Banned!

 I guess it was just a matter of time, but I've been banned from an app, or web page, or whatever it is: NextDoor Pinecrest. I saw it coming.

Our leafy Village of Pinecrest (VOP) is engaged in our biggest controversy since its incorporation. I prefer to pronounce that like the Brits: conTROversy -- sounds more elite. This Trumper residents named Laura McNaughton lost her bid for a VOP Council seat. She didn't just lose -- she was stomped -- by Shannon Del Prado. Shannon is a very bright, centrist lawyer, who also happens to be model gorgeous. Laura looks like she owns a lesbian biker bar in North Florida. I only add these appearance details in a nod to political incorrectness -- misogyny division.

Anyway, after Laura lost, she went full Qanon -- determined to take down the Council. She raised money from some Trumper-types in Texas, and sued the Council about increased zoning density along US 1. She lost. So she then gathered signatures for a charter amendment -- to take away zoning decisions from the Council, and require them to be put to a vote where 60% of the voters must approve. 

It's absurd, but like Trump was absurd, resonating with populist sentiment about taking back control of our lives from "Arrogant government." Even in Pinecrest, which has excellent government!

Right now, there's a mail in election. Hopefully the No votes prevail, and Laura goes back under a rock, or figures out new and more creative ways to annoy all of us. I never met her, and never hope to.

But Loni and Mike know her, as she lives close to them. Mike shared a story that she came up their driveway, and Loni ignored her ringing the bell, as she wanted no part of this debate. Laura stood outside and said "Open up -- I KNOW you're there!" As I said -- creepy and aggressive. And churlish, as the great character Mr. Garvey would add.

Anyway, the NextDoor App or site has been abuzz. And the opinions have been NASTY! The No proponents tend to cite facts and statistics, with the over arching message that things are fine here -- leave well enough alone. The Yes folks misspell and mess up grammar a lot, as they say Yes means we won't become another Brickell -- with high rises everywhere. But a worse Brickell -- a crime riddled one! We have essentially no crime in Pinecrest, other than the occasional theft of a car or theft of stuff left in an open car.

To this debate, I thought someone needed to be the VOP wiseass, and who better than I? So I started making fun, mostly of the Yes people, but occassionally the strident No supporters, too. My signature line is that we need red ballcaps with white lettering saying "Make Pinecrest Great Again," while acknowledging that  Muh - PUGA doesn't roll off the tongue nearly as well as  MAGA.

I guess whoever monitors the app-site took offense. I started noticing fewer email alerts about follow up to posts. I then went to comment, and was told I was banned -- but might apply for reinstatement after February 28.

Nah. Probably best thing to happen to me -- I was spending too much time exercising my frustrated "Onion" talents there. I'll find a new hobby.

Meanwhile, we had a lovely Sunday, to follow our great Saturday. Barry and Donna and Scott and Sam met us at LOL for a great "Barry has to drive 30 miles for eggs on his day off" breakfast, and then they came back to Villa Wifey. D2 and Jonathan were here fetching their enormous dog and Jeep, and we all hung for a few hours -- the men drank a beer.

Betsy did her lap dog routine -- she's 93 lbs and likes to get on guests' laps like a little white dog -- and we had a lovely time. 

D2 and Jonathan left for the Beach, and the Barry clan to fetch dim sum for a family gathering later.

My other nephew of another brother is due back tonight from Israel, and to our house Tuesday to dog/house sit for us.

Tonight we fetch Edna and Marc, let Edna hold the marshmallow baby, and then dinner. Tomorrow it's off to Key West -- the place to be if you're looking for immortality, per the great Bob Dylan.

Yes -- real life things trump stupid social media. In my case -- no choice -- I'm banned.

A Banner Saturday

 So I fetched Jeff and we drove to Mike's, and I gave Jeff the key fob to return my girlie Lexus back home later -- I would be Ubering...or so I thought! We traveled to the Canes arena where they went to eat and drink at the Hurricane 100 Club, and I found the seat Dr. Barry had bought for me -- and soon welcomed him, Donna, sister Phyllis, Scott, and Samantha.

