Ice Skates, Pumpkins and Guitars

The legions are beginning to clamor. Nuanced emails are collecting in my in box. Outright consternation has begun.

It’s time to BLOG.

It’s no secret that PinF’s life in Florida mainly revolves around two things—Sophia and all her extra-curricular activities, and the enjoyment of my paradisiacal environment. Whether at the beach, or on my motor-cycle; or any other activity that combines the glorious weather of Florida with pursuits of blissful fancy that’s PinF’s pursuit in his free time.

Lately the PinF files have revolved around Sophia’s skating and guitar playing both of which bring me immense joy and even more pride. Sophia’s penchant for solitary endeavors obviously is a direct result of her being an only child, still her abundance of confidence in her abilities and even more importantly her self, are quite impressive. I’ve asked her if she wanted to do the more traditional activities i.e.: softball, and soccer—she’s just not interested in team sports. That she enjoys ice skating is something I’ve touched on before, and I believe there are aspects that mirror her more feminine likes (the fashions). Still, she’s not in it for just the “flash”, she is really good, and improving weekly before my eyes.

This month she graduated to level 6. Immediately I saw the degree of difficulty begin to rise as she now is learning much more technical skills. Her new instructor is a man, his name is Vincent and he is notably different that the women instructors, for starters he’s more technically focused. Often he’ll have a student do the same move 5 or 6 times until he sees they’ve learned it before he’ll move on. His one-on-one skill is different, and I believe all the girls accept his advice differently because he is a man and they don’t have the commonality they have with the women instructors, as such it’s more business on the ice. I’m extremely proud, and in awe of my little girl; her progress makes my getting up at 5AM on skate days worth the sacrifice.

Sophia’s guitar instructor is also a man, his name is Freddy and we’re very lucky to have found him. I found him on Craigslist. Turns out he’s a Philly boy, trained at the school of performing arts and is a multi-talented musician playing both drums and guitar. He’s quite taken with his little student, as Sophia’s concentration level as well as maturity and focus are beyond what he expected from an 8 year-old. Sophia’s all business at class, she’s now added “Smoke on The Water” to her electric repertoire and has almost learned all her chords, her week-to-week progress is really quite stunning. This is further proof that children can do or learn whatever they want, provided they are offered an environment that fosters learning, growth, and encouragement.

So now we’re at Halloween. This is Sophia’s time of year and she’s been planning her costume for months. I believe it’s a rock n’ roller, sticking to her themes I guess. On Tuesday I’m taking her and a girlfriend to a local theatre company for their Halloween presentation for kids, something we were meant to attend last year only to be cancelled due to Wilma. Tonight it’ll be memory lane. The 40th anniversary of “It’s the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown” will air tonight and we’ll be ready, popcorn bowl full in anticipation.

PinF loves these moments especially, probably because like a piece of LEGO, these are the moments that fit snuggly together; linking my past with my present and future. Sophia for her part would assume that tonight’s show is something unique to her—not something her Papi may have seen. This in itself is one of the coolest aspects of being a parent in this era. Unlike my parents, there weren’t too many common bonds in their childhood experiences that carried over to their children, case in point would be television and the technology that ensued. Incredibly, though technology has increased at lightning pace, I still get to enjoy the same shows from my childhood that my daughter does. Cool.

These shows take me back to much more innocent time in my life. I’m easily able to picture my mom thirty years ago, young, pretty, and 37 years young. She’s dressing my brother Bill as a Philadelphia Eagle, me as a hippie, Chris as a pirate, and Rob as a ghost—nothing store bought here, all of us conjured up by her own hands. Of course she still had her fifth goblin Scott, though he was too young to step out with the boys in Drexel Hill. Then we would excitedly shuffle out into the crisp October air laden with the smell of early season chimney’s burning and go shuffling through Drexel Hill neighborhoods of what seemed like hundreds of kids. The best part was you were safe, you were happy, and you were unaffected by the prevailing fears that covet the minds of parents today.

These were special times and we didn’t know it. Watching Charlie Brown tonight to see if he finally gets to kick the football will remind me of those special days so long ago. This is something we must all try to remember, because these days that we’re living now are “The good old days” to ourselves and children twenty years from now.





Happy Halloween.

Caracas and Back

PinF is back. Exhausted, weary, and happy to see his daughter. I left last Wednesday night out of Miami headed towards Hugo Chavez's leftist leaning country Venezuela. I hadn't been since 2001, so it was kind of nice in many ways.

As I kicked back on my flight down it dawned on me--I'm not sure why, but it did. October 1th of last year was when my father was involved in his auto accident that would eventually lead to his demise some 5 months later. What a difference a year made. I arrived to the chaos that is Caracas and began to seek out my driver--there was no sign of him. This left me to fend with all the free lance taxi drivers and money changers looking to buy dollars. I was soon united with my driver and headed off into the thick, humid, night air of Caracas, andthe many politically contrasting signs of Hugo Chavez, and the inequities of his people.

I arrived in a quick 25 minutes to my friends' Arturo and Mary's house, the penthouse in an upscale area of the city at the base of the Avila mountain range that seperates the city from the sea. The view of the moon from the rooftop deck was spectacular, second only to view the next morning of the moutain and sprawling city resting at its base.

The Avila mountain range follows you, leaving you vulnerable to its atmospheric whim...it holds clouds, it draws clouds. We were to take the cable car to the top and enjoy the Oktober fest, then take a Jeep half-way down and spend the afternoon enjoying a seven course Spanish luncheon and a bottle of Buchanan's Reserve (aged 18 years) as we dined on a cliff looking down at the modest farms from above the clouds. You can even see the Caribbean Sea from the mountains. A special day for sure. Coming from flat Florida the beauty of the scenery was especially striking as I observed the small fincas that produce flowers, fruit and other mountain grown goods.

We spent about 5 hours as we leisurely took in our scotch's from above the clouds. Occasionally the clouds would clear leaving us with a clear view of the Caribbean Sea some 20 miles away.

It was nice to escape the noise, heat, and trafic of the city to the cool fresh air of the Avila. In the 10 or so times PinF has been in Caracas he never once took the time to take the cable car to the top so I'm especially grateful to my guests.









Caracas is a vibrant city full of contradictions opulence/poverty, calm/fear, democracy/dictatorship.....still it is a favorite city of mine as the people like any great city are what make it. I was lucky in the sense to visit with great people, great hosts, and great friends.

Lessons Lived

PaynterinFlorida has watched from afar, feeling a sort of kinship to the people he's seen and known from his life back in Pennsylvania as they sort through the madness of such an unspeakable, let alone unimaginable act.

