Changes

 So Monday afternoon I headed over to see my longtime family friend and former English professor Judy. It was a delightful 2.5 hour visit. Her house is a time machine -- all, except for an addition put on 5 years ago to house her daughter, grandson, and then newly sick son in law, is the same as it was when I visited in 1980. She led me to a chrome and leather chair, saying, "They don't look comfortable, but they are." I told her she told me that in 1980, and it was and is, true!

Sarah and Jacob joined us, and the talk was of Indiana U, where Jacob is enrolling this Fall -- his grandparents' alma mater. He's a delightful young man -- I only met him at his bris and at his grandfather's funeral -- but he is nice and charming and cool -- he and his best friend since pre school will be roommies at Bloomington. I told him my best friends and I, mostly, met when we were his age, and keeping these brothers was one of my life's biggest gifts.

Judy and I caught up on things past and present. I told her that as I approached 64 I had become insufferable to Wifey, with all of my wisdom and insight -- most of which is that the older wisdom and insight was WAY off. I told her about my CPA Mark's terrific mixed metaphor -- "Life sure does throw you wrinkles," and that I was going to adopt it as a new credo. 

Her son in law was diagnosed in his late 50s with the worst kind of Alzheimers -- Lewy Body Dementia. He has lived in a nursing home for years, and now, at 67, is essentially vegetative. Yes -- Judy knows about the wrinkles life throws you.

Wifey reminded me that Judy is an expert in Medieval Literature, and that D1 has developed quite an interest in those times. I think the two of them would enjoy a talk -- I told Judy I would set up another visit -- as I knew that when Jacob left for college, both Judy and Sarah would get some blues. Hopefully that happens in the Fall.

I had some business in the Grove with my crazy friend Joel, and I was minutes away, and so went to his house in The Moorings -- probably the best 'hood in Miami. He poured a vodka for me and said "Let's go out on my boat." I refused -- there had been a fatal crash earlier in the day that took the lives of 2 sailing campers, and was probably going to take the life of the 3rd. Fine, Joel said, let's just walk, but then using the persuasive powers that makes him a top Miami criminal defense guy, I was shanghaied and we were soon trolling out the canal, past the $40 million mansions of his 'hood. 

It was gorgeous on the Bay. I FaceTimed D2 -- she got a huge kick out of her Dad weekday drinking on a boat. Joel and I talked of life, and cases. He knew well Roy Black, who just died, and we talked of those days of yore when Miami had the top SA in the Country, Richard Gerstein, and top PD, Bennett Brummer. Those offices produced the top criminal lawyers in the US -- Joel's Dad Jack is one of them.

Joel and Courtney have 2 boys in college and one still in high school. I told him I was "only" 13 years away from taking my grandson to college -- and somehow kindergarten turns into college freshman year absurdly quickly.

So it was a real Manic Monday, as Prince wrote -- a great one.

Last night young Michael, the young PI lawyer I have been mentoring for a decade, asked to be inducted into the Fox's club -- our local tavern. We met -- the mentee is FAR smarter and more accomplished than the former mentor. We had a delightful time -- his wife is D1's dear friend and former sorority sister from UF -- and they have 2 boys close in age to our grandsons.

Ah -- the next generation. They'll learn more than I'll ever know, in this wonderful world of changes.

Tropical Birthday

 So my brother of another mother Barry turned 62 on Thursday, and that night went to The Palm with Donna and Josh for his birthday steak. Friday -- would we meet at Tropical Chinese, to keep the celebration going? OF COURSE we would.

I signed on to Eric and Dana's Zoom, and wished Godspeed to Josh and Alex and their kids -- left yesterday for a new start in Atlanta, close to Alex's sister and I think, moving from Boca mother. As Eric and I discussed ad nauseum during our 2 weeks in Central Europe, we can think we set up our lives and the adult lives of our kids a certain way, but then they show the truth of my twisted Billy Joel lyric: You don't care what I say anymore this is YOUR life.

I'm sure they'll soar there. Hell -- if you're otherwise happy with your life, you soar anywhere.