Scott and Sam remain Covid aware, and were masked up, and Donna and Phyllis joined them in solidarity, but Barry, the academic doc, went bare faced. The Canes dominated most of the game, but the Noles hung around, as they say, and ended up winning on a buzzer beater. No biggie -- they still have the best basketball team I've ever seen them have, and ought to advance far in the Tournament. The main draw for me was the reunion with my nephew of another mister.

I darted out, and made my way to the bridge over US1, figuring an Uber couldn't fetch me near the blocked off arena streets. I waited by Friday's, remembering I took dates there as a freshman in 1979. How did that place survive? A youngish Dad with 2 teen girls wearing Noles gear asked if this was the Friday's on another street -- they were waiting for an Uber, too. I set them straight -- they were down from Palm Beach Gardens, via Brightline, and were having dinner before heading back North. They loved the game, of course.

My driver arrived, an affable Cuban guy my age, and we spoke my limited Spanish for the drive to Miracle Mile. He let me out, and I went over to Fratelli, knowing my friends Steve and Mary were there -- I found them outside and we caught up again -- and I made sure to leave when their pasta arrived.

I met my FIU Development host, Smilka, at Vinya, and went inside, and began a great talk with Mark, the former FIU President. He was asked to step down last year because, as the caregiver of a dementia riddled wife, he sought a little extra companionship from a staff member. Whatever. He was brilliant and engaging, and we traded stories about our WW II Dads -- his actually fought in the Battle of the Bulge, as a commander of Black troops, while my Dad avoided having to go -- instead keeping Japanese submarines at Bay from Pasadena.

Wifey arrived, and we were led to our table. Three chefs hosted -- Vinya's owner, and two others -- one runs a top notch place at PGA National in North Palm,and the other a James Beard place in Asheville, NC. I chatted with the Asheville lady -- her restaurants are kicking it, but she misses her native Miami -- Asheville is a bit slow for her.

Smilka staggered our seating, and I sat across from Jordana, the Director of the FIU Art Museum, which is apparently kicking butt and taking names in the local museum scene -- they scored a big Bob Dylan exhibit that EVERY South Florida museum jonesed for. Jordana was lovely and brilliant -- Yale undergrad and Columbia doctorate -- two grown kids, also academics, and a grandson the same age as our little guy. We hit it off -- she's an Upper West Side born and raised Ashkenazi Jew, and we got each other's humor. She talked about how her mission is to bring art to communities that never understood it, and she loves it so much more than dealing with the rich Manhattanites or D.C. patrons she had before.

Wifey thoroughly enjoyed talking to Smilka -- they hit it off. And we also met Ralph and Cookie, two FIU grad late 70s folks. Ralph and his Dad founded a logistics company -- his son is now CEO, and Smilka told me it's a $500M a year operation. They're yuuuuge FIU supporters -- they have over 100 interns there from the FIU Business School Logistics program.

And yet -- Ralph only wanted to talk about his Catholic based charity work -- he just retired as a Miami Dade Police Chaplain, and works a lot with His House, an orphanage I know -- Paul used to work with them, and Lotus House, the largest shelter for women and children in the US. Cookie was charming, too -- a middle class Cubana who hit it very rich, but remains humble -- we exchanged photos of grandkids -- hers are middle school aged.

The food was delicious -- fish courses and the best pork belly I ever ate. Jordana and I joked that it was likely kosher. The wine poured, and the conversation was wonderful -- all about art, and teaching diverse students, and favorite restaurants in NYC, where we all travel frequently.

Cookie said the first time she went to Tavern on the Green, she felt like an "American Princess," and still enjoys taking her grandkids. And, we both told UWS native Jordana about the Lambs Club -- she had no idea. It's a place Gershwyn founded for actors and musicians visiting NYC -- D2 and I visited in December of '19 and had a classic NYC pre Christmas evening.

