PAYNTER-in-FLORIDA

The Wisdom of Sophia

2011-07-09T09:48:00.004-04:00

PinF has always been surrounded by boys; four of them to be exact, and of course one man-- his father. The only personification of femininity was represented by PinF's wonderful mother. Girls didn't figure into PinF's path until about 8th grade I suppose. This has quite obviously changed for myself and my brothers with the birth of 8 daughters in the span of 21 years.

Observations of parenthood are often littered with one's own parental admonishments and memories as a child. This, like all facets of becoming an adult person are one of the many mysteries of becoming a complete person, one who not only can see, know, and understand their own path, but their parents' as well. To feel such complete love for a child explains and demystifies our own parents' many declarations of love, fear, and protection for us as the child we once were. First loves, old loves, or any other love you may worship or enjoy in youth can neither be compared nor replaced with the love we all feel for our own child. Still we tend to tell our children constantly of this love, understanding full well that they too will not know entirely of what we speak until the door of such wisdom might open one day for them too. Again, this is life's circular acknowledgement that we're all on the same ride, learning the same lessons, and experiencing the same feelings.

For my part I admit to my rather selfish and almost cavalier disregard for my parent's love for me until my time came to "open the door". July 9th, 1998 was the day that much of what I had lived, seen, and learned all came to make sense, it was also the day I experienced the true nature of love and completeness of the heart. Sophia means wisdom in Greek lore and language; rather fitting in many ways as her arrival was the herald of my personal wisdom. The wisdom I've gained over the past 13 years of being a parent is something that I could never have learned, felt or experienced no matter how many books I could've read. To truly understand the emotions of protection, responsibility, empathy, sharing, sacrifice and love one must truly feel the weight of his or her child's gaze back upon their face or the clutch of their little soft hand in their much larger and calloused one.

I admit that my Sophia's arrival on that auspiciously hot day 13 years ago ushered in an era of these and many other emotions and lessons--all of which I still continue to learn today. The most wonderful aspect of parenting is when you are no longer exclusively the teacher, but rather you too become the student as you learn from your own child how far to push, when to admonish, when to praise, and when to just shut up. Yes the love one will feel for a child is a love that cannot be experienced by any other means other than by truly living it.

I remember well speaking to another couple in a park when Sophia was about 4 months old. They were in their forties and their child was clearly Asian, and I assumed adopted. As it turned out they had just arrived home from a month in Beijing, China where they had been living in order to visit the orphanage every day in order to build the bond of trust and love with their soon to be adopted daughter. They related of how they had tried and failed invitro 3 times, but that their desire and love to be parents was so great that they turned to another option. As each of them spoke I could see their eyes becoming moist, and their emotions raw as they recounted the moment the 747's wheels left the ground in China. Their baby in tow with her new American passport, they told me of how their love was as great if not more than if they had given birth to their own child. In that moment as their beautiful little girl looked up at them, the father said he realized the gravity of his responsibility and love, as he and his wife then became the sole force of protection and love for such a little soul in this enormous world. They described the moment and just how emotional it was after having spent untold thousands of dollars and time in foreign country while their whole life back home had been placed on hold while traveling around the globe to become parents.

Powerful stuff. It too leant credence to the power of parental love--proving that it isn't really the act of physical birth that binds us to one another, but rather the spiritual bond that seems to take place--one in which parent and child forge as one.

And so it goes, my beautiful daughter enters the "teen" years, as beautiful and as glowing as when she entered the many other phases of her life. To her mother and me she is so much more to us than she will ever understand. But understand she will one day when if by God's will she too experiences the wonder of parenting. For now she is a burgeoning young lady of character, grace, infinite wisdom and happiness of which her mother and I give thanks to God and celebrate on this day--her day July 9th, 2011.

Reading the "Signs" of Spring

2011-04-06T15:44:00.003-04:00

How many of us are guilty of missing the signs our lives place before us, or perhaps taking for granted what we cherish and covet the most? PinF knows too well how often he makes this mistake, though he makes equal attempts at staving off life's complacencies; trying instead to be in the present, full of thanks. Easier said than done no doubt. Still, as we turn our sights to a new a new Spring season like the earth turns its tilt towards the warmth of the sun, it's important if not necessary that we occasionally stop from our busy, worrying ways and days and really count our blessings. Cliche for sure--but ever so true, as we are but on this earth for a short, short time.

PinF's blessings have been many and often as of late. After a particularily hard "winter" in my life where I saw the end of my first marriage, the death of a parent, and the inevitable fall out these changes would have on my most cherished daughter Sophia, I was able to rebound and blossom my life anew. I met the woman that would be my new mate, saw my daughter emerge from the darkness and into the light of hope after these changes. And blessings of blessings my new wife Julia, and my beautiful daughter Sophia and indeed PinF would come to be blessed with a new baby daughter/sister, reaffirming yet again that life does indeed go on, and often in ways and directions we could never really see or anticipate from our once "low" vantage points.

And there it is my (PinF's) life in a 12 month nutshell. Soon after the arrival of our daughter Alice, we would as a family face another reality: life is precious and fragile. Alice was taken deathly ill and admitted to hospital at 6 weeks old. Her diagnosis would again come full circle to my own life after it was confirmed that her affliction was a genetic gift from me her father. PinF lost a kidney as a result of this condition as a child and spent a fair amount of time in hospital recovering from the subsequent surgeries that would eventually set me on the path of health and normalcy. Of course Alice's condition was compounded by her tender age of just shy of 50 days. Still my wife Julia and I were assured that despite the dire diagnosis that there was a surgical fix and that Alice would have it once she turned a year old. It's been 8 months now and Alice continues to amaze and thrive---she has a sister that is both paient and loving, as well as two doting parents.

So life is good. Life is full. Life is indeed worth living having been married, had a new baby, and bought a new house all within a year. Of course the cosmos always has a way of yanking you back into your life's true course, and PinF is no exception to this rule. Last Sunday whilst up on the ladder painting the new house spring was looking really nice all around my neighborhood. My wife and daughters were out shopping and I was enjoying the last vestiges of a lovely spring night. The "signs" were all around me--flowers blooming, birds chirping, bees buzzing. This all came to an abrupt and scary stop when I realized the low and dull pain I'd been feeling all day in my side was not that of a 48year-old muscle pull, but rather the beginning of a kidney stone blocking my renal function. And just like that I was swept from the ladder and into the emergency room full of dread and uncertainity for myself, my wife and my two daughters. I was scared, not so much for myself, but more for my girls. I didn't wan't them to see me in pain or weakness knowing full well this would cause them alarm.

As I sat in the emergency room, not sure how severe this would be, I began to really castigate myself for not being more cognizant, more thankful, and more appreciative of the "moments" of my life. Surely it wasn't over in a sense of the word, but it was definitely a sign. This was a sign of many things--middle age, the loss of my daughter's Sophia's innocence, my wife Julia's worrying over "what if's" that we all naturally consider in times such as these. I'm home now and probably more thankful and humble than ever. I saw fear in my daughter's face and in her writing as well on the get well card. I saw my wife just stop her life and her job and rush to be near my side until she was convinced I'd be OK. I heard the voices of my brother's and mother as they relived a sort of fear of my past illnesses as a child, not to mention my father's kidney related decline in the fiinal years of his own life. These were all signs---of how loved, cared for, and vital I am to others as they are equally unto me.

It's been over a week of tender frailities and humbling pain, but I am now regaining the physical strength I took for granted just a week before. I am also through my good nature and sense of humour, reassuring those around me that I really will be OK. But I'd be lying if I said I'm not looking at my wife and daughters differently, or thinking about the time we all have together and how best to serve the time, as we serve eachother. I'm trying to "read" the many signs of this Spring in my life--counting my blessings and enjoying my days, one by one. As I do, I realize now like I did 5 years ago what's really important, and as we all know it isn't what's in the bank account, the house, the job or the car---they're just "things".

And as we all know, "things" can be replaced.

Alice

2010-10-24T17:11:00.000-04:00

The Gifts of Life

2010-08-13T23:43:00.002-04:00

PinF welcomed his newest addition on July 12th---hence the silence for too long now. Alice Valentina Paynter was welcomed into this world by her mother and I and has consumed the majority of our time since. More to follow....................

Time does Fly

2010-03-27T07:19:00.004-04:00

The metaphors of life often speak more clearly to the realities of our lives than we realize.

"Time Flies" comes to mind. I watch daily as my once little girl transforms into a more mature, independent, and individual person; one who seeks to define her identity not as my daughter so much as by who she as a burgeoning young lady is. Today PinF was offered as concrete an example of this fact as one can get. "Time" literally flew, as we walked through the airport where my daughter and I have walked literally dozens of times, hand-in-hand as we embarked on our many trips to my town, Philly. Her dimunitive smooth hand curled in my much larger one, full of wonder, questions and excitement.

Difference today was that my little girl no longer holds her daddy's hand, and she no longer looks like a "little girl". Today as her mother and I looked on in melancholic disbelief we watched as our once little girl walked down the rampway of her own flight; both of us recognizing that time has indeed "flown". And then she was gone; flying alone for the first time in her eleven years to Philadelphia. A truer metaphor I couldn't imagine. Time flew right out of our lives. Her mother dabbing tears, Sophia nervously excited to go, and me in a kind of stunned pride at her confidence and poise.

Sad as I was to see her go, I was equally proud of the young lady she's become. I could hardly imagine at age eleven having either the luxury or confidence to fly on my own. But this is what life really is; we're training our children everyday to be independent, confident, and unafraid to accept new challenges--and instead-- facing their fears, and taking those steps even when they may be uncertain. I'd be lying if I said it didn't have that familiar "first day of school goodbye" feel to it. It was hard, but it's also very necessary in the development and education of a complete person.

Sophia is nothing if not confident; and so now she's off and I'm left with a strange feeling of void right now, something I'll most likely have until my mother calls from the other end and lets me know she's received my precious cargo. But what a great feeling to have a child who wants to strike out on her own and fly to see your mother, her grandmother? She'll be spending days of such quality and joy with her grandmother that I'm pressed to imagine how I couldn't have let her go.

So there it is. The son leaves his mother only to have his daughter leave him. The symbiotic balance is found in the continuative cycle of life and love. My daughter is with my mother for a whole week of exploration, learning, and fun in the "big city". I couldn't think of more fulfilling memory for Sophia when she's older than this experience of learning more about the wonderful mother that made me the competent father I am.

I told Sophia what my father once told me as I boarded a flight "don't forget where you came from". Because in life it's never really "where" you are or even where you're going so much as it is where you've come from and all -that's gone into making you who you are.

Time flew today; metaphorically, and literally--and with it, so too did my daughter. Luckily she's flying in the right direction in life as in destination.

Reeling in the Years.......

2010-03-12T22:56:00.010-05:00

A year ago I was 40,000 feet in the air closing in on London for a long overdue visit with some dear friends. Four years ago I was shattered by the loss of my father after a protracted illness and the toll it took on all who cared for him right up to the end. Five years ago I finally emerged from the hell that was divorce after the rigorous toll it took on my health, heart and daughter.

March 13 holds significance for sure. And even though it still has me looking in my rear view mirror at those long cold days spent at my father's bedside as all the familiar traces of his being slowly ebbed away before my eyes in hospice, things are for the most part--ok. And despite the pain, the tears, and the sadness life indeed has gone on, for the better. I have a wonderful woman in my life, my daughter is flourishing before my eyes, and though I miss him terribly; thoughts of my father evoke more smiles than tears now.

Of even greater significance is the fact that my daughter will have a sister in July and I a second daughter. Funny how much difference a year makes in our lives, I certainly would've never imagined the blessing of another child this time last year. And though I haven't posted on here much lately, most likely this is a good sign, as my life has become busier, and in turn it has become whole again after losing so much-- in such a short span.

Spring awaits just around the corner both figuratively and literally in my life today. I can say for sure that I still miss my pop a lot, but I know now better than I did then that the course of life is generally 85-90% joy, happiness, and love. The other 10-15% is heartache, pain, loss, and tears. If we're lucky in this life we get to space that 10-15% of pain over the span of our lives so as to not feel the awesome totality of life's losses. I know now how lucky I've been. And after a particularly nasty little spell, I too am back in the happiness, joy, and love.

My daughter continues to be the eternal spring of my life's joy. Sprinkle in a special someone and the pending birth of our daughter and you have the ingredients for another good run on happiness. So for all those who ask me when/where has PinF gone, or will I post again soon, trust me--it isn't because I haven't the stories to tell--on the contrary. I'm living the stories, so much in fact that finding the time to write them is the challenge now................

Brother Can You Spare a Dime?

2009-11-14T07:46:00.005-05:00

I like to think I'm a good judge of character, motives, and the genuineness of people. I also like to consider myself a compassionate person, though these days, when out and about one can never be too careful. PinF has always had an ability to talk to all people-irrespective of race, color, or station in life, knowing well that there's good in all of us and that none of us is immune to the pitfalls of life.

And so it was yesterday that I would find myself in one of West Palm Beach's less than picturesque neighborhoods while working--you might call it "seedy". I think you can get the picture no matter where you live when you consider the economic climate and of the profound effect it's having on those less fortunate than you. This is a neighborhood that by day looks innocent enough, but by night you'd be sure to avoid. Where scruffy men drink beer out of cans in paper bags, and women of nefarious intent prowl the main street. Edgy for sure, but nothing where you feel endangered by daylight.

I had stopped into 7-11 to grab a paper and a coffee and had just gotten in my car and took a phone call. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him. Three clear plastic bags with what appeared to be his life. Reasonably well dressed, newer sneakers, clean shaven--he didn't look the part. For in that instant our eyes met--and I knew instinctively what this often means---he was going to approach me like so many other unfortunate people for any "loose change". Seems Florida has a disproportinate amount of street and homeless persons--due in large part to the climate.

As I spoke on the phone with a wary eye to my car's side and rear view mirrors, I saw the man take a shaking, almost spasmatic step from the curb. As he moved closer I recognized his Palsy-like symptons and watched as he struggled the twenty-feet or so to where I sat in my comfortably idling, and locked vehicle. He was putting forth each clumsily paralyzed foot and willing his body to follow; strained, almost pained looks filled his face. By now he placed his bags on the pavement in front of the 7-11 in an effort to better navigate his way towards me.

Clearly he was zeroing in on me, our brief glance moments before setting the scene for this encounter, now made much more dramatic by his arduous approach. He mimed for me to rolll down my window, though ever so politely, as he was acknowledging I was on the phone. I finished my call, rolled down the window and I as I greeted him with good morning, he began to slur his words to me, struggling with emotion. "Excuse me sir, I'm a Marine with Cerebal Palsy and I need help".

Like I said, I've seen my share of homeless drunks with far flung stories. But something on this guys face, the way he was dressed, and the way he struggled so mightly to take three or four steps told me this guy was for real, and he needed a little help. I asked him what was going on? He said he was Veteran who served in the Marine Corps, and by the look of him he didn't seem much older than myself. He said he was diagnosed a few years ago and has been in and out of the VA hospital. He admitted he maintained a one bedroom flat in this dubious neighborhood, but that he had no money and was in need of a meal.

Normally I'd take what ever loose change in my console and dump into a grimy hand. Not today, he looked too hungry, too desperate. He asked if I could spare some change so he could get a "donut or something". I handed him a five dollar bill. A stunned look came over his face and he started muttering "..Oh my God, oh my God..", "thank-you and more God bless you's soon followed, and how "I didn't know how much this meant to him". And as he struggled for the right words, I watched as a tear that had been welling in his eye finally broke free and ran down his brown weathered face leaving a track of pain. I told him him God Bless him too and to stay strong. With his he turned to struggle back to his three clear plastic bags that held his belongings.

Just as he got to the door of the 7-11, he turned to me and said he was going to go to the Publix supermarket, "because he could make his $5.00 go further there than at the 7-11 and get something he could put on the stove". I told him good idea.

Problem was---the Publix was another 2 blocks away. Kind of put my day, my life and my world into a much needed perspective.

The Long Days of Time

2009-06-21T22:41:00.006-04:00

We sat at an outdoor plaza, its fountains dancing in the late day sun as laughing children streamed about tossing pennies and nickels into the water as father's stopped to pose for photos with their children. I mentioned to Sophia as we enjoyed our dish's at her favorite Italian restaurant that today was the summer solstice--the longest day of the year. And as I told her this I thought to myself what a wonderful metaphor for this-- my father's day with her that it should fall on a day that is longer than any other, since what we all seek is more time. More time to live, experience, laugh, and enjoy.

I had 44 Father's Days' with my dad and I wondered as she spoke so animatedly and passionately about everything a ten year-old girl discusses with her dad, whether I too would get at least 34 more "Days" like this. We all want to live long and healthy lives, filled with rich experiences and satisfying days. Yet 34 more years seems so "soon", though in reality my daughter would be almost 50 in 34 years.

And so it was as we enjoyed each other's company gabbing about everything and nothing, my little girl not looking so "little" anymore as toddlers caught my eye tying to touch the splashing water of the fountains. Still, as the sky painted the evening in pastel colors over her shoulder, I was able to drink in all that this one day really means. We so often stumble through the days, weeks, months and years until one day we wake up and our parents begin to look like our grandparents, we begin look like our parents, and our children all of a sudden look like us. Fitting indeed that I had the extra daylight, the extra hour, and extra time to appreciate my beautiful daughter and stop to appreciate that which I try not to take for granted.

Being a father is one thing you never really think too much about until you are one. Though once you are, you struggle to recall a time when you thought of anything else really. It's one of life's riddles in a way. So there we sat, enjoying an Italian gelato and still gabbing, only now we were discussing our upcoming vacation. It felt good just being in the moment especially since by virtue of the calender it was an extra few moments on an extra glorious summer day.

Time Surfing

2009-06-14T10:27:00.006-04:00

I'm often struck by the many contrasts of my own childhood and that of my daughter, especially since I was raised in the northeast as one of five children as opposed to being an only child growing up in the year-round warmth of Florida.

Case in point, my daughter attended surfing school all last week. When school would end for PinF after 5th grade back in 1974 the BIG focus would the local swim club, something my brothers and I loved mind you, though it certainly wasn't 'surf school". My brother's and I would of course also have two weeks of coastal bliss to look forward to usually down at the beach at Sea Isle City, N.J., with all the wonder and excitement of playing on the beach and the boardwalk while literally lost in the time warp of youth. So it was, all last week I had a week of surf lingo: "shredding, gnarly, and surfing the line".....etc. I couldn't help but to think to myself how I would've died for such an experience at age 10.

While pondering my own childhood I realized that it was really all bout "time". How we spend it, how we waste it, and ultimately how we all pay little attention to it, especially as children, because what real significance does time have other than "bedtime" or "dinnertime"? Something I find myself saying more and more as my child becomes a part of consumer America is "....when I was a kid....", trying to make her realize how lucky she is to spend a week on the beach with nothing more to do than learn to surf, not to mention her affinity for computers, cell phones and MP3 players. I'm often transported back to the long hot summer's of my youth playing stepball in front of the house with the neighborhood kids all assembling with my mother acting as referee/nurse/commisioner of the many leagues and disputes that would arrise from such concentrations of kids on her doorstep.