Wifey has a mah jonng friend, second generation Miami girl, whose 90 something mother just died. Karen sold the Grove Isle apartment, and initially decided to move to Williams Island, like many empty nester (and no longer caring for extreme elder parents) types do. But now she told Wifey she has a nephew and niece in, of all places, Birmingham, AL. What, Wifey asked, did I know about that place.

Well, as a Skynnerd fan, I know they love the governor there. Other than that, I see it routinely pops up on the list of "20 most miserable cities in the US," according to those articles based on, well, who knows? I know I would look at a move to Birmingham like a prison sentence. Truth is, I'd look at a move to Atlanta as one, too -- but maybe more of a minimum security, prison-camp type sentence.

But these are not my calls. All I do know is, if you have the means and opportunity -- use them to truly decide where you want to live -- and do it! Often jobs decide, or health issues, or economics. I got a call the other week from a young IT guy who simply couldn't afford South Florida -- he found a gorgeous house in a smaller NC city and is happy as a clam there. So I get that.

As for me -- well -- I spent a lot of time with the thought experiments involved in downsizing to a smaller house in Miami Shores -- hell -- staying in County. And the conclusion of these experiments was -- nah -- I like it just where I am. Wifey is none too pleased -- but she plays the long game -- a rich widowhood will let her go wherever she chooses. She might even pick Atlanta!

Meanwhile, Friday was delightful -- we talked of old times and today, and realized we've been celebrating this birthday thing together for more than 4 and a half decades. Barry ordered some exotic vodka and sake cocktails, and I strayed from my usual vodka only in his honor. I toasted that he make it to 120!

Yesterday, Wifey and I watched Part II of the great Billy Joel bio. We really enjoyed it -- he's a long time favorite, and a true Nassau County blue collar Jew like me. Of course, he couldn't make a permanent go of it with 3 wives, including a super model. I've kept MY super model nearly 39 years...

Another week awaits. Norman noted that there were FAR too many July deaths -- foremost to us, of course, 2 great Dads -- Max and Bill. We're all hoping for this month to end -- and it will, on Thursday. 

Far better to celebrate birthdays than attend funerals. Hopefully that trend stays for awhile...

A Possible Reunion

 So my second semester freshman year at UM, Spring of 1980, was the beginning of transition for me. No -- I had no desire to become a chick, and heaven knows how much easier my life may have been as a gay man, if I could have just stomached the sex part. It was the beginning of a transition from Biology major to English major -- and the transition would take until middle of my junior year.

I was taking freshman Biology and Chemistry and getting Bs in both, but really only loving my Humanities classes -- English and Religion. And my second semester English prof was a woman named Judy, who immediately reminded me of my older sister, since they kind of looked alike and were both Queens Jewish women -- about the same age. But Judy's life path was far different from my sister's -- she was a PhD in Medieval Literature, and married to a doctor scientist, Bob, who was vice chair of Neurology at the med school.

By the end of the semester, we had become close family friends. Bob and Judy had me babysit their kids, Sarah and Ari, and they had me over for dinners in their book infested house in the Gables. I looked up to them -- imagining someday having a house like that -- filled with books and really cool art -- with 2 VERY smart kids, who both, ironically, had learning disorders. They still did fine -- Sarah became a master chef who later opened a catering business, and though her husband has been disabled with Alzheimer's for years, her son is now the age I was when I met her family -- an incoming freshman at his grandparents' alma mater, Indiana U. Ari is an IT guy, who moved with his wife and son, now 12, to North Carolina.

Alas, Bob died a few years back -- a truly accomplished man who always wanted to be a History professor but his immigrant Jewish parents insisted on medical school. And he did fine there -- mentoring many -- including my neighbor Jose, who is the current Neurology Chair and a national stroke expert.

