(ch) ILLING

Took the day off today.

Sophia is sick with strep throat, the first illness of the year, potentially knocking her out of contention for her first spelling quiz of the year tomorrow. She's touch and go right now, though her sense of pride and duty have her claiming that she'll be in school tomorrow. She's on the SOP of anti-biotic for 10 days, and a diet high in fluids, so we'll just have to make a launch-pad call tomorrow morning regarding whether she's a GO for school tomorrow.

In one way it's good she gets sick now since Sophia doesn't really miss much school to illness, actually she really doesn't get sick but one a year, usually the same old culprits---strep, ear infections, or the plain old cold. Funny enough the kid probably misses more school due to sanctioned travel than she does illness. You know they're sick though when they take a nap in the afternoon, she's been in and out all day, battling a slight fever and nasty raw cough. It's been a straight diet of Campbell's, Gatorade, water and cherry Popsicles.

Still, a little down time allows PinF to get his house in order---something I haven't addressed in earnest since returning from Europe---so I'm on the top-to-bottom cleaning mission. Seeing how my weekends are usually spent outdoors, it's actually good to have a little time to straighten things up.

Speaking of spelling quiz's, PinF has updated his blog somewhat, trying to keep up with recent technologies offered to Blogger. On my last post, directly below this, you'll notice I've added a technological bit of candy to the post----and this one is bittersweet, it is the lost footage of Sophia's Spelling Bee 2006. If nothing else it drives her---to be even more vigilante and better prepared....hence her reticence at missing tomorrow's spelling quiz. Not to mention she was without doubt the cutest entrant that day.

The other update is long overdue. Ever since PinF returned from Europe he's noticed more an more European IP addresses visiting. So out of deference to my non-English speaking visitors I've added the translation tool to PinF. you never know when one of my friends from China or Brazil will be stopping by. The other new feature, would be my first off-shoot Blog, PinF's reading list. This area is still under construction so be careful, though essentially it'll be a forum to suggest, discuss, and review books. I've read so many great one's in the past 6 months, and they're kind of like movies, in that if they aren't fresh on your mind it's often hard to recommend them. So this will be a place where they can be recommended. So that's about it, just a few minor tweaks here and there. Ok, gotta finish running the vaccum and then get some type of dinner ready for patient #1.

Studying, Spelling, and Singing

PinF grew up in a large family. He had four brothers and two obviously busy parents. And while mine was a happy childhood, it was in many ways like many other peoples’, fraught with change, loss, and a sense of mayhem, much like you’d expect in a family with five boys. One of the greatest advantages of having an only child is the ability to devote extra time with your child as well as the unique relationship that is formed by virtue of having a one-on-one relationship. While I would have in many ways preferred having a large family myself, I especially enjoy only having one child too. For starters, we each understand each other’s temperaments, likes, dislikes, and quirks. We also enjoy an ease of communication that is often non-existent or infrequent when there are more than one child in the equation.

Communication between Sophie and me is easy, open, and frank. She understands that while I am her father, I am completely approachable, fair, and understanding of her hopes, fears, and needs. Figuring I have just one child, that’s the way I want it, so that as she grows up she and I will continue to have not just a father-daughter relationship, but a friendship as well. This relationship only continues to get better as she gets older especially since she is so poised for her age and expressive of her thoughts. We have routines, and I think she enjoys them almost in a ritual sense, whether it is church on Sunday, or Boogie Boarding on Saturdays, she knows what she gets with me, she knows also that I am her go-to-guy. I’ve tried to be very conscious of never making promises I cannot keep, especially since she is my only child.

Some might call this relationship spoiling, others have called it special. Whether it be exploring the Florida Keys, or attending a concert, we each enjoy the other’s company completely. Much of my enjoyment comes from seeing Sophie set goals, not so much for my sake, but for hers, again something not often found in a little girl who just turned 9. I would guess that this too is a result of the confidence she gains from being an only child. I have so many friends who have neither the time nor interest in investing the "extra" time in their children, either due to career or other family commitments, or sometimes it come down to plain old disinterest.

