"Christmas IS for Kids"

When PinF was a kid Christmas was always a special time. And as quickly my mother would begin hiding the gifts, my brothers and I would begin to run reconnaissance snooping missions, trying to discover anything we could. My father on the otherhand would seemingly go about his business as usual, going to work and coming home, not really seeming affected by the season. His standard mantra throughout the holiday season was "Christmas is for kids", almost Grinch-ingly begrudging the joy we as children had for the holiday. He was into it and all, just a bit jaded I guess.

Sure enough as I have become a father myself, I can kind of find a kinship with these sentiments, since Christmas has become even more of a commercial barrage than it ever was when I was a kid. Truth be told, if I didn't have a child I'm not sure I'd even have a tree this year. PinF is preparing to celebrate his first Christmas in a long time as a single man again, something I'm actually OK with, instead worrying more for my daughter's welfare as she prepares to go through this holiday season with "her" family split and her parents in two different houses.

So all last this week and last, Sophia has been with me full-time as her mother visits her family abroad, not exactly an easy task, what with preparing lunches, ironing her uniforms for school, doing her homework, cooking dinner, giving baths (taming her wild hair afterwards), and then waking her up, preparing breakfast, doing her hair (I'm getting better everyday). All of this while trying to get myself ready, and timing it all perfect so as to get her to school in time enough to allow me the time to get to work. Phew. The point? We spend hours talking, playing, doing homework, and talking. Lately the majority of our talks have revolved around---you guessed it, Christmas.

So Monday I pick up my little chatty Cathy and she's totally aglow having just gotten her first report card with grades as opposed to the checkmarks that are used in 1st grade. Pride doesn't quite describe how I felt when I saw the 4-A's and 1-B on her report card. My pride was secondary to my joy in seeing her sense of achievement and accomplishment as a result of her study habits and discipline, not to mention the extra work we put into her math studies (B). Coincidentally enough when I picked her up at her friend's parent's that Monday afternoon they had just purchased their tree (Nov. 28), this wasn't going to bode well with my avoiding the onset of the holiday. All the way home she peppered me with "when can we get our tree" , with me responding "maybe this week-end". Truth is, I wasn't really in any hurry to be buying trees when we're still in November, not to mention I just wasn't feeling it as of late. Today I realized this was selfish and narrow-minded, and wasn't taking into account her excitement for the holiday season.

So today I just felt like I should get the damn tree and started remembering what it was like when I was a kid and just how excited you do get, not to mention I was still feeling chuffed over her report card and figured she deserved a treat. As soon as I picked her up I drove straight to the tree stand without saying a word, as we approached she figured out it was "time" and you could see her face lighting up, and the closer we got to the trees the more I was excited to let her pick whichever one she wanted. Afterall, this has been a tough year on everyone-- especially her, so I wanted to see her happy and if she wanted a tree on the last day in November-- than so be it. We then had to buy a stand, lights and a whole host of peripherals. Sophia was beaming, and I was feeling pretty smart myself. When we got home, she did her homework while I cooked dinner and I had a feeling so I asked her to check the TV guide to see what was on, and guess what was? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Talk a bout a time warp, how weird is it to sit and watch the very show I would watch year in and year out as a child with my brothers. These shows to children are such a part of the whole holiday season. So there we sat eating our ice cream, watching a show I must have seen at least 20 times in my life, with the Douglas Fir wafting throughout the house.

My dad was right, Christmas is for kids. What he didn't tell us was that there's a kid in all of us, no matter how old you are. And so for about an hour I was a kid again with Sophia, remembering the days many years ago sitting in Drexel Hill with my brothers just as she will one day remember these times as her memories. So PinF has officially begun his Christmas season courtesy of the gentle, persistent, prodding of his "kid". PinF is all the more thankful for Sophia having reminded me that Christmas is for kids, and that as adults we have to remember this and not get caught up in our own day-to-day distractions. So bring on The Grinch and Frosty, I'm ready now.

Good Riddance

End of Hurricane Season Party tonight @ PinF's 8PM until ?....... attendance: Mandatory.
As a courtesy, PinF has begun the ticketing process for all fans of PinF. I just woke up and poured some rum in my coffee to start the celebration, yoohoo.