But back to my undergraduate days...Judy encouraged me to stick with pre-med, as she thought I'd be a fine doctor, a closeted humanist like her husband. But sophomore year crap started getting real -- Organic Chem, the classic weed out pre med class, befuddled me. I got Cs both semesters, and figured my chances of med school, at least in the US, were dashed. But Bob hired me as a lab assistant, and I spent the Summer butchering frogs in an attempt to extract their spinal cords for research he and John, his PhD, did on GABA. I ended up making it as a "co-author" of several scientific articles, though in fact I was just a frog butcherer.

Bob assured me he would "get me into med school, despite the Cs in Organic (and Calculus, another class that was screaming to me maybe I had chosen the wrong path)." So I soldiered on, and then first semester junior year, knew it was time to switch, and I did, though I already had enough credits to be a Chemistry minor. Sure enough, that first semester as an English major, I got  a 4.0, and LOVED my classes. I had found myself, at least intellectually. Philosophically, I'm still looking for myself -- especially in the dark.

Now Judy took over as my career mentor, and I still remember a long talk over dinner at her house, where I asked her which PhD programs I should apply to, to become a professor like she was. "None," was her clear reply. She explained that now, at the end of the Baby Boom years, there was a surfeit (a word my Organic Professor Harry Schultz used) of academics, and "Harvard PhDs are waiting tables in Boston."

And then Judy came hard with the emmes: "You're a nice Jewish boy who will someday have a family and want to support them, and you won't be able to as a college professor. Go to law school."

What? I never thought about law school -- the Pre Law guys I knew were all jerks, and the law never particularly interested me. But thankfully I listened to Judy, and followed her advice, and, like the less traveled path of Robert Frost fame, has made all the difference.

I lucked, largely, into a VERY lucrative career, providing for my family beyond my wildest dreams, and living in a house I couldn't have even really considered, let alone taking trips that I never imagined, let alone setting up my kids and grandkids with, as Paul likes to call what HE did for his family, "generational wealth."

I never much did come to love the law stuff, but the business part of it was fine, and at least we made our money on the right side of cases -- like Robin Hoods -- stealing from rich insurers and companies and giving it to the poor, while keeping a third or 40% as our fee...

Anyway, Judy and I reconnected this week. She's had a rough time of it -- decades of a chronic fatigue syndrome that cut short her career. But she's soldiered on as an awesome Mom and grandmother -- her daughter and grandson live with her in an addition to the house completed just before Bob died.

We're trying to work out a reunion -- hopefully next week I can get over in the afternoon, when her energy is highest. I plan to stop at Madruga, the gourmet bakery D1's friend owns and runs, with her Dad, who founded Pollo Tropical, despite being a garden variety American Jew. Hey -- Miami.

Judy and I have a LOT to catch up on, and I plan to mostly listen. Her wisdom helped guide my professional life four and a half decades ago. If I've learned nothing else in my 64 years, I've learned to listen to people who truly know.

Meanwhile, today will be spent with a very close friend who needs some legal consigliere help -- while Wifey re-homes the enormous puppy Betsy and skittish Spaniel Lemon. We'll be back to just the special needs Spaniel Bo -- low energy like we need our dogs to be.

But hopefully I get to reconnect with my old professor -- I'll thank her again for her most sage advice.

Of The Lord and Man

 So Sunday afternoon I headed over to the Gables Club, for Max's shiva. Wifey skipped out on account of she felt she had enough funeral related activities for awhile, but when I arrived I met Eric and Dana -- looking through old Beach High yearbooks where Dana spotted relatives. Sadly, they couldn't stay -- they had a SECOND shiva to attend, for a 50 something nurse who dropped for an aneurism. Eric said it was his first double header shiva -- would he get shiva points? I noted that "Shiva Points" would be a great name for a Death Metal Klezmer band...

Anyway, I was so happy and proud of Eric and Dana -- the drive from Boca to Gables was well over an hour, and they did it to honor our dear friend Norman. Later on, before the service, Paul and Patricia came, too, from Aventura, another monumental schlep -- also to honor our dear friend. Barry and Donna had driven down the night before, from Broward.