In return I demand very little. Manners, proper behavior, and doing what I expect of her are it. Luckily for me, the constant reminding of these few rules has both through repetition and expectation, created a polite, nice, and for the most part responsible child. She always does her homework immediately upon arriving from school, again a routine. So it is as we start yet another year on her journey through the school years. The routines are the same, the excitement is the same, and the expectations of behavior and performance are the same. What isn’t the same is the little girl. She has left a certain stage of "littleness", and has shed some of the self-doubt that is found in the first few years.

In its place is a new confidence and maturity that somehow just seems to arrive like a new tooth. Sophie sat at the kitchen table yesterday and explained to me her approach for getting "...all A’s…" this year. She then told me she aims to make the safety patrol in fifth grade and how the selection process begins now for fourth graders starting with class behavior, as all fourth grade teachers nominate the students that demonstrate the traits they seek. So it’s now. She’s out to win the orange belt, and with it, the coveted fifth grade field trip to Washington D.C. This of course is quite a big deal to children in southern Florida since D.C. is a thousand miles away both literally and figuratively in the minds of children.

Her other goal? Win the Spelling Bee. Sophie still hasn’t forgiven herself for misspelling such an "easy" word last year, and she’s aiming to bounce back. My response is typical of most parents, just do your best, ask questions if you don’t understand and behave like I expect her to. All A’s is nice, but let’s not get too obsessed with this, the three A’s and two B’s were good too. Still, the wonder to me as a father is her desire to set and attain such goals at such an age. Maybe, though I doubt, I once set such lofty goals as a nine year-old myself. Either way it’s a real joy to have a child who is so focused on her own hopes and dreams. This weekend Sophie gets to do what she’s wanted to do forever---sing. Her first rehearsal with her new choir is this Sunday and she couldn’t be more excited.

These are hectic days in way as I must schedule pick-ups, custody days, shuttling to practices and rehearsals and all the other activities little girls engage in such as sleepovers and parties. Still, I am completely cognizant and appreciative of these years, as I know well how fast they are going as well as the importance we will each assign to them someday down the road. Because of this I try as hard as I can to live in the moment and enjoy the simple, mundane pleasures of day to day fathering.

Luckily for me I am blessed with a little girl that makes it easy to be a good father.

1st Day of 4th Grade

These are the Days--Truly.

Went to the beach with Sophia yesterday. Never mind that it was Saturday, traditionally a beach day for us anyway. We had work to do. Sophia had finally graduated from toy to tool. Gone was her $7.99 plastic coated, Styrofoam constructed boogie board, and in it's place was the new Body Glove "Crush 39" contoured laminate Boogie Board. That's right, she had graduated to the junior leagues. And high time as well, considering Sophia is a child of the ocean and did in fact take her first dip two weeks after her birth in July 1998 she was afterall well schooled in beach activity.

Still, Sophie's Boogie Boarding skills had been forged slowly, due in large part to her healthy respect and occasional fear of the ocean's power, especially here in this part of Florida where the Gulf stream runs closer to the coast than anywhere else in North America. Having said this, once she got her first real ride she was hooked. Problem was she still had more of a toy boogie board, made of approximately the same weight of Styrofoam as you'd proabably find in a Dell computer box. She was ready, so I brought her to be fitted with her new "tool", explaining to her that the difference in ride would be akin to a bicycle vs. a motorcycle. She was psyched, as was I knowing full well the waves would be great this weekend.

The day was met with an auspicious display of both threatening clouds and rougher surf, due in large part to the strengthening storm to our south named Dean. This was initially met with great anticipation when we checked the surf report. It wasn't so welcomed after Sophie's first wave battered her off the board and tumbled her several times under the salty, foamy surf. She popped up down range about 15 meters and she had the look of tears, fear, and pain. I ran over, told her "she was OK" and encouraged her to get back out there. Initially she wanted nothing to do with it and possessed the face of a child who's had her first bicycle crash, I knew instinctively that to hug her now would only encourage the hanging tears welled in her eyes to drop, so I didn't. Instead I gave her some instruction on what waves to let pass, and which ones to take. She got back on her board and paddled back out armed with a bit more knowledge.