It was time to go, and I called an Uber, but bold Wifey asked Cookie and Ralph if they might drop us off -- they live in a waterfront house South of us. Of course! Luckily Smilka knew how to navigate my Uber app to cancel my ride -- I had never done it before!

We walked to the valet stand, and a gorgeous, huge, blue Bentley was parked. It was Ralph and Cookie's! Neither Wifey nor I had ever been in a Bentley. We liked it -- the custom wooden trays, and the plushness of it. Ralph joked that he always wanted one, and now that his son was CEO of the company, he figured why not?

And yet, during the drive home, the talk was all about charity work -- we bragged about D1's volunteering for homeless people -- and how she has a "Jewish charity" (JFS), and a Christian one (Junior League).

Ralph told us how all of his company's execs are REQUIRED to pick a charity and devote at least 20% of their time towards it. "We all have plenty -- you have to share."

I really, really dug this fellow.

So all in all, it was the most fun Saturday NOT involving our Ds and their families we've had in quite some time. And the weekend continues.

At some point, D2 and Jonathan are coming to get their car and dog -- both of which D2 left here Saturday. And Barry, Donna, and Scott and Sam are driving down for brunch at LOL. Barry jokes that his boy loves to have him drive long distances for eggs on his day off. But they all know it'll be a lovely afternoon.

Ah. Days like these are so precious. Now I just have to tell Wifey that No -- we are NOT getting a Bentley. But's it's sure nice to have friends with one!

Acceptance Letter

 So yesterday was when U Florida emailed its decisions about acceptance for the incoming class. I guess they usually do it the last Friday of February, and send the emails after the offices close, lest they be bombarded with whining students and parents. The day brought back memories.

Locally, a favorite neighbor Matthew got his good news. He and his brother Zach remind me a LOT of Scott and Josh -- my nephews of another brother. Matthew, like Scott, is tall and sports obsessed -- he's the team photographer for the Palmetto sports teams. He's a top student, and also a Silver Knight nominee -- so I was pretty confident he'd get in, but these days, as UF is a top school essentially free for Florida residents, the competition is fierce. We know plenty of kids who got into Ivy League schools and then rejected from UF -- particularly private high school applicants, as UF must figure if Mom and Dad can afford $40k per year for high school, they can afford to send junior to Emory, Duke, or one of the other private colleges.

Matthew will soar there. He's very social, and will likely join a fraternity. Zach is quieter and about to find out what it's like to be an only child for his high school years. He's a smart and sweet kid, too.

And of course I thought back to the years of '05 and '10. In D1's day, UF had early decision, where they let you know and you promise to attend, and she got right in. That meant the drama of her senior year final semester was over -- she already knew where she was going to college and could focus on her studies and holding a secret enormous party (I invision "Risky Business" without, hopefully, the prostitution) when we left her to house and dog sit the Summer after graduation, when D2 was off in her sole session of summer camp in North Carolina.

It's funny. Now HER sons are closer in time to starting college than D1 is from her freshman year. Sunrise; sunset. She looks at her sweet 3 year old and can't imagine letting him move away. But, Big Man willing, it'll happen.

By D2's senior year, early decision was gone, and she had the February drama. I was pretty confident she'd get in -- she was in the top 5% of her large Palmetto High class -- pretty sure no Bs were involved during 4 years of high school, but there was still tensosity. I recall several of her friends and her gathered around the desktop we used to have in the "breakfast knock," as my late suegra called the nook.

D2 squealed with delight, as did another friend. I believe it was Catherine, now a pregnant, married lawyer living in Atlanta, and here this weekend as a fellow bridesmaid with D2 for their dear friend Tara' wedding. I think another girl was Carly, who at first inputted the info wrong and was crestfallen at not getting in -- especially as both her parents and older brother were Gators -- but after realizing the glitch, knew she would be going to Gville, too! The three became sorority sisters there.

In D2's case, she got nearly a full scholarship to my beloved alma mater, the U. She said she would have considered going if UM were a few hours away, but wanted to get away from her creepy Dad, who still walked the campus for coffee and lunch. She chose wisely.