And it occurred to me, it's no coincidence that those in my inner circle all did this. Basically, to be in my inner circle, you have to be a great parent. No excuses for not being. And you have to love and be loyal to the other members of said circle -- even at great inconvenience and annoyance to yourself.

I ended up staying 5 hours -- talking with Norman about old times and current, and his amazing siblings and some nieces and nephews. We realized connections -- Norman's niece and nephew Max and Stephanie live blocks away, and share close friends with D1, who are also Devonwood neighbors.

We reflected on the amazing life of an amazing man -- one who gave so much of himself to those he loved, always with total optimism.

I think of his sayings all the time -- a key one being that "a problem that can be solved with money is NOT a real problem." Of course, as my friend Mirta points out, that is spoken by a man WITH money, but even someone without can borrow, beg, or steal money if needed. Some problems surpass what can be solved.

Yesterday our affable Israeli locksmith Kobi came over -- to fix a broken door to the pool and replace the last of the original deadbolt locks on this house of many doors. The house has 20 doors, not counting the garage one. Each has a deadbolt, and amazingly, some of them have lasted nearly 30 years.

It's funny -- we moved into a "new" house -- it was just 3 years old. And then decades happened. As Willie Nelson wrote and sang, it's funny how time slips away...

Speaking of which, the news came about the death of Roy Black, probably the best criminal defense lawyer in the US. He passed today, at 80. I met him several times -- he was truly an amazing lawyer. He referred us a med mal case once, which turned out to NOT be a case, and that was it. The reasons no more referrals came are comical, but for the time being, must be kept out of public view...

The week before, another top lawyer , Bob Josephsberg, died as well. He dropped at a conference table during a deposition -- at 86! I can't decide if his death was better or worse than Nelson Rockefeller's back when I was in high school. I just recall that the former Governor and VP's death didn't make his wife Happy very happy...

The point is, as John Donne knew, we need not worry about for whom the death bell tolls -- it tolls for all of us, eventually.

And if we can have lives like Max -- well -- that's as good as it gets. And for me, having the kind of friends I have, and who they are -- that makes the journey truly exquisite.

A Tale Of Two Funerals

 I keep telling Wifey I know I've become insufferable lately -- claiming to have come to all of these life affirming conclusions -- turning into the Mr. Know it All I always made fun of. Fortunately, the conclusions are that I really thought I WAS Mr. Know it All, but realize I know much less -- particularly about human nature, that most crucial study there is.

Anyway, my birthday dawned, and I put on a suit for only the second time this year -- the last was for my nephew of another brother Scott's wedding. This time Wifey and I drove to Beth David, the old synagogue in The Roads, for my friend Norman's Dad's funeral. The place holds special meaning for us. In 1960 new Israeli immigrants, my in laws, moved to that neighborhood, and my suegra brought 4 year old Wifey over to enroll her in the pre school. Being clueless of all things American, she had no idea that the school year was well under way, and they didn't accept latecomers.

Well, they made an exception, and Wifey began her journey as an American, coming home crying each day as all the other kids only spoke English and she only spoke Hebrew. She came around fast enough, and now, sadly, the Hebrew is mostly gone for her -- some of the Yiddish, which her parents also spoke, remains, though I may actually know more words since I'm such an old soul and think, often, like my parents did.

Years later -- 1992 in fact, our house in Kendall was mistroyed, as adorable D1 noted, by Hurricane Andrew, and we moved to Brickell, too far from the JCC D1 was to attend. Wifey took D1 to Beth David, and they reprised their kindness -- taking in the adorable Andrew refugee. I wrote a letter to the Board thanking them, for their understanding in both 1960 and 1992, and they published it.

Anyway, Max's service was beautiful and moving -- Norman spoke last and from the heart about this true angel on earth who was his Dad -- his many accomplishments, and lessons of love. After, we drove to Mt. Sinai, an old cemetery, and did the mitzvot of helping cover the grave with earth.

Not the way I wished to spend my birthday, but I wouldn't have dreamed of not paying proper respect to a great man -- I'll head over to shiva tonight at his condo at Gables Club --- I think Eric and Dana may come, too.

