(the) A-G-O-N-Y & the E-C-S-T-A-C-Y

Ever since Sophia entered 1st grade she and I have had the same routine. I would drive her to school every Friday morning, and on the way I would quiz her for the Friday S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G test. Sophie has had an uncanny ability to spell words since before she could really read; even words she’s never heard or used before. So in keeping with her abilities I’ve stressed to her the process of "sounding" out words when trying to spell them. It is little wonder that she is such a lover of W-O-R-D-S since from the start she’s always been a lover of books. To trace this fact we would have to go back to May of 1998, when my mother along with Sophie’s mother’s friend Sue had planned a surprise baby shower in Pennsylvania. The trap was set, and Sophie’s mom hadn’t a clue. It was held in Marple, Pa. at a beautiful revolutionary era home on an equally beautiful spring day. My mother had asked on the invitations for people to also bring along their favorite childhood book with a personal note inscribed within. This would be a perfect touch, and without doubt, the impetus for Sophie’s love of reading. Before she could read, she had no less than 30 classic children’s books just waiting for her; patiently watching her grow and waiting for her to turn her attention towards them. She eventually did at an early age, probably 2. From there on in, she’s been a reader and lover of books.

So it was that her love of reading, writing, and S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G would inevitably lead us to the Beacon Cove Elementary School cafeteria on a rainy, cool day in January 2007. Sophia had been notified in December that she had been chosen to be her class’s representative at the Scripps Spelling Bee. No surprise there actually, as she had been posting 110% marks weekly on her spelling quizzes. (100%, plus the bonus word). Of course she knew how proud this would make me, and when she called me back in December to tell me, she left me an excitedly giddy message, that "something great happened at school today and I need to call her back as soon as I get the message". I called, wondering what it could be; "you were chosen student of the month" I queried, "nope, better" she replied. "Hmmm", I told her I wasn’t sure what could be better, she begged me to guess again, "Ummm, you were promoted a grade?" I joked. "Nope, I was chosen as the class representative to the Scripps Spelling Bee!!!" Wow, now that feels good when your child is recognized for academic endeavors.

I told her we need to get a study plan and get to work as she excitedly agreed. So it was that I assembled a study booklet of over 500 words from at least six different language derivatives along with the lessons and rules of identifying them. We studied off and on over Christmas, though there was a great deal of distraction; eventually we got some serious study time the last two weeks leading up to the event. It got to the point where we just had to stop as her little head was about as full of new words as you could get. She averaged throughout the whole ordeal over 90% correct when quizzed, of course many of the words she had either heard, used, or seen. Still, there were many others she hadn’t. What I soon began to realize was that it really wasn’t about the contest as much as it was about Sophia learning about where the words we use come from, why they often mean what they sound like, and learning about the countries of origins in the process.

Isn’t that the beauty of English? English is the child of Arabic, Greek, Latin, Spanish, Italian, and French—and then you cannot ignore the importance of Old English, and Japanese either. It was as much a study in social studies as it was spelling. English is the bastard language of inclusion, how many words in Arabic or Japanese dialect come from English? Well long story short, it all came down to yesterday; Sophia was a bundle of nerves. She didn’t sleep well, and was telling me she had a "funny feeling in her chest", as we pulled into the school yard. I told her I know that feeling, and I get it sometimes too—even now. I told her that this was her body’s way of telling her she’s ready, because if she didn’t feel a little bit nervous then she didn’t care about doing well. My last instructions to my little bundle of knowledge were, "take a deep breath, use the definition option, pronunciation option, and even the use it in a sentence option if she needed", and always, always, use the sound it out process in her head" I kissed her, wished her well and let her go. She said, "ok papi, I got it.", and then she was off; ascending the stage before a crowd of teachers, administrators, and parents—the students would all be watching on CCTV in their classrooms.

There is no greater feeling in life than watching the child you’ve raised begin to truly show their independence, confidence, and abilities. You are humbled and touched, that is if you are a parent who takes the time to recognize such, unfortunately I’m sure there are those who either don’t, can’t, or just couldn’t care less. I choose to live in that moment, embracing that feeling, and truly enjoy the "Kodak" moments of Sophia’s life, as it is a reflection of my own youth in many ways. Not so much in being an only child, but rather the everyday, going-through-the-motions of childhood way. Remembering through her eyes, the experiences and failures and what it is to be a kid-again; feeling those butterflies in your chest. God knows, her mami and I were feeling them now.

