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....

On The Way To Cape May........

Rainy Day Review

Warm and rainy in south Florida today, Father's Day. Makes for an easy excuse to laze about the house and reflect. Enjoyed a nice service at church with my reason for being a father, Sophia. She delivered her father's day gift to my bed at 7am, further reinforcing what a deliberately good and nice child she is, illustrating once more that despite personal losses and set backs I have much more to be grateful for than regretful or sad.

Chilling in the kitchen with all the things I love on a Sunday morning.
1. New York Times Sunday edition. 2. A pot of fresh brewed coffee. 3. Fresh bread from the bakery toasting lightly as it prepares to meet my Norwegian smoked salmon. 4. A wireless internet connection on my laptop, allowing me to peruse newspapers and events worldwide as I enjoy my breakfast, this on "my day". 5. And finally, music. The naturally melancholic day brought forth by the ominously puffy rain clouds combined with the sadness of my father not being here has me falling back to an old classic.

There are but 10 albums PinF would need should he ever be cut off from the world. Just ten, they encompass all musical genre's and moods; each explaining a different layer of my own experience. As I sit here and listen to one of the single best albums ever made, I'm cognizant of how much of who I am and what I like is so similar to my own father. He loved his newsapaper and coffee, and had he been here today I most definitely would have found him doing almost the exact same thing I'm doing upon my obigatory father's day phone call--difference being he would be chilling to Sinatra.

So I carry on-- as I am now the dad, and Sophia looks to me. She's printing out her father's day tribute on the desk top as I sit here pondering my day, and indeed the year that has been to date. By now I'm sure you're all wondering just what is that "top ten album"? Let me say this--there are very few truly timeless albums that speak the same truths to the generations who've listened to them. Equally so, there are few albums that will raise social, moral, and religious consciousness. PinF digs this type of music. Music of substance for the heart as well as the soul. Lyrically the music must drive the message, it isn't enough to be just an instrumental compostion, that leaves much to much to interpretation. The lyrics serve to drive the music, dictating where the artists chooses to take you, and what he wants you to know was in his heart and soul, not to mention the world in which he created the piece.

The music is the canvas. The lyrics are the paint. As I read the diametric news of the day I'm reminded what a powerful and relevant body of work I'm listening to. The enviroment is in trouble. The world continues to war. People die needlessly and voicelessly in squalor and disease. This is my world as I read today's newspaper. And as I do I wonder why if schools require certain classic pieces of literature, then why we don't require the same of classic pieces of music? For if we did I would suggest that every 12 grade student listen to Marvin Gaye's "What's Going On" before embarking onto their next phase of conscious living. The incredible relevancy to today's problems in the world truly serves as a testament to what genius this body of work is. I've listened to album literally hundreds of times, each one of them I've come away with something new, something that serves as a parallel lesson to today's troubles and events.

This album truly needs to be savored, absorbed, and contemplted to really be appreciated. It speaks of God, religion, morality, war, social injustice and political confusions. Listen to lyrics of "What's Happening Brother?" and see if it this message doesn't convey the questions of a generation fighting the war in Iraq, as people slowly begin to ask, what for? For the troubled forgotten souls of yesterday and today Marvin still speaks through the lyrics of "Wholy Holy". The staggering amount of children whose mortality is stunted through disease, famine and war is so purposely covered by the song "Save the Children". PinF can think of very few other albums that challenge such forward social, political, and moral introspection. Certainly the song that ties it all together into one world anthem of questioning the direction our planet is heading would have to be "Mercy, Mercy Me". Could there be a more relavent song to today's useless war and division it's causing amongst ourselves as fellow Americans, not to mention as members of world community than the song "What's Going On"?

If you've never listened to this album straight through-- do it. If it's been a while, then listen again. The mesage is old, but it's the same one no matter the year, love.

A Father's Days

PinF has been reminded for weeks now. Sophia the little PinF, treats Father's Day like Christmas, offering a daily countdown to how many days until "my" day arrives. Cute and nice for sure as she offers up her little self to do "whatever I want" on my day. A few years ago she arrived at my bedside with her little hand made card, offering me a hug, kiss and a back scratch. We made pancakes together, then "did what I liked", going to the beach for the day reading the Sunday paper. She knows her father is a charter member of the "Do Nothing Tribe" on Sundays, and she accomodates this in everyway she can. My own father never had daughters to contend with and I no sisters, a fact that I believe makes me better suited to be a father to a little girl than a boy, as I wouldn't want to spoil a boy like I do my daughter, that and the fact that the kisses and hugs disappear after a certain age in boys.

This Father's Day is a reminder also that for the first time in my life I am fatherless, a fact that I believe Sophia is acutely aware of and determined to compensate for by offering extra attention to her papi. Sophia often tells me she misses her pop-pop still, and I tell her I do too. Three years ago instead of sending the traditional card for father's day I sent my father a letter. My life was going through extreme changes at the time and naturally he and my mother were concerned in a way that serves to remind you that you are someone's child as well as someone's father. In this letter I thanked my dad for always being there, being my lifelong friend, and cautioned him against getting caught up in my current quagmire, assuring him that I as a man now would find my way clear. The life lessons, advice, times shared, the many laughs and love were appreciated and it was important for me to acknowledge to him then what I had never considered until I was myself a father. It's hard to be a good person, role model, caregiver, friend and example; something you inevitably have to be if you are to be a good parent. The important thing was to acknowledge these facts while he was here, and I did. While going through my father's affairs after he passed, I found this very same letter saved amongst his papers, possesions, and photographs. My father never being one to dwell on sentimental matters had in a sense acknowledged my gratitude by virtue of my letter still being in his posession three years after I sent it. I have the letter now, and it serves to remind me of the greater outcome of life when challenges seem overwhelming at times.