Beginning in the Fall of 2006, there were MANY trips to UF. For D1's first two years, there was no non stop jet service, so flights were on turboprops, or the 5.5 hour drive. I remember one early trip, when D1 had a medical issue, and Barry got her the top doc at Shands, where he attended med school. I flew up, rented a car, and took D1 to her very early appointment. The Big Man shined on us -- it wasn't too serious -- she could get on with her college life normally. I cried in the rental car after dropping her off at her dorm. My flight home wasn't until 2, and so I decided to just drive the rental car back to Miami. I hadn't eaten, and by the time I got to the northernmost Turnpike rest stop, was starving. It must have been about 930 am, and I feasted on KFC -- it was the best fried chicken breakfast I ever had.

D1 graduated in Spring of '10, and that Fall D2 started what would become 5 years -- an extra year to add on a Master's degree. By then, American had brought back Eagle jet service, twice a day, and I became a loyal patron. Wifey, too, but back then her bad back kept her close to home except for major events like Mom's weekends at the sorority and the two graduations for D2.

Probably my favorite trip was an AA flight, and then pick up at GNV, and then  a visit to the Union with Catherine for her and D2's junior year induction into Phi Beta Kappa. The two of them sort of shrugged it off, though getting in as a junior as a big F-ing deal, to borrow from then VP Biden. After we had a celebratory dinner, and I beamed. D2 is our family's only Phi Beta Kappa.

After NINE! years of visits to Hogtown, as it used to be called, I sort of proclaimed my visits there would end. Of course Fate laughed, and after D1 and Joey married, Hurricane Irma came, and we fled to Atlanta. On the drive home, we stopped for breakfast at a famed coffee/bagel place in a Target parking lot, and looked for gas. There was no gas. But we found open stations on the Turnpike, run by the National Guard like a military refueling operation, and made it safely home to Miami. Somehow Gainesville called me again.

Will there be grandchild college trips there? Dare I dream? I do dare. We already prepaid tuition for both grandsons, though they can use the benefit at any college. So time will tell. Big Man willing, the oldest will be spending February of 2038 waiting to hear. Imagine that!

Back to the present -- go get 'em, Matthew! I hope you get to see the Canes beat the Gators during the two games they're scheduled to play -- at UF and the following year back here. 

And I know his parents will savor the time. Probably my favorite time as a Dad, other than the Ds' weddings and the birth of the grandsons, was when they came home from college -- all adult and crap -- and sharing tales of that exquisite time of life. And as for Wifey, they praised her by realizing many of their college friends' Moms messed them up FAR more than Wifey messed up the Ds! That's the highest praise you can hope for.

Old Neighbors

 So Susan, Pat, and their kids Marie and Little Patrick (now well over six feet) lived across the street from us from '02 through '16. Marie and D2 were friends -- the same age -- and are attending a mutual friend's wedding this weekend. Pat became my stock broker, and early on suggested I double down on an investment -- put in twice what I typically did -- on some fruit company. That $20K grew to well over $1M -- it was, of course, Apple, and the money has been given to charity, and the Ds, and still occupies a nice piece of my portfolio. 

Though Susan is a native Miamian, she wanted a change, and so they moved to the Poconos, where they owned a golf house for quite awhile. Little Patrick went off to Michigan for college, and is now a financial guy in Chicago, and Marie went to Boston College, taught English in China, and then got an MFA in Creative Writing at UF.

In July of '21, as I was walking in the 'hood, a car slowed down, and the two occupants said hello. It was Marie and her girlfriend Hannah -- Marie was showing Hannah her childhood home. I brought them in, and Wifey, D2, and I had a lovely reunion.

Well, Marie contacted me last week to say she had a new job -- Development Director for O Miami, a local poetry festival, which encourages poetry and educates poorer kids about the beauty of the medium. Marie was coming to town -- could we meet? We could, and yesterday had a delightful breakfast at Bagel Emporium.