The Sopher was number 67 out of 91 kids. I would need to listen to 66 children before my pride and joy would S-P-E-L-L. Surprisingly it went fast—and sadly, kind of ugly. I knew as soon as I heard the first misspelled words that Sophia was in a different class altogether than many of these children. You could tell immediately by the way they approached the mic and the confidence in their voices who had taken it seriously and studied and who had not. It was at this moment I thought to myself that Sophia, despite only being in 3rd grade, might actually have a shot at this. (The contest was 3rd, 4th and 5th graders) The first sign of this was a fifth grader who couldn’t spell A-N-V-I-L if it landed on his F-O-O-T, and then another who missed A-D-O-B-E. I knew Sophia was versed in much more complex and difficult words.

Eight years of learning, knowledge, time and love invested, approached the mic. Confident from hearing the slaughtered words that had decimated the once strong 91 kid pool down to about 40, Sophia was a study in contrast. Cute as a button, sure as sure can be, she stood ready for her moment in the light. The moderator read out P-R-E-S-C-R-I-P-T-I-O-N. What? After so many children had fallen to one and two syllable words Sophia gets this eleven- letter mammoth? No matter--- we studied it, she knows it, and this is her moment. **Gulp** And then, without any delay, and I mean none, she rattles off all eleven letters to the impressive sighs and sounds of the other parents, as we are all bonded by now by the shared empathy for each other’s children as much as our own. P-R-I-S-C-R-I-P-T-I-O-N, each letter clearly and quickly rattled off Sophia’s bi-lingual little tongue with the certainty and conviction of someone who had just read it from the dictionary. She KNEW this word; this was a long one for sure, but easy for her. She knew it so well, she let her nerves get ahead of her and she placed an "I" where the "E" belonged. The moment of disappointment as it comes over your child’s face is a moment every parent knows; for it cuts into your own heart far deeper than the child’s.

A point that will never truly be understood until such time as the "cycle" renews itself, and your child is sitting in your shoes watching their child-- your grandchild. Of course I knew in nano-second it was over; the good and the bad aspects. All the studying, all the laughing, all the nervousness, and all the dread, it ended the moment the letter "I" was sent into the mic. Sophia is by her very essence, a child of great pride in her abilities and her triumphs. She faces fears and challenges with a composure that I know I didn't have had when I was eight; and I was a boy with four siblings. Her courage, audacity, and willingness to face her own fears are by far her greatest strengths and those that I as her father admire in her the most. For it is because of these traits and not in spite of them that I know she will be all that she dreams to be one day. Sophia is not a watcher—she is a doer. And although the sting of defeat sits close to the surface right now, I know that this too will pass. Out of deference to her, I make no such claims to her now—instead, allowing her the space to absorb her loss, and hopefully she’ll grasp this on her own.

Sophia’s a funny little girl though and once the tears had dried, she was claiming a "fix", opining how could she, a first timer competing against 4th and 5th graders getting easy words like
A-S-P-E-N, C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E, and G-U-I-T-A-R be given such a long word? I know, and she will too one day, that spelling bee’s are a lot like life – it’s all in the luck of the draw. I also know that the many hours we spent preparing were not in vain; though convincing her of this might be hard right now. She will take this experience and the memories of the time invested and draw far more meaning in her defeat than she would have ever done in triumph. Sophia will be back, and not as a mild mannered first-timer either, she’ll return wiser and hungrier. Bet on it.

So after a commiserating meal at the sushi restaurant I was beginning to see signs of my little girl again, and the sting was starting to wear off. This is where the E-C-S-T-A-C-Y kicks in on
S-O-P-H-I-A. She had a consult appointment with the Orthodontist this very same day. This probably wasn’t the best time right now. Still my responsibilities outweigh her blue mood, so off we went. Funny thing is Sophie has beautiful teeth and an equally impressive smile, so I wasn’t quite sure if I needed to be here. Still, the Dentist had seen something and suggested it, so here we were. Now I don’t know about the many readers of PinF, but when PinF was a kid times were definitely different. Braces were the kiss of death. You know that kid, the one with the cut lips and white sandwich bread stuffed in the crevices of the shiny steel that encapsulated his teeth. Suffice to say times are different now. Kids WANT braces. Really.