"When I was a kid" comments have about as much effect on my daughter as they had on me by my father, still the temptation to try to make a kid appreciate, realize, and be grateful for their daily lives is great and often irresistable. Making a child of today understand the fact that there were no computers, MP3's, and cell phones, not to mention 150 TV channels and endless amusement parks back "in the day" is like trying to convince Dick Cheney that waterboarding was torture.

Still time ebbs ever forward and we soon fall back into the routine of living in the moment, not the past. I'm grateful that my daughter can do things and go places I may not have as a child, because afterall this is what is supposed to happen. The challenge is trying to compete with the many external distractions of youth that exist today. Aside from television, there wasn't as much of a social disconnect from my parent's generation to my mine. Sure, social mores and attitudes changed, but the world in general wasn't turned upside down with regard to what kids were doing, expected, and wanted. The life of ten-year old me, was the desire to play in a pool, play little league baseball, and go to the beach. Life was simple.

So it was that as exotic as "surfing' camp sounded, Sophia found her "simplicity" of being. Arriving each morning at 8:30 to the glistening ocean front park where a day's worth of water excitement waited, either surfing, tubing, jet skiing, or just plain old beach games. No cell phones, MP3's, or computers for a whole week? The result? A very happy, tanned, and satisfied little girl who got off the techno roller coaster and got on the slow "wave" of fun.

The changes taking place at age ten are so stark and contrasting to the little girl who has up until recently needed/wanted her papi is both a bit sad and exciting all at once. I see in her a

confidence that comes from both maturing as well as wanting to be seen as fitting in, and not tethered to her "daddy". Oh sure, she's still papi's girl when we have time together, but I see through my own past what she is thinking and feeling as she attempts to spread her wings and fly a little further each time. Stretching the boundaries is now the norm, either in asking if she can do another sleepover, or meeting her friends in the mall. These are all natural developments I know, still they are stark reminders that we are all growing apart physically in life, depsite the increasing emotional investments.

I've often commented that the key to being a good parent is quite simple. Remember what it is to be the kid. That's all there is to it. Empathy, coupled with memory and a touch of some thicker skin as the child grows into the adolescent is all it takes to be a fair, fun, and good parent. Of course you have to temper this with strong disciplinary judgement since the child is constantly testing the rules/boundaries/and expectations. My belief is that most of us know how to be authority figures, the key is in learning to be trusting parents, despite knowing what we all know by the time the child is them self a reflection of paths we've already walked.

To this endeavor I am still learning, evolving, and trying to be. For her part, the child is still lost in time enjoying her summer.

As it should be.

A Sage at 70

2009-04-13T17:15:00.005-04:00

The more I parent, the more I remember and understand, and the more I appreciate how I was raised and by who.

Today was school picture day, as if I don’t already own 6,000 images of my daughter; I now need to write a check to purchase more with an artificial background included as well. Last night I was up until 10PM with my little lovely putting the final touches on this year’s science fair submittal.

Yesterday I sat at St. Paul’s with my daughter and brother listening to an Easter homily while remembering the many Easter Sunday’s of my youth while wanting nothing more than for the mass to end so that the candy eating might commence. As I sat, listened, and looked around I saw many poignant reminders of my childhood. Fidgety children reprimanded discreetly by their mothers in the pews. I could, and I believe my brother did also, remember many a Sunday were our mother in an attempt to receive the message, would have to rearrange the order of her five sons so as to minimize the church antics of five little boys bent on antagonizing one another.

Here I was now, the parent. Of course being a parent to one daughter hardly compares to shepherding five sons through an hour of silence and good behavior. Still I have great respect now as a parent for those who do. All of which brings me to the point of this post.

One of the most influential and admired people of my life is celebrating a true milestone today. And as much as it an event to ponder, rejoice, and celebrate, it is equally if not more, a moment to reflect from whence I’ve come. If we’re really lucky in life; and many aren’t, we get two loving, fun, and truly caring parents. If we’re even luckier we get them for our entire childhood. Luckier still, would be that they stay together and grow old, each watching over each other despite the other’s faults and hang-ups into the golden years of their lives. And of course one of life’s truest gifts is to have your parent(s) well into your own adult years; this of course serves two purposes depending on whose perspective you get, though perspectives aside, this is when the true friendship blossoms. For no longer is the parent serving the strict advisor, teacher, and disciplinarian role; but rather they become more of a contemporary, and if we’re lucky they open up and allow us a glimpse in the mysteries of our past.

For the child, this period allows a certain candor that really doesn’t exist as a child or even a young adult; this candor can only be earned through experiences of the heart. These experiences are of course well known to all; death, marriage, childbirth, divorce, depression, triumph, achievement, and loss. For all that we think we know at twenty or even thirty for that matter, we still know very little when compared to our parents. So like the maturation of sapling, so too is maturation of a person; you must be weathered by many storms, and caressed by the warmth of many summers to truly understand the joys and pains of our lives, and the fact they too will pass quickly. This is the luxury of having a parent into your middle age. You can now as an adult admit your impetuousness, your naivety, and your mistakes, since you are hopefully at a place where the candidness of truth outshines the pompousness of ignorance and pride.

Now for the parent, I imagine the truest advantage to having the child reach middle age is in finally being recognized as having known what the hell they were talking about all bloody time the child was not listening, or at least not wanting to admit they were. They say the greatest revenge of a parent is in watching the child become one them self. This I can attest is true. The sage wisdom of the parent is much like wine, it cannot, nor should it be, enjoyed or even appreciated by the child until such time as the child has come to understand the lessons that go into the grapes.

Like any relationship we have in life, the parent-child relationship needs to be nourished; yet unlike our friendships which are relationships of choice, our family, specifically our parents, are relationships of chance. We are given no choice in which we are given-- both parents and children. Yet inextricably we are mirrors of each other. For there is no greater gauge of who a person is than by speaking with the person who raised, taught, and guided that person. Of course there are exceptions, maybe the person who rose up despite parental addictions, or shortcomings of character, but for the most part our parents are our blueprint if you will. And rather justifiably, we too leave our mark on our parents as well. Either in teaching them tolerance, patience, or laughter we’re all affecting each other in some form; hopefully it’s in the positive form.

Today is my mother’s 70th birthday. She isn’t your average seventy year old though, and many of you who know PinF know this already. Never having been defined by traditional labels, she has raised five sons, a good part of which was done as a single mom, educated her self at night while working full-time, and then gone on to return the goodness she acquired to so many others who’ve been touched by her love, knowledge and experience. We all love our mom’s, or at least we all want to. I’ve been blessed in that my experience has taught me that good parenting comes from steady, consistent, and loving lessons, doled out with equal parts of self responsibility, sprinkled with letting the child fail or fly on their own when the lesson is at stake. It isn’t easy, yet nothing in life that’s worth a shit ever is.

On this day exactly six years ago, I sat with my mother deep in the heart of Central America at the Yohoa Lake at a pretty much empty lakeside resort. We were as alone together as two people possibly could be. She was living and serving the impoverished people of Honduras, all the while questioning whether her commitment and sacrifice were her true calling, all while her sister slowly expired to cancer. I too was questioning many issues as well; as I navigated through the land mines of a dying marriage, while trying to hold onto the lessons and ideals of being a responsible and loving parent to a little girl who I knew was facing a changing future. So there we both sat, each kind of broken inside, yet still each trying to be the stronger one for the other. Incredibly I came away recharged, and refocused ready to face whatever may come, and for her part she felt reaffirmed in her decision to spend 2 ½ years away from her family, friends, and home to fulfill her mission in the Peace Corps.

This trip for me was a very candid and powerful two weeks of talking and really listening to one another. I think I could speak for us both when I say that we learned more about each other as adults in that two weeks than we had in the years leading up to us meeting in the middle of a third world country. Strange in a way, how we often must travel many roads metaphorically, and here we were alone in a tiny country, with no TV, no outside interaction; just the two of us fulfilling our metaphorical destinies. I remember well my pride in seeing her, as she had literally blossomed into the person she had wanted to be, and indeed was all that time, but now with the opportunity to separate, face an incredible challenge, and make a difference, she was more than just “mom”, she was someone I was so proud to have as a friend and confidant in my life. I remember telling her that the seeds she was sowing in Honduras may not take root for twenty years, but that her presence in so many young girls and boys lives as an educated and empowered woman, teacher, advisor, and mother, would surely pay dividends and live on long after her life to affect and hopefully change many more lives for the better, and how many people can say this?

So today, April 13th I celebrate one of my truest and certainly oldest friend’s birthday. She just so happens to be my mother as well; a fact that makes her special day also mine, as without her I’d have never known the fullness of the life I’ve lead and enjoyed as a brother, father and a friend.

Words, Places, People, and Faces

2009-03-29T19:05:00.020-04:00

Looking Through the Years

2009-03-27T15:45:00.013-04:00

PinF is back. Journeying to the UK to see an old buddy and check in on him and his life, and also to be reunited with what called be affectionately referred to an old flame, though its fire once hot was quite brief. Arriving on the third anniversary of my father's passing, I thought this a fitting tribute to one who so vicariously lived through each of his son's stories, adventures, and travels.

The weather coming into Gatwick was everything one imagines England to be. Slowly coasting over the now greening hillsides of England dotted with sheep, the clouds hung low as they attempted to block the struggling March sunshine. Incredibly, the day broke to bright sunshine once on the ground and as I walked from the plane to the terminal I got my first familiar taste of spring air in England. Clearing customs and securing some cash I shuffled into the main terminal to await my ride--none other than my brief summer love of 1987. Like a scene from a movie, I stood among the hustling travelers of many languages and customs as I waited for the visual confirmation that each of us would have once we found each other.

Had twenty years really passed? Would either of us seem "old" or different to the other? Already an uneasy feeling was building in my stomach after standing for what seemed like an eternity, yet was probably more like 25 minutes. Had she changed her mind? Was one of the kids sick? Traffic? After 40 minutes I began considering the train, reasoning it was only 45 minutes by train, and maybe things just happened. And with that thought there she was, cutting through a sea of rushing travelers heading towards me. Uneasiness filled the air, I could sense her nervousness. She looked the same girl I had last seen, of course time had left its indelible marks on each of us, and I could see the creases of her smile and she most probably saw the grey of my hair.

Funny how time, at least when it refers to our own youth, kind of stands still in our mind's eye, choosing instead to see that which we recall and loved. For in her I saw the same indomitable personality, confidence and glowing smile. She really didn't look that much different. So off we went onto the motorway, small talk filling the car until we arrived at the small rural town of Lewes on the outskirts of Brighton. We parked, and walked through a typical light mist down ancient streets filled with antique shops, pubs, and other curious little businesses until we reach Bill's produce and restaurant. Nervousness gave way to familiarities, as we settled in to some lattes and ordered breakfast. She talking about her children and I mine. Of course each had to look the other eye to eye as we now sat at this tiny table with hearty conversations filling the room of equally hearty breakfast aromas. And as we did, the years ticked off until it was just the she and I of twenty years ago--comfortable, happy, and laughing.

With each passing moment, the uneasiness of the reunion was shed, and before long we were each as comfortable as if we had never lost touch. We talked of lost parents, child rearing, the demands of marriage, hopes, and the disappointments and triumphs life. We remarked where had the years gone? What youthful indiscretions we each committed that caused us to lose each other's friendship and presence? And though we each lamented the loss of 20 years, we were equally able to draw inspiration that here we were so many years, tears, and laughs later enjoying the moment of each other's company. Reunions are like that, at least if you're lucky; you get to experience the discovery of what was once so lost, and now so literally found.

The better part of my week involved time alone. Walking the seafront, exercising, reading, browsing the curious shops of Brighton. Still, it was a priority of mine to reacquaint myself with such a dear and lost friend. I met her husband, and although it might've been, or even could've been uncomfortable--it wasn't. I met her little boys and had some yucks with them. We shared long walks after her children were in school, we had a few great meals, one of which was cooked by her husband. I was also granted the good fortune to attend her birthday celebration as well, capping off what turned into a nostagically poignant week, one I was glad to have had. We laughed well, reminisced much, and remembered old haunts and stories from so many years ago, capping off a wonderful week.

Our friends unlike our family are often in our lives through a combination of choice, fate, and common experiences. Having them in our lives or losing them, often comes down to several common factors of either life changes, geography, or often misdeeds. Our drift was a result of all of them. Still in reuniting, you realize just how connected we are in life, either through common experiences, or oft remembered events shared many years ago, though no less poignant. I told her that she had always been in my thoughts, either through hearing her favorite album that she played to the point of torture--or through certain memories of everyday mundane life, that wouldn't regsiter with anyone but her. She countered many of the same sentiments. Even the loss of our parents bore similar timelines and circumstances making us each aware of the commonality of experience in life. Though never less painful for it, it makes the path a bit easier to bear when you're sharing it with someone who's been there.

My week meandered on heading towards its eventual and some would say predictable conclusion. Sophia beckoned from afar as I was missing her. My friend decided she wanted to drive me to the airport for my flight home too. Of course I knew that this wouldn't be an easy goodbye, as there never really are when you're in an airport. Still she was adamant, and I was open to spending a bit more time, because hell, you never know it could be another twenty years right? The uneasy feeling of the end was ignored as we shared an airport breakfast. Still the clocked ticked on, and before long it was time. After a hearty hug and some brief words off she went as she came.....through the crowds of the many faces of foreigners in Gatwick airport, and of all days, Mother's Day in England. This gave me some solace to know that when she would arrive home, it would be her day, something that might lift her spirits after such a farewell.

The trip now a memory, I'm able to reflect in a positive way just how necessary it is for us all to reconnect whether it be twenty years or twenty days. The most important thing is the connection; something that never really leaves us, rather it lies dormant until we turn the lights back onto a specific time, person, and place in our lives.

A Walk Along the Seafront in Brighton

2009-03-15T18:04:00.002-04:00

Me and my new best mate Arthur.

My other new mate George

Arthur with the killer curls.

Walking the Laines in Brighton with the boys.

Daddy-daughter Dance

2009-02-28T11:48:00.000-05:00

Puzzles

2009-02-08T08:59:00.008-05:00

Funny how time flies; or even sad, depending on how you choose to view life.

Who doesn't remember a parent telling you to "enjoy it", because it passes quickly? PinF need only think of his father's passing a few years ago and contrast that very real heartache with the blossoming of his own prodigy as I literally see a little girl blossoming into a beautiful young lady before my eyes.

Try as I may to truly soak in and appreciate such life changes, I'm as guilty as the next one of taking my eye off ball from time to time only to wake up and wonder where have all the years gone? We all do. Trying to squeeze the emotion, the love, the pain, and the triumphs from our daily lives is hard. We all get caught up in the "moments" of our existences, occasionally allowing the brief lapses of cognition to remind us just how quickly our lives pass us by.

Two summers ago I took the time I needed and indeed deserved, to get off the spinning-top my life had become through personal set backs, losses, and changes to amble through my past and sort out some old memories. I went back to England, and then onto Denmark and I touched base with a few of my "blue" pieces of my life. This trip was as rejuvenating as it was nostalgic, and many hours were spent laughing, talking, sightseeing and walking through the windows of my youth.

Still, in the back of my mind there was an incompleteness to the trip. Friends are the glue that binds the frays of our lives, often in ways family cannot. I was reminded of this when I sat in Copenhagen with a friend of over 25 years and sipped coffee while reconnecting as if we'd never really separated. Same too with my many special friends in England, walking along the English coast, popping in and out of pubs, just the everyday simplified life that England represents is a big part of who I am. I'd like to think that one day I might live in either England or Europe, as I often feel more at home there than here, maybe due to it's ancient feel, something I miss about living in the north.

Finding anything that was lost is always a joy. Who hasn't rejoiced in finding that old twenty dollar bill in a coat pocket, or maybe a lost photo-- long since forgotten? Small triumphs go a long way. A few years ago I stood in busy Brighton train station with my old friend Phil as we bought flowers for his lovely wife Linda--another dear friend who like me went through a rather tough end of life ordeal with her father too. I quietly reflected on how little had changed physically with the place I was in, and yet so much had changed literally with the "place" I was now in with regard to my life. Twenty years earlier I was wiping tears of goodbyes and sadness from mine and a special person's face as I made my farewell from Brighton not to mention a certain "place" in my life.

You're occasionally afforded the wisdom in life to recognize the profoundness of special moments as they occur. I wish I could be so wise to say this was the case on August 22, 1987--unfortunately I was far to young, inexperienced, and out of touch with the true blessings of my life at the young age of 24. Wisdom in life is like wisdom of the heart, you have to be burned, disappointed, and often "lost", until the day you awaken and can be "found" to truly drink in the special significance of such moments.

It took me many years; years that rushed by like a freight train for me to attain a certain wisdom, still even today, I recognize I have far to go but at least I'm now able to recognize what's really important---it isn't what we have, what we do, - though these were always lessons I had instilled from my parents. Material wealth is as fleeting as the wind--what truly sustains and multiplies in our lives are the relationships and love we have. I know that now because I see my greatest wealth in my daughter's smile, not my bank account.

I recently found something that I too had been missing for a long time, or shall I say it found me? A piece of who I was twenty-two years ago. Circumstances have changed, lives have blended and become more lives, parents have died, separations have caused years to be lost, yet the one thing that remains always is the love---and emotional connection to each other. You can't fake that. It's either there or isn't, I always knew it was, but time has a way of covering up the cold of loss and heartache. Like a puzzle that is missing a piece, my visits to England had always been missing that one piece--a blue one. PinF found that piece, and he's a lucky man for it, realizing full well that twenty years lost is nothing compared to what has been found. The friends of our lives are like the photos of our youth; yes, the person in the photo changes, but the true essence of how we feel for them, and what we remember never does, it remains visible only to our eyes and heart.

I look forward to putting this missing piece in its rightful place in the puzzle we call life.

Christmas in Florida

2008-12-25T19:53:00.002-05:00

The Context of the Season

2008-12-20T20:35:00.005-05:00

It seems that keeping life in context these days is becoming harder and harder. Today PinF spent the day trying to find the Christmas spirit that's been lacking as of late by taking his daughter shopping for her mother and friends. As I was driving I was thinking of what it meant to be ten years-old, full of anticipation, joy, and awe over the promise the holidays hold. Sophie and I had a good day hustling here, fighting traffic there, looking for parking spots at the mall. Of course as a ten year-old you're inoculated to the realities of the world in general, and the economy specifically. So you do what you must and push on, always remembering it's really about the kids.

Thirteen months ago my good friend and neighbor Don told me during one of our daily interactions at the mail box that he had been diagnosed with cancer of the throat. I remember as he teared up and I tensed up, how he told me he was going to beat it; I had no reason to doubt such a robust and strong eighty year-old man. Don had been an instrumental presence in my life during my father's illness and was in fact from Springfield, Pa. as well, something that gave us a commonality of reference in our many chats and sports talk.