Reaping the Bounty

Ok, so I'm sure everyone's Thanksgiving was delicious. With this in mind, I'm not going to go into any great detail regarding PinF's meal, it was delicious, and the day was full of poignancy and fun. The weather was quite spectacular-- sunny, hot, and just about as beautiful as could be. There's something weird about starting your day looking at chilly spectators lining a parade route at some northeast parade on TV, and then stepping outside in bare feet and shorts. It takes a little getting used too, but believe me once you are, it's almost hard to imagine your holiday any other way. Sophia and I used this weather as a springboard for our entire extended weekend, one that featured the motorcycle quite a bit.

Saturday Sophie and I loaded up and headed out at 10AM for the West Palm Beach green market. One of the nice aspects of Florida in the winter is the variety of outdoor events that take place more regularly because of the cooler weather. Art festivals, musical events, and of course the venerable green markets, an event which harkens back to the day when the farmers located about 30 miles west of the coast would bring their bounty to the street markets. Of course the idea has been polished a bit, probably because of the fact that we're two miles from Palm Beach island, still there are the mom and pop farmers alongside the nouveau "goatcheese" dealers and florists, all of which make for a nice little market. These little markets spring up in every community from October to April, just in time to capture the flowing dollars of our neighbors to the north while also complimenting the almost spring-like winter weather.

Of course along with the farmers, bakers, florists, and other agricultural tenants come other "lesser" known purveyors of goods and services. These are the one's that make the market, they give it color and fun. Take for instance the old man playing the flute...people don't realize that this was integral part of agriculture back in the day, as the farmers didn't have jam boxes back then. These men were the "charmers" playing to get the fields to grow I suppose. Sophia and I especially liked when he went into some christmas selections. This guy garnered several dollars from Sophie and I due to his ingenuity and skill, not to mention his ability to really play to his crowd with those christmas favorites.

Moving along we started to notice the decidedly "christmas" feel to the market, as Sophia spied some pine cone christmas trees on a table being sold by a florist. Of course they were crafty and eye catching so I naturally told Sophia to pick "one".......suffice to say I spent twenty minutes at the table while she tried to whittle me down to purchasing three, as she couldn't "pick just one". Eventually she did choose one, and we were free to once again move about in the beautiful sunshiney day......where exactly the "pine-cone christmas tree maker" fits in to the agriculture of yesteryear I'm not really sure.

By now Sophie and I were getting our groove, and after sampling numerous items of cheese, croissants, and other tidbits we were in search of the real Florida. We found it in a very unlikely place in the form of a young man plying his "agriculturally rich" trade on the side walk. His service left very little to purchase, but as he demonstrated I could imagine the farmers of yester-year being motivated to harvest even more bounty. Struggle as I did with the sense of allowing this young man into a "green" market, Sophia seemed to get a bigger kick out of this guy than anyone. He was nothing if not enterprising, his skill was "magic tricks" and he seemed quite nice too, he gave Sophia three card tricks for a dollar.

Just as I began to wonder what type of farmer's market employs card tricks as a featured "service", Sophia and I stumbled upon another highlight of the market. I spotted a dread-locked young man with happy grin and a large mug of coffee, just chilling and feeling no particlar need to "hawk" his goods like the many other vendors. His approach was much more laid back, as he let his artwork speak for itself. I use the term "artwork" loosely, as his work was both art and implement. Following a centuries old craft he constructs various hats and goods from the ever abundant palm fronds found, well-- just about anywhere here in Florida. Still this was a big favorite of PinF and daughter, especially with the little bird add-on that sprouts from the top of the hat. Malcom was from the British Virgin Islands, and his wares were expertly made, unlike some other vendors I could actually imagine a farmworker using his items.

By now the sun was high and hot in the sky, and it was approaching 11:30 AM, Sophia and I had already agreed upon a lunch outside on the promenade surrounding the fountain at Bellagio at City Place but we first had an appointment at Barne's&Noble. Sophie adores the bookstore, again something I thank God for as she has little knowledge of any video games and for good reason. These were banned by act of parental decree some 4 years ago by none other than PinF, as I run a democratic-dictatorship--this is where we openly discuss all issues and I make the final ruling, with I might add-- no room for appeal or input. I've seen the effects of children who sit on a couch all day thumbing away at some fantasy land, so I decided early on that they were banned, and not only for Sophia, but anyone, friend or family that might bring them into my house. Sophia is all the wiser for this decision, and to be honest, she doesn't miss what she's never had. She loves books, and this makes PinF very happy to purchase them for her whenever she wants them. Before heading uptown on the bike we stopped at the fountains of Clematis Street in downtown West Palm where I took this photo. After this Sophia wanted to take a photo of me, so after manning the camera all day I allowed her one shot. We finally headed off to the bookstore and our lunch, something that we were both looking forward to as Bellagio is a great Italian restaurant to just people watch-- not to mention great food.