I was even driven to write to my old paper the Philadelphia Inquirer to express my grief and outrage. Ironically enough, just below my comments are those of a Mr.Gootlieb and a Mr. Workman both of whom argue for MORE guns, by empowering school officials and janitors to carry guns--- good idea guys, and perfect time to pitch that plan? How obscene is this? These little girls died because of guns, yet these two call for more guns? My anger is towards those who allow and even lobby against any form of gun reform in this huge expansive country of ours where seemingly anyone can have, get a hold of, and possess a firearm.
**********************************************************

When after the the dust settles, the facts are known, and the healing begins, there will be lessons learned. Bravery, humility, forgiveness, kindness, and faith are but a few of these lessons.

Still, grief clouds the reality of what has actually happened. More devastating than any crime that has been committed would be the losses that must now be absorbed by those most affected by this tragedy. The loss of daughters, sisters, and granddaughters to such a small and unique community is without doubt a devastating blow to the people known as the "plain people". Yet as painful as the physical loss is, there is another loss though not as profound, this is a loss that the community at large may never recover from. The loss of innocence and security these hardworking and historically rich people once enjoyed is most likely forever gone in the minds and hearts of the parents and children involved. This ripple affect will continue through the Amish community as today's generation of children become tomorrow's parents.

Equally as powerful as this past weeks' loss would be the lessons currently being absorbed and taught to today's children and tomorrow's parents. These are lessons that all people of faith and heart can only hope to learn. Forgiveness. There can be no greater test nor display of one's faith than the events of this past week in Pennsylvania. Still by all accounts the Amish community is being being portrayed as a forgiving and non-vengeful society. Long noted as exclusionary from the outside world, we've even seen the Amish reaching out to the outside by publicly asking for the public to pray for the family of the man who has taken their children. And as our technologically saturated world stays glued to the TV for details, the Amish somehow provide us the strength to accept what we cannot understand in their quiet humility and steady march towards the cemetary. I suspect this is one time when a lack of television and computers is actually a saving grace.

I could only pray for such grace. As a parent myself to a little girl the same age as these girls I honestly doubt I could forgive, at least not yet. Americans by their very competitive nature are not quick to forgive, rather we're quicker to revenge or 'justice". Sadly, in a case such as this, there is no revenge, or justice for that matter, only lessons. Contrastingly, we are just now discovering the bravery and composure of these little girls as they steadfastly approached their final moments armed with something much more powerful then their captor's weapon---their faith.

For many people who either haven't seen or lived near these fascinatingly private people, the only contact they may have had would be through movies or books. Philadelphian's are lucky in this respect, located just short drive away to the beautiful country and peaceful life of the Amish. I'm reminded of a scene in the Harrison Ford movie Witness when Harrison Ford playing police detective John Book moves to physically defend himself and the Amish father. In the scene the father chides Ford's character regarding violence saying "It's not our way", to which Ford responds "It's my way".

Apparently hatred is not the Amish way either. It has been widely reported that the grandfather of one of the victims has asked for the community to pray for the family of the murderer as well as letting his widow know that his family forgives her husband for what he has done. Heavy stuff for sure. Now I'm reading that the mother of one the victim's had invited the widow of the shooter to her daughter's funeral. Could any one act or words speak to the character of a community more than this? This is the Amish way.

We will come to learn many facts in the coming weeks regarding mental health, gun laws, and how best to safeguard our children's schools. Hopefully the people who posess the power to affect such changes act expediently and in a non-partisan manner, especially when it comes to gun law reform. The contrasting images of peaceful farmlands, and horse-drawn buggies surrounded by the intrusive world media resources will soon fade, leaving but the memories and the lessons. Leaving in its wake will be a community struggling to return to a normal existence as both the Amish and the "outsiders" struggle to make sense of what happened.

Ironic in a way that a people with so much less in the way of gadgets, technology, and sophistication have so much more when it comes to faith, forgiveness, and humility, in the overwhelming face of utter despair and pain. Again, the Amish way.

Heaven 6 Hell 2

I'm no expert on heaven and hell, though I'm quite sure the that two cowardly bastards shooting kids in both Colorado and Pennsylvania are on the autobahn expressway to HELL.

Shooting anyone unarmed, least of all a cowering little girl of six years is as dispicable an act as PinF can stomach. To hell with the NRA and the 2nd amendment! I know their twisted old excuse about "people kill people, not guns". Well if we didn't have so many damn guns so easily and readily available at least it wouldn't be as easy as strolling into a school and holding an execution.

This damn country is based on glorified violence. Perhaps George Bush ought to consider taking the likes of these homicidal scum and let them go fight his immoral and deceitful war, at least then we wouldn't be trading upon our countries' future by sacrificing our young soldiers and children's lives on a contrived, immoral, and illegal war. I see today dubya is calling for a government investigation on how to prevent such events---good one George. How about a "war" against guns?

*** CDC STUDY STATISTCS NOTED: The study used 1994 statistics supplied by the 36 countries. Of the 88,649 gun deaths reported by all the countries, the United States accounted for 45 percent of all gun related deaths in the world.

Here are gun-related deaths per 100,000 people in the world's 36 richest countries. United States 14.24; Brazil 12.95; Mexico 12.69; Estonia 12.26; Argentina 8.93; Northern Ireland 6.63; Finland 6.46; Switzerland 5.31; France 5.15; Canada 4.31; Norway 3.82; Austria 3.70; Portugal 3.20; Israel 2.91; Belgium 2.90; Australia 2.65; Slovenia 2.60; Italy 2.44; New Zealand 2.38; Denmark 2.09; Sweden 1.92; Kuwait 1.84; Greece 1.29; Germany 1.24; Hungary 1.11; Republic of Ireland 0.97; Spain 0.78; Netherlands 0.70; Scotland 0.54; England and Wales 0.41; Taiwan 0.37; Singapore 0.21; Mauritius 0.19; Hong Kong 0.14; South Korea 0.12; Japan 0.05.

PinF is pissed. I'm sick of seeing the future of this country sacrificed nightly either at home or abroad so that some cigar chomping fat cat can keep his gun collection. Why is it that George Bush can mess with my constitutional rights in the name of national security, but if anyone dares consider questioning the "right to bear arms" it is met with the vociferous cries of the right in this country? Where is the outrage that our personal rights are being trampled on-- all within a 5 year span?

I'm not so naive to think that outlawing guns will stop murders, no more than I am to think that the death penalty does. One needs only look at the murder rate by guns in other western countries with gun control laws to see the incredible impact such a measure would have, and just how many lives would be saved. If George can take away my right to privacy, them damnit, we ought to be able to take away these sick bastards rights to shoot little girls in school.