Things took a turn for the worse for Don after an initial rally. Seems Don's cancer had spread as evidenced by his gaunt appearance when i last saw him three months ago. Always upbeat and more worried for me he was in fact, dying. He knew it, I knew it and yet neither of us ever spoke it. Instead it was on to the next chemo, or radiation. I hadn't seen Don for almost two months but I noticed home nurses coming by with greater regularity. Whether it was out of respect for his privacy as I kept telling myself, or out of fear of looking another dying man in the eyes I didn't go next door, choosing instead to get the news from afar.

As wonderful as the hospice experience is in allowing a person to die with dignity and grace while surrounded by family and friends, I wasn't sure I was up to it; fully aware that my own experience with my father in many ways haunts me still with profound sadness.

This all changed today. I saw Doris, Don's wife today and though I knew things were worse, her eyes said it all. I asked if it would be alright to come and see Don. She said she thought he'd love that. With that I told Sophie I had to go next door to see Don and then I steeled myself for what I knew I would find. Still, my fear of not saying good-bye runs deeper than looking death in the face an with that I went.

Don lies in a hospital bed in the living room. Physically depleted, emaciated and unshaven I offer to shave him, he declines. Cognizant and accepting best describe his demeanor. Though the body is tired and ever so steadily closing down, the mind remains sharp and focused. We talk Dolphins, Eagles, and things to do with Philly. I decide I can no longer make small talk and ask Don if he's ready to die. He nods he is. He tells me he doesn't want to die, but that he's given the fight all he had and he is accepting of his fate. I can feel the tears wanting to well up but I will them back and keep the conversation as light as possible. We again return to his imminent fate and I ask if there's anything he wants me to do? Don just asks that I keep doing what I am doing with regard to Sophia and that I check in on Doris from time to time.

I thanked Don for all he did for me when my father was dying and for being such a good neighbor and friend. He thanks me back for visiting, he says. I told him the honor is mine, and I assure him that it's in his peaceful and serene acceptance of his fate that I now draw my strength from him. He gestures me to come closer, grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a hug. He's due to be transported within the hour by ambulance to the hospital just next door to spend his last hours or days in the hospice wing as his breathing symptoms are becoming worse. I told him that I'd be there with him again like I was when he nearly died there 9 months ago and that we'd watch his beloved Dolphins game. Doris sits sobbing. Don clutches me as hard as his once strong but now skinny arms can.

The trip to hospital is symbolic of his trip to the next life, a fact that is neither lost on he, Doris or myself. I compose myself on the walk to my place before seeing Sophia. The last thing I told Don was for him to look my old man up when he gets to heaven and have a beer with him when he gets there, he chuckled and said he would. He thanked me again for the tenth time for coming to see him. I slowly make my way out the door and into the warm Florida evening, the sky a light bluish-black hue sprinkled with the first gleaming stars of the evening.

In the short walk from Don's house to mine the context of my life became much clearer. The financial worries, the stresses of single parenting, the hustle here, the hustle there all seemed so minor. I just looked a man in the eye who knows when he leaves his house tonight it's for the last time ever. I felt a wave of sadness and wisdom at the same time. This being maybe the fifth person I've visited with prior to their dying; I thought how my emotions and behaviors had matured and varied during the various stages of my life I had confronted death. Maybe because I know I'm not that far removed from his path or maybe because intellectually you kind of grow into the notion of death. Either way, it was an extremely powerful visit that I'm glad I made; one that put my life and the Christmas season back in context.

God speed Don. I'll miss you. A lot.

Finally. Something to Believe In

2008-11-05T17:17:00.000-05:00

Girls Day Out (disturbia in suburbia)

2008-10-04T09:37:00.029-04:00

PinF has a daughter not a son, so he's programmed better to a little girl's persona, and happily so. Being one of five brothers has increasingly heightened my appreciation, awe, and respect for all that my parents must've endured. Of course their sacrifices, frustrations, and example were neither missed nor lost on us five sons as we all have dispositions that serve as well whether it be as parents as in the case of two of us, or in the case of my other two brothers, as educators of children.

I like that I have a daughter more than a son. Not that I'd have been any less happy with a son as God knows I'm more versed in the antics, behaviors and general grab ass of little boys, still for me having a daughter fills in the missing gaps of my not having a sister. This in turn allows me to experience and enjoy the journey of the girl as she grows into the woman. The journey thus far has been great, and PinF has often commented on the the nuanced moments of fatherhood to a daughter and what it all means, whether it be the daddy/daughter dance or just trying to be a solid example of what a fun and steady father is.

PinF's brother is a father too; in fact, five times over. He has the first son born and after that four daughters spanning 15 years in ages. So Sophia has no shortage of cousins especially of the girlie persuasion, as three of them range in age between 5 and 11 years with Sophie falling towards the top in age being 10. Still the dynamic of seeing them all together often evokes memories of my own childhood with the petty teasing, often silly alliances, arguments, and luckily more times than not-enjoyment of each other's company. So it was that PinF found himself surrounded by five females last Saturday on a trip to Media that served as both distraction and favor. Distraction for them on a rainy Saturday; and favor to my bother and his wife so that they could finish setting up for their Fall Equinox party scheduled for later that night.

Into the truck we all loaded, PinF and his "adult" female in the front, and the four girls in the back. Immediately I was taken back 30 years with "seat saving" declarations, we hadn't pulled away from the house and already the petty childishness was beginning. Luckily PinF is rather immune to this type of grab-ass, having come through the grab-ass University that was my own childhood with four brothers. Next crisis? The youngest one Grace inexplicably sobbing and not giving any reason for doing so. I issued the standard warning to the older girls suspecting them at first, much to their denials of course. This is the beauty of kids as they always claim they've been falsely accused. Once en route the girls wanted me to tune into Q102 and instantly became a singing soundtrack of harmony and pop culture singing lyrics they probably don't understand yet. They're all happy so I take it. (click on hypertext above)

Once in town the standard instructions of holding each other's hands at intersections, as well as crossing with the light are given and we commence our store to store madness. Of course the sight of a couple with four little girls elicits one of two responses. Either it's one of fear as in a store keepers silent plea to make sure they "look but don't touch", or it's one of "aww, how cute" or "get ready buddy you're gonna have your hands full in a few years". This is of course is funny since I already have "my hands full shepherding four little chatty Cathies' around town. Still, PinF is enjoying it, and soo too is my friend (I think). At about this point my friend peels off to make some phone calls and do a little womanly shopping in some of Media's nicer jewelry and clothing establishments, leaving the PinF with his "angels".

I've often observed through my own experiences the key to being an effective communicator and or parent to children is in having the ability to reach back and remember the essence of what it is to be a child again. With that in mind we snuck into Media's discount five-and-dime store Deals, and began getting goofy, trying on Halloween masks and hats. After this it was off to LB Toys where the ugly head of children not sharing would rear itself, this of course was accompanied by a few tears and petty arguing. Again, PinF saw this as a moment to move the traveling girl power show a little further down the road and it was decided that a Guinness might smooth the emotions of the moment. It did. PinF had a frothy one as the girls enjoyed cokes and chicken fingers. Again the respect, awe and dread were directed towards me by various patrons enjoying their lunches. Really though I don't stress over the petty bumps in the road of kid's behaviors, subscribing instead to the theory of the less attention paid the quicker the crisis passes.

Sure enough the day was a blast. Oddly enough, I'm referring to myself more than my little prissy charges, oh sure they had fun but I enjoyed it more than them. PinF loves being around children, as if by doing so it serves as a home movie of his own childhood, and based upon my experiences I don't feel as though there is any situation that is unfamiliar to me-even with little girls. Sure, four girls are a lot different than four boys, though I would argue that in fact it may even be easier, since little boys often like to settle their differences with pushing and punching. And so, in recognition of their good behavior it was decided that Uncle PinF would provide a little ice cream treat to the crew as I was quite proud of all the girls and despite a few mini-meltdowns and emotional hiccups it was a really fun day.

It was right after this as the girls sat on the steps of a State Street store that PinF could see clearly to his own childhood via old yellowed photographs of he and his brothers taken of days long passed either down the shore on the boardwalk, or at the Philadelphia Zoo. And so I captured these moments, cognizant of this fact as I peered through the view finder that they probably wouldn't be truly appreciated by the girls for maybe 15 or 20 years. Knowing of course that one day they'll see the photo of themselves cloaked in their childhood innocence, concerned with nothing more than enjoying an ice cream on a cloudy warm Fall day in Media with each other.

The day a sucess, we all loaded back into the truck and headed off to home for the festivities of the annual Fall party.

2008-09-15T12:20:00.000-04:00

Easy Like Sunday

2008-08-10T07:54:00.002-04:00

Quiet times lately. Sophia left for vacation to s. America 10 days ago taking with her a large part of my daily responsibilities and joy. Still the solitude is welcome as I have more time for me for a change. Another beautiful day in paradise awaits as I look out my window on this the 10th day of August. I'm sipping a coffee and listening to WXPN radio's Sleepy Hollow program before I leave for 9am mass.

Today I'll do what I usually do on any given non football Sunday, I'll grab my Sunday paper and head off to the beach for quiet, relaxing indulgence by the water's edge. While there I'll ponder the good old days now gone and what I'd be doing on this day in past years.

Today would've been my dad's 75th birthday. Oh wow,.......as I just typed that last word.....onto my speakers at 8:03 am up came the dulcet sounds of my father's favorite! Frank Sinatra singing "Summer Wind" Now that's odd? I listen to this show every week, and never do I hear Frank Sinatra? I'm gonna take this as a sign that our loved one's are a lot nearer to us somewhere----Happy Birthday Dad.

HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY SOPHIE !!

2008-07-09T06:26:00.001-04:00

Center city--Ocean City--and Cape May city

2008-07-03T13:17:00.009-04:00

Images of PinF

2008-06-23T19:16:00.007-04:00

THIS YOU MAY NOT RECOGNIZE. IT'S PinF "light". AFTER A YEAR OF DIETARY CHANGES AND INCREASED EXERCISE PinF HAS TRIMMED DOWN A TAD , TO A CRUISER WEIGHT CLASS.

THIS IS THE MID DAY FLORIDA MOON SHOT. I KNOW KIND OF STUPID. HELL, IT'S A NEW CAMERA, YOU DO STUPID THINGS WITH THEM.

THIS HOWEVER IS RATHER COOL. THIS IS A (AND I SHOULD HAVE HAD A FOOT IN THE PICTURE TO GIVE IT PERSPECTIVE) A 3 FOOT LONG JELLY FISH THAT CAME WASHING UP ON MINE AND SOPHIA'S BEACH SOCCER GAME. SCARY, NO?

ANYONE WHO KNOW PinF WILL RECOGNIZE THIS. WHY IT'S THE OFFICE OF COURSE. PERFECT WORKING CONDITIONS AS YOU CAN PROBABLY TELL....

THIS, MY FRIENDS IS THE REASON FOR THE "F" IN PinF, MY SWEETY ON HER WAY TO CAMP.

And We're back.....

2008-06-21T21:29:00.003-04:00

My blog has been absent any photos for some time. A dropped digital on the hard Mexican tile killed it. This all changed today after Sophia and I picked out a new one. Tomorrow's blog should seem a whole lot more illustrated.......

Summer Swirls of Melancholy

2008-06-07T16:25:00.008-04:00

I'm sitting on my couch ruminating over the past year that was my daughter's fourth grade. As I ponder this and other thoughts, Sophia sits across from me in her still damp bathing suit strumming her six string accoustic, singing under her breath. The gravity of moment's like these hit when you consider how fast the past ten years have flown. My "little" girl will soon turn ten, and as happy as I am to see her flower into a wonderful person with interests as varied as her surroundings, another part of me is in total conflict and wants to slow it all down.

Yesterday I picked up a melancholic child from her last day of school, slightly saddened by the end of her school year. When you have a kid, you can see the moods of their being like the shades of a sunset....so I could tell. She said yes, that it was a little sad and how good her fourth grade year was for her. I agreed with her and let her get it out as she explained the highlights and accomplishments of her school year. And as she did I was thinking to myself how I don't ever want to forget this chat, this moment, and how vulnerable and innocently honest she is as a child of nine.

I had only just read Leonard's Pitt's column the gist of which had stayed with me as it supported what was already on my mind with regard to just how fast my time on this earth is with my daughter. Pitts' is such a good writer, and even better at striking the chords of life. Looking at Sophie's yearbook and all the many weel wishes scribbled throughout it made me think of just how much I remembered my fourth grade and Ms. Miele's class, and how so many of my friends seemed as if they would always be in my life--in as much you can even ponder "always" as a 1o year old. So in attempt to pull her out of doldrums I did what all dad's do--we went for pizza. And a gelato.

The next thing I suggested was a little soccer, as my little girl has discovered her Latin athletic roots in a big way this past spring falling in love with soccer....so off we went. We'd been playing here and there, at the beach, in the park, even at the house. So this time I decided to up her interest and took her to a local university where we had an entire collegiate field to ourselves, all under the swirling pastels of the setting sun's sky. There we were, all alone on a manicured sea of grass, running, laughing and totally in the moment. Again I was struck at the magical-ness of being so in the "moment" with just my daughter. I still can recall throwing the football or baseball with my dad, and how such small moments from my childhood still come to the forefront even now as a man in his 40's. I hope they would be remembered by her too in the same fond way.

By the time we got home Sophia was her usual bubbly self, and we were looking into the local School of Rock here in Palm Beach for her to pursure her rock 'n roll dreams. The slowly winding down day now filled with equal parts melancholy and warm moments that such milestone's have in my daughter's life, and indeed mine as well. If only I could try to be in the moment more, although I think I do a good job of it now, somehow the hours, days, and years have crept by either unnoticed or under appreciated. I'm getting better at recognizing this though, and I think she's a better kid for it. For the record, her grades were great too, all A's and B's, and honor roll too. I'm lucky, and I know it.

Got to get ready now. We're off to the daddy-daughter Hawaiian luau at the local pool----stay tuned for photos.....

2008-06-01T13:19:00.002-04:00

PinF's search is continual. In my never ending quest for the seminal pieces of the ocean's jewels PinF is constantly on the look out for the coveted red and blue pieces. Last Saturday while enjoying a slow day of indulgence at the beach Sophia, a few paces away scanning for her's too, I found a coveted blue piece of beach glass. Considering the rarity of such a find I took it as a sign--of what I'm still not quite sure. Still as the art of beach glass combing goes, it's a rare accomplishment.

12th Annual Florida Keys Cycle Ride

2008-05-26T11:21:00.006-04:00

The grounds of my motel--Popp's, located on MM 95 of US 1. A pleasure sponges' paradise of palms, hammocks, and sunshine nestled on the Gulf of Mexico. Essentially this became Hdqtrs. You can see the PinF in the background in fromt of casita #8 next to his trusty steed--the V Strom 1000.

PinF, strategizing intently his next move in the Keys; careful to think each move methodically if not lazily. This shot was taken just prior to cracking open an ice cold Corona.

Again, the view from casita #8 as the suns sets over the Gulf of Mexico. Impossible to appreciate in this photo would be the smooth sounds eminating from the I-Pod speakers complimented by my Johnnie Walker Black and soda, not to mention the wafting odors of my grill.

Naturally Mystic

2008-05-09T09:08:00.006-04:00

Has it really been one month?

Wow. PinF's life has undergone some changes in that time, both professionally and personally- hence my hiatus status. Still, moments, people, and thoughts register everyday and are stored as "potential blogs".

A month ago I changed jobs, releasing me from the daily drudgery of office life in exchange for the autonomy of an outside sales job. Florida, unlike northern states, offers as diverse a dichotomy of people and cultures as one is likely to find in America. A virtual paella of cultures, languages, regions, and lifestyles; all of which create a refreshing mix of new experiences daily when out and about doing my job. My territory extends literally from the ocean to the lake. My knowledge of Florida's interior regions has always been limited, at least until I began covering these areas.

So yesterday I left the familiar environs of my seaside existence and headed off into the "glades", and incredibly flat, sun scorched patch of life situated in and around Lake Okeechobee. The route is a long road carved through centuries old sugar cane fields, the topography is flatter than flat. The people are an incredible mix of Afro/Latino-Caribbean descendants whose forefather's probably cultivated the very same crops in colonial held Carribean islands as slaves. It's in their blood. The profoundness of nothing but sugar cane for as far as the eye can see is akin to the wheat belt of the mid west, it's stunningly beautiful, yet starkly surreal. One condition of cane cultivation is the annual burning of the stalks of last years crops and then tilling the rich ashy soil over for this years'. The closest I can describe in words would be Kuwait after the first Gulf war--fields on fire, smoke billowing-an almost hellish site.

The people of these areas are a hearty mix of hard working and less than prosperous stock for the most part. And although their economic wealth is limited, it is enhanced by their rich cultural wealth. Indian reservations of past Seminole warriors dot the landscape--though now, ironically wealthy from gambling. It was here that PinF found himself recently, in one of the most interesting convergences of fate he's experienced in some years. Proving yet again, that there really is a purpose, plan, and reason for every life and person, the trick is always found in the lesson. Either in having the ability to recognize and draw it out of the experience-; or by recognizing the signs of the lesson and being able to absorb and learn from them. Yesterday was just such a day.

When PinF is operating out west, he often holds a distinctive empathetic advantage. In my life I have eaten from the plate of wealth, and I have shared from the cup of poverty--literally. Having enjoyed the trappings of extreme wealth and privilege, I've also had the better opportunity and some would argue "luxury", of traveling to countries and sharing with people of far less material wealth yet somehow possessing far greater spiritual wealth. Of course when I speak with people in these areas they have no way of knowing that the white guy with a tie has seen their realities, much less understands their hardships. Yet that's where the ability to truly communicate comes into play, in that I mean communicating through experiences and knowledge of certain peoples stark and often poor realities. Being able to speak to someone not as a superior, but rather as a contemporary is one of life's finest and most equalizing skills.

So yesterday under the scorching plains of the Florida glades a hundred miles away in distance and more like a million in reality, PinF made just such a connection. I was sipping a bottle of water outside a convenience store pondering my next appointment when up came one of those people whose entry into your life you know holds something. I first saw the snowy white beard. Then the dark chocolate skin, and finally the Jamaican flag air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror. He bounded from his dusty pick-up with a smile as white as beach sand. His hands were gnarled from years of work, his body chiseled and lean. Greeting me with the typical Jamaican manner of "yes I", we immediately found in each other something worth more than just a hello. He asked what man in a tie was doing out in these parts? I explained I was covering the western edges of my sales territory, I asked from what parish he was from in JA. He told me he was "country", I saw his name was Hylton from his work shirt.

We spoke as if we were meant to meet, with an ease and familiarity and purpose we discussed JA., the muddy politics of cheating, and what we all seek--happiness, health, and a safe place to raise kids. We immediately moved to music, he was impressed with my Jamaican musical knowledge and was still trying to figure this white guy with a tie. He told me he had gotten away from reggae since he left his homeland 30 years ago, telling me that he makes no connection to the artists, sounds and message in today's music. We talked about the old school--Studio One, the Wailing Wailers, Joseph Hill, he let out a "..bombaclot mon..." The he told me he was 58 and that he listens to something different, and asked me to come up to his truck where he reached in turned the key and let blare the country music of Charlie pride-the first black man of country music. Again I was knowledgeable of this too, as my father was a country music fan, so we talked old school country too, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard and others.