Sophia and I were able to secure a key table on the plaza, with the giant christmas tree set off to the right of the dancing water fountains. We both reviewed our ride and our day, relishing in all the fun moments and colorful characters we had met. Sophia ordered her standard: penne pasta, butter only with a side of crusty bread and butter. I had the beef carpaciao with mixed greens and fresh shaved parmigano in a balsamic vinegarette. Suffice to say we were both very content, she with her new books and me just relishing the moment. I recognize all too well how my time with her will slip away unseen someday. For now I make a point of trying to savor each little moment and make a fuss out of the ordinary, becuase I know she'll remember the "big moments" of her life, I'm trying to help her remember the simpler one's like today. As we ate we commented on well, everything-- the people, the pigeons who kept begging-- and why we shouldn't feed them, and of course christmas. Still we had other fun to be had, we were on our way to meet her girlfriend Sofia, and go the beach for the rest of the day. Sofia, same name different spelling, has been Sophia's friend since pre-school and she too is bi-lingual, so these two are like two peas in a pod.

The beach was just gorgeous. Blue water, sunny skies, and lots of people. Sophia and Sofia played while I just enjoyed the scene, taking it all in and musing over my holiday weekend. In many ways it was nice not to be home for the holiday surrounded by the demands and pressures that short visits inevitably bring. Of course there is no replacing the familiarity of family and friends, though the longer I stay in Florida the more I realize that "home" is where my daughter and I are, not where my memories are. This is without doubt the hardest aspect of being a PinF during the holidays and recent crisis with my father. My heart is in Florida and my thoughts are in Philly, something I suppose will always be that way. All things considered I can deal with this as life is all about change, something that like the green markets of winter, come and go.

Duncan Hines Sucks (and other truths)

PinF was born on Thanksgiving Day 1962.

Of course my birthday doesn't always fall on the holiday, still Thanksgiving always reminds PinF of his birthday because as a child this is when the birthday hoopla would take place. Growing up with four brothers we usually celebrated Thanksgiving dinner at our house, as road trips with a family would be difficult, not to mention who wants to invite 7 people? As kids I think this was just fine with all of us as we had things to do; football in the street, the parade, ride your bikes and any other activity that celebrated your freedom from school. Of course nothing beat mom's cooking anyway, to look at any of the Paynter boys today you'd never know what finicky eaters we all were as kids.

The normal attendance at my parent's home for the Thanksgivings of my youth was always my father's mother, mom-mom. An incredible woman who herself was a nurse for fifty+ years right up until her death at age 74 in 1981. I think of this often as I've watched my father respond to the nurses attending him and have wondered if he feels just a bit more nearer his mother. Though now as a parent myself, I can see more objectively both the blessings and the curses of this woman, though curse is probably too harsh a word. She was loving too a fault, which usually meant she stuck her nose where often times it didn't belong when it came to issues of ether of my parents reprimanding us kids. This of course would cause friction between my parents and so on. So the Thanksgivings of my youth are peppered with the inevitable family conflict. But that's family right? And isn't it usually the most emotion packed holidays when tensions and troubles seem to rise like a souffle? So this is what you'd have: the doting grandmother, a lifelong artist friend Mina Smith from Philadelphia, and either my mother's twin sister's or occasionally her oldest most controlling sister, the one we all have-- Aunt Mary. So put all these people in a bag- shake for 5 minutes, open and distribute around the dining room table, sprinkle 5 boys seperated by 11 years and you have the perfect recipe for the typical Thanksgiving. These are funny memories that I know all brothers remember, in different ways mind you, but for better or worse, they're OUR special bonding and shared pasts of years gone by. This is one of the special dividends you get with siblings, especially grouped close in age-- you all get a history of your entire lives, the funny the bad, the embarassments, the triumphs, and everything else in between.