And then came the epiphany. Of the two funerals of friends' Dads, the men were VERY different. Bill was a wild man -- partied a LOT -- cursed a LOT (especially when his Eagles lost) and engaged in lots of activities Max maybe saw on films but no sooner would have done than drunk Drano, to use my old boss Ed's expression. There would never be a street named after Bill, as there is for Max, for his contributions to business in a growing area. Bill worked for years for his son.

Still, both men were greatly mourned -- Max by a very large family, and Bill by many friends and his only child and 2 grandkids. And so the epiphany is: if you give love to your family unconditionally, as both men did, and make them know how important they are to you, then that life was well lived, whether you were a saint or a sinner. 

Barry met us at the cemetery, and planned to go to D1's house to see the boys, but first we had the business of lunch, and we met at Caracas Bakery in MiMo, which has, arguably, the best sandwiches in town. From there, on to D1, where I poured us some Ketel Oranjes, to toast Max and my birthday and Barry's upcoming 62nd, and spent precious hours with the energetic grandsons.

At 630, Barry left, and Jonathan had come by to toast with us, and the grown up members of the family went to The Palm, where, comically, Paul and Patricia had invited themselves. I said only family, and as Paul noted, they ARE.

The dinner was grand, and as Paul noted, much good natured fun was made of Wifey, who has learned to understand that it is her Ds' "language of love" to point out her many quirks (and there are many). The drive home was joyful, too, as some old anecdotes recalled by D2, who drove, prompted breathless laughter from the rest of us.

Beginning of my 65th year was now accomplished.

Yesterday D1 brought the boys over, and her old friend Macarena came by, too -- we hadn't seen her for over a decade, and we had another lovely day, as Bill Withers sang about.

So on to my next year, with a clear goal in mind: to make it to 65 and finally enjoy some of the Medicare benefits I've been paying for since I had my first taxes withheld in 1976 when I was 15! Bastards OWE me!

I know I'll probably wait until 70 to collect Social Security, but may opt to start at 67, my "full retirement" age. We'll see...

Oh yeah -- I also plan to keep the love coming for those who mean so much to me. Last night crazy Sheryl from Boston called -- to wish me happy birthday and follow up with whether I had contact with a recent widower friend about fixing them up. I had not. Her plans are to build an addition onto her house, and let her only partially launched son and his fiancee live in her main house. Would I ever do this, she asked? I reminded her that we were just 2 generations (in her case 3) from poor immigrants packing entire families into tenements in turn of the century (the LAST one) America -- so I COULD do it -- but --hell nah! I adore my Ds and their families, but enjoy the distance, moderate as it is.

As I noted -- part of being that insufferable aging dude.

Birthday Funeral

 Tomorrow I turn 64, and I'll be spending the better part of the day honoring a man who had his final birthday: my dear friend Norman's Dad Max.

I've met few real patriarchs or matriarchs in my travels. My son in law's grandma Judy is a true matriarch -- ruling over her family with velvet strength, generosity, and love. And Max was a true patriarch, a man who lived a VERY full life.

I met Max at Norman's first wedding, in law school, and got to know him much better decades later. His origin story was like MY Dad's -- Bronx born son of Jewish immigrants, WWII service. But Max moved to Miami Beach, and there met his life's love Barbara, an exotic Jewess from England! Barbara passed years ago, and Max never even considered dating -- Barbara was the gift the Big Man gave him and that was that.

Since I lost My Dad so young, I have gravitated over the years to DOFs (Dads of Friends) and these men have given me so much in my life. I got to spend some fine times with Max -- though he just died at 97, he was still attending Canes basketball games last season, and Norman had just renewed the tickets for the upcoming one. There were meals together, and parties at Norman's house, when those still happened.

I always marveled at how Max's 4 kids, and numerous grandkids and great grandkids, were jealous of his time, and he had time for all of them. There was no hint that he was ever a burden, or tolerated by the  young ones -- exactly the opposite.