Last month after being referred, PinF received a welcome package in the mail from Doctor Vargas’s office. It included a quite lengthy questionnaire about Sophia’s hobbies, talents, favorite colors, foods etc. I thought it a bit invasive and trivial, but I filled it out anyway and sent it off. Besides the Orthodontist was a Temple guy, so I liked him already. Well this, like I said, is where the E-C-S-T-A-C-Y begins. We walked into this ultra-modern den of oral improvement and were immediately met by a sign that said "Welcome Sophia!!"….that broke the ice. Then the receptionist said hello and turned to Sophia and welcomed her excitedly showing her how to sign in by computer for any future visits. Then the Office manager Barbara came out making a big fuss, and told Sophia she was a guitar player too. Sophia looked at me like "what?" how’d they know that? We underwent a tour of the facility, and the processes involved in getting braces. After the star treatment and meeting the entire facilities staff, we got down to the in-depth and non-invasive head scan to see whether Sophia would in fact even need the braces.

Soon afterward the images were developed, the Doctor came in and in Spanish welcomed Sophie….he too started rapping about Fender guitars that he plays too. She was feeling pretty good about this place by now, and I could see B-R-A-C-E-S had replaced P-R-E-S-C-R-I-P-T-I-O-N. The results are that Sophia WILL be getting braces, just not yet. She needs to let nature take its course with a few of her baby teeth then, in time she’ll be fitted with the pink and black braces that she wanted. The abundance of attention coupled with the excitement of braces, however confounding to me, was just what she needed to get over her loss.

Later on this day I explained as tenderly as I could to her that she could've of done nothing more and nothing less to make me as proud of her as I was. Someday, she'll know this was true, and that the outcome of this day was not, nor never would be, a measure of my love and pride.


What a day. I’m E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D.

Travels With PinF

PinF went in search of Florida today.

Not the South Beach Florida, not the Palm Beach Florida, and not the Keys either. For a change PinF looked to the north and lucky I did because I found another in a seemingly endless number of state parks that proliferate this sunny, warm place I call home. Deciding last night to use my free day constructively I took a look at the state parks to my north, a direction PinF rarely travels unless he's flying north to Philly. What I found was pure nirvana. Take a sunny 78* day with cobalt blue skies, a motorcycle, and an incredible stae park and yes you have PinF recipe for instant stress elimination.

My alarm seemed to sound a little louder on a Saturday than it normally does on a work day. Still, my pre-planning last night coupled with a stellar weather forecast had me motivated for the ride. It would be about a 100 mile ride destination: Sebastian Inlet State Park. I arrived, paid my 3 bucks got my map and set off to explore. My V Strom was loaded with the hard bags that contained all the gear I'd need for the day, towel, book, change of clothes, rain gear(just in case) and small mechanical kit. I left my house at 6:45 am, pulled onto I-95 at 7am and was sitting beachside having my eggs, toast, and coffee by 9am. The park is immense and it encompasses the Indian River and Atlantic Ocean. There are fishing piers, snorkel spots, kayak rentals, surfing beaches, campsites and nature trails. Wow.

I commenced to the beach and drifted into an Ipod funk for about two hours watching the surfers and breathing in the cool clean air. The whole area is so different from the south as you slowly drift into the Indian River farm lands laden with orange and grapefruit groves you're constantly reminded of "Old" Florida both by the archictecture as well as the landscape. Upon exiting I-95 I passed an old church, you know the type -- where they have something smart to say out front. Today's message was kind of cool; "Trade your piece for God's peace", even the people are different. They're more deliberate, less rushed and definitely more rural, it is afterall farming country, as evidenced by the beef cattle, horse ranches, and many citrus farms, and nurseries.