Here we both were, two completely different souls, of equally different lots in life, yet we connected on a level that is often not found even amongst family members. Laughing, handshaking, and truly enjoying the moment under the hot sun in the middle of Florida's countryside. Hylton spoke of Marcus Garvey's prophecies of equality, and equity for the black man in this century and how he derived the goodness of that message in the wholesome values of country music. I could see where he was coming from, and for that moment, different as we were by birth, color, and culture we were as alike as two brothers. Hylton spoke of his gratitude for the life he's lead and asked me how many children and what ages I thought he had? I said three-- in their 20's? He said 6, ranging from his 6 month old baby girl to his 23 year old son. He told me he was 58 and truly blessed. I couldn't find one shred in his spirit to suggest otherwise.

Hylton and I said our farewells after a while, each happy in the friend that we each had made. As I started my car, my Cd player let out the sweet rhythm of "Natural Mystic", from the 1977 gem of an album, Exodus by Bob Marley. I quickly ejected the CD, and went to Hylton's car, and through his window I told him I had something for him. "Irie mon...one love" was his response. I told Hylton, that no Jamaican man no matter how much he loves country music, should be without his roots. He popped in the CD and was visibly taken back 31 years to his youth in Jamaica, and he thanked me profusely telling me he was going to go home, hold his baby girl on the porch and listen to the Exodus album straight through...as he pulled he away I could see the pearly white grin and I heard him let out another "bombaclot Mon!!" as he did....

Brush with Independence

2008-04-06T10:24:00.007-04:00

PinF has very curly hair. Though recent photos don't reflect this I know. A combination of aging and business appropriate styles I suppose have infringed upon my "inner hippy" as of late. Still, I recognize and even embrace that which we all possess--the memory of being who you want to be without anyone else telling you what you should or shouldn't do or be. I was that guy for many years, dancing to my own tune, do what I wanted when I wanted, go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It's what made me well---me.

This said, early morning hair brushing conflicts with Sophia are both a test of my patience and ability to allow her to be who she wants to be. Right now she wants to be a pop star princess, and if you look around, there aren't too many PSP's with short hair. The problem? Her hair is a wild, thick and untamed angry mix of Latin/Irish waves and curls. Beautiful indeed, and something people compliment her on quite often, yet this hair is also like a child itself as it require constant supervision, lest it run amok. At nine years of age Sophia isn't completely independent of her parents' brush. Not to mention the length adds another level of difficulty.

So I imagine you can figure out where this all leads? Well in my world it would lead to the salon, in Sophia's it leads to an apprehensive and uncomfortable morning. Something that has increased with each inch of growth. My little girl is obviously growing up quite literally before me, and now has own opinions on what she wants/needs. While raking through the jungle she calls hair yesterday I started in on my best rendition of what I remember my own father's rant about cutting my hair. Of course as a parent I try to be careful not to do or say the same things that remind me of what I remember of my own childhood....oddly enough this is life's revenge. When you finally realize that your parent's words weren't all wrong but rather quite true as you literally replay an even clip of your own life script.

We were on way to opening her first bank account when this all went down. I told Sophia she WAS getting a trim today no discussion--end of story--period. This didn't stop her under-her-breath protests. So out we went her drying her tears, me feeling like the heavy I never want to be. Her hair, now in some semblance of order, albeit begrudgingly. I tactfully changed subjects and mentioned the new science museum exhibit-panning for gold and jewels---this psyched her up. The bank was a special event, conjuring thoughts of PinF and his dear old dad opening his first passbook savings account at Fidelity Bank in Lansdowne probably circa 1969. This is one of those moments you just know your child will remember for ever.

Next stop? My friend's hair salon. By this time Sophia was hip to the fact that her papi's "democratic dictatorship" would prevail and she had more or less surrendered to negotiating the amount to be cut rather than protesting the fact. I assured her my intent was to have nothing more than the damaged ends cut so as to restore some health and bounce to her hair. I had alerted my hairdresser friend of the delicate nature of the operation and she was prepared. Of course the girly-girl in Sophia had overlooked the indulgences of the hair wash and scalp massage and attention that is adorned when in the chair. Her protests softened and she began to make suggestions. The haircut? Complete success, we were now off to the South Florida Science Museum. Sophie loves museums, most likely due to our many visits to the Franklin Institute a fact she is quick to point out when comparing other museums.

Today's featured fun was panning for actual gold and gems. Really cool stuff for kid, hell PinF even got in on the act. We spent several hours being kids together, then playing miniature golf. The drama of the morning all bu forgotten, my little girl with her perfectly coiffed hair and happy smile. Her money in the bank, her hair clipped, and her day a fun one we made our way to the beach for some boogie boarding. What started out a bit confrontational and ended with smiles and joy, though it offered a perfect reminder of the struggles and battles we will eventually face as she grows into her own person, something I try to balance with my own tolerances and acceptance.

Space is important, as is anyone's right to expression. The ability to make mistakes and do what "you" think is best is also important.. That'll come soon I assure her, for now I'm the boss, though I know what she doesn't; that that shoe will soon change foot.

Keep the Dream Alive

2008-04-04T08:43:00.002-04:00

Less Sleep, but More Blessings

2008-04-01T22:14:00.019-04:00

I'm thinking the best lessons in our lives are most definitely the bitter-sweetest and often the most touching.

For why would we draw lessons at all if they were only derived from the "good" times?

My neighbor Don pulled through his near death crisis and hasn't stopped thanking me for stopping by the hospital all those days to see him. Nothing for me really, as I know too well what it is to be in a hospital bed for days, even weeks-- at a time. PinF himself; afflicted at an early age with a near fatal kidney disease, remembers well the endless days of tests, needles, and surgeries.

So good for Don. Though he now faces the oncologist for what really ails him. Either way it was special to be a part of someone's recovery, and I too drew inspiration from him in that it offered that little reminder of how precious, fragile, and temporary my own time on this earth is. I literally looked upon a man on the dge and drew great strength from having been on that "edge" with my own father.

In between the neighborhood drama, my brother Chris arrived for his annual spring break. The beach was hot, the beer cold, the ocean warm and we laughed, exercised and had excellent meals. Of course I worked, he played. Ten days later he went home tan, rested and happy and I tried to continue my life. Not long after this, bitterswwet lesson number two came calling on PinF. An old and dear friend, one I hadn't seen in 25 years appeared from California. My good friend Hugh, originally from Swarthmore and currently living in California, called to say he was in the area. Great. Fire up the party machine again.

Hugh had been visiting his parents in South Carolina when he was called to West Palm to help his girlfriend Nat, herself sick with flu. Turns out she's from Thailand. A tiny waif of Asian gentleness; she was battling severe bronchitis. Hugh and her stayed on for a few days and like any true old friend, he and I picked up where we had left off 25 years ago. Laughing, joking, trading music and enjoying one another's company. Hugh would eventually tell me of his own personal challenges including a divorce and his subsequent fight against kidney failure, and his eventually fortunate transplant and return to semi- normal health and life. I had heard all of this through the grapevine, yet this was much more real. Hugh had been living in the far east teaching, he's traveled to many foreign countries and is what I'd call a real blue piece of glass--just a real all-around quality man and friend.

Hugh gave me much more than he claims to have been given on this trip. He gave me a realignment of perspective and balance to see my life for what it really is. We're often unable in life to really see what is important and precious. Hugh's visit, coming on the heels of my helping my neighbor Don through a battle for his life gave me just that--perspective. Not that I live without it mind you, it's just that we're all apt to lose focus from time to time. Hugh embodied many of the traits we all ascribe yet somehow lose--empathy, perspective, grace, and gratitude; all traits he nearly had to surrender. That was until his best friend volunteered his life saving gift of a new kidney, much like a good friend will do. Hugh still battle's today, and is on a host of anti-rejection drugs, but damn was it good to see and hear his tale. Oddly enough we're both left with one kidney, and I suspect that whatever we've each lost we gotten back in far greater quantities and clarity. Hugh and Nat left today, they are truly missed by Sophia and I. I haven't laughed so much for a long time.

Fast forward to today. PinF was called upon to be a volunteer for "Field Day" at Sophia's school spirit games. I was assigned the football skills obstacle course---in 85 degree weather. Again more precious and very vivid blessings. Being with your child, in her school, and being wanted there by them is in itself a really neat feeling. Sophie and me started our day at 7:30, and then ended it at 5:30 with Sushi accompanied by another student friend of Sophia's and dad and his wife. He too is from Philly and a helluva guy and father with like philophies of raising a little girl. This was my third lesson, and by far my most important, though no less relevant.

Being Sophia's "papi" is by far the most rewarding, difficult, and fun job I have. And because of this she is the main reason I try to maintain the health and balance that my neighbor and friend are fighting for.

Snapshots in Time

2008-03-12T22:34:00.004-04:00

So two years ago my neighbor Don was helping me out, either collecting the mail or feeding the cat as I traveled back and forth to care for my father. Now it's Don who's in distress, and me helping him, something neither of us could have imagined. Surprisingly, Don's rallied and made into an acute rehab where he continues to battle to get back the life he had only three weeks ago. He has a feeding a tube now and seems to have good days and bad, for my part I try to keep him motivated.

So today I pick up Sophie from school and we spent the afternoon seeing a movie she really wanted to see. The new Raven Symone and Martin Lawrence movie "College Road Trip". He plays her father who just can't seem to let go of his "little girl", trying desperately to convince her to attend college close to home in Illinois. Of course she wants to attend Georgetown. A funny and cute movie for sure, but a very real theme for many parents, one I'll someday own as well. The message of "letting go" a universal one, yet the one line that stuck with me in between the yucks and the tender moments was the father's line "where did the years go". As I jostled for popcorn position with my little movie date I felt how true that was when I considered how fast her 10 years have blown by me. We made the most of the day and immediately went into the litlle photo booth in the lobby and took some silly shots of us like we always do......

Further illuminating this statement is the fact that tomorrow, March 13 is two years since my dad passed away. Time, it's a killer in more ways than one. Ask my neighbor Don what three weeks of time have done to him. It's almost as if you wish you could just slow it all down. Two years, yet it's still all very real and close that last night in South Philly with my brothers. Still, time marches on; hopefully making us all wiser and more appreciative. Sophia and I talked on the way home of her pop-pop, she with her photos, and me with mine. The days fly by so fast so we at least try to capture the "moments" on film.

Shades of Empathy

2008-03-07T10:13:00.001-05:00

Don's dying, albeit slowly. For if his current predicament of problems doesn’t take him, the cancer in his belly surely will if left unchecked an untreated. All cancer treatment has been suspended due to his current crisis. Shades of my own father’s ordeal are written all over this life drama, and I am in many ways, better prepared to handle the questions that need to be asked. My old neighbor Don; who only three weeks ago was a vital, and for the most part healthy, 79 year old 200 lb man is now looking 10 years older and 25 lbs. lighter. The effect is quite dramatic to witness.

The Doctor’s have stemmed the current demoralizing effects of the chemo, and he is now faced with arduous task of making himself eat, and of course the physical therapy. Much to his credit (and my imploring nagging) Don has managed to pull his creaky body out of the bed and participate in PT. His mind is clear. His body is willing. These are all excellent signs of his ability to turn this around, and eventually face what brought him here in the first place his still waiting cancer treatments.

I hadn’t intended to be “involved”. I was just stopping by to lend some support and encouragement. When I saw the sunken face, the unshaven beard, and loose dentures, something drew me in further; I’m obviously smart enough to recognize the similarities to my own father. They’re both from Delco, both love their Philly sports, and have similar mindsets regarding likes and dislikes. Don, like my father is a bit curmudgeon, and I find myself having to speak some reason to him regarding his refusal of PT or medicine, or maybe his ornery attitude regarding his situation. He’s entitled to this though. God knows he’s been through the ringer.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are no finer traits to being a nurse than compassion and empathy; for if you lack these basic qualities no amount of skill or knowledge will ever compensate for their loss. The ability to hold a hand, stroke a tired persons’ brow, or maybe clean them, shave them, or just listen to them is of far greater values than ability to administer an IV, or a machine.

Two years ago today I sat in cloudy gray Philadelphia at St. Agnes Medical Center and settled in for my father’s last journey, one which in many ways still affects my decisions and impressions on life in general. I held the hands of a dying man for 7 days and came out a better, wiser, and more empathetic man for it. I highly doubt I would have the interest or courage to help Don had I not been through this myself. Don is going to die one way or another, either he is going to succumb to his current maladies and lose hope in himself. Or, Don will fight the good fight, encouraged by all he sees to still live for. He’s had a long life either way, and Lord knows the path of life offers no easy journey as he must return to fighting for his life once he regains his health.

So here I am, involved on a daily basis. Incredibly I don’t feel sad, I feel actually like I spending quality time as Don reminisces about growing up in Springfield and working for IVB bank back in the day. I usually stop by after work everyday, shave him or clean him up, much to his wife Doris’ pleasure, as she isn’t on those types of terms with her husband. Odd as it may seem, she brings other things to the mix. I’m happy to bring what little comfort I can, and am better able to recognize and appreciate my own life and new found health.

Don’s 80th birthday is on Wednesday. He tells me when he gets out he wants to take me to Ruth Chris is appreciation for all I’ve done. I told Don that his shooting the shit with me again at the mailbox each day would be repayment enough. Let’s see if he can’t turn this around.

Belle of the Ball

2008-02-29T12:14:00.005-05:00

As I suspected, my date was most likely the prettiest of the night. Stop with the emails already, I'll be posting my photos later today and then you all can judge for yourselves.

Suffice to say the Ball was quite fun.

Gonna Have A Ball

2008-02-28T15:20:00.002-05:00

The invitation sounds formal. The venue certainly is. The Marriot PGA Ballroom, 6PM sharp. And so it went, I rather nonchalantly accepted my pretty lady friend’s invitation after making her wait a day or so while “checked to see if my calendar was clear.

Truth be told it’s been a while since I’ve been to a semi-formal dance, so I’m a tad nervous. I spoke with my date last night and she was nervous too, although for different reasons. Like members of the opposite persuasion she was concerned with what I was wearing, color of suit, etc. I assured I would be looking smart, and that she had no worries.

As usual I have a myriad of affairs to tend to before picking up my date for tonight’s function. First a quick stop at the hospital to check on my neighbor Don and smuggle in some contraband food. Then it’s off to the dry cleaner to pick up my suit. Last stop will be at the florist to pick up small corsage I guess…..just thinking out loud here. Not really sure of “Ball” etiquette. I’m going to have to make a call on that one.

So that’s one day in the life of PinF. There are cobalt blue and cloudless skies here today, and a nice breezy cold front blew in last night. Temperature plummeted to 40 this morning with an afternoon high not expected to reach 60! Love it. Of course it’ll be 85 by Saturday so the spring like weather is short lived.

So anyway back to my date. A real stunner if I may say so. She’s a brown haired, brown eyed beauty with an olive complexion of Latin roots. She’s also fore warned me about dance etiquette; claims she doesn’t do “slow dances”. Interesting, looks like the PinF is going to have to bring his salsa/mambo “A” game tonight. Roger that.

Ok, gotta run, lots to do. I’ll post an update either late tonight, or early tomorrow, including photos, because I know you’re all dying to check PinF’s Latin stunner of a date to the Ball!

Watching Over Me

2008-02-27T21:56:00.003-05:00

So I said I'd blog shorter more succinct blogs. Not sure if I can. I went to visit my neighbor Don after work today. Having watched my dear old dad fade over the course of six months, I was both prepared and scared for what I'd see. The hallways of hospitals have always for me seemed kind of familiar. The smells, the cleanliness, the busy nature of its inhabitants. The rooms are always a different story as you amble down foreign hallways and see glimpses of once vibrant people either
in the final chapters of their lives, or fighting the greatest fight.

I walked in on Don gently napping and was taken back by the sunken look in his eyes, the loose dentures in his mouth, and the 8 day growth of snowy white hair on his face. I recognized the familar machines and monitors around his bedside. The sight of him brought everything I knew it would-- right back. I could feel the emotion rising in my throat. we made some small talk, and I could tell Don was "all there" mentally. I told him I'd be right back and went out to speak with a rather portly, sour faced nurse, one I could sense immediately was going to be semi-confrontational. I introduced myself as Tim, and asked if she would get me a razor, a pan, and some shave cream. She asked me in an indignant tone, who was I? I told her I was Don's friend and I was going to shave that beard off his face. I then asked for her name, just to let her know I was not intimidated whatsoever.

Don looked closer to death than he did to walking out that door. 30 minutes and a shave later, the color ofpink was in cheeks, a smile on his face and his teary eyes of gratitude were looking for the right words to thank me. I told him he could thank me by eating, and in believing that he could, and would walk out of this room. I told Don that his survival now hinges on his attitude. Dinner arrived when I was there and I made sure he ate half of it---all this while he has no desire for food whatsoever. It was tough. I then went out and got a nurse and told her Don needed his bed cleaned, she again brushed me off. I went over her this time, and went to the nurse's station and I made it clear Don needed his bed cleaned. It was.

I stayed with Don for 90 minutes. He has no visitors. His wife Doris is sick with flu and cannot visit, making my visit even more fortuitous. I told him that he HAD to eat. He said he felt like a slice a pizza. I went and got him one and came back and spent another hour until visiting was over.

Now here's where I think there's something more to life and in fact someone watching......I walk out of the hospital, half broken with sadness, half filled with anger that Don wasn't getting the attention I thought he should. My phone began ringing, it was a 484 area code. I suspected maybe a brother? I think it was my father working in strange way. It was his old nurse from Delaware County Memorial, Donna Casey. A true angel, one who who treated my father like her own father. She brought him back from the abyss with patient love, nurturing and an excellent bedsie manner. She shaved him, joked with him, and even visited him in Media once my father made it out. I hadn't spoken to her in 18 months, and of all times, she calls me when I've just seen my father's past.

I told her what I had just left and how incredible it was that she should call me. Don has a little more hope, and a little more reason to fight tonight. He's still in trouble, but I bet he sleeps a little better with a smooth shave, and in the knowledge that he isn't alone.

Neither am I.

The sunset.

2008-02-27T14:24:00.001-05:00

Haven’t blogged much lately, much to the disappointment of regular readers. Apologies are probably in order. Strange thing about a blog is that it’s your’s, but after a certain amount of time, not to mention accumulation of readers, you become beholden—to it, and them. So in an effort to be more “regular” I’m toying with the idea of trying to blog more frequently, with shorter more succinct blogs. Mind you, I’ve never been too brief with my blogs so let’s see how it goes.

My neighbor Don is dying. Not exactly happy news I know, but the news all the same. I had written some months ago about my ex-Philadelphian neighbor and friend Don relating to me one morning as I checked my mail that he had tested positive for cancer of the esophagus. He was apparently fighting the good fight—and quite hopeful indeed when all of a sudden things took a turn. Don was with me all through my own father’s demise, and in some ways acted as a surrogate as we would pass in the parking lot or meet over fetching the trash cans. He loved talking Eagles and Phillies---just like my old man.