When his grandson Benji performed at a local jazz club, D2 and I went, and sat with Norman and Max. IPhones were sort of new, and I was amazed to see Max explaining to D2 how he "jailbreaked" his. D2 still laughs at that.

And as I just reminded Norman, my best memory of Max unfortunately involves pain to Norman -- a literal stick in the eye. Norman had asked if I could give him a ride to Bascom Palmer for an eye procedure, and when I arrived at his house, Max was there -- coming along to support his son, too. There was an hours long delay, and Max and I sat for the time in the patio area of the eye hospital -- talking of life. I treasure that day forever -- it's when Max told me something I take to this day: "A problem that can be solved with money is NOT a real problem." Of course, it's nice to have money, which Max had plenty of -- but it's true. Some things in life are beyond our help -- things you can buy your way out of -- not so much.

Norman finally came out of the procedure, with patched eye, and felt badly I had spent the entire day waiting. Nothing could be farther from the truth -- as an added benefit, we had killed some of the time visiting Dr. Barry at his office. Other than the stick in Norman's eye, it was the most quality Max time I ever had, and it was wonderful.

Max was extremely generous -- giving his family gifts and mortgages so they could buy their first houses and condos. A few years back, the City of Doral honored him by naming a street after him -- he was a pioneer doing business in the now booming city, when it was just farms with MIA bound jets rumbling over it.

So the funeral is at Beth David, a congregation he helped found, and the burial at Mt. Sinai, a VERY old Miami Jewish cemetery -- he'll be reunited with his beloved Barbara. We'll honor and bury a truly great and, as my friend Kenny noted about his father, more importantly GOOD man.

It's funny -- I was once at a Jewish funeral with a gentile friend, and they were horrified at how we all took turns shoveling the earth -- like we were eager to "get rid of the guy." I explained in Jewish tradition it was precisely the opposite -- burying someone is the ultimate mitzvah, or commanded good deed -- it is one the object of can NEVER repay.

There's a shiva at Max's condo afterwards, but we need to miss that. We're gathering at D1's house to late celebrate Baby Man's 3rd birthday -- he was busy last Friday, and we only FaceTimed with him. We haven't seen him or Little Man in a few weeks -- Little Man took his Mom to Chicago and got to have "the best day of his life" at the Field Museum.

After, we have a grown up pregame at D2's house, before my birthday dinner with family, at The Palm. I know Max would approve of celebrating life -- once proper respects to the departed have been paid.

Wifey noted the MANY deaths lately -- since her sister of another mister Elizabeth died in her sleep in May of 2021. Recently Kenny's Dad Manny, Jeannette's husband Bob, Loni's Dad Don, and most recently Bill -- Stu's Dad. We also lost our friend Susan who just turned 64.

As Kenny points out -- it's just a matter of mortality tables -- the longer we live, the more we lose.

Max was a happy outlier -- nearing 98 and really ok until the final weeks. We'll honor him tomorrow, and then I'll get back to the business of living -- the year I become, hopefully, eligible for Medicare. Wow -- how did THAT happen to this UM freshman?

Time, Birthdays, and Yahrzeits

 July 14th -- Bastille Day. It's also my dear friend Mike's birthday -- he's 4 days older than I. I texted him our usual guy ball busting message -- hopefully Loni will role play with him at their NC vacation home.

I also posted Alan Parsons' "Time, " which became Norman and my song years ago on Wifey's 60th birthday cruise. We overpaid dearly for Crystal Lines, but they did have an excellent pianist -- for reasons now foggy Norman and I asked him to play some Parsons, and the only song he knew was the less than festive dirge about the passage of time. Apparently, it's a favorite at British funerals -- along with the song I would have: "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."

Anyway, the co-writer and lead singer on the song was Eric Woolfson, a Scottish Jew, and I pointed out on our text chat that he died at...that's right! 64! I need to maintain my nickname of "Obituary Dave," and realizing a songwriter died at the age of my cohorts' upcoming birthday is golden!

Saturday was a banner evening -- delicious dinner at Bourbon Steak -- and even finer company. Eric and I go back to 1979, Barry joined the band in 1980, and Paul in 1988. Talk about time flowing like a river...