Upon exiting the park I came across two jewels of the day. The first was the Mclarty Treasure Museum, this was way cool. The building houses salvaged artifacts and jewels of the ill fated Spanish fleet that sunk off the coast on its way back to Spain in 1715 laden with treasure. Hence the name for this coastal area is the "Treasure coast"....what was really interesting was that the museum sits on the actual site where the survivors who managed to make it ashore started a survivors camp. My second discovery, and personal favorite was the Pelican Island National Wildlife Refuge, the oldest and obviously first designated National wildlife refuge in America. President Theodore Roosevelt signed a presidential decree in 1903 declaring this slice of heaven such distinction.

I was finally utilizing the VStrom for its intended design--dual purpose. As I entered the first thing I noticed was the sign: "Historic Jungle Trail", and that's eactly what it was. NO sign of man other than the crushed shell and sand roads that wind their way through a pristine National Park that is home to hundreds of species of animals and has been restored to the original condition as the Spaniards would have found it 500 years ago. All non-native plants, trees and in some cases animals, have been removed and replaced by the original species. The first thing you notice as you enter is the silence. No noise in the park comes from man made machines, other than the vehicle you ride in-- or in my case - on. You would swear it's the first day of spring; bees buzzing, flowers blooming and birds and butterflies everywhere. Ospreys dive through the air, Black crown herons, storks, egrets, and the incredibly huge and graceful frigatebirds. PinF is certainly no card carrying Audubon member, but even the most uninitiated can but help to be awed by the birds.

I spent a good hour just enjoying the sun, the birds, the flowers the blue sky, and most of all I took in the silence. I was soon on my way out and ready to plug in to the Ipod for the ride back to my more commercialized, and fast paced life. Unlike visits to other naturally beautiful areas, this one was special in a different way. The entire trip was made characterized by a slower and less developed way of life, incredibly serene and beautiful. After checking out the scene PinF is sure to make a return trip, only next time I'll come better prepared with a tent and do an overnight in the park. Funny how I've been in florida ten years and I still discover new parks within a 2 hour drive that hold the real beauty of Florida. Incedibly they've managed to stay one step ahead, and out of reach of the developers. Here's hoping they continue to do the same.

Finding the Kid on Christmas

Funny what memories you're reminded of when you're a parent reliving some of the very same memories with your own child. And so it was that Santa PinF and his little elf Sophie headed off in search of a Christmas tree two days before the big day. To remain true to the spirit and cognizant of moment are tough challenges these days with Sophia not in my everyday life. Still as chagringed as I may be towards the hipocracy and commercialism of Christmas I am totally able to place myself in the mindset of an 8 year-old, and press on in pursuit of delivering the moments, memories, and wonder of her Christmas.

I was speaking to my mother the other day and she commented how she remembers how myself and brothers would often go in search of a tree on Christmas eve when the bargaining power was in our favor. Inevitable we would always come home with the "best tree" ever, and at a fraction of the cost; right then I was back in that moment when the holiday held so much power and meaning. So as Sophia and I pulled up the North Pole tree sales on Route 1 in Juno Beach, the game was on. My rap was ready, my audience of one counting on me to "make it happen". To be honest, there weren't but maybe 25 trees left, but of those left, a quick pull of the needles revealed their freshness factor was acceptable.

The young guy came over to us as Sophia was excitedly picking this one and that one while I kept trying to sway her into the Charlie Brown special---she wasn't having it. The fella was about 25, and when he spoke he spoke a familiar and heavily accented English, in what I thought was of Russian origin. He started the negotiations, though I knew the date was in my favor. I had bought from this stand before usually in the first week of December, and the prices were always in the range of $50-$100. I asked how much Sophia's pick was? He responded in accented English $45.00, ouch. I changed tactics trying to connect on a different level than that of consumer asking him where he was from. "Bulgaria" he responded proudly, the irony not lost on me that in the land of so many latin cultures I was now dealing with an eastern European two days before Christmas.

I asked whether he was from the capitol Sofia. "Yes, you know Bulgaria"? I told him I had friends who owned a pizza parlor not but 1/2 mile south of his stand who are all Bulgarians, called Pizza Bella. His eyes widened and he asked me where this was, and as he did, I felt the price of the tree drop by 50% on the spot. I gave him directions and told him to tell them Tim sent him, he told me he was from Lake Placid New York, and that in the month he had been in Florida had met no one from Bulgaria, I told him to get ready, as the whole shop was "little Sofia". He asked me again what tree did I want? I acquiesced to my elf, Sophia had by now picked a 7 foot douglas fir, he yelled to the cashier, "Mike", pointed to Sophie and me, and said "twenty dollars"---SOLD. Sophia had just been given her lesson in people skills and connections. We got in the car and she said "papi, you talk to anyone". I knew what she meant, because I had grown up with a father exactly like I was in her eyes.

