local billionaires, have no kids. Why can't I be their nephew, I thought to myself?

I purposefully avoided the Law School, and walked to the Gifford Arboretum -- with a Starbucks coffee I had bought in the Student Union. Classes were out for Winter Break, and so the campus was pretty quiet -- just several sets of parents and young kids taking tours.

I sat on a bench among the exotic trees, and an older woman came by -- she was a caretaker and Biology professor -- did I have any questions? I did not, but we chatted about my time as a Bio major there, from '79-81. Did she know my Botany professor, humorously named Dr. Margaret Mustard? Not personally, but she knew OF her. Satisfied that I wasn't a tree vandal, the caretaker said goodbye and walked away.

I strolled past my freshman dorm, the 1968 complex, now a rubble pile. They demolished the two 11 story buildings, and are getting ready to demolish their 960 complex twins, to make way for Centennial Village -- a new complex of dorms and faculty residences -- to be completed by the time UM turns 100 -- in 2025.

I sat for a good long while, recalling the amazing times over my 7 years as a student there. I also taught -- 4 classes, and sat of a couple of Boards for the Arts and Sciences College, which taught me I'm not the kind of guy who does well sitting on Boards.

At around 2, it occurred to me that I was hungry, and decided to cap the day with lunch at Titanic. I sat at a table reading articles on my phone, and a friendly Midwestern family was next to me -- a pretty blonde teen girl and her parents. The Mom said "Excuse me, don't mean to bother you, but are you a professor at UM?" I laughed, and said now, but then chatted with them for a good half hour about my experiences there, over the past 42 years.

They were from a suburb of Minneapolis, and the girl was going to study Marine Science. I told her that to this day, the most brilliant woman I ever met was named Claire, and she was from Roseville, Mn. I left out the part that Claire died very young -- in her later 30s, apparently, in California.

The Dad owned a business there, and asked me a great question -- what was the single best thing about going to school here. I answered that I have amazing friends in my life -- really more brothers and sisters than friends -- and the great majority of them are connected in some say to the University of Miami. I told him most of us still tailgate together as faithfully as the religious attend church.

And as I said goodbye and headed home, I realized that was the main thing.

On The Occasion of Wifey's Birthday

 So two thousand and fifty something years ago, in what is today Israel, a guy was born who became a really big deal. His mother was Mary, and his father was supposedly the Big Man, and this was the only time the Big Man had fathered a child, immaculately, of course, like Franco Harris's famous TD reception 50 years ago. RIP Franco.

But in our family, we celebrate a more modern birth in what WAS Israel, Haifa to be precise, where to two damaged but somehow optimistic Holocaust Survivors, a precious blue eyed baby girl was born, who would, just over 30 years later, become known as Wifey.

And so we celebrate Wifeymas -- the birth of, as my friend Jeff noted, our personal lord and savior.

I met Wifey in September of 1983, as I was starting law school. I was living with Eric, who was starting med school, and she was the girl upstairs. It's funny -- I met Mike and Jeff and Norman the same month and year -- all three remain very dear friends. Must have been something astrological.

We started dating, and I recall her birthday of December 25, 1983 for her absence. A week or so before, we went to dinner at the Chart House in the Grove, and I told her excitedly that during our upcoming break -- early January, I was going to Wisconsin. Back then,  UM Law had a strange schedule -- exams after Christmas, and THEN a week long break. This was because the Dean before we started, Soia Mentshcikoff, wanted to separate the law school from the rest of what was then known as SunTan U, and I guess she figured giving the school a weird schedule would help. Ironically, the academic reputation of the rest of UM has soared since then, while the law school's has stumbled. The best laid plans..

Anyway, Mike had invited me to go with him and another friend Dave to Northern Wisconsin, where his family had a vacation home, to go snowmobiling. I had never been, and was very excited. But Wifey had assumed I would finally have time to spend with her, and when I told her I was fleeing, she wrote me the first of two Dear Dave letters and broke up with me.

Happily, by her next birthday, December 25, 1984, we were a couple, and have celebrated her day together ever since. Wow -- that's creeping close to 4 decades.

When I asked her to marry me, in the Spring of 1986, I told her I wished us to build a foundation together of a life. Boy -- did we! Our precious Ds, and later their wonderful men, 2 grandsons, and a variety of dogs of all shapes and sizes. We have been blessed in so many ways, beyond and dreams we would have dared dream back in the 80s.