He’s in the hospital right next to my house. I saw his incredibly nice and friendly wife Doris yesterday. She looks beside herself with worry, and is having trouble getting the information she needs, telling me there are as many Doctor’s for each of Don’s maladies and that she hasn’t been able to get the “plan” from any one Doctor. Meanwhile Don is steadily sliding on her. I know this story all too well. I’m going over there to see old grumpy Don and to help Doris try to sort out the chain of command the best I can as a non-family member. This of course is quite sad, as they only have each other and an adult daughter in Philly. They each were so hopeful after starting chemo a month ago.

From what I’ve heard it does not sound good, feeding tube, catheters, etc. Don has lost 30 lbs in 8 days going from 220 to 190. He is 80 years-old. He’s tough, and was by my estimation in quite good shape. Funny how time in the hospital can result in as many factors against a patient as it can for him. His will sounds weak, his strength dwindling. I remember all too well witnessing this in my father. Not sure what good I can do other than to be supportive of Doris, and assure Don that I’ll be helping her. It really is sad. End of life issues never seem as real as they do when you’ve been through them. Then they suddenly seem to be all around you.

I’m trying to remain upbeat, though I dread the memories that await me in that room. I’ll go though, because I know Don is not long for this world, and a new face will make the world of difference to him.

Who Needs Some Beach?

2008-02-07T20:14:00.000-05:00

Took some time out for PinF today. Original plan: leave office early and do taxes. Actual plan: grab I Pod and book and head to the 85* sun-drenched beach. What can I say? I'm weak. I'm also ever present, or at least I am ever trying to be--in the "moment". And the moment was screaming BEACH! Nuff said.

So I'm chilling in my regular spot, listening to French Canadians as they broadcast their distinctive French accents, watching the waves, the clouds, the lovely sights and peacefully gliding pelicans. Perfect day; breeze is coming out of the south, ocean is 76*, with a light chop. I can see there's quite a sandbar forming and with it a large deposit of shells. So, I decide on a leisurely walk, always on the look-out for the odd piece of beach glass. As anyone who has ever spent time with PinF on the beach knows how much I enjoy looking for glistening nuggets of smoothly worn glass. The whole experince relaxes my mind and allows me to wade in the shallows; add an I Pod and you're in the zone.

My thoughts drift from Sophia's orthodontist appointment, to the many friends I've shared good times with along this very beach, back to the music pumping in my ears. The memories, the laughs, and the many cold Coronas shared with these people give me pause to smile. I remember being on this very beach with my brother Rob and my Dad as he insistently told us both "how hot" it was. Friends from home, friends from Europe, friends from South America, they're all here, and their memories surround me. Just as I'm drifitng in my thoughts and the day, I spot some glass in about 6 inches of water--green, I quickly make the grab before the next mini swell.

I'm completely aware and thankful of the weather and my surroundings---as I think of the friends and family in less favorable climates. Perhaps I neeed to send my many colder climate friends a little bit of my beach---just a little bad zip-lock bag with a mini batch of sand and beach glass. That should sustain you all for a few months eh? Just drop me an email with a ship to address if you're in a cold place and need a shot of some beach and PinF will mail a miniaturebeach asap.

Doing the math....

2008-02-01T21:38:00.000-05:00

Spent today recovering from the ear piercing shrieks of 20,000 tweens last night at Hannah Montana in Miami. Sophia, granted a one day reprieve from school, was my all day companion. First order of business was homework--lots of it too. Ever the lover of books and classes that require a more critical persuasion of intelligence Sophia's Achille's heel is math. Still, her being the overachiever she is, she never quits, and we're at it again after completing what seems almost without challenge--her science, writing, and English work. After about an hour, I could see the strain growing, and I knew she needed a break, so off to the beach we went.

Nothing stimulates the brain like a change of scenery; in this cae it was a sunny, warm, breezy day. We laughed, talked about the show the night before and swapped songs on our IPods. Eventually we finished up the math, and the relief her face displayed made all the work worth it, knowing she was now free to enjoy her weekend. Naturally we gravitated to the local pub for lunch and her favorite chicken fingers. Our talk was filled with Hannah, and how we sat next to Shaquille O'Neal, and the photo he took her with her. I notice more and more how our talks have become much more mature, and less and less me being the only authority in the conversation.

Funny how your children spend the most time with you, yet in many ways, know the least about who you really are other than 'mom" or "dad". I hadn't really ever though of this until today, when Sophia overheard me talking to a friend about a golf tournament. I had told him I might play. This had Sophia questioning me about golf, and whether I really played? I jokingly told her that papi has dones lots of things that she didn't know about. This got her going on a laundry list of activities: scuba diving, skydiving, different cities, different activities......and with each one, she wouldn't believe my answer and would threaten to call her nana--my mom, to confirm. We laughed so much, and I began to realize how odd it must be for her.

I know everything about her, and have since the moment she entered the world. I am in touch with her teacher, her music lessons, and I monitor the many other facets of her life--unbeknownst to her of course; I keep a sentinel's watch-- always in the background. Yet in thinking about this later I realized how many of the things I discovered about my parents and their pasts came either through their opening up due to a conversation or situation that would instigate such information sharing. Or, if my interest was piqued by something else, the occasional point blank inquiry/heart to heart chat. I can honestly recall that almost none of these exculpatory moments ever came before I was thirty or older; despite feeling as though I had very open relationships with each of my parents. Perhaps this is the natural order of life and knowledge, that we attain this information little-by-little, year-by-year, aquiring more only when the congruence of maturity and experience intersect and allow such access.

Either way, this chat made me more aware of sharing as opposed to always "telling" what she should do or what I "want" her to hear etc. Of course I recognize too, that much of the person I was 15 years ago, a nine year-old really has little comprehension nor business knowing. But it did awaken in me a sense of not allowing many of the mysteries of who I am to her to go unaddressed, and I told her that if she has questions and wants to know things about me, she should ask. If it's none of her business I told her, I would let her know. She looked like someone who just got a library card upgrade, and with it she was ready to check out some more info in the "reference" section. Still, we had some laughs, and once again I learned something from her as I noticed her ever maturing nature and modesty. Time is indeed passing us all so quickly, so it's important to me that I share as much of who I am, as what I know. This is precisely so because I know from my own experiences that this seemingly innocuous conversation will hold much more weight in her memory twenty years from now than our VIP seats last night with Hannah.

Sunrise over the Palm Beaches

2008-02-01T12:06:00.000-05:00

Snapped this shot from my office window as the sun rose on the last day of January.......

Blogged & Logged

2008-01-24T23:10:00.000-05:00

Got an email from an old friend today, always welcome of course not to mention one of the best things of the internet, hearing from friends who are able to find us. Aside from the nice tidings, this friend was really writing to surprise me with her surprise at finding me. And of all places, on a blog ranking site one that I wasn't really aware of prior to this email, but a neat site now that I've found it. She was actually looking for another friend and found me "ranked" in the "personal blog" category.

Here's where it gets interesting. Apparently of the 10,197 blogs listed and ranked by editors by several parameters, the basics being design, content, writing style/ability, and frequency of posts PaynterinFlorida came in at 475th with a 6.8 ranking. Mind you, I would've appreciated a higher rating, though being 475th of 10, 197 started to sink in. I'm not sure how I got on this site, but it sure is professional validation for something that's really been a hobby and not really a serious committment. Or at least it hasn't felt like one writing about my life and events. That's cool-- it was a double treat, hearing from an old friend bearing good news.

I still have to read more to figure out how the site works, how they find you etc. But I have this sneaking feeling now I'll want to drive my rating higher, fear not though. I'm not selling out to almighty adsense dollar, even with the greater exposure PinF has enjoyed the last few months. This month alone has PinF coming in with the greatest amount of visitors in it's 29 months of existence. I would however recommend the site and I think I'll make a link too. The url is www.blogged.com.

Seeing What I Was Missing

2008-01-17T10:42:00.000-05:00

Considering the amount of medical procedures and tests I’ve had performed over the past year; both recommended and self-initiated, you’d think I might have thought of it myself. This in turn got me thinking. Recently, PinF befriended a regular reader whom he had noticed had been visiting my world for some time now, mind you she never left many clues. She would just read her fill and then after vicariously participating in my many mundane or habitual routines, move on. Eventually she did leave me a message, solving for me what had become a kind of mystery—who was this person in Kennesaw, Georgia, ever so faithfully—albeit silently, reading the PinF?

As with all mysteries, I would come to find out that there was much more to this reader than words alone could convey. Or maybe I should say it is because of reading that this mystery conveyed that which we all too often take for granted, which leads me to my point. My new found friend and her husband, proud parents to two nice and interesting teen-age children are deaf. Mind you, I didn’t ask her about it, so I’m not sure if this is a life-long affliction or something that happened early on in their lives. What I do know is this; she wrote me to tell me how much she enjoyed PinF, and how she had been following Sophia’s musical progress. She then recommended a neat site about reading and then in a casual kind of way, mentioned that she and her husband are both deaf, and they had each recently been fitted with Cochlear ear implants, now allowing them to hear sounds.

The reason I know this was because she was listening to Sophia’s songs on her MySpace page, and though she could hear the gist of the music, she asked if I might send her the lyrics so she could truly understand all that Sophie was singing. How neat was this? I started thinking about this afterwards, wondering how much she might have missed of her own children’s songs and cries, and as happy as I was, I also felt a bit sad. Then I began to think how much we all take for granted that which makes our lives richer and ultimately, more enjoyable—our senses. I again thought about how often people who are deprived of sight or sound are often more attuned in other areas, as if they hone other senses to a higher degree due to their deficiency. Whether it be lip reading and sign language or having being more aware of nuances by way of sight or smell to make up for they cannot hear. Or as is often the case, the blind, the way they too seem to often “see” things the sighted cannot, and have much more developed sense of hearing. So it was that I began reading my new friends blog, recently reading this piece that her daughter had to write for a school project incorporating a famous quote, in this case Shakespeare. I found this quite touching, not to mention very mature of her daughter to use her parent’s as inspiration for her school assignment.

I kind of got sidetracked, but in a good way. I started out mentioning medical procedures, because I’m having another one tomorrow on something that I had taken for granted far too long. Never having had a problem, I never felt compelled to get a check up. Then again, I wasn’t having any heart problems either before discovering my awful numbers. Still, I noticed I’ve been finding it difficult to read smaller print, specifically when I was asked to read the number on the side of my prescription bottle….uh oh. So tomorrow I’m off again in search of better health, this time its ocular health. So there you have it, my deaf friend made me notice my senses, which in turn brought me to my "senses" and prompted me to make an appointment to get my eyes checked.

Sophia has already given me a list of “non-cool” frames and lenses to be avoided in the event that I do in fact need glasses. Thank God for me her fashionable "senses" are razor sharp.

Lucky Us

2008-01-12T18:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever travelled the same road day in and day out and maybe had to stop somewhere you never do along that route and noticed something or someplace that you had been taking for granted for months, maybe even years? Maybe it was a tree, or a house, or some other man made landmark. Perhaps it was just a pond, or a meadow that you had noticed, but had never really looked at?

PinF had such an experience today, reminding me just how special and often taken for granted our lives and surroundings are. Imagine if you knew this was your last day; it's a safe bet you would drink in ever last nuance of the most mundane objects, places, and things you had come to take for granted on a daily basis. Today Sophie and I were traveling home down US1 in Juno Beach through an area that is populated by scrub pines and typical Florida brush. Difference was this was all made in to a perpetual natural reserve just recently, and though I've driven past maybe a 1000 times I never really enjoyed it's real beauty until today. To my credit, it hadn't been a navigable area until only recently when county money was secured to purchase 578 acres of what would be considered prime real estate. Situated between the intra-coastal and the ocean this new reserve is an awesome testament to what Florida once was.

Sophia and I had pulled in on a split-second whim, and lucky for us. This park begins with a path lined with blooming wild flowers populated by colorful butterflies.....the paved path winds for 1/4 mile down ever so lightly in elevation until you come to man made boardwalk that then takes you over a salt water marsh. The area is teeming with hawks, foxes, rabbits, snakes, lizards and other birds of prey as well. As it was, Sophie and me were the only car in the park, and as we walked we became removed from the developed Florida, and walked as the Seminole surely must have a century and a half ago. This land was in fact a former battleground of the Seminole and US Army in the 1840's. Soon the boardwalk gave way to an incredibly fine, powdery white sand path that proceeds to disappear even deeper in the scrub for another 1.5 miles until you finally loop all the way around to where you started.

The day was a brilliantly sunny, warm one. And as we walked further and further in time and place we began to shed man's noises until you heard only the vultures, or a splash of a turtle. A really neat find this park, and one that I'll now visit more often using the loop for an exercise trail. As I looked in the view finder of my camera framing my beautiful daughter it occured to me how symbolic the path that lay behind her was, full of opportunity and untapped discovery. Upon walking out of the park together having our typical father daughter chat, Sophie and I realized and she commented, just how lucky we are. I quickly agreed and then added, that the trick in life is to always recognize how lucky we are.

I think she knew what I meant.

The State is Great in 2008

2008-01-07T21:19:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to be as substantive as possible I have deliberately held back from making my New Year blog. I have no resolutions, nothing I want to quit. Instead I look to continue; changes in my lifestyle that (affect my health), continue trying to be a supportive dad involved and informed, and try to enjoy my life more. That's about it. So in this vain I shall take stock of the blog in my first " State of the Blog" here on PinF.

I'm happy to report the State of this Blog is quite good. Readership is at an all time high, a fact that saw the PinF blog reach it's diamond plateau of 25,000 readers as I now chug on to 30,000. At times I thought to leave it and just when I think I might something pops up worth writing/sharing about.

New Years Eve was spent chilling with my favorite girl--my daughter. We cooked her favorite dinner, drank from long stemmed wine glasses, and fired lots of fireworks during commercial breaks of the NY's Eve shows. Quiet for sure--though I was really never much of a NY's Eve person anyway, figuring it's much more important to spend the night with people who really figure to play a role in the coming new year as opposed to random unknown drunks.

Another reason the State of the Blog is healthy because PinF is healthy. Having faced a particularly precarious health scare in July, PinF has turned it ALL around. Ever so slowly, and yet very steadily I have maintained lifestyle changes, Incorporated 7 day a week exercise coupled with prescribed medication and I am happy to report I have reversed most all of my scare from 6 months ago. Have trimmed my cholesterol from 270 to a healthy 185, lowered my blood pressure, brought my triglycerides to a healthy acceptable level -- PinF is now a changed man.

Add to this, weight loss, muscle gain, and quitting smoking. I have a completely different diet, devoid of the many evils that had brought me to the brink of cardiac crisis. Now the changes aren't even missed, as I made the changes slowly and steadily as opposed to trying to do it all over night. I recently met a special forces Marine, home from his 4th tour of combat. He's a warrant officer, 41 years old with the body of a 28 yr old. He saw me working out one day and volunteered some advice. Not something I particularly care for in a gym, with an Ipod on, but I had noticed his chiseled physique so I accepted. He saw me benching about 170 lbs. and told me I would do my body a lot better good to lower that weight to about 70 lbs and do 9 sets of twenty, as opposed to 3 sets of 15 at 170 lbs.

He explained that though he had a rock hard physique, it had nothing to do with lifting heavy weights, as in his line of work it was all about endurance. So we trained together for an hour, and though some exercises I was only lifting 30 lbs., it was far tougher than my old work out. You would lift maybe 30 lbs, 100 times in 5 sets of 20. As opposed to 100 lbs in two sets of 12. So this too has been a big change for PinF, as my workouts are becoming more effective and increasing endurance---not sure for what I'll be enduring--but at least I'll be ready.

So, that's what's up in 2008. Welcome to PinF in 2008, where the state of the blog is just great.

A Study in Flight

2007-12-30T20:21:00.000-05:00

I shot this photo while sitting on the beach. Watching a jetliner streaking above I decided to capture the technology that allows us all to travel through the skies. Incredibly, just as I shot the photo the very inspiration for modern flight "flew" into my shot. Da Vinci would be amused.......

Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes

2007-12-29T17:49:00.000-05:00

Having successfully navigated the emotionally filled and often misdirected intentions of the holiday season, I had today to rediscover what I increasingly find hard to either truly embrace or find time for in my busy life--- taking time just for me. Sophia's Christmas a success, thus making mine enjoyable as well, it becomes a little clearer everyday that life does indeed slowly recoil into that which was familiar after major life changes. I now sit under an evening sky that I'm not quite sure my just-taken photo will convey, so I'll try to describe it in two words. Heaven's glow. The westerly receding sun has splashed traces of pink and lavender throughout the high scattered puffy Caribbean-borne clouds, leaving in its wake a palette of colors that only the heavens could paint. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

So it was that PinF reacquainted himself with his old tribe -- the do-nothing-tribe of the pleasure sponge nation of life. The day presented itself in all its glory with gentle breezes and warm sunshine, ushering in what would prove to be a classic book toting, Ipod accompanying day of self indulgence along the edges of the warm Atlantic ocean. I had only just spoken to a dear friend far, far away in a cold European country on this, her birthday before making camp at precisely 11:45 AM, the sun nearing its winter apex for the day, bathing the beach in warm 84* temperatures. The incredibly difficult thing for a pleasure sponge such as myself, is often in the details of deciding what indulgence to enjoy first. I have routines. I like a really good book, something that courtesy of my mother, I had. I like some nice contemplative music as well, once again, check. I like also to get in the ocean and feel its restorative properties allowing my skin to be heated back to warmth under the sun. And lastly, though certainly not least, I most enjoy just watching what's going on. The people, the birds, the waves, the whole scene; as I find nothing so interesting as watching the myriad of activities unfolding in and around the water.

So here I sat with that great book, ever so conscious not to devour it too quickly, like a tasty meal that you want to savor and draw out as long as you can. The children's shrieks, the gull's cries, and the lifeguard's whistle all acting as a soundtrack to my day as I go from reading to swimming and back to the Ipod and then back to reading again. I am cognizant enough of the day to recognize that life is indeed good and for this fact I am grateful to have this day. Lots of love surrounds my thoughts and indeed my chair as I see young mother's with their babes touching the ocean for the first time, reminding me of 9 years ago when Sophia, at just 3 weeks old first had her tiny toes dipped into the warm gulf stream fueled elixir. I see behind the haze of my music, old people gingerly navigating themselves through the sand, careful not to fall yet determined and somehow renewed by that which probably contains more powerful memories than any mountain or meadow in their lives--the ocean.

Yes this is my day. Drifting in out of my book, sipping ice cold water, and disappearing in and out of different times and places with people who've either shared, touched, or left my life through the music that now flows non-stop in my ears. What caught my attention over the volume of music I'm not sure. A kind of sixth sense I suppose as I turned my attention to the sea and the crowd gathering along the shoreline, a rescue most likely, or maybe a shark sighting. This is after all tourist season in Florida when drownings spike often due to ignorance of the conditions and currents. Sadly, this would be the only thing that could shatter such beautiful bliss and relaxation. And so, like the dozens who've gathered before me, I remove my music, grab my camera and make my way to the water.