And good for her too. Not long after the initial scare the clouds opened and the blue sky burst through. The oceans' personality changed as well, almost as if it were willing to tone it down a notch for Sophia to get her technique down on her new board. Sure enough we went back in, this time the surf was offering swells much further out, allowing a longer, smoother ride without the slam ending at the surf's edge. It was at this point in the day that Sophia turned the corner on her Boogie Board skill set. She began to really ride the new and faster board, recognizing now not just how to ride it, but also steer it. She was getting 50 meter rides now, propped high on the white water. One look at her face and you could see she was hooked.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention Sophie had also picked out a UV protecting Body Glove surf shirt to wear with her bikini bottoms, so she totally "looked" the part. We, without doubt, spent at least 4 of our 6 hours on the beach in the ocean. This to me is equivalent to teaching her to ride her bike 5 years ago. Both events approached with eager anticipation, yet reserved fear. I explained to Sophia that overcoming her fear of the sea in it's rougher form is akin to overcoming many challenges in her life. I think she got it. If she didn't, she will someday, because I know that what we did on this Saturday August 18, 2007 will be in her mind as it is mine, forever.

These truly are the days. I'm lucky I get to spend them on such a beautiful beach with such a beautiful and nice daughter.

Changing Winds

The winds of change are starting to blow. Coincidentally they often blow and change at similar times of the year. The first wind to blow in was the school countdown, this has begun in earnest as Sophia has started to assemble her necessary gear and begin to face the reality of the end of her summer. Seems a bit preposterous I know, this being Florida where the weather always seems “summer like”, at least to those who live in colder regions anyway. The other winds of change you ask? Hurricanes -- those naturally occurring, seasonal nuisances with all their dread, worry, and fear. Just today it was announced that there’s one “out there”, though well off from Florida’s shores, it does in fact exist. No matter how far a hurricane is one is left with the reality that it’s moving towards us as opposed to away. It’s almost like knowing there will be an accident on your street a certain date, the problem is you don’t know who is going to be affected or to what degree.

School and storms; the two naturally occurring, though completely unrelated changes that seem to ride into town together just when summer was starting to feel routine. Children worry about the “end” of their lazy summer days, whereas adults worry about the danger that lurks beyond the horizon. It is of course the price we pay, so there’s no sense in trying to cry foul now, especially in light of the fact that we complain little about the absence of sleet, snow, and ice in January. Still maybe because I’m not originally from Florida I’ve come to really hate this period up until November 30th. The paranoia, the constant updates, warnings, and predictions, it all gets to be a bit much, never mind what it probably does to a child to be constantly bombarded with warnings of impending danger.

What’s a PinF to do? Well a lot, and nothing really. Number one, you stock up on the time tested items you know you’ll need -- water, candles, batteries, non-perishables and a grill. Then you try, as hard as it may be, to go about as normal an existence as possible, keeping one eye on the weather and the other on your risk tolerance. Having been through 5 or 6 hurricanes, several of which were quite serious, you begin to consider leaving the area if the probability of a direct hit is imminent. This is especially true when you have children, as it seems your tolerance for risk and adventure drops radically when the risk involves a life other than your own.

So here we go. Sophia and I will be out today shopping for the last “must have” items for 4th graders as I eagerly look forward to the time honored tradition of her first day of school next Wednesday. Of course coincidentally enough that would more or less coincide with the arrival of TD #4 Dean that is if it were in fact to continue its path and metamorphosis into a hurricane towards the PinF enclave. The fun is over in more ways than one. Summers’ over for Sophia, and the reality of what lurks is now something I must keep a wary eye on until November 30th. This in fact is just one more facet of being PaynterinFlorida. Though truth be told, it would be nice to one day be known as PaynterinAmsterdam, or maybe even PaynterinLondon, they each have a certain non-threatening ring to them.