Marie is just an awesome young lady. We laughed about the old times in the 'hood, caught up on mutual friends, and laughed about her cultural background. She's Irish Catholic, and attended Catholic high school. Most of the girls were named Sofia, and the boys from the brother schools were all Javi, short for Javier. I told her most of my Ds' sorority sisters at their Jewish house at UF were Ali or Jordana, and how I loved to visit and tell the receptionist I was looking for someone 5'4" with dark hair -- the classic AEPHi phenotype! Ah, political incorrectness.

Anyway, I connected Marie with my old English prof at UM, John Paul, a true 19th century man. I also put her in touch with the Development person at FIU I work with -- and sure enough, that woman has 2 girls who go to Carrollton, Marie's alma mater. Miami Catholic Mafia, it seems.

I thoroughly enjoyed my visit with this wonderful girl -- and look forward to having her visit the 305 often. Who knows? I may even drag Wifey to a poetry event -- get out of her movie comfort zone.

The day was to be a continuation of our former neighbors. Pat fetched me at 5, and we drove to Fox's. He had to field calls from Steve and Linda, two friends I referred to him. They love the job he's doing with their investments.

After the call, we raised out glasses, and I toasted to us -- 2 Dads who raised 4 amazing kids. We joked that for a Dad, raising a son is easier -- just keep him out of prison. But raising a daughter is fraught with peril, and Pat and I navigated those dangerous seas like seasoned mariners!

Pat left for his Air BnB, and I Ubered home. It was a fine Tuesday. Nice to go back to the future every once in awhile.

When I Have To Follow Up...A Wreck May Ensue

 So Wifey's been battling a cold, which is finally, it seems, on the way out. She started feeling poorly Tuesday evening, was better by Wednesday and so spent her usual hours sitting outside in the hot sun sweating, and then crashed again Thursday and Friday. I gave her a home Covid test, which was negative, but she wasn't at all shy or reticent about complaining how she was suffering. She had a doc's appointment Friday for routine blood draw, and watching her barely able to walk or get out of bed, I had visions of her crashed into a Metrorail column, and so I drove her.

On the way, I asked about the ATT remote she ordered months back. Wifey spilled water on one, got a replacement, and then spilled seltzer on the new one. I asked her to get another replacement, and so she navigated the long call with the saccharine friendly sub continent agent, who promised the new remote to be delivered by 2/14. It wasn't.

So on the way to the doc, I took control, and ended up asking for disconnection -- I learned that with service companies, the disconnect people are often the only ones authorized to actually get you what you want, less they lose a customer. And so I got one of them, and curtly explained that if there was no new remote FedExed by this weekend -- cut us off -- we would switch to Comcast, which we probably should have done years ago, as somehow our monthly UVerse bill is in the hundreds of dollars, and we get little for it.

After holding periods that lasted the length of the drive, the agent happily said "Ok -- you will get your remote in March!" Nope -- cut us off, I said, and then we arrived at the doc's office, and I hung up. An hour later, I fetched Wifey -- sure enough, the PA concluded she had a cold -- and drove us home. I had a fun evening planned with Jeff, Mike, and Mike's boy Chris.

Wifey got into bed, and learned that indeed the TV was cut off. "What now?" she asked. Ah -- we watch too much TV anyway -- just get apps like most people and screw ATT. Nah -- that would really require effort, and so Wifey navigated her way to have the service turned on again. I told her the message was simple -- don't get me involved. I have little patience, and I'm happy to just fire services if they annoy me.

Meanwhile, in far happier news, I fetched Jeff, and we drove to Mike's, and the threesome went to Fox's. Mike and I toasted with 3 cocktails (Jeff, a teetotaler, drove afterwards) and I reminded them we had all become friends FORTY YEARS ago, come September. Wow.

We then went to Mark Light Stadium, met Chris, and watched our Canes get shelled. They lost to Penn State, but the PSU coach is a double Cane, so I figured we were just giving a nice homecoming to him.

I started attending Canes baseball games in 1979, and being there brought back wonderful memories. Eric's parents Marvin and Norma LOVED the place -- reminded them of Ebbett Field in their native Brooklyn. I loved watching games with them.