Much to my surprise I find an even more interesting drama unfolding. I saw the little boy first. He was shoeless, and in a mini tuxedo. He was equipped with a small bouquet of roses and a bucket and shovel, and while his accompanying party was mesmerized with what was happening I had the pleasant realization that what was really happening. This was just one more confirmation of the restorative and calming powers of the ocean, as a couple had arrived to be married in front of hundreds of beach goer's. Instantly the "church" was filled as the bathing suit-clad congregation piled into the service, young and old, black and white--all pulled from whatever had been captivating their attention moments before now gathered in a semi-circle as the barefoot bride and groom exchanged vows with a turquoise blue ocean backdrop.

Looking around and listening to the many hushed comments, most people were so caught off guard yet somehow so involved at this point, so I did what PinF does best. I became the "unofficial photographer" and snapped a few shots. People who were complete strangers moments before were now commenting, joking, oohing and ahhing. The woman officiating the service was crying as the bride read her own vows, even a few of the congregation began contributing salty tears to the already salty ocean. No one was prepared for this, so it really was quite neat--not to mention unique. PinF has seen many receptions on the beach, but never had I seen a commando wedding just pop up during the height of the beach going day, again more evidence of the love that abounds with people near the ocean. As if there is some unseen power that emanates from the ocean, or is it like J.F.K. once observed that humans have an affinity to the ocean that can be traced to the earliest life forms on earth, this and the fact that humans, like our planet, are comprised of 75% water?

Whatever the case, this was the the perfect beginning to their lives, as well as the perfect ending to mine and many other's day. A true convergence of the yin and the yang.

"Love is the strongest force the world possesses, and yet it is the humblest imaginable"

-- Mahatma Gandhi

Holiday Days

2007-12-26T09:21:00.000-05:00

Christmas Eve arrived with little left for me to do except secure a new halo for my angel and revealed to us a full moon on a muggy unseasonably warm night. With this task completed Sophia and me took in a little lunch and enjoyed the balmy weather, something that had I not been from the north might have been taken for granted. Christmas Eve represented Sophia's last run as an angel as the cut off point is 4th grade.

We arrived in the angel's "locker room" before mass to an array of tiny people cloaked in sheep skins, adorned in silks, and flowing about in halo's and wings. Sophia commented to me that many of the angels this year looked so tiny. I reminded her that it was only 4 years ago on this night when she and I arrived, herself looking tiny too. She was only 5 years old and was so filled with excitment to be an angel. It got me to thinking just how fast time is going. Thankfully, this warp speed of time includes both the painfully excrucuiating moments as well as the intensely joyous one's.

Sophie said to me the other day that "...2007 was her best year ever...". I can relate to this since she made her choir, has been making her own music, and attended the Hannah Show. I reminded her that as good as it is, the future holds even better experiences, and that's the best part of life. So we're on to 2008, each of us hopeful for the what the New Year holds. In the meantime we're going to enjoy what's left of 2007 and this incredibly beachy weather. For now we have a few days to relax and enjoy all the goodies Santa brought her.

Of course I too get to enjoy my School of Rock shirt, courtesy of

Sophia's keen gift giving eye along with several good books that will be savored on the beach these next few days. The holiday train chugs forward, next stop New Year's Eve.

Holiday Heartache

2007-12-22T22:05:00.000-05:00

33 months ago PinF arrived in his present neighborhood with all the baggage that goes along with a major life change. Not an hour into my residency I was met by a goateed man who appeared to be in his mid-seventies who proceeded to lecture me about my late buddy Peabody's independence. Apparently my twenty pound Maine Coon's wandering proclivities irked my "nosey" neighbor, and he let me know to keep my cat in check. I remember bridling my words mainly due to his age, though annoyed all the same that his first words were not those of welcome, but rather of complaint. An onerous beginning at best.

Of course life is never that clear cut or obvious. You have to scratch the surface to find the real diamonds of life, something that in retrospect couldn't be truer. Turns out my neighbor was just a gruff guy, not exactly schooled in personality endearment. I met his wife one day and offered to carry her groceries and from that point on things only got better, which is kind of ironic since things for me personally kept getting worse. First it was the hurricanes that almost blew my abode down and left me without power for 8 days, and then on the heels of this my father's auto accident that would set into motion six months of decisions, eventually resulting in my father's death. By this time Don was emotionally invested in me and checked in on my well being often.

Oddly enough, or shall I say coincidentally, we both came to discover that we had more in common than either of us could have imagined. I saw my neighbor Don in a Phillies hat one day during the power failure period and we got to talking, and to my surprise it turns out Don too was from Philly-Springfield to be exact. From this point on Don I always talked sports, Philly, and news. We became really good friends, he followed my father's illness, offered to help me in anyway possible whether it be feeding my cat, to collecting my mail, whatever he could do -- he wanted to. His wife Doris was a real nice neighbor too, always chatting to Sophie and asking her about her new kitten after Peabody passed away. Turns out, Don and Doris are cat lovers too, and have 3 huge cats, so his initial remarks were based upon his fear of may cat messing with his. Little did he know Peabody was the original feline pleasure sponge of inactivity an laziness.

Don, I come to find out, is actually 81, and a hearty 81 at that. We always rap sports when we see each other, he's now a Dophins fan after so many years in Florida so of course I chide him on jumping ship on our boys back in Philly. About a week ago I was on my way out and bumped into Don and we had our usual small chit chat and I very casually asked, albeit rhetorically, how he was doing. What came out was the type of answer that you're never quite ready for, nor even know how to repspond to when presnted in such an innocuous manner. Don told me as his eyes filled up that he had just been diagnosed with esophagal cancer, and that he and Doris were reeling from the news and trying to formulate a plan of treatment. I was stunned, and he was near tears even telling me. He's old school, and he quickly recovered and said he had to get moving to a doctor's appointment.

I'd been thinking of Don since he told me the news, and noticed I hadn't seen him as much lately, that was until this morning when I went out to my car and bumped into Don again. He looked a bit gaunt and ashen though his spirits seemed a bit better. I was bit better prepared this time and asked how it was going and if he had made a decision regarding the treatments. He had, but he acknowledged he was scared as hell, this was unsettling and I let him know that I didn't want to intrude but that I was here for he and Doris. I told him, anything I could do whether it be taking out the trash, driving he or Doris anywhere--anything, they need only tell me and I'm on it. My words felt hollow as I looked into his gray face and welled eyes, for I knew his thoughts were much deeper and much more distant than my offerings.

So here I was, again with a man on the verge of tears with nothing more to offer than simple friendship and suportive words. He shook my hand and thanked me. I drove away to the car wash, taking special notice all the beautiful things around me that I take for granted everyday. The palm trees, the big low lying puffy clouds, and the rising new day sun. My worries of a lonely holiday and petty concerns all in check now as I drove along to the drone of 24 hour Christmas carols on the car radio. I suspect things will happen rather quickly, though I hope he beats it, though he and I both know what lies in store. So it's Christmas, a time when emotions run deeper, though for Don and Doris this would be an understatement. For what it was worth I invited Don and Doris to Christmas Eve mass, figuring they could probably use a little diversion while I explained Sophia is an angel in the production of the childrens mass, and that he and Doris might get a kick ouf of seeing her.

Of course I was thinking of the prayer side of the equation and I think he got my point.

12 pictures 12 days

2007-12-12T19:22:00.000-05:00

PinF's been busy. Very busy. What with Christmas parties, Sophia's concerts, beach events and the hustle and bustle of work and the impending holidays, well you get the point. I've assembled a montage of photos encompassing these busy days.....

Company Christmas party

Sophia, helping me decorate and trim the tree

This years' entrant for Christmas tree

Shorter yes, but we had to take into account inflation....

Still, the tree looks large here

Young Singers of the Palm Beaches 1st gig, the holiday show.

The chanteusse herself

Enjoying the holiday boat parade on the intracoastal

Sand art competition along Jupiter beach, gnome being swallowed by whirlpool

Something this world could use alot more of

Buddha

Fantastic sea dragon (our favorite)

Change

2007-12-04T15:50:00.000-05:00

"Everything in life is connected somehow. You may have to dig deep to find it but its there. Everything is the same even though its different. Somehow everything connects back with your life. The faces in certain places may be different, but the situation is the same. Irony is a hidden factor that creeps around us in life, letting its presence felt only after it has left. Picture back to a year ago and the situation you were in. Look at how things are different yet somehow everything it still in someway cognate. Everything connects together to form the balance of life, to maintain structure. Change is and always will be inevitable, but everything is relative, and all the moments and times in your life will come back around again, you just might find yourself on the other side of the coin. Things are always changing, as fast as everything stays the same."

Dynamic of Family

2007-11-25T09:29:00.000-05:00

Holidays aren't always the easiest of days for divorced families. I remember my own experiences as a teenager, never quite comfortable with one parent or the other getting the short end of the stick with regard to who sat around the proverbial table of thanks. To this ends, I've swallowed my pride and often--discomfort and dined with my "ex" each year since my divorce ,reasoning that my happiness and holiday has less to do with my comfort than my daughter's. As I still remember what it is to be a kid, and to want your holidays the way you remembered them, I have forgone my doubts and better judgement and dined as a "family".

Only children are always striving. Having come from a larger family I see the difference daily. Striving to please, to achieve, to have their opinions matter, to prove their independence. Mostly though, only children of divorced parents are always striving to straddle the precarious tight-rope of loyalty, love, and confidence. These are worries no child should have to worry about, though through the evolution of post-divorce dynamics, they do. To this end, whether it may be faking it or not, I try mightily to set aside my fundamental differences of opinion and parenting and come together for the betterment of the child--our child, Sophia. Still, despite all the pain, and all the grief of divorce, I gtry to use my childhood memories to my daughter's advantage by recognizing without asking-her fears, worries and needs. Like I told Sophia, despite her parents' divorce--we are still thankful for eachother, for it is because of one another that we have her.

And though I'll never really know her true impressions until someday in our future when we're enjoying each other's company at a bistro somewhere on a plaza in Spain or London enjoying a wine, some memories, and a laugh; I hope and I think, that this approach makes a difference. We all know when family members are tense, equally so, we know when we're at ease--laughing at quirks, and mannerisms that only "we" get. This was the case on Thanksgiving this year. Sophia playing her guitar, I and her mother enjoying a wine and preparing hor'dourves together. This unity does more for her parents then it does for her; though the effects on her are what make it all worth it. Again this year, Sophia designed her pumpkin floral center piece for the Thanksgiving table and it was real sweet. You kind of get the feeling you're creating her traditions down the road. So it was for the most part a very small, private, and reminiscent Thanksgiving/birthday. Though oddly enough, this is exactly what Sophia will be remember.

This effect was further highlighted in an unprecedented manner when Sophia's choir opened their 2007-08 season with their first show downtown at City Place in West Palm Beach. The Young Singers of the Palm Beaches presented an array of Christmas classics combined with more obscure numbers--some in French. It was a packed show, culminating in the lighting of the 50 foot Christmas tree. Again, Sophia was able to see each of her parents united before her, thus making her anxiety free. She looked ever more like the burgeoning young lady as opposed to my "little girl", something that is of itself a bittersweet fact.

So, maybe some of it was faked, maybe some of it was uncomfortable, still the days were real, and will be remembered as enjoyable to her--because for me, that's what this is ALL about--I had great childhood holiday memories and so should she. I like to think she did. Now it's on to Christmas and New Years, somewhat of a an emotional mine-field, though like everything else we'll get it through this too.

Thanks for Giving

2007-11-21T09:35:00.000-05:00

So, let's review.

Sophie responds to a local entertainment writer's call for any girls who are "Banana's over Hannah Montana" to write her and tell her why, the most interesting will be selected for an article. Pretty cool, and I figured why not, knowing full well that there would be at least a 1,000 letters written. Short story---she's selected, incredible.

Now during this process, Sophie's also been busy in her room, fiddling with her bass, studiously penning lyrics to her next (and first) break out CD. I think it might've stemmed from a little conversation about her practicing more when I made a comment that she should pick up the guitar whenever she has free time and just fiddle wth it. I was relating memories of her uncle Scott as a boy when he would carry that guitar all around the house, and how he probably taught himself more than any lesson because of this.

Not one to miss a "lesson" Sophia became more earnest in her practice. Of course her writings were being held back somewhat out of shyness to present them publicly. She finally did to her mother one night, and then to me over the phone. The playing of the bass while singing ala Sting, was impressive; but to me it was her lyrics that really impressed me. So when she played it for me live I knew I would need to capture this moment for posterity, and capture I did when I took her to the Lounge Recording Studio. This had a double intened effect: encourage her to see that her efforts would result in good things, and to preserve this innocence for her parents--and for herself one day when she is an adult.

Things soon took off after this---MySpace, an article and photos in The Sunday Palm Beach Post, and of course an online video contest. It's easy to see how a kid can become an overnight internet celebrity, as she was getting quite a bit of attention for efforts. Most adults were surprsed by her sensitive lyrics, and most all of her friends saw her as a rock star. She was just Sophia to me,; I told her that this is all nice, but what's really important to me is who she is--as a person, student and daughter. She seemed to understand, never really getting too full of herself.

Now the internet contest, well she clearly--and I say with all due respect to any one else's child, whom I understand probably feel the same as me, but she clearly was the only one who could sing. The response spread quickly, as my friends, her mami's friends, and indeed her schoolmates and the general public responded in kind by voting for her en masse. She was after 4 days collection 2/3 of all votes. At this point we suspected that the "prize" was two tickets to the incredibly impossible-to-get-tickets-to-show. That was dispelled when the writer wrote me and tol me the "prize" in fact was the article and internet exposure--fair enough I thought, that is a prize. Still, she was crushed. she wanted ever so badly to see the Jonas Brothers and Hannah/Miley.

No dice. Sold out. Craig's list? Got three responses, the cheapest being $600 a seat. I told the fellow, that I would'nt spend $1200.oo to see Jesus himself perform, and that he ought to be ashamed, of course greed knows n o shame--but I had to tell him. Sophia was crushed, and as a parent who remembers what it's like to be a kid and wanting to do what is the hottest, and coolest thing in your world right now--I understood. So I did what all parents would do. I told her "next time", and that she had a great two weeks, and how it isn't "the end of the world", all the while having flashbacks of hearing the same things as a kid.

I also did what you have to--I kept my ears and eyes at the ready, placed a plea on Craigslist and waited. I didn't tell her. Meanwhile over at the internet voting things had turned a bit sour there too---her closest competitor proved once and for all that the contest was more about how much your parent was willing to solicit votes than talent. The child who was not even a factor for days was now inextricably winning--she also had a mother who was a bit of a "stage mom" the day we went the Post for the interview--so it all made sense. Still, the many worlwide votes that poured infor Sophia commented that though they voted for her out of loyality and love, she was in fact the only one who could really sing. So she and I knew the real score and acknowledged the moral victory.

Now here's where the story develops a real plot twist, and if you're still reading this, you'll really be warmed by the turn of events. I had logged on at work to check the crazy accumulation of votes for Sophia's closest competitor, further convinced of what unhealthy parenting is, when I happened onto a message board of the web site. And posted just a minute before logging in is this post:

I have two extra tickets for tonight. Now they may be not next to each other (depends on where my son wants to sit) but if someone is interested, let me know. Posted by: colin cornish at November 20, 2007 11:04 AM

Incredulous, I respond that I'm interested and give my phone number, of course wary of internet scammers as well. And the name, well let's just say it didn't look Floridian. Sure enough my cell phone rings 90 seconds later, and I commence to explain that I have a 9 year-old broken hearted daughter. He says enough about all that (in a cockney London accent), and goes on to explain that he has two tickets--both great seats, but apart. One on the floor in the 6th row center, and the other on the side about 25 rows up--but close to the stage-end of the stadium. Suspicious---I ask how much?

Here's where if you're lucky in life--and I like to think I am, good things happen to you, and a sort of Karmic justice occurs. Colin explained he was disgusted by the scalping, and selling of tickest in the hundreds if not thousands of dollars, and that he didn't want to profit in anyway. So I said great--I'll take them, knowing face value of $66.00 dollars was still a deal---he said "no mate, if you want them--no charge, I want to make a little kid happy"....gulp. British guy say what? That's right, try as I may to extend even the most basic gratitude, he refused...he wanted to just feel good about doing something for a child who wanted to see the show. Humbled, we made a deal--he all the while assuring me he wasn't a scammer, and that I had both his cell phone and office number.

With this a deal was set into motion. We would meet in Fort Lauderdale on the steps of the arena. I first had to collect my sad superstar from school---and reverse her mood from one of abject despair to elation--and it did. We gassed the car and got on the way Sophia telling me she couldn't believe it (nor could I). We were met by Colin and his 2 kids, and sure enough we were given 2 tickets. True to his word, he accepted not a cent. He told me to "pay it forward" exactly what I had been thinking since I had found out at 1Pm the day of the show that Sophie and me were now going. So we get to the show, scope out the uber security and I briefed my rocker how "the plan" was gonna go down. I explained that there was a chance I might be compromised and that she was to sit tight until I returned and enjoy the show-- she said she understood. We did a pre-show run-through and went down to the seat on the floor an hour before the show, our luck had us on the aisle--key for me to make the plan work.

We retired to the concessions, went over the plan again and had a snack. By this time Sophie has her game face on, not to mention her "designer priced tour t-shirt". Time ebbed until 10 minutes prior to the start when we moved into position and waited until the last second. When security looked less stiff we made our way to the floor, I handed one ticket, the guy asked if I knew where it was I said yes, took the ticket in one hand, and my rockstar's hand in my other hand and turned to walk. This is where we hit a snag..the gatekeeper said I only showed him one ticket--he was right. I chose the honest tact and explained we had two different sections, so I was going to escort my daughter to her seat and then go to mine---he said "oh sure" and off we went--- excitement was at a high point, parents and kids were arriving in droves. With that the lights blinked signaling the show was to start soon. Things looked copasectic, so I hung out. In an instant, the lights went out and stage lights went up and the Jonas Brothers arrived on stage showered in pyrotechnics, I was in!!

Long story short, we rocked for the next two and a half hours, Hannah 20 feet from us. An unbelieveable show, great accoustics, vibes etc. To see your child that estatic and happy is an incredible sight. Sophia did not stop dancing for almost 3 hours. We were never once questioned or hassled, and thoroughly enjoyed the show next to people who had paid in some cases, thousands of dollars. I was especially happy that Sophia's show was courtesy of something the world needs more of--kindness. My ticket seller summed it best when he told me he would feel so much better making a little girl's dream night come true than he ever would have by receiving $1200. As incredibly lucky as this was it certainly sent a far more powerful lesson than the one the many parent's who spent thousands of dollars did to their kids.

Happy Thanksgiving.