Our constitution is the bedrock on which this nation was built. Let the NRA explain the merits of the 2nd amendment to the grieving parents of these children.

Brand New Look

PinF has slowly mastered the new Beta dashboard enabling some nifty new colors, fonts and ease in adding links. Fitting in a way, as I am now poised to accept my 20,000th visitor all spruced up.

Stayed tuned for audio links next. I'm sure the next Blog that shows the upgraded capabilities has surely got to be JGLOW's, just because I know how "due" she is, and what a slave to tech she is as well.

PinF is BACK

I'm thinking my all-powerful and incredibly wise and gifted (technologically speaking) friend AofC had at least something to do with this?
Or maybe as PinF lay comfortably tucked into his bed all of his Blog friends decided to secretly convert to BETA thereby allowing PinF to comment once again without using his generic sign on. Most likely it was just time to work out the bugs, and allow BETA accounts to comment on ANY account.

Either way PinF in BETA is back.

Flying Grapes

UPDATE: (9/22/06)
Bottle is nestled safely in casa de PinF. Gracias CNN.

My dear friend CNN, bless her little heart--has sent the PinF a bottle of vino. Or has she? Such is the crisis in PinF's blog fueled life this week. CNN, in act of blissful friendship and affection for her favorite southern based BLOG decided to lose control and wire PinF a botttle of vino. Apparently CNN has discovered her new "favorite" wine of the week and was so moved she decided to share her discovery with the PinF--one of the reasons PinF digs the CNN--her spontaneity. Well of course this wine has now taken on a "nectar of the Gods" status as I've awaited it's triumphant arrival here in the "Sunshine State". But wait! Where is it? Oh yeah that's right, it's in Pennsylvania. What?, Pennsylvania you say? I thought they couldn't ship alcohol to that archaic, Puritan state with a legal monopoly on alcohol? Apparently you can. It would seem that maybe my dear friend maybe had too much of her beloved new RED when she ordered online and sent it to herself, a sort of Fruedian/Alcohol "slip" I guess.

Well you can imagine the "life" this bottle has assumed in our many conversations, emails, and snarky comments to each other all week. The bottle has been re-routed(due to CNN getting mad at PinF), then it was "cancelled", resent, and finally, it was confirmed as on its way after being re-shipped from the great Puritanical lands of the Keystone state. So where are we now? Well PinF arrived home from work yesterday, parked his moto and saw what he thought was a check on the ground by my flower beds, I picked it up discovering a "UPS was here" sticky note sticking to nothing but the mulch in my yard (as opposed to the door). It said they had made an attempt, but that they needed a signature and proof that I was over 21. They also said they'd return between 2-5PM. Great--but there's another problem-- since PinF is over 21 he has this thing called a J-O-B, you know that place you're usually found at between the hours of 2 and 5PM.....

This wine better be good. Considering it went a whole season on the vines of California, then flew to Philadelphia, then back to the airport, and then down to Florida, this wine has traveled and matured, along the way it has garnered a cult-like status. It would be easy to get caught up in the quagmire of laws, shipping, and screwed up orders---PinF won't. Instead he'll focus on the "donut" since CNN's friendly gesture far and away overshadows the weird journey this bottle has taken. In honor of this fact PinF will carry it around a bit, maybe take it to the beach, then back home and will wait for just the right time to enjoy this wine.....I'm sure neither she nor I have heard the last of this bottles' story.

Days of Change

Fall is coming. Even here in Florida one can notice the subtle changes. The postion of the sun in the sky, the decreasing humidity, the roughening ocean from distant storms far out to sea. Sophia is in school. Summer experiences are now becoming yesterdays memories, savored like your favorite home cooked meal. You know your little baby is turning into a young "lady" when she says she wants to go to the dance on Friday nights. ??? Dance? Times are a changing PinF. Friday nights 7-9PM, is 3rd-5th grade dance night. I want so much to see Sophia grow and experience her wonder as she matures into a beautiful, smart, nice young woman; but like the owner of a cute little kitten there is a part of me that wants to keep her small, innocent, playful. Such contrasts. I still have her in my mind, eternally small and always my little girl.

Sophia is talking Halloween--God she loves Halloween. Sophia wants to know why papi's don't dress up? I tell her we did already---on the boardwalk. The Eagles have started. PinF saw his beloved boys in green last Sunday. Nothing like Sundays. Probably the only day when PinF maintains a routine. Mass, Sunday paper, breakfast, game. If it's a 4 O'clock game, insert beach in between breakfast and game. The routine remains. The only discernible difference is not having my dad to strategize, analyze, and disect the "X" factors with--this still hurts and sucks. Sophia is talking about my birthday already. God knows she loves birthdays. Surely a trait from her mother, as I've never been one to make a big deal out of "another year". Sophia does, and she keeps asking me what I want? Peace, love, happiness. That isn't too much to ask for is it?

Normally this time of year Sophia and I would be making our now annual Fall sojourn north to enjoy the seasons colors, Philadelphia's museums, and cutural treasures. This year we're not. A break is in order for PinF and Co. as it's been an incredibly taxing year emotionally and financially. In some ways I feel like a visitor to Florida after all the trips I've made to Philly. Still I love this time of year up north when you can begin to see the majesty of change. I miss the Autumn smell of a fireplace at night, and the burning of leaves on a Saturday afternoon. I miss alot of things this time of year, making me wonder if I'll ever really feel like I'm a part of Florida or just passing through?

A Mile of Stones

Catastrophic events often serve as "milestones" for our lives and the events that have shaped them since. In the past few weeks we've all been treated to innuumerable pundits, politicians, and newscasters telling how much we (the USA) have changed since that fateful day in September of 2001. In fact we have. Change is natural, expected, and unstoppable. The question is have we changed for the better? Ask any person born pre-1950 where they were the day John F. Kennedy was shot and they'll tell you very specifically where they were, and what they were doing-- almost down to how the weather was that November day. Incredibly you would most likely find the same is true even for foreigners, as JFK was probably more beloved abroad than he was in the US. The WTC catastrophe will be that defining event for this generation.

The sheer magnitude of the World Trade Tower attacks would almost be unfathomable were it not for thousands of images, videos, and eyewitness accounts of this horrific event. It left PinF wondering whether there had ever been such devestation and heartbreak caught live on television that involved so many lives? Probably not. This fact is probably what has insulated us from so many other horrific and violent events in this world we live. Again, this fact serves to make this event a "milestone" for millions upon millions of people worldwide. Life has changed and not just for Americans; life has changed for the world we once knew, a world we so many people were either lost in their own innocence, or blissfully ignorant to the threats facing us all as we began a new century in an increasingly smaller, hostile, world. A world with more people than ever living oppressed and starving, and as refugees from their homelands.