My parent's were fun parents, whereas some people might have felt overwhelmed with the thought of taking 5 boys in a car downtown for the parade, they didn't. We all would go, this is without doubt an experience all children should enjoy at least once in their live's. I've already brought my own daughter to the parade in Philly twice. Nothing prepared you for a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner like the chilly air of the parade, added to this the warmth of the fireplace surrounded by family and friends and you a memorable day. My mother for all her skills in the kitchen would inevitably bake my "birthday cake" every year, I say this in quotations because just as inevitably, something would always happen to that damn cake. I know if my mom is reading this now she's cracking up and smiling ear to ear, because my mom's nothing if not able to laugh hardest at herself. A trait learned I'm sure, by doing nothing less than living life head on and taking all it has to offer. I am very thankful for her indeed. God bless her becuase every year she would "doctor" the cake before presenting it, and every year there would be the obligatory apology for this year's "problem" . I'm cracking up recalling this now.....and if I'm being honest, and I AM, I clearly remember being 7, 8, or 9 years-old, and lying like a child does when he doesn't want his parent's to know that the kid knows there's no Santa Claus. I would say things like "it's ok Mom" , or "It's great, really it doesn't taste burnt?" So concerned was I with hurting her feelings during an obviously pressured filled day, that the cake's quality wasn't what was important. So as it often does in life, the holiday meal preparation would inevitably fall apart at its weakest point--this was usually the Duncan Hines "link" of the chain. Normally the "incidents" were always the same culprits, they would usually include-"left in the oven too long", or baked without one of the few ingredients, in an absent minded moment of confusion. My mother and I have laughed long and loud over these memories, and sitting here now I chuckle as I recall the debacles of my "cakes". Though I know too, that I wouldn't have had it any other way. This takes nothing away from meal though, they were always perfectly delicious- especially that corn casserole.

My phone was ringing at 8AM today with no caller ID. As I have the last few weeks, I steel myself with every Philadelphia area code call, odd hour-of-the-day calls, and the one's with no caller ID. I was just preparing the coffee, checking the bird, and planning my day when it rang. Sophia was yet to wake and I was tuning in the parade for her. The caller identified himself as Dr. Jones, he assured me first that his call was not related to any change in my father's status. He was calling to inform me that my father was scheduled to have a cardiac procedure to clear a major artery already precariously blocked; I being the Power of Attorney he was in need of my authorization. As he droned on about the "percentages" of complications, the possible outcomes, and a host of other technical, yet necessary information regarding William Paynter patient, as opposed to Bill Paynter my father, I patiently listened. He was nothing if not the most thorough man I've spoken to, and his tone was one of genuine care and professional confidence. He asked me if I had any questions and I mustered one or two foggy queries. With that it was done. He will be taken at 9AM tomorrow for yet another procedure, all which I must keep asking myself whether I am making the right choices. As of now, I am. He's making progress and I must allow for him every chance to build on his progress. Still it's difficult.

PinF was extremely blessed the other day to receive birthday wishes from all over the globe, in the form of email's, phone calls, and cards. Still the one thing that I realized more than any other, was that this was the first year of my entire life that I have not spoken to my father on my birthday. This call this morning had the same effect on me, it made me realize that as much as my life is "happening" right now with regards to planning mine and Sophia's dinner, watching the parade, and planning a beach trip, he is "there". Here the man that has been at the "head of table" of so many of those dinners of my past is now spending his Thanksgiving where he did 43 years ago waiting for me and my mom--in the hospital. It kind of brought the whole situation to the forefront to start my day with a surgeon, an obviously dedicated man, as he was calling me from just outside my father's room from the nurse's station on Thanksgiving holiday too. In one respect you want to humanize the process and make him understand that this is the man who carved so many turkeys, held me up for the parade, and threw the long bomb to us on the field. But you know you can't. That is just emotions of the moment rising when you hear the cold, calculated, language of medical reasoning, even as I know it is not possible for this Doctor to see your emotions, love, or yearnings for the person you know, to return.