In Harmony

2007-11-15T10:23:00.000-05:00

VOTE FOR SOPHIA To WIN PALM BEACh HANNA MONTANNA CONTEST: view video

Every once in a while you have the type of day that reminds you how blessed you are to have a child. Of course I’m always grateful, but occasionally like all things in life, parenthood tends to involve all the logistics and intricacies of many other responsibilities. I guess that’s why it’s so important to break out of routines and experience new things, placing you on an almost equal footing with the child. PinF had that type of experience recently, and I’m quite sure it will rank as a memorable day for the both of us. I’m speaking of course of my indomitable little power house of pop----Sophia. With her music steadily improving, I decided to let her record her three songs at a local studio after hearing her play the songs. Of course all parents "hear" music in their child’s efforts on any instrument, and I'm no less subjective than any other proud parent. The difference for me was not so much her musical ability as it was her writing ability. Sophie had composed three songs of substance, each with metaphors, similes, and irony. I of course was a bit skeptical—not to mention stunned at her ability. I went so far as to flat out ask her where the lyrics came from—despite knowing what a smart girl she is, and excellent writer as well. Still, I had to ask.

Once I was sure of the originality of her lyrics, I knew also that what she was composing musically and lyrically---all alone mind you, was something very special and had to be captured. And so without telling her I inquired of a friend at work whose cousin is a sound engineer at a local recording studio. Once given a green light on an hour of studio time, I then asked Sophie whether she was interested—true to her personality she confidently replied she was. So it was done, we would go to the studio on Sunday afternoon and "lay down" three tracks she had written, composed on her bass guitar and sings. Nervous, yet undaunted we drove down to the studio, on the way she was definitely starting to become more nervous and decided she wanted to discuss her studio time with a veteran and tried reaching her uncle Scott---to no avail. She forged on anyway, and once in the studio was put at ease by the Puerto Rican engineer, who was putty after her heard her sing her lyrics in Spanish.

The rest? Well as they say its history, with the help of my good friend Sergio, he set up an artist’s MySpace for Sophie, and downloaded the recording and video of the session. I was, as you could imagine, the proud father just watching my quickly growing "little" girl, evolving into a confident person. As I said, what really struck me were her lyrics. Even the soundman, he a veteran of international musical experience, who worked in Nashville for 10 years, told me that what she had written was quite special considering her age. They are incredibly advanced lyrics for a child of nine, as is her confidence in her abilities. If I do nothing else in this life, I am determined to raise a girl who matures into a confident, capable woman of substance and depth, with many facets to her personality and character-- after witnessing what I did this past week-end I’m quite confident she’s on her way. The innocence of her youth occasionally lifts its veil to reveal the young lady of tomorrow; this is what happened on Sunday. I looked at Sophia in a different light---of course as a proud father, but also as man who can see what / who she is becoming.

Suddenly she wasn’t my "little" girl, but rather a smart, confident, and nice young lady who knew who she was, where she was going, and what she wants out of life. This to me (as a father) in of it self, is both revelatory and scary all at once since as a parent—you want to slowly savor each day of the discovery and wisdom gathering process of your child (or so you should). Though like sand through your fingers, you just can’t enjoy each and every grain of the many experiences of a child’s life. So you grab hold of the more prominent and special times, and you try, to really remember the swell of pride and that feeling deep down inside of intense emotion. Knowing full well, that the real gems in life are like photos taken when she isn’t looking—they’re the little less-pronounced moments, the glance, or maybe the connection without words—we had all of these. All the time knowing as well that just as light refracts in many directions and colors through a prism, she is seeing and experiencing this "moment" in a completely different light. Yes, you’re both here, but something tells you you’re in different places of the moment. The real fun will come one day when she can relate the moment and its impression upon her little psyche when she is an adult, though once again, I’m in no hurry to get there.

Still, the best part of the day was in watching her realize that what she had accomplished was created completely by her own little mind, hands, and voice; and that this was a lesson that only she could’ve taught herself.

You're My Sunshine

2007-11-14T17:26:00.000-05:00

Wow. Sophia is starting a new career. Better check this out.

Best of Both Worlds

2007-11-09T19:12:00.000-05:00

You never know what you have until you see what’s out there.

Well, you kind of do, at least in my case I do. I knew I had a confident and talented little girl, but even more importantly a nice little girl and once again it showed in her demeanor and manners. About a week ago Sophie answered a call by a local columnist in the paper to write and tell her why “You’re bananas for Hannah”, as in Hannah Montana aka Miley Cyrus, daughter of one Billy Ray Cyrus who is of course the mulleted wonder of the early eighties whose claim was to the Achy Breaky Heart fame.

Now if you haven’t any kids, especially girls in the “tween” category, you may in fact not know about this pop singing/acting sensation. Then again, you might also have heard about her concerts being the hottest selling ticket in the United States due to the fact that some scalpers are offering her tickets for up to $3000. Spoil my daughter as I may—even this is too rich for PinF’s blood. Still the exorbitant prices have done little to discourage the mania surrounding this “tween” pop diva’s pending visit to South Florida. So it was that I alerted Sophia to the article in last weeks’ Palm Beach Post encouraging kids to write to a features columnist why you are “Bananas over Hannah”. If your letter was compelling or interesting enough they would ask you to come in for a photo shoot and interview for a future article.

Guess who got the nod? That’s right the mini Hemingway herself, her letter was cute, concise, and most of all, compellingly honest. Sophia has exhibited great writing skills since an early age, and clearly excels in all areas of reading and writing, especially creatively. So it was that my “suggestion” sort of took on much larger proportions as I prepared to take her to the offices of the Palm Beach Post yesterday as one of five children give the “golden ticket”. Excitement wouldn’t quite describe the anticipation of the day. First, a photo shoot of “before”, and then “after”, dressed as Hannah with a blonde wig, and then onto an interview for the article scheduled to run next week—what kid wouldn’t be excited? Still, like all things, I try to temper the moment for the inherent pitfalls and disappointments that may exist, rather than see a full blown crash and burn. Incredibly she seemed very grounded and matter-of-fact about the whole thing, nervous yes, but under control.

I explained that there would be other kids there too, “I know papi”, and that she should just be herself, “papi, I know”, and that it’s ok to be nervous, “I know papi” I think I might have been more nervous by now. As it was the columnist explained that the response was so overwhelming her employer had to stop her email for several days as her inbox was overwhelmed by hundreds if not thousands of emails. Of this number, 5 kids were chosen and upon learning this, the kids seemed to sense the stakes were higher. Not sure what to expect when we arrived they each were asked if they would be willing to sing while being videotaped—this footage would run simultaneously on their website so that the readers may vote on the most convincing “Hannah”. Sophia did great, due in large part to all she’s done musically leading up to this moment.

I was having a “Willy Wonka” kind of feeling as I watched the other parents, and their nervous children learn about having to sing too. I was the only father for starters and it seemed to me that several of the moms have seemed almost cajoling their kids into the whole experience, almost like stage parents do. Sophia on the other hand was given an “out” right up to the last moment; never once telling her she “had” to do anything. I further explained that in my mind, she had already “won” as far as I was concerned. She got to be treated like a celebrity, toured a newspaper, had photo shoots, met the reporter, been interviewed, etc. So whatever happens -- happens. Sophia, true to her easy spirit agreed, and never once seemed too nervous or anxious, she just rolled with it. I think it showed that we were a little less anxious too. I offered to leave the room so she wouldn’t be too self conscious during the filming of the singing portion. Knowing full well it might be easier for her if I wasn’t watching; I was peeking from behind the curtain, and could still hear her. I suspect the winner is going to get two passes to the sold out H.M. show, though it was not said. Her voice kind of surprised the production assistants, and truth be told-- me too. I know she had long been singing this album in her room, and had been taking voice lessons with her Young Singers Choir, but she really, really impressed me. I was too proud. The photographer, reporter, and videographer were blown away and they said as much. Of course this will all be online sometime next week, and the article runs Sunday November 18 in the paper.

So once the reporter heard her sing, questions arose and Sophia let it out. She told them she really does play guitar and sings too. Having taken lessons for a year now, her guitar skills have steadily increased. This year her school band told her the only guitar in the band is the bass guitar--- undeterred Sophia now plays that too, and has since gotten one. To the reporter’s delight she let slip that she’s also written 3 songs that she sings while playing her bass, and that we just so happen to be going to the studio this weekend to record them. So there it was. She was an honest to goodness musician, and not just a fan. Every kid has their moment, and this clearly was hers, as the three women were so impressed, not only with her talent and voice, but even more so by her poise and manners. With regard to her music, she has exhibited a level of songwriting and composing not usually seen in a nine year old. Sophia’s lyrics are really quite amazing, so it was that I spoke to a friend whose cousin is a sound engineer about recording her music. And that’s where we go from here, to the studio. I’m going to try and have it videotaped when she’s in the studio and then post a You Tube of the session.

We had quite a day, and for me it wasn’t really about winning anything, it was more of an affirmation to her what her writing had sparked, and all the hours of guitar and voice lessons represented. Sure, who doesn’t want to be treated like a star, or even win tickets to the hottest concert in town, as for me the winning was in watching a little person bloom through her God given abilities and talents.

Autumn (finally)

2007-11-06T22:03:00.000-05:00

Well it was fittingly ironic that my daughter Sophia was my 25,000 visitor. Of all the worldwide locations and friends that visit PinF who’d of thought that it could have come from Florida--- and from the most important person in my life to boot? There’s a certain type of symmetric truth to this since so many of these posts have been either been about, or included, Sophia. And so the beat goes on…….

PinF recently set out on a cycle journey. This past weekend Florida finally experienced our long awaited “Autumn”. Temperatures in the low 80’s by day with 50% humidity, and a comfortable 60 degrees by night had PinF loading up the “T” Strom for a trek north to the QuickSilver surfing regional semi-finals at Sebastian Inlet State Park. There’s an incredibly free and easy feeling about racing through the farmlands of Florida on a crisp Saturday morning, the sky a cobalt blue, music playing in my helmet. Along for the ride was my buddy of over 30 years, John Breeding-- he on his Harley Sportster. We reached Sebastian at about 9:30, just as the temperature began to hover in the 70’s, warm for most readers of PinF, but unseasonably chilly for us here in Florida.

The waves, much to the thanks of Tropical Storm Noel,were barreling, providing some good pipelines for the competition, not to mention robust size of 12-14ft. John and I were treated to some extreme surfing competition in sunny conditions making for an overall great day for a ride. We eventually made our way out of the Park and into one of PinF’s favorite National Wildlife Preserves; Orchid Island preserve and Jungle Trail. This is a must see for anyone when visiting the Vero beach/Sebastian Inlet area of Florida. I had been to the park before, my friend John however had not. The Jungle Trail really doesn’t lend itself to a Harley Davidson Sportster model, and is definitely more suited to a dual sport bike such as PinF’s V-Strom. Neverthless, Breeding isn’t one to shy away from a little mud and water, and so he trudged right on through the deep puddles, sand, mud and crushed-coral paths that encompass the 7 mile long trail through the jungle.

This is almost surreal landscape. Carved from nature, and preserved by Theodore Roosevelt 104 years ago (the first national wildlife preserve), this park is teeming with hawks, bobcats, turtles, foxes, manatees, dozens of species of both migrating, and in most cases-- rare birds and fish. You hear nothing except the occasional splash of a pelican diving for a fish, or the screeching of a hawk. Just a pristine area of nature doing what nature does best. Afterwards Johnny and I began the 7 mile trek through the jungle under often precarious and downright slippery conditions on account of the passing of the tropical storm two days before. The trusty VStrom forded the mud and ankle deep puddles without missing a beat, Johnny on the other hand had to be deliberate and methodical about where he would cross a puddle and how fast. A Harley Sportster just doesn’t have the clearance or rubber for this type of ride, still he made do.

V25K

2007-10-27T18:55:00.000-04:00

Well it's almost like the night before Christmas. If you look to the right-----> of this post, you'll see I've dragged the counter up from the bottom of the page, where it has been inconspicuously counting the many, many varied guests and visitors to PinF for the past 29 months. Visitor25K is soon to appear, and with that honor the many gifts and accolades such an honor bestow.

If I were a betting man, I'd say the the 25,000th visitor will be arriving sometime after midnite tonight, owing largely to the fact that visitations are normally low on week-end nights. However, anticipation is high, so it very well could happen tonight. Still, if it is you, let me know where you are, and who you in the world, and a PinFCard will be in the mail.

Another Day in Paradise

2007-10-27T07:44:00.000-04:00

Out for my morning stroll this morning I was reminded just how beautiful where I live is. It's easy to get caught up in the grind of life, and then you turn the corner and see this.

Living In The Moments

2007-10-22T15:22:00.000-04:00

PinF was witness to another path of convergence recently. His brother Rob, recently married in Mexico, was again pronounced husband to his lovely wife Mari in a civil ceremony, further establishing their new tax status. It was of course, a wonderful service filled with close family members, and an equally close collection of lifelong friends. The bitter sweetness of life was also included in the day, as the cousins' of the groom were in attendance after having just lost their mother---sister to the groom’s mother, to cancer several weeks ago. Proving yet again, that the force of life’s experiences, combined with the power of time’s sweeping hand, are both complimentary and symbiotic elements in the natural march forward.

Oddly enough these lessons became even more apparent when PinF would literally bump into one friend and be introduced to another later in the evening. The first was an old friend whose “experience” 25 years ago continues to alter the time in his life. To add the necessary symbiosis to the lesson, I was to also meet a new friend, one who would give testament to one of the most painful and powerful events in our nation’s history.

PinF saw the wheelchair parked at the edge of the crowded bar as people squeezed by in each direction either trying to get a glimpse of the jazz band or making their way out of the club. As I made my way to the bar to place an order I was startled by the feeble hand grabbing at my own, as quick as I looked down towards the wheelchair it was instantly apparent it was an old friend from high school, one I hadn’t seen or heard from in over 15 years. His is the kind of story that sets all your hardships and setbacks in life in proportion, and inside I felt a sort of guilt for having moved on and lived my life in the years since I had seen him last. Norman is his name, and he’s been paralyzed since 1983 when riding his bicycle down Wallingford Ave. he was stuck from behind and left in the road paralyzed by a never identified hit and run driver. He has never walked since, and has limited use of his hands and arms. I quickly thought of all the things I’ve been able to experience and do in my life—all of them things he hasn’t, nor probably ever will. I asked how he was, what he’d been doing; all seemingly shallow questions when you understand his reality. He said he’d been living in Boca Raton and seeking treatment at Nick Buoniconti Spinal Cord Research known as the Miami Project in hope of finding a cure so that he might walk again.

Norman had recently moved home to Wallingford, his hopes apparently dashed. Sad stuff to be sure. He was quite despondent, and spoke of “ending it all”, something that isn’t easily countered in a crowded bar with lot’s of noise, not to mention the downer that alcohol is. I offered what words of encouragement I could and we drifted through other less sad memories and painful times, he seemed to cheer up. He eventually moved on, his wheelchair being pushed by other old friends, one’s who’ve remained in Norman’s life ever since this tragedy struck down the once muscular and motivated youth. The striking contrasts were hard to ignore, the mutual friends—true friends at that, who have been pushing that wheelchair for decades, they now have families of their own, yet remain loyal and dutiful. Norman however remains in a wheelchair, trapped in time, dependent on others for his every need. What the anonymous driver of the car that hit him on that dark night 25 years ago didn’t steal, time and despair have slowly and steadily managed to --- hope.

Equally interesting though no less heart wrenching was the next friend PinF was to make on this night. An old college buddy of a friend of mine was in town to watch a football game. He was bringing along his 20 year old Penn State undergrad son, of whom after speaking with him, I discovered he is immensely proud of. He’s a good student, living away from home for the first time and excelling with his studies. His parent’s like any first time parents who send a child away for college were naturally reticent and a bit worried. They live on Long Island and their son is all the way up in Happy Valley. This father had a message of a different kind, his one of true hope borne of loss. It seems that all his worry was not based on the fact that the son was living away from home, but rather it was based on the fact that his son was living with an incurable disease yet he continued to strive, live, and accomplish. The father was immensely proud. He’s also worried, for his son lives on timetable of unknown length owing largely to the fact that his disease has an expected life span of not many more years than his son already is. His son is living with Cystic Fibrosis. As much as this may have sounded like a bummer, it was actually quite uplifting to hear especially when I heard the father’s story behind the story.

This friend bore witness to his own brother’s death not but 6 years ago when he arrived to work on the 24 floor of his office adjacent to the World Trade Towers on September 11th, 2001. Upon arriving he was greeted with frantic phone messages from his elderly mother, he returned the call and was told to turn on a television that her son and his brother were in trouble. He knew immediately the reason--his brother, a broker for Cantor Fitzgerald was trapped above the impact floors of the WTT along with 657 other work mates. He quickly placed calls to his brother and was met by a calm, deliberate voice who assured him he was alright, he would get out, and to let his mother know that she shouldn’t worry. My new friend commented on how his brother was a tough guy, a former boxer, and a real go-getter. He repeatedly spoke to his mother and brother that morning assuring them he was on his way down. Of course by now he knows better—that his brother was in fact trapped, and had no chance of exiting the building. He also knows his brother most certainly knew the severity of his situation after witnessing the second tower attack.

With horror, he watched his brother’s building collapse, and with this collapse went his hope. Of all the people I’ve either heard or read accounts from of this day, this was the first who calmly related the horror of the day while also having been directly affected with the pain and sting of a personal loss. Perhaps this event had a large role in his sons’ realization of his dream to attend university—no matter how much time he had. It also spoke of how hard it must be to let any child go, let alone one with a fatal disease, when in fact that child is quite possibly living his last year’s--- and away from home at that.
So here were two totally unrelated people; each carrying incredibly personal and heavy burdens, both of them under the same roof. Their only connection was the fact that I heard both their stories and felt both their pains.

Still, although sad, each one of these men had a valuable lesson to offer; one offered a stark reminder in appreciating that which you have, though we all might occasionally complain about ---for it could be gone in a second. The other lesson was equally stirring---about having the courage to face what seems like cruel circumstance, and evil odds--- because sometimes with hope and a prayer you can overcome those odds. the biggest loser, wwe, rose bowl, college football, nfl,

24 HOURS WITH THE PinF's

2007-10-13T10:08:00.000-04:00

More photos today---the 1st Green Market of the season....fall like weather (mid 80's)....oh and big news...Sophia updated her blog!! I'll add the new photos later...............

Started the day looking for some new surf wear for Sophia, waves were up and Sophie needed some new board shorts. ...........

Started this running log last night with a sunset swim....let's see what fun we can get up today....we'll update later---

World Wide Inspiration

2007-10-09T08:15:00.000-04:00

Slowly and ever so silently, yet steadily and consistently, like the ticking of the clock. Everyday just watching, recording and reporting each visit to each page; the location the visitor came from, how long he stayed and what caught his or her eye. Maybe they commented publicly or maybe as is often the case—privately, to my email. Some are known, many are not; some are from places I’ve visited others, from places I hope to visit one day.

The PinF count is set to reach another milestone very soon. Thirty months ago PinF was launched, destination--clearly unknown. What started as more of a novelty to goof off with distant friends, PinF has slowly evolved into the online personal journal it is today due primarily to the influence of external forces-- AKA change, that we call life. These experiences-- travels, laughs, and tears are by no means unique to PinF alone. Nor for that matter is the experience of raising a daughter as a divorced father. What is unique is the influence that these experiences have had and the power of translation this Blog has given to such experiences.