PinF remembers well exactly what he was doing. He was preparing his daughter for pre-school while dressing for work. I had an appointment with a client after dropping my daughter at school. I turned on the news maybe 5 minutes after the first tower was struck. Confusion reigned. Morning talk hosts had conflicting and convoluted reports. Then came the first video images confirming what we were being told.....the day stopped right there. Shortly thereafter the next plane, the next tower. After being delayed for over an hour I took Sophie to school where I was met by stunned teachers and parents, their children completely shielded from the day's ugly realities by their innocence and age. I got on with my day, glued to my car radio and went about in a funk listening to the unprecedented news that ALL commercial aviation was grounded and that we were now on a war posture having been attacked for the first time since Pearl Harbor. But with whom? For all we did know that day, there was even more we didn't know. One thing we all knew was that life as we knew it was forever changed. The innocence, the detachment from world events and the threats they posed was all coming to a quick end. Americans were to learn what Europeans and much of the rest of the world already knew; no one is immune from terrorism.

I could go on about how "we" have changed-- airport security lines, knee-jerk ractions to Mexican border issues and host of other hysterically motivated laws and reactionary changes. I won't though, because we all know what they are. Like I said this event is a "milestone" and what it does is serve to guage and organize the events in our own lives a little more clearly. For instance, I think based on this event and maybe the London bombings too, that we've all probably told people we loved and cared about how much we really do love and care about them. As we all saw like never before the fragile nature of our lives reflected in the thousands of family members posting pictures of their missing loved ones. I know I held my daughter nearer and told her even more how much I loved her.

PinF can recollect five tough years of losses, sacrifices and changes since that day, all of which may nor have been so clear or noticed if not for the "mile-post" of 9-11. My father's health took what we would now define as a fateful turn during December of 2001, this was and continues to be reverberating event in mine and my other brother's lives. My mother would leave a much shakier nation in search of her dream by serving in the Peace Corps in January 2002, just three months after the attacks. Weighing evn more heavily than the state of leaving her sons, grandchildren and many friends was the fact that she had just learned her sister Rosemary was dignosed with terminal lung cancer. This five year period would also come at a great personal price to PinF as his marriage would end and he would see his daughter's heart nicked a bit from the loss of her innocence.

Life is for the living so you must push on. If nothing else the sight of so many suffering families at least served to put many of our own trivial and mundane worries or fears into perspective. I'm sure as I made my way through the intricacies of my divorce I was always able to put into perspective the forces that were in fact shaping my life thereby allowing me to remain sane, level headed, and sure in my beliefs that "this too would pass". It did. My mother got through her 2.5 years of personal sacrifice and was enriched for her service, though her losses were evident as well having lost her sister five months into her service with the Peace Corps. She returned from Honduras, and I remember well having to break the news to her when she called me from Houston informing me of her home-bound flight progress. I couldn't let her continue on to Philadelphia holding out hope that she would say the last words she longed to tell her sister, and so I told her that her sister Rosemary had passed not but an hour before. She appreciated this and was able to steel herself for the challenges that lay ahead. Remarkably she returned to Honduras 2 weeks later and not only continued, but thrived in her life, her mission, and her willingness to honor the commitment she made.

Not long after my mother's return I was privilaged to be asked to introduce her to her high school alma mater to be inducted into the "Hall of Fame", a fitting end to a arduous journey. Soon after this event the end of my marriage my father's health took a disturbingly and continous downward spiral offering all my brothers' and me a continuing challenge that many adults will one day face, though at the time it was seemingly overwhelming for me personally. Like all faith shaking events in our lives' there lies messages and lessons, and I continue to draw mine from the events that lead me to be in St. Agnes Hospice in South Philadelphia on that fateful day on March 13, 2006 as my father drew his last breath, his head cradled in my arms, surrounded by myself and my brothers Chris and Rob. PinF has had the privilage to see people he has loved more than anything be both born and die. Each have their own powerful and beautiful elements and are the very core fiber of the life experience itself, to see the first breath and to hear the last. Incredibly they are one in the same, as they both begin and end with a gasp.

So now here we are five years past an event that in many ways seemed as if we would never recover from the scars it left. We have, and yet we haven't forgotten - we cannot. The changes 9-11 brought are hopefully temporary, as we've sacrificed as many civil freedoms in five years as we've fought to preserve as a nation in 200+ years. Not to mention the paranoia, dread, and general lack of hope for the future of mankind in a world where the inequities of civilizations are settled in barbaric and brutal ways such as slamming airplanes into buildings filled with innocents. PinF has said it before. Take the trillion dollars this war is guesstimated to cost the American taxpayers and seed the world with education, respect for all views and not just our allies, and then throw in some medical goodwill, schools, and civil improvements. I would be willing to risk that we might be safer as a nation, people and world if we stopped spreading bombs in the name of democracy, and started spreading peaceful dialogue propped up by tangible improvements in the lives of those who hold such hatred for our obviously failed policies.

Five years gone. Much has changed. PinF's prayers are especially for the families directly affected. These include ALL families, from the WTC victims and their survivors, to the soldiers' and their loved ones and to the many tens of thousands of innocents who've lost their homes, and lives in far away lands as a result of our pre-emptive doctrines of war. I supect the world will need longer to forget and heal from our reactions to 9-11 than we as Americans will need to recover from the act itself.

Buena Suerte

I took the bike for speed, yet the sky looked as if it was going to punish me for my decision. Black clouds, a cool wind, and light rain were already starting---a precursor to a nasty bout of thunderstorms for sure. I needed two things: cat food, and laundry detergent. As I thought of the cat food I immediately thought of my snapper filets sitting out on the kitchen counter. Damn. I was certain my ex-kitten-turned-terrorist was already making a sushi meal of this and I was now faced with the dread of what I might find upon returning home.

I quickly shoved that dark thought to the back of my mind looked at the now ever-thickening clouds forming and decided I need to hustle. Wait--lottery ticket, might as well play now. Quick stop at the counter, only going to play two games and then I'll get my cat food and detergent. "sir, you have to put a valid address down"........"do you understand English?"....
22, 11, 9, 13, 33.......I'm choosing the numbers of my lottery as they relate to the people closest in my life. " sir, I cannot read this, do you have identification?"......as I choose each number their face pops into my mind, I'll play two tickets. What the hell, "let me have a quick pick too" I say to the nice girl at the lottery counter. "Three dollars please"....done.