So it's on with the show, as I'm sure my father would want it no other way. I have a little girl to chew my ear all day about her Christmas list, how lucky her cousins are that they live in Philly and can go to the parade, and how she wants snow too. Of course I could have never imagined reliving the summers of my youth on a beach Thanksgiving Day, but to her this is what she knows, so the uniqueness is lost on her. Little does she know her cousins would trade places in heatbeat to be going to the beach to make a sand castle while the turkey bastes. That's the funny part of life, how as children(and some adults), we always want what we don't have, when in actuality she has an 80* day without a cloud in the sky to enjoy in her bathing suit in the sand. My father loves the beach, and I shall remember him today as I look out at this beautiful day and I'll say a little prayer instead of running all the medical odds throught my mind that his Doctor most thoroughly started my day with. Still in many ways I'm much more thankful than I would have imagined a few weeks ago, my father has a fighting chance and no one's giving up on him, for this he has himself to thank . I'll miss my brothers, mother, and various other guests today as they gather in Manayunk, though I'll be in touch by phone, and I'll kind of be there by memory too.

As for right now, PinF can smell the bacon calling him and my coffee mug is empty. Sophia lies behind in me bed watching the parade schreeching with excitement of her pop star favorites and complaining "how they're soo lucky!!" to all the spectators. As I look outside, there's a cobalt-blue sky with a brilliantly unobstructed sun, temperatures are rising and so is PinF's yearning to get to the beach and really be so thankful for so very much. That's today's story, Thursday November, 25 2005 in the life of PinF.

God Bless All.

Wise not Old

Tuesday, November 22 2005

You may feel you are in the right place today--everything just automatically falls into place. All the numbers add up and there are no complaints from the public, especially if you are working in a Complaint Department or in an Employee Department. Money benefits come your way today. This is a nice day that should just flow along. Enjoy the company of your loved ones this afternoon. Meditate to relax your mind. This evening you will do well in activities that include children, young people and your home and surroundings. You could feel real support and harmony at this time for circumstances and those around you. You are compassionate. You also enjoy serving others, you worry about their welfare. Let others serve you for a change.


If you look carefully, you'll see the passing sailboat, further proof that Paynter-truly-is-in-Florida. Today is my birthday-- no fanfare just a little dinner with Sophia. Who's believing 4? years ago today my poor mother was stuck in Delaware County Memorial on Thanksgiving day having her own butterball. I've always felt mothers should join in on their children's birthdays as if it were theirs too, I mean they did all the work. So happy anniversary of my birth to my mom, and happy birthday to me. Another year, jeez where do they go?

Giving Thanks

I've been back in Florida almost a week now and I am only now starting to feel as though I'm really "here", still I give thanks. Separating my concerns for what has obviously been an ongoing and worrisome situation back in Philly, and trying to focus on Sophia and my job has not been easy. Added to this equation the upcoming over-hyped, hyper commercialized, holiday season blitz and it's enough to make you wanna retreat to an little island somewhere. Of course this isn't an option either, since all of my concerns and responsibilities would be hovering over my umbrella on the beach as I enjoyed my ice cold Corona.

Arriving home was good, Sophia and her mother came to Pick me up from Palm Beach airport. Owing to the fact that my bag had not yet appeared on the carousel, Sophia jumped out of the car and came inside to wait with me as her mami did another pass around the airport. There's nothing like the adoration of your child to make things seem better as she clung to me like lint from a dryer. For this alone I gave thanks. We talked about school, her field trip, oh and her math test was a proud topic as well. Of course what she really wanted to know was what had I brought her, as I always pick up something for her when I travel.

Sophie had patiently waited for me to see the premiere of Zathura, since we always do movies together, she had even declined seeing it with friends until I arrived- funny kid. After two days of work I had a weekend to finally give her the attention she deserved and that I missed. Friday night started out with another premiere: Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire. Now PinF isn't that big a fan of HP movies, still it seemed the thing to do with all the buzz surrounding the movie so off we went. As we arrived Sophie and I noticed all the kids dressed as different little characters, it was as if HP was to kids what Rocky Horror was to adults. If I saw one more kid in round spectacles waving a wand....thank God she's not into that. The movie was decent, the special effects mesmerizing, we ate popcorn and Goobers-- our standard fare for movies. Again as I sat there with her I gave thanks for such simple pleasures.