A lot of it has to do with our shared values, and yet diverging beliefs. We're both solidly proud Ashkenazi Jews, with roots in Eastern Europe, and yet over the years my belief in the Big Man has strengthened greatly while Wifey's has waned. She calls herself a terrified agnostic, but as Kenny pointed out during our recent trip to France -- that's not really a belief -- pick a team -- either believe, or not.

It's funny -- there's been a divergence with the Ds, too -- D1 has become a more observant Jew, while D2 tends to the Secular Humanist thing. I wonder if that will change should she and Jonathan be blessed with human child or children to go along with their beloved enormous dog Betsy.

Either way -- I hope to experience it with Wifey.

It's funny, though -- she put on a PBS special the other night -- all about "Fiddler on the Roof." I already knew all about that play -- from early memories of my Dad singing "If I Were a Rich Man" in our living room on Long Island, through scholarly writings about it.

And still, it resonates. We like to think we stand on solid ground, and yet our lives are indeed precarious -- like a fiddler trying to keep his footing on a roof.

January 15 will mark an anniversary far less festive than Wifey's birthday -- it was the day she suffered a stroke. I was in total fear that day -- of losing her, of losing the life we had together, of her being awfully incapacitated.

I dealt with it by acting the way I do -- circling the wagons, with Team Wifey, with my three brilliant doctor friends Eric, Barry, and Kenny -- leaning on them about all of the medical decisions, as well as the emotional support of brothers. 

And although I always dug Kenny's wife Joelle, the weeks where Wifey was away in rehab, I saw a side of Joelle I hadn't before. All of my friends offered their company -- Joelle DEMANDED it. I didn't even realize I was lonely -- and Joelle would say, in her scary law professor way, "You WILL join us for dinner tonight at 6." And I did, and it hit me again that one can go through this life without friends, but I don't truly see how.

We're spending NYE with Kenny and Joelle and their visiting grad school son Adam. I have no doubt I'll get teary eyed after a few drinks and thank her again.

Anyway, after Wifey was discharged from the gorgeous new JMH rehab, after daily visits from too busy Dr. Barry, and the Ds there every day, I realized she would indeed recover -- nearly completely. And she has.

I'm reminded of the lyrics of Greg Allman, in "Ain't Wasting Time No More," in which he sings that with the help of "G-d, and two friends," he can do it all. In my case, it was, I am confident, the help of the Big Man and more than two friends.

But anyway -- back to Wifeymas. She's picked as her birthday venue Gianni's -- the restaurant in the Versace Mansion, a place she always wanted to visit. Jonathan, who shares my sense of humor, says he plans to order a bloody Mary, to commemorate what happened to Versace on the steps there 25 years ago. Hopefully there are no untoward experiences for us.

South Beach is a bear of a place to visit, especially during Xmas week, but the place is truly special to us. On the beach across from where we'll be, I asked Wifey to marry me, before we walked to the Cardozo for a shared drink -- probably a Kuhlua and Cream -- what we drank in those days.

For our 10th anniversary, in January of 1997, we left my nephew of another brother Scott's bris, dropped the Ds at Century Village, and drove to the Betsy Ross Hotel for our anniversary weekend.

And in February of 2020, right before the Plague hit, D2 and Jonathan were married at the now named Betsy Hotel, in a ceremony surrealistically beautiful.

Also, my Dad LOVED South Beach -- some of my happiest memories with him were of Winter and Spring Breaks where we would come for a week or so, staying in either the Ocean Haven or Seacrest Hotels, in an area now called SoFi (South of Fifth Street). He would check in to the room, put on his bathing suit, and head right towards the ocean, breathing in a huge breath of what he called the best air in the world.

So we're headed later to a venue DRIPPING with spirit of place.

And we shall celebrate a birthday whose number cannot be named, not even in references to a song and show about a highway that connects Chicago to LA and how one gets their kicks there.

Happy birthday, Wifey. Here's to a whole bunch more!

Remembrance Of Things Past

 For Proust it was madelines that triggered memory. For me, it was martinis and steak.