Someday maybe.

Walking Towards The Sea

Note: Just found this. Something I scribed on the plane that I forgot about that better describes the where PinF was based for 10 days. As you can see I'm still unraveling all the notes to myself........

I’m cruising at 34,000 feet. Right now it is 2:40 pm GMT, 9:40 am EST. I’m neither sleepy nor totally awake, though almost everyone around me is asleep. I’m distracted to the point of grabbing my lap top and scribing some thoughts and observations I’ve been meaning to write down.

I left the US 16 days ago for what I thought would be a 10 day trip. As is often true with any traveling experience I come back changed, affected, and more enlightened. I went not really in search of anything in particular yet my travels took me to past places long since buried or forgotten. After more than 25 years of friendship I honored a promised made long ago to finally visit my friend in Denmark. The often cobble stoned and ancient streets of this tiny Scandinavian country were both friendly and fascinating. The Danish Royal Palace was surprisingly accessible to the both residents and visitors alike, something lost in most western nations due to paranoia and fear of terrorism. My first day was spent exclusively with my host, walking mile after mile for hours. We strolled the streets of Hans Christen Andersen, and drank Kroenenberg beer along the canals at New Haven.

The easy carefree pace of life is almost indicative of the slower pace in Europe where the emphasis seems to be on the quality of one’s life as opposed to the alternative, certainly not just a European trait, though it appears more prevalent here in Europe than the US. Sundays really seem like family days to Europeans and even the Brits, as you see more families sharing their day in more concentrated numbers. It almost seems to me that a good indicator of how well a people relax and enjoy the easier pleasures could be gauged by the amount of cafes found in a city or town, not to mention the various selections of quality national newspapers. By cafes I mean places that are for enjoying really good coffee and that may even serve light fare to eat. Everywhere I went in Denmark I found these wonderful little cafes were we could enjoy the simple pleasure of good coffee and conversation. This was true of England as well. Calling it aging, I'm sure on all my past visits to the UK and Europe this lifestyle existed though my priorities were probably focuse more towards the pubs and other diversions. Again, the advantage of learned wisdom.

My time spent in England this visit was some of the most enjoyable and fulfilling of all my many visits to the UK. Each day I would wake in this seaside town situated in the south east of England on the English Channel. I’ve never stayed anywhere that had such a prominent presence of gulls in my life, and each morning I’d wake to the sounds of the gulls squawking in the air and on the roofs of the typical English stone row houses where I was staying. As if they were my alarm clock, I would rise, grab my I-pod, and stroll through the equally old streets of Brighton on my way to the seafront promenade for my morning walk. Along the way I realized I was walking back through my own past twenty years ago as I walked past the maze of businesses where the cultural heartbeat is alive with the pulse of the diverse population and culture that now populate 21st century England. Within the former Royal summer destination that is Brighton lays a maze of ancient streets called the lanes. Carved into the city centuries ago when streets were made of mud and not much wider than a horse drawn cart’s width, these lanes survive today because of their unique cobble stoned streets and their obvious charm. I could never learn my way entirely through these little hidden lanes twenty years ago, and I still can’t today. Luckily my friend Phil knows them like the back of his hand, with accompanying stories and facts.

Upon entering you’re drawn into the small access alley-ways that funnel you in to the lanes. It’s as if you’re leaving present day and stepping back in time to a Dickenson-esque England. The lanes hold many unique shops and curious vendors, a world within a world if you will. The amazing beauty is in their almost catacomb feel as you wind around streets running at times parallel to the sea, until suddenly you turn a corner and the sea appears before you. For anyone who has never experienced this area it really is an amazing and unique feature of this seaside English city. Copenhagen had a similar area as well, though much larger streets, they were equally charming, where street musicians, pantomimes, and artists plied their trades. The other really neat and appreciated aspect of this city would be in its unique sense of self. For starters there are obviously people of many cultures and languages in Brighton as with any city in Europe. This fact is highlighted even more so by the proliferation of English language schools along the seafront and in town in Brighton and her sister city of Hove. There is something very satisfying to see and hear this type of cultural diversity.