We continued on with our weekend, a rainy one but warm. Started Saturday with a pancake breakfast and some music. Then we did something I hadn't done for a long time, we broke out some magazines and glue sticks and made a collage laughing and joking all afternoon. It was pretty good actually, as she is a creative little girl. We used some old Philadelphia magazines so of course the collage had a Philly slant to it, as she considers herself a "Philly girl" which is kind of funny too. As the rain pounded the windows we spent the day just relaxing with our project, both us content in the moment and each other's company. Moments like these make me give thanks too. The afternoon was the highlight as we went to the Publix and bought all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and spent the rest of the day baking, this was fun. It brought back warm memories of my own childhood, when I too would get to eat the cookie dough from the bowl. Funny how in life there really are constants to draw memory from, and toll house cookies are one of them. No matter how long ago you made them, the recipe guarantees the same exact taste that you remember. Give thanks for this.

Sunday we awoke and went to mass after which Sophie went to Catetchism class in preparation for her Holy Communion. This allowed me a power hour to get the Sunday paper and peruse over it while enjoying a Stabucks caramel machiato. Sophia loves Sunday school, I mean really loves it. Funny because I can remember my brothers and I skipping St. Charles mass and Sunday school in Drexel Hill and then taking our collection money and buying penny candy. From there we would go to the "trestle" that carried the trolleys over the creek and hide out, making each other laugh with mouthfuls of candy. Ultimately we would then devote a certain amount of time to getting our stories straight before heading home for Sunday breakfast. That she loves Sunday school I am also thankful for, mystified--but thankful just the same.

Sunday was rainy too. Weekends like these begin to cut into a parent's imaginative creativity. It is because of this that I give thanks on days like these that I am parent to one child, and not three or four. When we returned from church I promised Sophie I would take her to Build-a-Bear to get a new holiday outfit for her bear. We were both feeling the slight effects of cabin fever so it was actually nice to visit a mall for once, something PinF does not normally enjoy. After "bathing" the bear and dressing her in her new outfit there was another issue to tend to. I had brought Sophia to have her ears pierced in August, she naturally chose the cubic zirconia "bling" from Claire's. For anyone who has never been to Claire's, well let's just say it's more of a mami/daughter place as it was next to impossible to get her out of the store, it's also quite simply put, nivana for young girly girls. Yet here I was heading back into the belly of the beast because Sophia had taken one earing out and had waited a few days before putting it back in. The young lady informed me the hole had filled in, ouch. This meant a re-piercing and Sophia wasn't really down with that. We got it done anyway with the promise/bribe of a small binge shop in Claire's if she complied. She put on a brave face and got through it, promising me that she would not take out these earings until Valentines, at which time the holes would be a bit more permanent. Her consternation at having to re-pierce the ear was lightened up when she told me that I didn't know what it felt like, at which I revealed I did, and that I had once pierced my ear. She's still asking me questions about this. I gave thanks that she got through it.

We arrived home and each of us quickly changed into our Eagles paraphanalia; she in her pink hat and pink Eagles shirt, me in my green Eagles hat. We watched the first few minutes, and then she bailed, choosing instead to work on the computer. The Eagles of course let us down again though we each shrugged it off and continued our weekend. Dinner was meatballs and spaghetti followed by the chocolate chip cookies. Homework was a snap, and then it was bath time and off to bed by 8:45. I spent the last hour ironing her uniform and making her lunch savoring the laid back weekend I had with a funny little seven year-old, while marveling at all we had accomplished, though none of what we did ever seemed forced. I turned the lights out and made sure she had her blanket on, and as I looked in on her I thought of my father and how child-like he too seemed and I wondered how he was. I gave her a kiss and gave thanks for the wonderful little person I was given.

As we head into the Thanksgiving week it's so easy to get caught up in the day to day grind, worrying about what we don't have. The funny thing about Americans is exactly that, we worry about what we don't have, whereas most of the world worries about what they don't have, but really need. We are such a pampered bunch of commercial consumers that we forget our blessings, and focus more on the "stuff" in life. Case in point: the mall yesterday, how obscene has Christmas become that a little after Halloween you begin to be bombarded with the commercial blitz. In a era of families whose father's, son's, and mother's, are soldiers dying far from home, and hundreds of thousands of people are still displaced by natural calamities, it's almost sinful to worry about what you haven't got. I'm just as guilty mind you, though weekends like the one I just had do tend to draw me back into what's really important and what I ought to be really thankful for. And so I am, having just been through the ongoing process of my father's medial condition and then to have that contrasted by the spirit of my daughter's zest for life. I will try to give thanks for the simple, more obvious blessings, and care less for what I have not got that I do not need.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you from PinF.