"he doesn't speak English, and I can't understand the address on the form"..... the background annoyances of this woman's voice were by now becoming increasingly louder, as if the young man would better understand what she was saying so long as she said it LOUDER? With my lottery tickets bought, I casually turned my attention to the source of these inquiries and saw the familiar face of the counter woman I see often when shopping in my Publix. Difference being I have not seen her so short of patience nor rude. What is it about immigrants that bring out often rude and impatient treatment? Should the staus or origin of a person have anything to do with how we treat them? I would argue no, as I know plenty of legal or natural born Americans who are more deserving of rude treatment, at least more so then the generally humble and respectful people I come accross.

"Tu habla Inglis?" I asked the young man, interupting the counter woman's demands. " Un poco he replied"....I told him I would help him and he seemed calmed by this, as he had been getting verbally peppered for about five minutes until I interceded. Just to even the table, I turned and asked the counter woman in Spanish "Senora, tu habla espanol?"....I knew the answer, but I wanted to point that out to her. I asked what the problem was? She replied his address wasn't filled out correctly. I quickly figured out that what was happening here was this young guy was attemptiing to send $30.00 lousy dollars to his family in Honduras, yet this woman seemed bent on making it as hard as possible. I saw his name was Hector from the form, I asked him his address, he seemed confused. I turned to the lady and said "look I'll let you use my address and stay here until it's done"...she said no. I told him in my best spanish that "su direccion es mal". He removed from his pocket a bill, and it turns out that the address he was using WAS right.

I informed the lady, printed the form a bit more legibly and handed it to the woman. I commented it seemed a lot of fuss for $30.00, not to mention what he was being charged to send it (25%). I also commented as chidingly as I dared that she seemed to be a bit tough on the kid. By this time I had told Hector in my limited Spanish that I knew his country and that my mother lived and worked in Honduras with Cuerpo de Paz, this lit up his face and he asked "de donde?" I told him in Santa Barbara state "en Gualala"....By this time I think the counter woman was resenting our alliance and wanted to be done with the Western Union transaction.

Humility is the act or emotion of being humble. This young man was the epitome of this characteristic. Polite, nice, and clearly a hard working young man probably about 26 yrs. old. He never lost his patience or became angry, despite the difficulty he was having trying to send money to his family. PinF was humbled by his example. Never mind the immigration issue, this was a human issue. I've been to Honduras and seen with my own eyes the despair, poverty, and life he came from. Yet here he was sending $30.00 dollars home not much in my life; though I can imagine the impact of 566.00 Lempiras in Honduras. Clearly enough to buy the tortillas, beans, rice, and coffee among other staples. In that instant I forgot about my tasks, the weather and even the millions I was already spending in my mind. I had made a friend, and a difference, and for this I felt better about me. We said our good-byes and I rushed around getting my cat food and detergent.

I'd like to think the counter lady might have learned a lesson in kindness as well, though I suspect she was too jaded from dealing with people's problems all day. She clearly had not been to a foreign country before, judging by her lack of empathy and patience. I also couldn't help but wonder if this had been a white middle-aged French speaker from Quebec if she would have treated him so rudely? Of all the countries I've ever been in, I find amazing the disdain Americans often exhibit when dealing with speakers of othert languages. I've never (with the exception of Paris) experienced this before in other countries when I didn't speak their language. On the contrary, foreigners seem to either make an attempt to speak MY language or are every accepting and tutorial with regard to me torturing their language.

As I hopped on my bike rain was starting to fall, and I was ready to zip home before the deluge...I saw Hector walk out and he waved and said "gracias por todo senor" to which I replied "de nada", and motioned for him to come over. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my lottery tickets and offered him my "quick pick" and told him "esta es un boleto de lotteria"....I told him to check La Palma on Thursday morning to see if he won. He thanked me and seemed genuinely happy to have crossed paths with me, and I him.

I rode past him and said "buena suerte"...and hoped he won.

Oscar?

PinF went to the movies last night and saw a movie that could easily be considered among the top four films this year. No special effects. No spellbinding plot. No sex. Excellent character studies. Hilarious scenes, sad moments and real people all acting so believably it almost seems real. Little Miss Sunshine.


What this film did have was some drug abuse, offensive language, along with very gritty images of real life with a very real and stressed out family. Incredibly dysfunctional, abusive, mean, and loving all at once; the brilliant casting of this movie allow the two childrens' roles to shine through.

This movie works despite its predictabilities mainly due to the characters and their quirks. The cocaine sniffing grandpa, the angry mother, the failing father, the suicidal gay uncle, the angry and uncomfortable teenage boy and mainly because of the movie's champion as an incredibly cute, chubby, and real portrayal by seven year-old Abigail Breslin. This movie will have you crying then laughing --at and then with, this family. Just as quickly it will also have you ready to shed a tear of sadness as the movie veers down as many touching as comedic paths, often combining the two emotions as in the hospital scene.

PinF whole-heartedly recommends this film as a "must see" this summer. In the end this film succeeds on the love of the family despite their faults and weaknesses so convincingly brought forth by the actors. As quirky, contentious, and dysfuntional as they all may seem, they belong to each other. And because of this fact they are drawn to protect, comfort, and assure each other in their most dire, sad, and insecure moments throughout the film. The pinnacle scene of the movie may very well be the seven year-old Olive confiding in her grandfather of her fear of competing in "Little Miss Sunshine" for fear of losing, based on her father's disdain for losing. Alan Arkin is at his best here, assuaging, and assuring his grand-daughter Olive that the "....losers are those who are afraid of attempting to achieve...", the performance, tears, and general likeability of Olive may in fact place her and Arkin in contention for an Oscar.

The predictable parts of this movie are in fact probably the sweetest rewards of such an ensemble cast. Because of their character flaws-- rather than in spite of them, the family champions' each other's shortcomings and fears and become a cohesive team bent on the protection and care of one another - like real families do. I was accompanied last night by a close friend of mine, herself from Europe, and despite the cultural differences of lifestyles, and humor, she too felt the message in this movie, and could relate to the movie's theme of family. Go see this movie, PinF is giving it 5 PinF's.

POWDA DAY

HAPPY BIRTHDAY POWDA!!!!!!

Beta is Better

Ok, so I guess it worked? I upgraded to the new "Beta" Blogger version....which I assume is what kid Technicolor (JGLOW) did as well. So it's all good in the 'hood. Received salutations from fellow bloggers AKJN and MofC regarding my changes, so I guess the new PinF is out there.