I recognize this isn’t always the case with some people, and certainly there are those in Brighton who don’t share PinF’s affinity for such diversity, though as an outside visitor I see the international shine it places on the city. I feel as if we are constantly being reminded of the “global community” so why not really be in that community. Brighton surely is, filled with a richly diverse population attracted either to schools or other opportunities; its restaurants both echo and represent the England of today. The other and probably more striking aspect of this seaside community is that most residents either ignore or don’t realize; either to indifference or the fact that this is just how it is Brighton’s social diversity. The incredibly diverse community contained within Brighton; gay, lesbian, mods, punks, and rastas, it really has to be experienced to understand. Still, there is really no place else like it in that you can expect to see facially tattooed red haired punker walking down the very same street as a white guy with dreadlocks and body piercing followed by a mow hawked punk. No sooner have you gotten over these anomalies you’re likely to see a traditional Englishman in a pin striped suit and briefcase. So the city it self is really a study in social tolerance in both individual lifestyles as well as choices.

Who Knows Where Time Goes?

Funny how time flies. I'm just starting to get used to being back, work, and my life when I realize how fast it all went--the past few weeks, and years.

A week ago I was assembling my belongings on the 3rd floor of Over Street in Brighton preparing for the dreaded farewells of the next morning . Three weeks ago I was in the air, eagerly anticipating a long put off reunion with life long friends. One-hundred and four weeks ago I was walking my little girl into her "new" school after a particularly tough year on her and me for the start of 2nd grade. She had seen her parents split up and was now in a different school, a different house(s), and quite simply a different "place" because of the many changes in her little life. I know this because my life is kind of catalogued in this blog, and I'm able to time travel back to that day and all its contrastingly bittersweet moments. And though it's been two years since I last spoke to my dad on his birthday I still remember the day, the call, and the conversation. The changes of that summer were obviously tough on my daughter, but me as well, because aside from the divorce, I had spent the better part of July and early August in Philadelphia by my father's bedside as he slowly made a recovery from what appeared at the time as the abyss. It was a very bewildering time, away from my daughter, starting a new life single again, and then driving each day through my childhood, only to have to conjure even more painful memories of a childhood illness spent in the very same hospital I was visiting each day.

My dad would have been 74 today, so yes time truly does fly. PinF will celebrate the day just as he would've wanted. I'll get on down to my beach after work, the same beach I took him to and probably crack a cool one and remember some of the funnier and happier times, like the crazy off the wall matinee's at the Springfield Inn in sea Isle City, N.J. Though time has dulled the pain is hasn't filled the void; still, my memories are now colored in with more laughs than tears. Still to this day Sophia tells me she misses pop-pop, funny since she really had more of a phone relationship. Though when they were together she did really enjoy him, partly I guess since she was an only child. I think she tended to attach a greater connection from herself-to me-to my father. He was crazy about her too.

So there it is. Time has indeed gotten away from the PinF, a fact made ever apparent after visiting his friends in Europe. Though they've all aged by two decades, they still remain in the youthful and timeless glow of my ever aging memory; as must I in their memories. And so does the memory of my father on this his birthday, August 10. He's still that strong 30 something year-old guy standing in front of Barneget Lighthouse on LBI that summer of '71 with three of his sons. And so he remains, tan, strong, healthy and young. My old man loved music and for sure he'd be listening to some on his day. I'm listening to one of his favorites now, quite by coincidence really--Judy Collins. Still it couldn't be more appropriate for this post.

Across the morning sky,

All the bird are leaving,

Ah, how can they know it's time for them to go?

Before the winter fire,

We'll still be dreaming.