I acquitted myself with 3 Ketels, and Wifey kindly drove us home, as we debriefed on the lives of our dear friends. Paul turns 75 in September, so he has an additional decade of life experience, but we late stage Boomers seem to be gaining some wisdom as we near Medicare eligibility -- particularly on the nature of our adult kids and now grandkids.

In fact, I have been SO happy lately, that I forgot, for most of the morning, the fact that today also marks the anniversary of the worst day of my life: Hy dying in my arms in the Delray barber shop. D2 reminded me -- she was going to light a candle for him later, a man she never met but knows because of a lifetime of hearing tales of him and what he meant to me.

Man -- what a day. Dad had asked me to go with him and Mom for his post hospital checkup, and I was annoyed. I had met some cool Wisconsin girls through my co-worker at Jordan Marsh in Boca, Donna, and we had a beach day planned. Hadn't I already done enough -- taking care of Mom during Dad's fortnight in the hospital? I mean -- he was fine -- he survived a heart attack -- couldn't he and Mom just go to his appointment and leave me to go back to being a 20 year old young, dumb, and full of ...vitality?

Dad said if if the doc wanted to re-admit him, he wanted me there. FINE. I could never refuse him -- I loved and adored him so, and sure enough the visit with Dr. Heller was routine -- these were days before statins, and Heller said to Dad -- maybe lay off the meat and eat more fish. After that, we went to Morrison's cafeteria, and Dad followed his advice -- getting the fish -- I got, I still remember, the brisket. Given that Dad's last meal was one he did NOT prefer -- I tend to go for the NY Strip when offered...

Anyway, after that he wanted a haircut, and so we drove to a strip center on Atlantic near the Turnpike -- Mom went to the Publix, Dad sat in the chair, and I noticed the fact that his haircutter was kind of cute and punk -- she had purple hair and tatoos. I was sitting behind, reading a magazine, and heard her yell "Sir! Sir!" Dad had slumped over and died.

Oh -- we gave him CPR (I still remember smelling the onions on his breath from that last fish meal) and the paramedics arrived and put him on a "thumper," but I knew he was gone. Mom came in, and I held her as they wheeled him out, and I told her "Everything will be all right" knowing it was a lie -- everything was about to CHANGE -- a lot.

We followed the rescue truck to Bethesda, and went inside, and they led us to a room.  About 20 minutes later a young ED doc came out, and they fumbled to assemble what I assumed was the "bereavement team," with a nurse and social worker. After waiting there like schmucks for these functionaries to arrive, I finally said to the doc "Dad died, right?" He nodded yes, and that was it. Neither Mom nor I needed to see his body -- and I simply told the late arriving social worker to please call The Neptune Society  where he had pre-arranged cremation.

And that, as they say, was that.

I turned 21 and had to become the real man of the family. I slept walked through my senior year of college -- applied to UF and UM Law -- got into both, but knew well Mom needed me close, to Gainesville was out.

And the Big Man must have had a plan and a nice one for me. Within 3 weeks in late Summer of 1983, I met Mike, my friend Jeff, and most significantly the person for whom I would buy a villa and name it after: Wifey.

So 1982 was my worst year -- heartbreak from a girlfriend in January, and the much worse loss of my man in July. But 10 years later? The birth of my precious D2, and making it big in the law biz.

Indeed time keeps flowing -- carrying away lovers and friends and ultimately all of us. In the mean time, this Friday I turn 64 -- and plan to celebrate with yet another NY Strip -- this time at the Palm. Little Man and Baby Man had busy weekends -- in Chicago and Naples, respectively. The plan is to go up early Friday and celebrate Baby Man's birthday late -- he turned 3 7/11 and we just got to FaceTime (tm) with him. A late cake awaits, which his brother will find more important than he will...

And I plan to toast my amazing family and friends -- all of us traveling together on this mortal coil. Life brings sadness, but also exquisiteness. That's the lesson to understand.