As we drove away eager to set up our tree, I thought of my dad, and remembered going with him to either Oak ave, or Guadios on Baltimore Pike as a kid and getting a tree with him and my brothers. His lines kept playing in my head, "Christmas is for kids", as I drifted in my thoughts I thought how trues it was, and how as a kid you can't understand NOT being excited about Christmas. But I thought also how the day-to-day cares, concerns, bills, and life get in the way. In that moment I found the kid in me again, and Sophia and I set about getting our shop on...picking up gifts for her Mami and her kitten. I was now feeling what she was, and what she wanted me to feel, and not a minute too soon as Christmas Eve was almost upon us.

Turns out it was a sweet tree, made even sweeter by the deal, and the personal connection of sending that wayward Bulgarian into a store full of countrymen. Christmas Eve arrived, and with it Sophia's Christmas Eve nativity mass where she was appearing in her reprised role of angel again. So it was as we headed off to St. Paul's last night, her little cousin from Venezuela, her mami and her papi. The mass was inspiring and exciting. The spirit has a way of filling even the most empty heart when you watch 50 children dressed as shepherds, sheep, angels and wise men all to the accompaniment of Christmas carols. Add the fact that your everyday angel is among them, and it's a powerfully emotional event, one that makes life worth living even more. These are the moments that will remain after the toys are gone, and child is herself an adult.

Afterwards, before Sophia was to leave for Boca for Christmas eve with her Venezuelan side of the family I took her and her cousin to a neighborhood that was like one my parents would take me to in Lansdowne many years ago. Over the top is the only way to describe it. The whole neighborhood aglow in lights, music floats, and excitement. Just then when I thought it couldn't get anymore excited "he" appeared, flying above a rooftop. Santa himself!! And as I played the role of father, I too was the child excitedly screeching and squealing in that backseat as we drove down the illuminated streets of Christmas wonder. It's kind of neat to be able to recognize life-long memory making moments-- something I was completely aware of in this moment.

Soon after the girls were off to their families, and I was again on my own for the night. But I knew the lessons of that mass, and the gaudy display of lights was going with each of them. And like my father would tell me, Chistmas is for kids--and even though he never said it-- I know now, it's for the kid in all of us.

The War On MisAdventures

Editor’s Note:
This report was painstakingly gathered from information submitted and disseminated here in at the Southern Command Surprise Headquarters. Due to the "fog of war" regarding many of the instances that were either reported or in some cases RECORDED, this commission needed time to present a chronological, not to mention factually correct representation of this bacchanal celebration of Chuck's 40th.


The week leading up the surprise wasn’t without multitudes of controversy.

For starters, Chuck was attempting to weasel his way out of a supposed filet mignon dinner invitation further proving his in-grate tendencies. The dinner a cover story and set up for the Ponderosa throw down trap that had already been set that was due to be sprung. Preferring instead to cavort with his drinking pals in Sligo’s, Chuck issued a series of emails, questioning CNN (to further be referred to as agent Soul Mate) as to the necessity of a "dinner" per se, and asking for an unconditional release of obligation. This of course sent shock waves through the planning coalition’s lines of communication. As acting field Commander I had to issue orders to our junior field Lieutenant CNN (Soul Mate) to calm down. She was beside herself, and threatening to cancel her fake dinner, feeling slighted for almost being stood up for a party she wasn’t really having anyway. I issued orders to "hold the line" and to take the offensive; as such an angry guilt laden retort was issued along with calls to the other planning officers in the field, (Colonel Flash and General Big Plow).