On another note...PinF is adding a new link of interest today. I've recently coreesponded with another galavanting world traveler who is also making the treak from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, Argentina and almost 20k mile journey. This journey is a bit different that my last link of a fellow who made this journey by BMW motorcycle . For starters my new "linkee" will be documenting this entire journey on camera that has been mounted on the handlebars of his BICYCLE. That's right. This Brit is driving from top to bottom on a bike. His gimmick? He'll make the trip on a tandem bike and offer rides to people the entire length in exchange for the company, pedal power and videography. He's sure to encounter countless stories and characters along the way, especially when he enters south of the border where a bike is sometimes a luxury. His journal is interesting already as are the photos of such pristine counrty. Currently he is poised to enter the US from Canada, just north of Seattle.

I have my good friend Bubs, himself a professionsal cameraman with several Emmy awards to his credit standing by to greet him into Seattle. Bubs will be offering techical camera assistance. Dominic is looking for riders his entire route so if you know anyone on the west coast who wants to knock out a few miles, direct them to his site where they can get in touch and check progress. He is hoping to raise money for needy children and put together a documentary of the trip once completed. Interesting and grueling journey. PinF will once again follow vicariously, knowing his trip will come soon.

Take it Easy Now......

PinF hasn't gone anywhere.

Same PinF channel, same PinF time. Yes my blog was temporarily inaccesible---temporarily, I say. Truth be told I was motviated after viewing the new upgrade to AKJN to technicolor, and started dabbling in the "template" area of the Blogger Console. A technical "quicksand" area for PinF, as I was trying to make some changes on the "fly".....bad idea. PinF was in over his head. I eventually gave up, figuring I would make an attempt another day. Much to my surprise I had tweaked something, problem was I didn't know what? I dispatached the tech nerds immediately-- suffice to say the source of my snafu was located and dealt with. It really wasn't until I recieved several distress emails that I even realized I had done something. In a sense it was kid-technicolor herself, AKJN who sounded the alarm---good one JGLOW. So PinF is back...unimproved, un-technicolored, and basically the same. Leaving just the words to provide the illumuniation.

August 10, 2006

Dear Dad,

One hundred nineteen days ago we said goodbye. That sounds like a lot of time, but it still feels like yesterday. It's hard still, the good memories haven't blocked out the last remaining days yet. Everyone is dealing with your departure in different ways, and as you always said-- life goes on. I'll say for my part that there hasn't been a day that has gone by that I haven't thought of you at least one time if not more during the day. Your name is a recurrent one in conversations or reminiscences with Sophia and me. Certain songs I hear or things I'll think of will make me chuckle to think of how you'd have reacted to them. The recent weather is one of those events. I can hear you now harping on the 100*+ weather Philadelphia just experienced, you loved talking about the "humidity"..... so you're in a better place in that regard.

The Phils are still floundering in mediocrity. They just traded away the "franchise" players yet somehow they still continue to illicit hope amongst the faithful by putting together a few sweeps here and there....this too would be driving you crazy. You were heavy on my mind Sunday. I've never started an Eagles season that I could remember that we weren't either watching the game together or in contact over the phone. I miss that alot. The 1st team looked crisp, the rest as you always said, wasn't worth watching. Something that you would have loved is about to happen. You actually talked quite often about it the last year or so ago. The Vince Papale movie opens this month. Man you would have loved to have seen that, I remember how you loved him so.

What else? Sophia and I spent a week at your beloved shore in New Jersey. I passed the old Buck Tavern and it made me think of you and how we'd stop there on our way to the Springfield Inn for a hot roast beef. You were heavy on my mind that week, we had such great times at the beach eh? It left me with regret that i hadn't done this with you and her when I could've of. Sophia and I are going to Mass later today to say a few prayers for you; she speaks often of you and how she misses your phone calls and questions. She still has that art kit you gave her, and she is constantly drawing me loving doodles. She still talks about the day we went to the Springfield Ice Skating Rink so you could see her skate. And those skates you bought her at Bill Battey's? They're too small now, but she isn't letting them go. I tried to have her maybe give them to a less fortunate kid who might need some skates, she wasn't having any of it. The sentimental value she's placed on them far out weigh any altrustic ones I might try to suggest.

The pain of my loss is tempered by the fact that you're with your long lost family and so many friends. I imagine all the idols of your life--the sports figures and of course Frank and Johnny have you really feeling like you're in heaven. Sophia incredibly will be starting 3rd grade in one week. I see in my own experience the speed at which life and all its wondrous blessings seem to almost gain speed as they pass before me. This reminds me as I recall our many wonderful times how fast they really did pass.........That's it from here in Florida. I miss your voice too and am left remembering this time last year when I came up to check on you after you got out of Harlee Manor. I took you shopping at Strawbridges, got you some new duds. Remember? We had some laughs over your skinny ass that day! Then we had a big old prime rib at Outback that night. That was to be a bitter sweet birthday for sure. No more bittersweet than this one though. Happy Birthday Dad. I love you and I'm missing you.

Love your son, Tim

Windows of Our Youth

Slow week. These last two weeks before school starts are always the l o n g e s t of the summer. Still I'm able to recognize my blessings in that I've been blessed with a daughter who wants to get back to studying. What I ever did to deserve a child this agreeable I'm not sure, though I'm sure karma plays a fickle role in that fate. PinF is a strong proponent of kindness to kids and old people especially. Kindness to all of course---but to the weaker and more vulnerable go the most kindness, care, respect, and love.

PinF has a neighbor across the way from his house who is 80 years old and just a pleasure of a woman. Born in the coal region of Kentucky where if you visited even today you would find that time has stood still to many of this centuries progressions. She has a daughter who lives with her too. The daughter works intermitently and drinks too much. Nice gal, just not too focused-- neither on her own life nor her reason for being in her mother's for that matter. She tries to put a spin on her place in her mother's life as being there to help her mom.

PinF knows it's the other way around. Her mother who at 80 is as sharp as someone 30 years younger, is lean and fit and has sparkling blue eyes and an illuminating smile that belie her 80 years. She's a real pleasure to just sit and talk to, something PinF does often, and as much joy as I know our frequent chats bring her, it is I who is enriched by her company far more than she is by mine. Doris to me exemplifies just this, that the youth of our heart never grows old and is like a window that blows in on the curtain of our lives.

Doris is PinF's buddy. Everyday I see her outside either crimping a plant, sweeping the walk, or taking her short walk to exercise her artificial hip she had replaced two years ago. PinF has been a friend to her since he moved to the neighborhood a year and a half ago, always keeping an eye out especially during the storms. On Mother's day Sophia and I gave her a potted tulip plant with it's blossoms in full bloom, it might as well have been a Tiffany setting by her reaction, not to mention telling all her neighbors of her "good fortunes". Doris just adores Sophie, and Sophie adores Doris, often riding her scooter to her house just to say hello. Life is funny this way. The way I see it, you either go through life either not giving a fiddler's fart about aging and the elderly, or you genuninely empathize and respect the journey and experience that this person represents. PinF choose the latter.