On more than several occasions, I lured Barry away from pre med studies to go watch Neal Heaton, the fireballer we had in the early 80s, pitch. Somehow the game was followed by pizza and then ice cream at Baskin Robbins -- Spring meant the seasonal "Baseball Nut" flavor we loved. Barry was no worse for that distraction -- getting accepted into UF Med school despite missing some Organic Chem studying.

So today D1 is due over after a birthday party in our 'hood -- her dear friend Hannah, a pediatrician and new Mom, is here. I think Hannah misses being close to her family, especially now that there's a beloved granddaughter, and somehow the Bay Area where she attended college, med school, and residency has lost its luster as a place to live.

So, another weekend to savor. And hopefully going forward, stuff will be kept out of my overly heavy hands, lest we lose other services.

Humility

 When any of us start thinking we're big deals, believing our own press releases, as the saying goes, it's great to get a sense of humility.

I got a wonderful dose of it back in 1994, when Paul and I started our law firm. I was 33, had made a ton of money the year before, and had that amount supplemented by the largesse of our property insurance company following Hurricane Andrew. They truly turned a lot of our crap into cash -- leaving us with a much enlarged house, and a rental house to boot.

Anyway, Paul felt, correctly, that we needed to project an image as successful lawyers, given that our clientele was far more likely to judge us by the cars we drove than ratings in Martindale Hubble. Paul had a black Benz, but I was driving a Mitsubishi Diamante, which to this day remains the best car for the money I have ever had. I leased it for $199 per month, in an intro deal from Mitsubishi, and it had leather seats and a CD player! It drove beautifully. But -- clients in Perrine were not going to be impressed by a Mitsubishi, and so I gave the car to Paul's then high school son Alex to drive, and I leased a Jaguar, a car I always associated with the king of sophistication, James Bond.

I went to the dealer, and picked out a sedan. As I saw on the bench waiting for it, I started to swell. Here I was -- 33, co-owner of a law practice, near 7 figures in the bank, and about to get into a freaking Jaguar! A young man, probably early 20s, was sitting next to me.

Forrest Gump-like, I greeted him and said I was waiting for my new car. He asked what it was, and I told him a Jaguar. "Wow -- cool," he said, and I agreed. I was Da Man! And then I heard the rumbling.

A car was approaching us, and it had an engine that literally shook us all up. It was his car, a Ferrari Gallardo, some special edition model -- of course -- bright red. The valet gave him the key, he said goodbye, and drove off.

I asked the salesman what that car cost -- it was 4 times the cost of my now schlepper Jag. My car came, I popped in a Grateful Dead CD, and drove off -- laughing. What a douchebag I was! It was as if the Big Man wanted me to get the lesson right away -- when you judge yourself by money, someone always has more!

Well, I got a magazine in the mail today that did the same thing. We're kind of proud that we endowed a scholarship at FIU -- it pays for young dietitians to be able to complete their internships that must be unpaid. This was no biggie for D1, we supported her, but many kids, especially at blue collar FIU, NEED their salary, and find it a major hardship to do without as they finish the required internships. So this fund pays for a couple of them each year. We contribute to it yearly -- not a tiny amount, but certainly nothing yuuuuge.

And FIU is terrific -- treating us like major donors. Just the other day I got a letter from our handler -- inviting Wifey and me to a South Beach Wine and Food Festival dinner in the Gables, which FIU sponsors. The tickets would have cost $600 for the pair! So FIU knows how to make the small fry supporters feel amazing.

On the other hand, the magazine from UM showcased my alma mater's donors. A lawyer I know, younger than I am who I'll call Scott, since that's his name, gave $5M for scholarships. Scott manages the practice for Roy, one of the top criminal defense lawyers in the US. I guess he hit it big, and is in a position to make those kinds of gifts.

There were also multiple, 7 figure gifts mentioned -- for the med school, Athletics, and even Music and Arts and Sciences. No wonder UM treats me friends and I, even those of us who have donated over 6 figures over the years, like little nothings. It's because we are!