I do not count the time

Who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

Sad deserted shore,

Your fickle friends are leaving,

Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go,

But I will still be here,

I have no thought of leaving.

I do not count the time

Who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

And I'm not alone,

While my love is near me,

And I know,it will be so,till it's time to go,

So come the storms of winter ,

and then the birds in spring again.

I do not fear the time

Who knows how my love grows?

Who knows where the time goes?

Happy birthday dad, you are missed and warmly remembered.

A Wedding Tale

PinF was in a wedding the other day. Yep, that’s right I even found time for some marital bliss on this trip, and I couldn’t have been luckier to have been there. As many of you know, English weather can be rather fickle and damp, this summer has been no exception as PinF was greeted by downright chilly, damp conditions upon his return from chilly Denmark. Alas the sun did eventually show and I think with it, about 10,000 city residents to the beach. So did PinF. Upon returning from Denmark PinF had many friends to see which meant logistics and meals out with old friends. One such friend was my old buddy of twenty years BIG Paul Evans. I played football with Paul years ago and he even did a stint in America first at my house and then a year at Edinboro University in Erie.

And so it was that he and his lovely fiancé invited the PinF for a bit of Thai food, a favorite for sure. I had briefly seen the two of them the first night PinF flew into England when he attended a little party as a welcome into town. It was here where I met for the first time his girlfriend of 10 years, Natasha. She of Sardinian and English ethnicity, her beauty was second only to her wonderfully warm and friendly spirit and personality, so PinF was eager to have dinner with these two, besides maybe she had a sister? Kidding---and she doesn’t.

My friendship with Paul is a lot alike my other European friends, it has endured, survived and held steady in the face of impossible odds. Life changes and it moves to different stages, new phone numbers, new adresses. Deaths, marriages, divorces etc, enduring transatlantic friendships are further proof of the wonder of the Internet I guess. Either way he is on my short list of people I care to maintain a bond of communication with. So it was a week ago on Thursday July 26th, 3 days before the PinF is scheduled to return he’s brought into Paul and Natasha’s parlor to hear something. They announced they were doing a sort of eloping, and having their wedding but only inviting their parents and best man/woman and that they would like me to be there? Say again? I thought for sure it was a “wind up” and didn’t really believe it at first. I told Paul and Natasha how deeply honored I was that they would invite me to their day, but that I couldn't say whether or not if I’d make it. Instead I told them I would look into the possibility. Hell PinF had work and a life to get back to. Still I was here now, and who knows when I'd see these friends again?

Long story short I cleared it with work and made the necessary change to the ticket. PinF was in, I’d figured by now that I had come too far after too many years not to make this event if were at all doable---and it was. Of course with each obstacle overcome came more questions/problems. The least of which was what was I going to wear? Again, Big Paul sorted that too. He had secured a typically English double breasted suit in navy blue---and viola!! PinF was in the game. It’s been said by MofC that PinF’s “mushy”, I think not. I’m just a different flavor, you want silly gnome stories and goofy pizza notes with a bare assed tool belt photo you go to MofC, hell I do, he’s light fare, easy on the brain; little concentration is needed to take in his simple tales, still we often need this type of release and diversion so who am I to knock what he does, I'm a subscriber after all. Still to label any one person's web log as something specific is hard. Life irreverant, mushy, funny, sad. So is Chuck's tennis game, but that's another "mushy" post.

Still, readers come to PinF for different reasons. Possibly for my unique insight, or maybe even my wisdom of experience, perhaps readers of PinF can relate to the everyday failures, losses and love often found in these posts. This is a story of real love, real loss, and real tears. So now’s your chance to go look at the Daily Times of blogs and learn who got a DUI in media, Pa., or you can choose to hear the story of a really beautiful day that PinF should never of had the chance of attending but did through the perfect alignment of destiny, timing, and friendships.