Yesterday Stu hosted his holiday party at a NY transplanted steakhouse called Dirty French -- located in the spot that housed Morton's on Brickell for decades. Morton's was one of our go-to steak places back in the day -- I recalled a dinner with Wifey, Mike, and Loni where I was in the men's room next to a muscular but very short man -- it was Sylvester Stallone!

Morton's grew tired over the years. The last time I visited, I took the Ds -- D1 was living a few blocks away off Brickell, and we three had a lovely early dinner, but the carpet and furnishings were all the originals -- and they looked it. As rents rose, Morton's couldn't keep up, and now a much cooler, flashier, but still delicious steakhouse is in its place. I plan to return.

Paul came with Stu, from Aventura. I met Carla and Amanda, and Stu's young lawyer Josh came, too. Later we were joined by Stu's childhood friend Susan, a pediatrician who took the Bright Line from Boca to see her girl Jayde, a young lawyer living on Brickell. Stu fixed Susan up with Steve, his Emory Law classmate and good friend, and the two have been married decades now.

But when Paul entered, one memory of poignancy came back -- this was also after 2 Ketel martinis.

It was 2001, and Paul and I prosecuted a case with our old boss Ed. It involved a fire where a young girl got burned up in Broward, and Ed did liability while we did damages. It was one of our contrived specials -- we sued because the smoke detector in the cheap apartment didn't work -- there was always a major issue in those cases whether the early warning would have made a difference.

In that case, we at least convinced the insurance carrier that it would have, and they paid us millions of dollars. The clients and the little girl came to our office to sign the papers. Thankfully, the girl was doing well -- the burns were on her arms and legs, and though she had a long road to recovery, she would be ok.

As I drove up US 1 on the way to the meeting, Wifey called me in the car. "I sure am glad your office is on the ground floor. It's all over the news that an airplane crashed into the World Trade Center."

Of course, it was 9/11, and as we finished our meeting with the clients, the small black and white TV in the office showed the second tower collapsing -- as we learned about the Pentagon, and crash in Pennsylvania.

The clients left, we told the staff to go home, and Ed, Paul, and I made sure our families were safe. All were -- Wifey had fetched the Ds from school, and all were home watching the news.

Ed, always the gourmand, said "Well -- we might as well go have a civilized lunch, as civilization is in peril," and we went over to Morton's.

We sat in the bar watching CNN, and drinking martinis. It was surreal. But we toasted defeating the bastards who did it. We had no idea it would take years before President Obama finally had the SEALS put a bullet in Bin Ladin's eye.

Wow. Had 21 plus years really gone by? They indeed had. Paul and I now have 6 grandkids between us. Ed is still alive -- retired and living up in West Palm -- at or right near 90.

So much has changed, but luckily the important things haven't -- those sacred and close to me have largely remained the same -- with the slight exception of, for example, the premature death of our sister Elizabeth, and a couple of friends who are now former friends.

And today is Xmas Eve, and Chanukah night #7. Wifey's friends Maureen and Diane are taking her to the Falls to see a movie for her birthday. I just assembled the new fire pit and plan to put it to use for the record cold expected tonight.

Young Josh, my nephew of another brother, called -- he finished a run in the Grove and was headed to breakfast there. Did I have plans later? I did not -- so he'll stop by for some TV football.

So the steak and martinis acted like Proust's biscuits. Funny how the mind works.

Whose Streets These Are I Think I Know...They're All Owned By The Village, Though

 So as I read about awful winter conditions in much of the US, and a liklihood of a rare white Christmas in my ancestral home of Long Island, here it's a warm, drizzly Miami day. I began my constitutional in a bare mist, but alas the skies opened a bit, and I cut my route short in the London-like drizzle.

Still, the rain is apparently a front coming through -- the first real cold one of the year. Supposably as we say in Miami, temps will dip into the high 40s this weekend. Ah -- for me that means firepit weather.

I joke that my cheap Target firepit was one of my favorite possessions. But at the end of last chilly season, Wifey decreed it had to go -- on account of it was nearly rusted through, and looked more appropriate for Sanford and Son's junkyard than our lovely patio. So she bought another one, and it's sat in its box for months in the garage -- I need to overcome my lazy inertia, I guess, and bring it to its spot and maybe even gasp! assemble it.