We all have a tendancy as we age to forget that we are someone's child still, captured in our parent's minds' as the little persons we once were, full of innocence, love, and of the dreams we once held. I'm reminded of this fact everytime I take time to assess my own childs' life up to this point and just how fast the past seven years have flown by. In my mind she's still that little girl bounding up the school bus steps for the first day of kindergarten three years ago, or the three year-old flower girl spreading roses petals in the afternoon sun in front of the Barnegat Lighthouse for a friends' wedding. I am ever cognizant that these are the fleeting days of my own fatherhood, and how quickly they will all pass and wind themselves into one big ball of memories and emotions to be unraveled as melancholic memories at a later date, God willing. Indeed the fact that most of my memories are probably less defined than my own daughter's will be lends itself to the fact that I was one of five children as opposed to an only child. Still I can remember running around the corner as a child to the drug store on Garret Road in Drexel Hill with my brothers to purchase the obligatory bottle of Old Spice and a card for Father's Day.

Being anything of substance or meaning to a child is hard work. Try being a big brother to a child and keeping a weekly commitment-- it isn't easy, hell try being a babysitter for a day--that'll test your parental fibers. We read everyday about deadbeat dads, abusive dads, and even homicidal dads. This is interesting because in my life the only dads that ever made a difference in my friends, family, and myself were the unselfish, loving, nice, able to laugh-at-themselves dads. Sure I know a few bad dads, but who ever took a page from a bad persons' book of parenting? If nothing else it's fathers like these that serve as reinforcements and confirmation that the day-to-day grinds of just trying to "do your best" is in fact the right way to go. This fact shouldn't ever be underestimated because children see and learn even the most hidden and smaller lessons of a life lived good, fair, and lovingly.

Funny in a way, because my being a father to such a wonderful little girl makes me feel like celebrating her, rather than vice-versa, as I feel like the lucky one. So this Sunday will go as scripted before, the main difference being that Sophie can now make some of my breakfast. We'll go to church and then to the beach and I'll enjoy her company as I remember sitting on the beaches of my childhood with my own dad. The beach always reminds me of my dad, he loved it so, and I'm sure that these endless hours and days Sophia and I spend together on our beach will one day remind her of me too.

I'm quite sure that one can be a good father without ever having had one; I'm even more sure you can be an even better father if you did.

I did, and I am, For this I'm grateful.

Promise and Fear

June 1st, a day that holds both the Promise and the Fear. Sounds deep doesn't it?

Allow me to explain.

Yesterday my 2nd grade prodigy Sophia completed what for me was another all too fast year of school, further illustrating just how fleeting the days of our youths' really are. I can remember the same period in my own life and it seemed to take forever to get to the 3rd grade. In as much as I want her to constantly achieve, move forward, and tackle the many other challenges of life, I find myself almost wanting to slow time down. PinF knows all too well the most mundane and simple times will be the days I'll long for the most when she's grown and gone. Sophia was beaming yesterday having earned her standard four B's and one A. Along with her report card came a special accolade, "Best Writer of Class". Now that was cool. Cooler still was that her pride was more in tune with this recognition than her report card. Sophia sees herself as a "communicator" and follows my blog, so she thinks I'm somewhat of a "writer" myself, if nothing else she aspires to the same title.

All of this represents the "Promise". The "Promise" that you're on the right path with regard to your child's direction. The "Promise" that you've seen your child grow not only academically, but also emotionally and physically, especially after a particulary challenging year. The "Promise" of seeing your child revel in yet another summer of their youth, the kind that harken you back to your own youthful adventures, when the day held endless possibilities. The "Promise" of an upcoming vacation that's been planned, discussed and waitied on for months. The "Promise" of summer camp and the mindlessness of having nothing to worry about but fun; the math and reading can wait until August. Summer is the "Promise" in the seasons of our childhood's. For it is in the summer that our own memory lies in the youthful innocence and boundless bliss of doing anything, everything, and nothing all at once. This is the "Promise".

In recalling this time last year, PinF had no way in knowing that he would bear witness to some very fierce hurricanes, or the passing of his father. I "Feared" both of these events, and unluckily for me they both paid a visit in my life at the same time. Yet I did have fair warning. The hurricane prognosticators had painted a dire picture of storms, and my father's health had been failing for sometime. Still I would point out that I don't think anyone really ever gets used to seeing roof's fly from houses, or in my case see a fiber-glass pick-up truck cover blowing down the street. Today June 1, marks the start of the six month hurricane season for 2006. This represents the "Fear". All floridians no matter what their economic station in life "Fear" the next six months. It seems like yesterday I was huddled in my closet hoping the remaining portion of my roof would hold out; praying for deliverance from the howling, destructive winds. Hurricane's are "Fear". Worrying for your family during a hurricane is "Fear", as is deciding what is too much of a storm, and when do you just cut and run? One thing for sure is that last year's storms gave me a better understanding of the inconsequential nature of possesions, as well as the precarious balance of life amidst such acts of nature. This is "Fear".

And so PinF welcomes both the promise and the fear today, June 1st. As is usually the case in life humans tend to be generally more optimistic than fatalistic. PinF is no exception. I see the "Promise" this summer holds and choose to place my focus on such. Still I would be negligent if I didn't keep a wary eye out for the "Fear" that exists. Again the the yin and yang of life, the never ending cycle of diametrically opposed possibilities and outcomes, something I've become accustomed to over the last several years. Right now my eye is on Sophia and her promise, and the vacation we're scheduled to enjoyed in a few weeks' time. The fear can wait until we get back.