As the week progressed it was decided that PinF would be further involved by doing a reading at the service. The "accent" was supposedly going to spice the event up I guess. Still, I was so honored just to be invited, that I was more than happy to contribute in any way the bride requested. It was decided the service would take place in a small town west of Brighton in the country called Lewes, along what’s known as the South Downs, rolling green hills of typical of much of the English countryside, the town itself well over a 1000 years old. The service was to be at St. Anne’s church a Church of England church. It was without doubt the most beautiful day of my stay in the UK, sunny, 78*, no humidity, just a perfect day in a perfect little English town on the downs.

The church was a 900 year old Saxon church, situated on a hill so that when it was built over a 1000 years ago it would be seen for miles around, even by those along the coast. I had jobs in the service so I had to get with the Vicar to discuss my reading, where I was to stand etc. Turns out he was a neat little guy and he was kind of amused by the American as well, and was too eager to tell me he was raised in Baltimore until age 10 because his father had been a teaching Doctor at Johns Hopkins. My instructions given and small talk out of the way I set about photographing this ancient little church and learning more from the Vicar about its history. It’s not often PinF has celebrated anything in any structure 900 years old, let alone a wedding, which got me to wondering just how many people had done “the deed” on this hallowed ground?

The Vicar reminded his American orator that in fact the number would obviously be in the thousands as the Vic explained to me that prior to the church being a Saxon church it was a Norman church for almost a 1000 years? Sweet baby Jesus!!!! As if this wasn’t enough, the Vic then stated that the location of which we stood was a Roman burial ground before the Norman church, making this church in which I stood a location of both religious and historical reverence for 2000 years!!! Wow now that’s some deep stuff, real deep... My next question? Well I think it’s probably obvious by now eh? Have they had any renovations on the church, it looked in remarkable condition? The Vicar, obviously impressed by my astute interest and questions regarding his church immediately chimed back and said “why yes we have renovations and quite recently”, he went on to say “the roof was replaced in the year 1500”, typically cheeky British humor of course, but amazing nevertheless. This just heightened the anticipation and importance of the day. I think I may have even been a little nervous.....

Of course, as with all wedding there was the obvious "behind the scenes" story taking place, and without delving too much into it here, so as to keep the focus of the specialness of the day I will say in provided the antagonistic sub-plot to our two protagonists. All the sweeter it'll seem down the road. As many of us know that the sweetest fruit is often surrounded by the prickliest thorns. This day was nothing if not a living example of familial interference--still the show went on. Where was I? Oh yes, we've all been given instructions and we're roughly 9 wedding party members, one Vicar, 4 choir ladies, and extremely old pipe organist (some said a Saxon), three elderly women from the parish, and four oriental immigrants sitting in the back witnessing. I felt almost as it could have been a BBC show with the characters, subplots, and story.

The Vicar began by addressing all those in attendance and explaining the history of the church, the thousands of ceremonies performed and the fact that none were more important than the one we were about to witness -- Hallelujah brother! He stated as well that it was a "bride's perogative to be late on her day" (she was already 20 minutes behind), as you can imagine the anticipation was building. I mentioned earlier that my friend Paul is referred to (at least by me), as BIG Paul. He stands at least 6 5" and probably goes in the 250-265 range. Big for sure, but the gentle type of big, soft spoken and easy going, just a really nice bloke. His fiance, well she's a fiery Italian girl whose family hails from Sardinia and England, dark and very Italian looking she is the spice to the pot. She's funny, outspoken, loves to laugh joke and is obviously much smaller than BIG Paul. They are truly a match, the kind that at first glance may not seem like it, that is until you've known them for five minutes and you see the way each compliments the other's personality.

Now, leading up to this wonderful day as I stated were many sub-plots uncontrollable by either party, still they might have scared less superstitious people off the day. There suite at the famed Grand Hotel on the beach in Brighton was flooded by a plumbing problem 24 hours before their wedding, the seamtress muffed the dress, and several smaller "incidents", not to mention the upheaval on both sides of the family. Luckily for the Evans', they had a assistant tending tho their needs at the Grand who did an excellent job, Ms. Jennifer Ormond. Now the beauty of a wedding is usually found in the bride her dress and her beauty. And believe PinF, there was plenty of that, plenty I say. So when it was anounced by the Vicar with little fingers that the bride had arrived there was a steely anticipation by in attendence.