The good, the bad, the happy and the sad, the adventures and travels, including the trips and falls, the countless steps—both forward and sometimes back, almost all of theses stories have graced this site. PinF could never have considered maintaining such a public log of his journey 30 months ago. At that point in time the life of PinF was day-by-day, due to radical changes in the personal life of its author. Still, the ability of being able to look back is always a blessing to remind one of the temporary nature of the passing storms of life. What at one time may have seemed either insurmountable, too painful, or unimaginable, slowly just becomes just another day in the life—for better or for worse.

I have, through this Blog, communicated, laughed, shared, and indeed become friends with hundreds of people the world over. Strange really, that perfect strangers feel as they know you, and in a way they often do, better than people who know you in the physical sense. Because they’ve read between the lines, they’ve recognized the shared pains, triumphs and day-to-day life experiences and because the forum AKA as PinF has bothered to express what has often seemed boring or routine. Still, PinF receives emails from as far as Australia telling me how these experiences were exactly like something that happened to them. That’s kind of cool, when your daily drivel can have that ripple-on-a-pond effect.

I’m often at a point where I think I’m going to just let it end, no official sign off, just a kind of fade to black. Just then, I'’ll be doing something that'll strike my interest (or ire), or as is often the case, someone will write me a note or comment that makes me want to write “one more” post. Hell like I said, I never imagined I’d have written 170 essays in 840 days, visited by 24,400 people, who’ve read over 45,000 pages. That seems bizarre to me. But these are the numbers I’m told, and from over 70 countries no less. I imagine I’ll hit 25,000 visitors by the end of October give or take, I’m wondering what I can do to mark that milestone. (any ideas?)

In any event, the whole experience of PinF were it to end tomorrow, has been such a rich exercise in global positioning, one that's been worth all the experiences I’ve lived through, both good, and bad in order to generate these posts. In that I mean, that knowing my everyday simple yet complex life of rich thought and often simple experiences is read by any number of people in any number of foreign lands is a reassuring, humbling, and nice thought.

Paynter may be in Florida, but he’s in Great Britain, New York, Zimbabwe, Brighton, Moscow, Dallas, Copenhagen, Chicago, Bergen, Atlanta, Brussels, Malta, Akron, Sweden, Washington, Greece and Ireland as well as many, many others............

Thanks to ALL of you, everywhere you are.

Turtles and Books

2007-10-02T22:36:00.000-04:00

Windy Tuesday in Florida. So windy that PinF and Sophia had to head on over to the beach themselves to see firsthand the devastation being inflicted upon our coasts. Aside from the all too familiar condo owners bemoaning the loss of sand on their beaches, there was an even greater concern for the PinF's. Hundred's if not thousands of turtle nests have been lost the past several days all along the treasure coast of Florida as 10+ foot seas have ravaged us.

We approached the beach with caution. What had once been beaches at least 40 yards deep have now been reduced to maybe 10 yards of sand followed by a sheer drop of maybe 4-6 feet into the angry, churned up sea. The sight of it is a bit overwhelming, what with the site of hundreds of ping-pong ball looking turtle eggs scattered about and the eroded coast it certainly warrants listening to the experts about rising seas.

After shooting some photos, collecting a few empty turtle eggs for Sophia's science class we were off. I had a score to settle with little PinF for an exemplary week of school last week. Proud papi that I am, I found myself almost surprised when after returning home from school after her induction into the Student of the Month club last week, Sophia informed me she needed my help writing a speech. A speech I asked, for S-of-the-M? Sophia told me no, not for that. For what I asked? Student Council she replied. I didn't even know there was SC in 4th grade, nevertheless it was clear she wasn't resting on S-of-the-M laurels, so I told her to write the speech and i would edit it. Sophia informed she was one of 5 "candidates" and they all had to give their speeches and then vote afterward. Wow, I thought-- what moxie.

So it was she shipped off to school that next morning, she and I practicing the speech for the umpteenth time, right up until when she bailed out in front of the school. Unflappable Sophie was ready, she certainly seemed a lot calmer than me. I told her to call me first thing after school. I was confident, but then again you know how kids are, issues mean nothing, alliances and cliques mean everything. Her issues? recycling, and school store hours--getting them improved. She also proposes placing a question box in her class where her classmates can drop questions and concerns they want raised when their representative goes to student council. They loved this idea, her opponent went the sweet tooth route---and age old ploy. Promising smoothies in the lunchroom, something I never knew any 4th grader to deliver on.

Bottom line--Sophia Wins!!!....Certainly a week for her to remember, first S-of-the-M and now this. I told her she just earned a nice trip to Barnes & Noble for her accomplishments, something we've been doing since she was about 3 when I gave her the option of one Chinese made piece of toy crap, or five books. She's always taken the books. Plus I knew from NPR that there was an excellent new novel out, primarily for teens, but her reading comprehension, not to mention appetite demands more of a challenge anyway.

The result? Sophia went to bed a little early so she could read some more of "Click". What a neat book, I suspect it won't be long before it's a national best seller. I'm gonna read it after her as it looks so well written I think I'll enjoy it too. I know she does. paris hilton, pakistan, iraq, bhutto, brittney spears, breast, alicia keys, justin timberlake, kenya, oil, dollar, hollywood, sex,

A Student's Pride

2007-09-25T12:11:00.000-04:00

I write often about how the experience of parenting often allows a glimpse into your past. Specifically, your childhood, and the many memories that get lost somewhere between birth and adolescence. Because in life, all things are circular, all experiences are shared, and for the most part much of what we did as children our parents have already done; and conversely our children will do also. It’s just the way of the world. This commonality of experience is also what provides all parents with their intuitive powers. As quite often we are able to pick out circumstances and results with a fairly good degree of predictability, based entirely on our own experiences. How many of us haven’t been admonished as kids how we can’t fool our parentsbecause they were children once?

This is where PinF found himself this morning. I felt like a sort of child Psychologist as I watched 1000 children from grades 3 thru 5 file into the cafeteria/auditorium of my daughter’s school. The advantage of Florida is that almost all school assemblies are held outside due to the weather’s accommodating nature. Today would be different, as we were forced inside for this event due to rain, further magnifying the noise ten-fold. Still I wasn’t complaining, I would have gone anywhere to see what I was here for today. To watch the dynamics of this many kids is quite a study in both anthropology and psychology. You can see the extroverts, the introverts, the cliques, the athletes, the nerds and the cool kids. Kids in groups tend to behave much differently than in one-on-one situations. Funny, as I thought to myself that I hope Sophia is as nice in school, as she is out….I dismissed this thought, of course she is.

So here I was, hiding from my own daughter in her school on a rainy Tuesday morning, her mami was there too. It's not often we’re brought together to do things, but when it’s our daughter, there exists a certain level of détente. Good for Sophie and good for us that we can be there together for her. Usually any underlying issues get left outside the school and we’re able to revert back to the three of us, at least for our daughter’s sake. Today was a special surprise. None of the 1000 students in attendance had any idea who was to be called up on stage by the principal to receive the coveted Student of the Month award for their individual classes, a high honor indeed. Each month, all teachers nominate one student for the monthly ceremony, and bless her little heart---Ms. Sophie was chosen as her class’s representative. Hence our hiding---for if a child sees their parent in attendance, the gig is up and they know they’ve been chosen.

I was prepared, camera in hand ready to capture a “moment” in time. For even though I know there will be a thousand more moments, this knowledge did little to diminish the importance of this moment in the here and now. We watched as the third grade nominees were called up one by one to receive their certificates and have the SofTM pin pinned to their uniform lapel. Steadily, like the spelling bee of last year, Sophia’s moment approached and with it, the tension and excitement her parents felt. Until finally the principal called out SOPHIA PAYNTER and ever so confidently and cute she rose, with an almost surprised, though surely happy look on her face to finally win the honor she had coveted since third grade. She strode towards her parents not knowing we were here, and then she caught my eye and smiled a nervous, knowing, and almost self conscious smile. By this point her mami was wiping her tears and I was shaking, as I tried to steadily record the moment on my camera.

As she walked back off the stage back to her seat I gave Sophie a little card of congratulations. In it I told her I wasn’t so much proud of the SoTM distinction as much as I was for her being such a good person. Grades can be attained through hard work, races won through practice, instruments mastered through lessons. I told Sophia you can't be a nice person if you really aren’t one to begin with. And she is. She’s a good kid who considers others, knows her manners, and tries her best, to be her best, through her studying, hard work, and her caring for others. I told her I was proud of her but mainly because of her pride in herself, something that no one can teach, nor ever take away from her. So that was PinF’s Tuesday in paradise, a moment in time yes - but not one I’ll soon forget because she understood exactly what I was telling her.

All the accolades in the world would mean nothing, if she wasn’t a good person, comfortable with who she was and where she was headed. And she is, and this is what makes me proud.

One More Year

2007-09-20T09:38:00.000-04:00

I received an interesting email from a life-long friend the other day. It had all the typical news to report; the children, job, and the stresses of the everyday grind. My friend is unique in the fact that she lost one of her parents at a young age, and now as she approaches that age is probably prone to seeing that loss in a much more real way -- can’t blame her there.

She went on to mention how she had been drawn to a life coach after reading some articles describing how to take control of your life and live a life of purpose. Quite an interesting concept when you really consider it, because who wants to do anything in life that is devoid of purpose. Yet in many ways we all find ourselves questioning our motives, both personally and professionally. Either the job is unfulfilling, or the marriage has lost its luster, or even worse--maybe both.

So often it feels as though the “purpose” in our lives has been lost, and with it, so have all the dreams, passion, and ideas we may have once aspired to. We’re all victims of this. How can we not be? Bills have to be paid, decisions need to be made, and responsibilities have to be met. That’s the irony, since we often go through life envying another person’s life, job, or outlook. In reality, if we could get inside the thoughts of each other, we’d find that we often share the same doubts, insecurities, and fears.

My friend went on to mention that she feels so overwhelmed with work, and that she wonders if she is dividing her time and dedications in their proper proportions and more importantly assigning her priorities the correct attention. Think about that for a minute.

Who doesn’t think about what they should do, and what they would do, if only they could make their decisions based on what they want to do, instead of what they have to do? The email ended with my friend coming to the realization that what were really important to her were her children growing up and the amount of time she gets to spend with them. Yes, the career and the opportunity it affords to give her children a certain lifestyle were important too, but she seemed to be making the point that it wasn’t so important as to be choosing long hours and career advancement over the quality and quantity of time with her children.

It was towards the very end of the email that her whole epiphany was brought into better focus. She mentioned that one of the exercises she was asked to consider under this theory of coaching was quite daunting, a question that evoked as much fascination as fear. It forces you to really consider changes that you would make in an instant if you knew your time was suddenly finite.

If you were to be told today that you will have one year to live, how would you spend this last year? You would not be allowed to use or borrow more money that you have today. Where would you start, and what prevents you from enacting any of these changes today?

What would you do?

A * BIG * WASTE

2007-09-11T10:43:00.000-04:00

Again, it would be so easy, what with all the rhetoric, lies, and proganda that invade our daily lives, newspapers, and airwaves to forget the “good old days” of innocence and false security before we started erasing civil liberties. Remember those days? First change not long after 911 was seeing airports staffed with rifle-toting soldiers--shouldn't we have seen it coming? Now when you fly, the airports are still full of soldiers, the difference is they are battered and scarred both physically and emotionally. Or they are tear-stained from good-byes, all much too young either way. The losses continue to mount, 2,974 at the WTC and 3,537 in combat, this leaves us approaching 7,000 lost lives, hopes, dreams, and promises for a better world if maybe these people were still in it. And the question still beckons. Are we any safer, more respected, closer to catching the "real" terrorist? Sadly, it doesn't appear so.

But as I drove to work today I was thinking. Six years ago I was rushing to dress, gather Sophia for pre-school, and get to a real estate closing after a quick stop to drop Sophia at day care. As I frantically got ready while sipping my coffee I flicked on the TV. In a moments time I was to witness something so horribly tragic, and so humanly sad, that I’m sure like my parents’ generation remembered where they were for the assassination of JFK, I too would forever remember the morning of September 11th, 2001. I stood, slack jawed in my kitchen, and watched as the second tower was hit and broadcast live on network television.

In an instant everything changed. Almost in a fog, and hugging her even more that day, I dropped Sophia at the daycare, hustling over to meet my clients for their closing, all the while tuned to the radio—any station really. There was no music that day, only live feeds from New York as bewildered journalists tried to make some sort of sense out of hell the day had become. I knew as did millions of Americans that this was to change our lives, our history, and our view of our place in the world forever.

Gone now are six years, and what an incredible mess we have on our hands. A bunch of white middle-aged men, none of whom had any military background bumbling through history altering decisions. Clearly we have been led by a cadre of self-serving bureaucratic liars calling the shots, trampling on our constitutional rights, and generally making the world even more dangerous and volatile in the process. Afghanistan was accepted as something that had to be done, and even the meekest of Presidents would have had to decapitate the Taliban leadership. I needn’t go into the incredibly wasteful and fool hardy decisions that we as a nation have allowed Bush and Co. to make and lead us into since then. George has played this nation and its assets as if it were his personal little game to play, however he saw fit.

With so many factors pointing to failure, it appears now that this debacle was doomed from the very start. Having mentioned that the executive leadership of this administration was a non-military serving one, especially during Vietnam, I should clarify myself. I do no find it a requirement to have served in the armed forces to be considered qualified to make decisions regarding the deployment of our soldiers destined for combat. I do, with regard to the matter of protesting or supporting the validity of American soldiers’ sacrifice in combat, find it a far more credible argument of one who has served in the armed forces; especially in combat, when arguing for either the continued deployment or withdrawal of said troops from harms way. Who knows better than someone who has faced death?

After witnessing Representative Murtha’s treatment by this administration with regard to his beliefs that we should bring our troops home, it only underscores this administrations’ willingness to muddy anyone’s name who would dare take a stand against its failed policies. Even a decorated combat Marine, something no one on the executive branch of this administration is. Implying he is less a patriot for this view, yet Bush's minions outed an undercover agent of the CIA. So who's the real patriot here?

So here we are. Not gaining any ground in Afghanistan, and bogged down in a bloody civil/religious/ethnic war in Iraq and surely no safer in the world than we were six years ago. On the contrary, we are as a nation even more despised and ridiculed than ever, and probably even more at risk now as a people than we've ever been at any time in our nation’s history. Having been to Europe this summer, most people are incredulous how we could reelect such an inept, and fundamentally flawed man again. Now we have the double indignity of the administration using combat veterans when it’s convenient with regard to the new propaganda commercials extolling the wisdom and virtues of our failed policies and doctrines, while imploring us to commit more young lives to the slaughter.

There are others still, all maligned for their opposition; McCain, Kerry, Murtha: these men were all viciously attacked in ads and propaganda during both elections and key votes of Congress, despite all of them being combat experienced statesmen, men who have seen blood spilled in vain as well. Instead, the shameless Bush administration has no conscience when parading double amputees, widows, and parents of killed soldiers to propagandize this mess we call a war.

Even with six years gone we're not an inch safer, nor a pound better than we were before George started this mess. Instead we've allowed our "Commander in Chief" to lose 3,537 more lives since 911, and Bin Laden? Well, incredibly, he's still alive and lives on to torment his enemies-- George and Co. It's been said that the "devil is in the details", in this case it would seem that he's also found in the lack thereof, since the "details" of this mess have never been true anyway, nor have they added up to much more than lies. Further proof of a flawed and undefined mission, misguided policies, and fuzzy objectives in righting the many wrongs of that innocently peaceful day six years ago.

Reflections

2007-09-05T09:25:00.000-04:00

Parent/Teacher Night was last night.

I’ve gone every year for the past 5 years. It’s a quick greeting, followed by a synopsis of curriculum and classroom expectations and goals for the year. Sophie had already told me she thought that this might very well be her favorite teacher of her illustrious school career thus far. Nothing new here, she claimed the same about every teacher for the previous four school years. I, of course, have my favorites and I think I might agree with her that this years’ teacher might be on PinF’s short list as well.

There is, for those of you who haven’t visited an elementary school room in many years, something very cathartic about doing so. It is the one common denominator we all share, along with the same hopes, fears, aspirations, and experiences -- all in different degrees mind you, but similar all the same. So there I sat in my daughter’s chair. Viewing what her daily world looks like from day to day. Trying to imagine her little mind at work. My first impression was why she can’t she keep her bedroom as neat and orderly as her desk was.

My second impression? How many silly, clueless, and nervous Nellie parents there are in the world. I don’t know if it’s because I’m one of maybe two fathers in the class, and women are just different, or if I just seem to recognize some women who are too involved. Instead of just taking it all in and maybe reserving questions for after the teacher’s presentation, many parents seem to want to pose questions on a personal level about their children’s performance. This is often done by way of a statement-pseudo-question where the parent begins with “…Bobby says…,” I don’t get that. Luckily there are usually only a few of these parents and the one’s that are clued in usually recognize each other with a knowing nod.

Of course every parent wants to hear good things, PinF is no different. Probably one of the great disappointments of parenting is to realize that the cooperative, angelic, and responsible child you thought you were raising was the complete opposite in class. For some parents this was obviously the case, either by way of the state of their messy desks, missing papers that were to be on display for parents, or the chart of behavior demerits on the wall. Nothing egregious mind you, just fourth grade stuff; forgot my homework, talking in class, hitting, etc.

So it was that that when I got my opportunity to speak with Ms. Pifer I just let her speak, not trying to tell her about my kid, but rather letting her tell me, she is after all the third most powerful person in my daughter’s life at least until May. Blessed as I am, I got exactly what every parent longs to hear. “She’s a joy to have in class….always follows directions….is reading above grade level…..her cursive is very nice….” What I did to deserve this, I’m still trying to figure out, but I’ll take it.

The memories that come rushing back to your mind as you sit in a miniature desk looking at the cursive writing chart are for the most part incredibly vivid. You can actually relate to the smells, the sights, and the sounds of school, even a modern one with computers and CCTV’s. Even more interesting are the many emotions you recall of excitement for the year, goals you want to achieve, and the sense of moving on that each successive grade represents. You can feel all of this and more as you step out of your own daily grind and world, and sit behind a little desk, in a little chair, attentively listening to teacher lay out the plan for the coming year. My “plan” is to try and get her to savor her years, as they are going very quickly now.

The presentation complete, we were asked to take out a letter each student had written to their parents and respond with a letter back for them to read when they came to school the next day. Sophie, like any kid, thanked us for her stuff in life, her summer vacations to the Keys and her cruise to Mexico. The last sentence was the most telling, written in the innocuous way that only a nine year-old can write it to her parents: Thanks for making me.

Little can she realize now, that it was her who made us.

(ch) ILLING

2007-08-30T16:08:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-24T11:36:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-22T21:56:00.000-04:00

These are the Days--Truly.

2007-08-19T11:35:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-14T17:20:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-12T11:07:00.000-04:00

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?

2007-08-09T21:56:00.000-04:00

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?

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?

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

2007-08-04T08:19:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-03T03:55:00.000-04:00

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

2007-08-01T20:54:00.000-04:00

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