Old people to me are like books I haven't read. Lately I've been "reading" Doris DuPont's story. The forces and events that shaped her life and brought her to S. Florida are in a sense better than a book, as true life often is. Her's was a life forged by hard work, Protestant value's, and childrearing. She was asking me about Sophia's Holy Communion a few months ago and relating the story of her upbringing and childhood and how her religious education was had in a Catholic school for a short time as a girl in Kentucky. She was explaining her mother gave birth to six children and I commented how I thought she might be Baptist in that region of the country as opposed to Catholic. She said "Catholic? My parents were Protestants", she said she liked to tell people that they were "passionate Protestants" due to the amount of children they had. Funny lady.

Sophia auditioned for her first play this week. There was an open call for children 7-13 for a Christmas production. She wanted it bad, she seemed suited to this as she loves the performing arts and is certainly not shy. PinF was a child actor. Along with a few of his brothers we were members of the Drexel Hill Players, an accomplished troupe that staged several productuions a year. My oldest brother was a Von Trappe in the Sound of Music, and he was the scarecrow in Wizard of Oz. My "15 minutes" came via Upper Darby High Schools' senior class play The Music Man. I was cast in one of the lead roles as Winthrop, a daunting tole to be sure for an eight year-old. I had three solos to sing, of course ignorance is bliss and we rarely fear what we either don't know or have never seen. I believe also there was a certain aire of invicibility about me that I couldn't have understood at the time having just come through a near death event as a sick child a year before.

Sophie's mother was herself an actress (and still is) , appearing in productions in her Venezuela and eventually moving to New York to pursue her dream further. So Sophia's desire seemed to be in accordance with her history. Not being chosen was a tough thing to tell Sophia. This however is a far greater lesson to learn than instant acceptance. The sculpting of life is commisioned by experience. No character was ever shaped by complete success, either without let down's, set backs, or disapointments. I steeled myself to tell her as she was waiting anxiously to hear for two days. She took it like I thought she would--she cried in my arms. I reassured her that "we'd be back", this was only her first audition she has to believe that she will be back. I likened the whole experience to her ice skating and how she has come so far in such a short time. She perked up, still sad but she was crying through the pain of her "rejection". Of course there was only two roles for a girl, and over 300 children auditioned, so she was in good company so to speak.

I explained to her in her fragile state that "God never closes a door on her life where he doesn't open a window". This got her. She said "papi, what's that mean?" So I told her how she has many, many blessings, not to mention is gifted with many abilities and maybe this is just a sign that she's meant to do other things now. Ten minutes later she's playing with her new kitten, laughing, smiling and moving on. The young and the elderly. Such simplicity in each of their lives, yet such fluid congruency at the same time. Did I mention I found a guitar teacher for Sophia? That's right, and from Philadelphia too, and now we were off to lesson two. We gathered her guitar walked out of the house and who's there to greet us? Doris of course, she's talking to a neighbor and just about drops her conversation in mid-sentence as she sees us. She just lights up to see her two friends, and in that moment of her admiration and praise for Sophia she starts in on her neighbor about what a special little girl Sophie is and how she's a figure skater, and "..oh look now she's playing the guitar?"....Well you could see the pride in Sophie's step as she walked to the car with her guitar, I could see something else too.

The pain of her closed door had ceased and was being blown away by the breeze blowing through the open window of new opportunity.

Gone Too Soon

Blogs are like anything else in life. Sometimes you don't feel like doing a Blog. Still it's that freedom that keeps you doing one, everytime you begin to tire of the ritual you find inspiration in something that you hadn't expected and it kick starts you right back to the keyboard. Summer is upon us all, so there are many distractions that call us away from the insignificance of what we write here. Still, there are many amongst us for whom summer isn't all fun and sun, this blog is for them.

Last February while embroiled in an end of life situation with my own father I read of a heartbreakingly beautiful family led by a courageous single mother named Marcia Glover-Banks who was dying of terminal cancer. At the suggestion of her hospice she went into the studio to record what can best be described as a tear jerking song of goodbye to her three daughters. Incredibly enough they too sat in on the recording and were as beautiful in the their responsorial chants as were their dying mother's lyrics.

Of course as it would turn out, my own father went into hospice at the end of the month and died March 13th. I never followed up on this family and to be honest they slipped off PinF's radar. That was until today, when looking at links that had lead a daily visitor to PinF I noticed someone had logged onto archives to read this article so I decided to take a look and see how things turned out for this woman and her three lovely daughters. I was saddened to read that Ms. Glover-Banks had died just last month on June, 9th. This news made me want to give a shout out for her, her daughters, and to anyone else who reads PinF who has an inclination to donate anything they find possible to the surving children of this woman. Listen to the song if you can bare it, the emotions and love that come from this dying woman's words are powerful stuff and a reminder to us all that what we have can all go away tomorrow.


Donations for Marcia Glover-Banks' three children -- Shanice, Andreas and Jasmine -- may be sent to:Friends of Marcia Glover-Banksc/o PNC Bank104 North White Horse PikeStratford, N.J. 08084

La Familia

When PinF was a kid during summer I used to play with my brothers along with dozens of neighborhood kids, either directly in front of our house, or if it was daytime at Garretford Elementary for the summer recreation program. Luckily for our parents we lived around the corner from the school so no rides were necessary on parents behalf. Now the world PinF lived in as a child of the seventies and the world his daughter lives in as a child of the new millenium were dramatically different. A parent worried less and in a certain respect children were more independent, confident, and much more safe.

Ours' was the arch-typical "Kool-Aid" type of street. We lived at the bottom of Lasher Road in Drexel Hill, therefore the location lended itself as the logical site of all games played on the street. Most specifically, stepball. Here's a game that is definitely geographically specific; I don't recall after moving to Wallingford having met anyone who played. Games were fought and lost right in front of our house at 4009 Lasher. Great if your the "home" team, not so great if you were the home team's mom. My mother was by proxy the arbitrator of all disputes, fights, questionable language and behavior. Looking back now she really had it all, as if five sons were'nt enough-- she now had another 10-15 neighborhood boys at her doorstep. To her credit she earned her stripes. She neither meddled nor smothered. Choosing instead to stay as much out of the day to day trivialities as possible with regard to our many disagreements.