I would have just kept the old one, but this is consistent with a talk I had with Mike at Fox's the other night. It seems to me as my male friends and I get older, we tend to like to keep things the way they are. The women? Exactly the opposite -- especially those who no longer work or have kids to mind. Many of them WANT A CHANGE -- not sure what -- BUT  A CHANGE! Mike says he's not sure Loni will even return from their vacation house in NC after New Year's -- so it's true in his house as well.

Meanwhile, Wifey is headed up to D1's today, to help watch the boys so D1 can get some stuff done. The little marshmallow man is sick with one of the many URIs going around -- affecting essentially everyone we know. D2 got it, too, from Jonathan, who picked it up in Atlanta.

Wifey's birthday lunch is Xmas -- this Sunday. Hopefully everyone is sufficiently recovered by then -- otherwise Wifey's birthday celebration will be delayed until further notice.

Her friends Maureen and Diane are taking her out to a movie Xmas Eve -- Diane celebrates Christmas, but is going full gringa and only doing the Christmas Day thing -- not Noche Buena like much of Miami.

I plan to watch football on Wifey Birthday Eve, and then hopefully make the trip to South Beach for her birthday lunch.

Keeping with the holiday spirit, Stu is hosting his firm luncheon today, and I'm attending. He's doing it at a new steakhouse I've been wanting to try --Dirty French. He's doing it at noon, which is truly breakfast time for him, but we can rally and have a few martinis despite the early hour.

Hopefully the rain clears. And we glide easily into 2023. For I have miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

Generational Adult Beverages

 So Wifey was pressed into service up in Shorecrest, to help with the large toddler and marshmallow little brother, and Mike mentioned Amanda was in town and they were headed to Canes/UVA basketball game that evening.

I sent a text to them, including brother Chris -- how about we meet at Fox's for a pregame drink or several? I also invited D2, as she and Amanda are literally lifelong friends, and Jonathan. D2 had to work, and Jonathan was under the weather, and so they begged off.

I Ubered to Fox's, and Mike and Amanda were just pulling up. I adore that girl -- always have. She lives in LA following school at USC, and has a great job and great boyfriend who I have openly pressured to "put a ring on it." I believe it will happen soon.

Anyway, we sat down at the newly renovated classic place. Mike's Dad Ed, my mentor, bought me my first martini there -- probably around 1984, "This fucking big" he said as he held his hands nearly a foot apart. He asked if I was a gin or vodka man. I was neither -- I drank beer and college type stuff -- wasn't a martini like William Holden movie sort of thing? Ed was a vodka guy, and so I became one, too.

Chris showed up, and as we were ordering, the bartender said of Chris, "Oh I know what HE wants." What? Chris had become a regular? Sort of, he admitted -- he stops in a few times per month on his way home. The fact that the grandson of a wonderful Fox's regular is now one himself warmed me.

We also ordered reubens, and thumb bits, which are their famous tenderloin tips on French bread. Amanda had a salad. Mike got the frogs' legs -- an old favorite, which I have never, nor plan to ever, try.

It was a glorious night -- we tried to recruit Norman to come, pre game, but he had plans with his nephew and grand nephew.

We talked of times, past and yet to come. Amanda and Mike left for the game -- Amanda sent us a photo of her Dad having "2nd Dinner," as they provide food in the Hurricane 100 Club before ACC games -- and the Canes upset #6 UVA, or the Grapes, as we call them.

Chris drove me home, and I bored him with early tales of his parents and Wifey and me. He's a great sport about hearing those things over and over.

Meanwhile, earlier in the day, there was a meeting about a legal dispute, and I learned our opponent thought I wasn't Jewish and indeed said anti-semitic things in an email that I inadvertently forwarded to him. I found this hilarious.

Yes, African Americans can freely use the N word, and when I'm with fellow Chosens, I tend to use spicy, Yiddishisms. Wow. Dave the anti-semite -- that's the best Chanukah gift I ever received.

Meanwhile, Xmas draws nearer, which for us means Wifey's birthday. We confirmed lunch at the former Versace mansion -- the gorgeous, mini Versailles he built for himself where he lived until the nut case killed him on the front steps. Hopefully we have a better day than the former owner did.

It's indeed that most wonderful time of the year. Welcoming friends from across the country, planning celebratory meals, and being told I'm a hater of my own people. It's as good as it gets.