Songs in Our Hearts

I'm preparing to leave now, my father still fighting and still refusing to cede his earthly existence. Of course I expected a much more sad outcome when I left Palm Beach on Saturday, so this is in many ways is great news. One thing I have learned during this ordeal is that even the smallest of medical triumphs create ten more questions, often one's I don't have the answers to. What I have tried to do through this is stay in the moment, never letting myself veer to far ahead of the situation, which as humans we're all guilty of from time to time. So I will visit today and let my father know this time I am leaving, as he seems to have some of his cognition. I will return as his improvement warrants, though for now I know my presence is needed back "home", even though I have many, many, memories as well as friends and family here in Pennsylvania; my home is in Florida with my daughter.

However upsetting the past month has been, it has been at times equal parts joy and fun. PinF was raised in a household of music. I thought to myself as I looked on at my three brothers at Sligo's, how many people there would be surprised to know that my mother is very much responsible for the show they were seeing. Having learned the guitar while she was still raising her five sons, PinF can recall many nights sitting at kitchen table singing with his mother to famous folk songs. PinF's father was always a lover of music as well, though his love was for the listening enjoyment that the songs and the music gave. I remember going over to Lansdowne Avenue as a boy with my dad to the record store so he could purchase the latest Johnny Cash album, something we as his son's were all raised on. I was recalling a fond memory of how when we were all children, my parents took all of us to the Spectrum to see Johnny Cash live in 1969 or so. I guess they couldn't get a babysitter.

My mom was more hip with the music, Carly Simon, Carole King, and James Taylor come to mind as music of my youth, something quite cool as I could listen to any one of these singers today and they would still be cutting edge. It was many a reggae shows she attended with all of her son's as well. So it's always been about the music in our family, mom playing and dad cranking corny country stars on the stereo. Still, it would be our youngest brother Scott who would benefit most directly from my mother's guitar skills, learning at age 7 or 8 to play, everyone else who plays either learned later in life, or in the case of my brother Bill--was self taught.

The music has always revolved around all of us, so when I arrived at the hospital Sunday morning I had my CD walkman and a set of earplugs; figuring one many can only watch so much TV. Not to mention I know how my father LOVES Frank Sinatra, so I intended to allow him to "leave" that hospital room and drift off to better and less painful times. It worked. No sooner had I put the ear plugs in and the dulcet tones of Frank began to fill his ears he seemed less tense, he even let out a smile. Then he started to try to snap his fingers, he couldn't, but I knew what he was trying to do. It was all about the music again, he was for the first time probably free of all his pain and worry and I could see in him the peace of the moment.

The power of music has never been lost on anyone in our family as we have such diverse tastes that nothing really surprises any of us. The other night of music proved that power yet again as I looked around the room and saw the numerous family and friends who had come, all drawn to the music. It was an incredibly pressure releasing event, allowing all of us to just put down all our troubles of the past few weeks and enjoy with so many special people in our lives. Many of the friends I saw are friends I have known and loved for thirty years or more, their own lives woven into mine. These are the people who color us in, these are the one's who "knew us when", nights such as these are made more special by their presence. I had the good fortune to be contacted by so many old friends during my father's illness, some I had not heard from in years. Each of them brought their own tune to my father's still playing song of life, and for this I am touched and grateful. They know who they are, and how much their words and company has meant to myself and indeed all of my brothers over the past month.

So as I prepare to leave, I ready myself to go out the way I came in--with music in my ears. My father is far from out of the woods, but he's making progress, so I'll monitor events for a while from home and see where we go from here. Still it was kind of neat to see the music bind us all as one this weekend, though my father would have loved to have been there, I know in his own way he was "there", listening instead to Johnny Cash, and Frank Sinatra. The music has always been our bond, and it's nice to see how it can bond through the tough times just as easily as the good. It's easy to have a song playing in your ears, the secret is to get it to play in your heart. PinF will touch base with you all when he returns to FLORIDA. Be well.