Ocaasionally summer tensions would spill a situation in her lap, or in this case her doorstep where she would need to disband the "league" in a commisioner like fashion. Understandable, as you can only listen to so many stepball, touch football games, four-square games in one day. One day matters were taken to a different level when my brother Chris had some words with the mother of a kid on Vernon Rd. To our complete surprise this woman's adult brother arrived on the playground "looking for the kid" who mouthed off to his sister. We as kids froze with fear. He grabbed my brother and pinned him against the wall shaking and roughing him up to scare him. Horrified, I was off like a shot to alert my mom...by the time she got there it was over. Of course my brother was traumatized by an adult man over some child's remarks. We knew our dad would handle this when he got home. And he did. He walked in, got the story and then immediately walked out and over to the house where this man was at his sister's. He walked right in the house, and although we weren't privy to what took place inside we heard my father's raised voice making it very clear that NO ONE was to put there hands on his sons. He didn't use violence, at least not that we saw. I saw what looked like a much more immature, scared, and younger man walk out behind my father, kissing his ass, apologizing all the way to the curb. A profound memory for all of us. This was at a time when your dad stood tall, strong, and invicible in your child-like view of the world. I think we were all proud, and I know we all felt a sense of a higher protection.

PinF is never so reminded of the economic and social differences of his surroundings until he visits his old stomping areas of Media, Wallingford, and Swarthmore, PA. Here in Florida the reality is more in line with what is happening to this country as a whole. The ethnic diversity that surrounds me is my reality. And I like it that way. I still make small talk in a bar or a store and hear some fool complain about "these poeople" when they don't know the right amount of change at a store counter, or how "they should learn English". I bristle with this type of talk. The easy explantion could be because I have a child of both latino and anglo heritage, something I'm very proud of-- especially my child's ability to navigate through cultures and languages effortlessly and seamlessly. But that isn't why I hate this bigotry. The real reason would be the way WE were raised didn't allow for this type of hatred. We were taught early, and we were taught right. People are people, color means nothing more than a package.

If nothing else I would say I have more respect for the many Guatemalan, Mexican, Colombian, and Hondurans because I've seen where "they" came from. I know the obstacles they've had to overcome through no fault other than the fate of their own births. I see what hard workers these men are-many of whom are the direct descendants of the mighty Maya. Lean, strong, and proud-- I see the men working the construction sites, landscaping companies and the many other tough, menial and often lower paying jobs- all with diginity and fervor. The real truth is that these people, the one's that so many would close the door of opportunity to, work hard because they're not only supporting their own families here, but their extended families back home as well. There isn't a day that I don't open my paper that I don't see a story of some thugs preying on a Guatemalan or Mexican, often in a gang like fashion--demanding their money. These crimes occur most often because these thugs know that many of these latinos will 1. not report the crime, either through fear of the police, their status here, or an inability to speak the language. 2. often keep their money on their person or in their homes due to mistrust of banks in their native countries.

What's the point PinF? Family. Though we don't always agree, nor will we always have peace, it'll always be the family first, especially when challenged to defend it. Opening the Post yesterday I read a story of such true courage and passion that I realized how ironic is we talk of "sending them back" when there are people right here in our midst who are even less worthy of their citizenry in our communities. The people who prey on the weak, the frail, the unfortunate. Read this story and see what I'm talking about, and tell me who is less deserving to live in this country-- the hardworking and honest Guatemalan family or the gangsta thug who would try to prey on such a beautiful and unified family? Lessons come in all aspects of our lives, this is a lesson of family. I can hit my brother but you can't.

(Board)Walking through Time

With tears in her eyes Sophia said her good-bye to her mami at the airport. After all the changes in her life, the seemingly tougher and adjusted veneer of her personality shows its fragility when she she breaks away from either of her parents, however temporary it may be.I understand this. I also expect it. So you push on, and we did. Two weeks can be an eternity in a child's mind not to mention a parents' when their child is away. Cognizant of this fact I kept each of them in contact daily with both photos and phone calls easing both their anxieties.

I thought to my self as I began the journey back to Philly yet again-- how much different things were just a year ago. Instead I was now off to Philly with the express intent of A. relaxing, and B. having fun with my daughter. Both were welcome changes from my many sojourns of the past two years or so. Still my father was on my mind, especially being in a place he loved so much--the Jersey shore.Long since forgotten reminders of my own childhood were lurking around every undiscovered corner and every activity and experience that Sophia would find. Unlike her father or even her cousins, Sophia has never had the Jersey shore experience to model her impressions of summer.

Instead Sophia has been a child of the tropics playing on beaches in Latin America and s. Florida. Along the way you kind of miss out on the boardwalks, chilly waters, and horseshoe crabs. The latter probably aren't too missed. But the boardwalk, well this is an entirely different experience. Sophie had been spying for some time on the internet and Philadelphia magazine. She had caught glimpses of this wooden oasis, still the concept wasn't fully grasped, at least not until we walked up the 9th Street ramp in Ocean City.The first senses to be affected are those relating to the olfactory. The immediate whiff of funnel cake, popcorn, cotton candy and pizza almost overwhelm you. Then there is the sheer visual affect--as far as the eye can see in either direction is wood, and lots of it. Sophia took to this wonderfully fun and deliciously smelly enviroment like a fish to water.....problem is where to start?

I could see Sophia wanted to run 5 different directions....I of course wanted her to see what I wanted. It helps if you can remember what it's like to be little and on the boardwalk (PinF does).....so I did what you have too. I got out of the way and let her decide what we were going to do. First? miniature golf----Sophia dies for this. Second? Arcades for some Dance, Dance, Revolution. Third? uhuh shops, lots of 'em---girly types-- jewelry, dolls, clothing...and then some tattoos (non-permanent).The last thing we did the first day of our boardwalk assault was the antique photo shop. This experience, for anyone who had never been, is a real rite of passage and something we planned on doing while still in Florida, so she was pumped for this one. I was the Sheriff, she was the barmaid. A classic if I should say so myself.

The joy of parenting is in rediscovering the kid in yourself..I did during this week and we had an absolute blast. I played so much mini golf I got my own "tour card". I am blessed to have a "child of wonder" who neither expects, nor takes for granted the good fortune she recieves. Sophia, blessed with an even temperament and kind nature, is someone I've learned to be so thankful for after a walk on the boardwalk surveying other peoples' children. Certainly one of the great joys of my vacation was being so often complimented what a polite, friendly, and nice little girl I have.

Walking through your own past with you own "future" is such a cool way to spend your vacation, so many places I saw and visited especially in OC brough back the many memories of wonderful vacations of my own, made possible by my own parents. These are the memories I still carry to this day, fully aware that the Sophia and I will now have a shared memory to discuss fondly in as many years as she wishes.

Photographs and Memories....