I would love to come into huge money. I wouldn't change my lifestyle much, if at all, but would become a full time giver. Now THAT would be a wonderful job.

But for now, I assume the humility that comes from being reminded that even when you think you're all that -- you're not. We live in a beautiful house. Recently a relocated Bay Area investor bought TWO houses in our hood -- for a combined $6M! The houses don't adjoin -- I assume he bought them for relatives or close friends moving here from Cali.

I thought Wifey and I were big shots when we bought her parents a Century Village condo "on the vater," to stop my late suegra's world class nagging. We paid $120K for it! Ha. That were nothing, compared to my new absentee neighbor!

Humility is great. It keeps us grounded, and reminds us what is truly important. As I just wrote to D1 the other day, the truth is Wifey and I were as happy in 1989 living in our starter house, all 1500 square feet of it, as we are today, in our Ponderosa. 

There's always bigger and greater. I guess the key is to not let there be happier.

Erev Valentine's Day

 So we watched a great Super Bowl game, as the Eagles choked and let the Chiefs win. I sure am glad I wasn't really invested in the game -- I wanted the Iggles, since I have lots of Philly friends and don't even know anyone from KC, but I went to sleep very well after the game. Maybe the Dolphins will figure out a way to keep their small QB upright and they can compete next year. It'd be great -- I really dig the Fins' coach McDaniel, who looks like the character McLovin -- the picture of nerdiness. We'll see.

Meanwhile, D1 told me that she and Joey are hosting D2 and Jonathan for a romantic VD dinner tomorrow evening. That gladdened me, and so I went onto the Big Daddy's Liquors site to make sure they have proper spirits. I can't afford to drink Johnnie Walker Blue, but bought a bottle for them, along with some good tequila and vodka. I know they'll have a great time, assuming the spirited toddler stays in his room, asleep. The 7 month old is a marshmallow and no bother.

Ah, Valentine's Day. I dreaded it when I was single and dating -- having to balance several, um, responsibilities. We typically celebrate with Loni and Mike, but this year I think we blew past it.

The first year we lived here, in Villa Wifey, I set up a table outside in the lovely February evening, brought in DiNapoli, and played nice music from D2's boom box. It was just the 4 of us, toasting our new lovely home.

The following year, which must have been VD 2002, I invited several couples and we feasted. The Ds were servers, and I bought each of the wives lovely costume bracelets which they found under their plates. We drank champagne, and my less than romantic male friends enjoyed being saved from their clumsiness. I used to really enjoy romance.

Earlier, I asked Wifey if she wanted to go anywhere to celebrate. "Nah -- all partied out." I felt the same way, and I already bought her a beloved gift -- the pressure assist toilet. She says it's a game changer.

So we'll just hopefully get some nice photos of our beloved Ds and sons in law enjoying. That'll be fine.

Meanwhile, I just read that today is National Mistress Day. Apparently those men so equipped are supposed to take their mistresses to nice dinners. The really brave ones go with the girlfriend tonight,and wife tomorrow -- to the same restaurant! I plan to stay home both evenings. Who has the energy anymore?

Meanwhile, a cold front blew in, and the weather is absurdly gorgeous today. All the doors are wide open -- a delicious cool breeze blows through the family room as I type. Wifey took the special needs Spaniel for a short walk. I'll soon take the strange rescue dog for a longer one -- we both need more exercise.

D1 wrote to say she balled at a Super Bowl commercial -- for The Farmer's Dog dog food. I saw it, too - essentially her life story with HER spoiled Spaniel. The commercial starts with a girl telling her dog she'll protect her forever, and she does, through the years. The dog is there when she marries, and the commercial ends with the girl and the dog snuggling -- with the girl's human baby, too. Yep -- Madison Avenue, or wherever these people work currently, still can pull the heartstrings.

D2 adores HER pup Betsy -- all 93 lbs of her. I wonder the scene should she bless us with human baby or babies, too. I imagine it will be adorable.

Ah, a sentimental old man's thoughts wander this eve of the Day of Amor...