From the moment the bride crossed the nearly 2000 year old threshhold of the ancient house of worship she was a vision of stark and contrasting beauty in such an ancient church and it became clear that what the Vicar said was right--that there is no more important ceremony than the one we were going to celebrate on this day, August 1, 2007. Now of course Natash looked radiantly beautiful, as many knew she would. But for PinF the real beauty was in seeing a mountain of a man reduced to tears in an instant. Not taken to too much emotion, BIG Paul was overcome after all the week's drama when he laid eyes on his bride as she slowly marched the ancient and long worn brick floor of St. Anne's church. I have never been to any wedding where everyone was emotional at the same time. Never. The choir had a direct view of Paul's face, and like emotion filled dominoes they all went down one by one, first a slight dab to a hanging tear, then a kleenex wipe, right on to the full hankie blown sobs.

PinF was situated behind the bride's mother and stepfather who were obviously in the moment as well; seated next to him was the bride's brother who tapped on my shoulder, leaned over and whispered "..is Natasha crying?..", I repsonded that I wasn't sure due to my vantage point but that I was.....he got the point. PinF has probably in 44 years been to at least 35 weddings including my own (itself a bit of a tear jerker), and I can say without reservation that this was the most touching, poignant, and beautiful wedding he's ever been to. The English countryside, the cobalt blue skies, the ancient church, the small intimate setting. This was one of the moments of your life where if you're lucky come along a few times in a lifetime, that you are certain you are in the right place, time, and location and that you are truly witnessing something really special.

Afterwards following pictures, the happy couple climbed into their Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang convertible and we all went back to where Paul and I met, Brighton to celebrate along the beautiful seafront of the English Channel. It was for me, such a real day, seeing such an old friend not only on his wedding day, but overcome with joy and love to the point of emotion. I'll not soon forget the feeling of sitting there, observing several generations of people, some of whom I'll never, ever see again all in the moment and crying tears of joy. Frame this moment in the ancient church and you have an almost mythical day.

The Evans' jetted off for a honeymoon in the Indian Ocean to the Seychelle Islands on Friday. On the same day PinF jetted off to an almost foreign world himself, America. I was so removed from my normal life, and immersed in to the lives of my many friends in Denmark and the UK that this trip was much more than a vacation, it was more like a mini slice of life, seen from their perspectives. I'm still savoring the day as I write this........

The Longest Haul

I'm in Gatwick. Crazy it is.....many Brit's hustling about on holiday. I hear the the annoying voices of first time American travelers complaining "...well that's not how we do it in America..." when told only ONE carry on, be it purse, computer, etc. Good byes are always hard, especially with people who you've had the privilege of knowing for so long of your adult life as opposed to your early childhood years. And so it was for PinF. Tough good-byes in Denmark, and Britain to old and seasoned friendships.

I also made new friends. My mate Paul's lovely new bride, Natasha a glowing example. (pictures to follow). Up at 5:45 AM, out at 6:45 AM for the scrambling ride to Gatwick and then into the cauldron of security checks and precautions. I'm finished now and await my gate announcement. I have my Times newspaper, Ipod, and great books courtesy of my dear friends Phil and Linda. I had planned on posting the all encompassing post via my lap-top if Gatwick was WiFi capable. It may be, though I don't think so with the availability of pay for use PC's about the terminal. If there is WiFi I'll be posting a bit more--with photos, when I get to my gate.

For now, I bid all my wonderful friends adieu and and thank them for the wonderful hospitality, fun, and laughs. I was able to check all my blue friends. Life is good.

PaynterinFlight.

DENMARK

This is a 9:45 pm sunset---darkness didn't set in until almost 11 pm.