These stop gap measure proved effective and Chuck was once again humbled in to a New England-esque submission. Fire out. PinF could now concentrate on moving his remote base of operations (somewhere deep in South Florida) to the theatre of operations up north. He and his trusted, though diminutive assistant Sophia boarded their jet that would fly them "in country" to over see the campaign, by now dubbed "Operation Chuck’s Misadventurous 40Th Birthday bash at the Ponderosa". Unfortunately due to the cantankerous nature of the "enemy", he had managed to thoroughly piss off our trusted and battle tested General of the Ponderosa Matty "Big Plow" McCusker, completely calling into question whether we might have to scrap OCM40THBB.

Apparently Chuck still smarting from the transition into unemployment and possibly acting under the influence of several pints* had responded to Big Plow’s chain mail angrily and with malice—which in itself was disturbing enough. Unfortunately the enemy chose to rear his evil and demented side of his psyche and copy everyone on the emails original list. Essentially MofC was trying to make the Plow look bad---Chuck’s parry had worked, and general Plow took great umbrage. Again my leadership skills were called into question as the fragile "coalition" began to show signs of crumbling yet again through the vitriol behavior of our enemy from Vermont.

Emails were immediately issued from Headquarters before taking off from my secret location deep within the tropical interior of Florida. Again I was able to temper General Plow’s wrath, as he wanted to use the nuclear option, an option never before tabled in all our many, many, campaigns, yet incredibly Chuck had somehow managed through his North Korean approach of diplomacy and gratitude to illicit such a bitter reaction. All of this while we have many troops in the field already mobilizing and securing child care in order to attend. Meanwhile Lt. Gold Dust, (AKJN) had already managed to slip over the Pennsylvania/Delaware line and capture a fair amount of alcoholic libations necessary for our planned invasion of Chuck’s sentimentally vulnerable emotions. This was to be an all out blitzkrieg of Chuck’s senses, lucky for the coalition Lt. Gold Dust was able to fill the entire trunk of her assault vehicle and safely return to friendly territory.

Upon return she was met by Lt. CNN (SM) where the contraband was transferred to another assault vehicle for transport to the theatre of operations. By now I had made my way into theatre and the troops were hungry. Considering we were to bivouac at my Jr. Assistant’s grandmother’s house, it made sense to secure some nourishment at the venerable Apollo pizza. Chow out of the way, I made my way to the secure albeit, temporary headquarters in Media with which to wage my psychological warfare on none other than my literary nemesis MisadventureofChuck himself. Despite years of active duty planning, implementing, and building coalitions I could not have been prepared for what was to take place upon finishing my pizza. Into my before mentioned "secure" headquarters waltzed Colonel Flash, senior officer of enlightenment-- accompanied by none other than MofC himself!

My instinct told me this was psychological OP’s at their finest. Who better to dispense with this type of "mis"-information than the enlightened one him self? Colonel Flash adeptly delivered our quarry into my lair, allowing me some pre-assault assessments of my adversary. Fearing a breach in secrecy I proceeded with very general conversation, never once veering towards the obvious: that his age had caught up with his hair loss. Knowing full well that MofC is well versed in counter-intelligence and had previously issued a challenging edict that "he would not be taken by surprise", I cautiously assessed my New England nemesis. He seemed in the dark: was this by devious design? It was decided I would need to administer some "truth serum", I contacted some "agents" at a local front know as the Plumstead. Chuck was obviously clueless as to the worldwide network of agents and interrogation rooms the coalition has at its disposal for just this purpose.

After tucking my junior aide safely into her sleeping bag at Nana’s house, I ventured toward Colonel Flash’s assigned rendezvous point---Checkpoint Sligo. I made sure that I was not tailed, zig-zagging through the back alleys of Media like Chuck walking home after Super Sunday. I immediately set about plying Chuck full of the dreaded "black truth serum", known to the masses as Guiness stout. And I’m not talking about some ex "has been" boxer either. Rather, it was decided that after reviewing Chuck’s dossier that he had two glaring weaknesses. Well three actually, but PinF don’t roll that way. That left us with two vices with which to soften Chuck up with-- beer and Tequila. And so it was in the interest of gathering Intel that I embarked on all night session of pre-party debauchery.

Joining me early on in this mission completely unbeknownst to Chuck were double agents, and soldiers for the cause Lt.’s CNN (SM) and Gold Dust (AKJN), they were much too willing to get the drinks flowing and got myself and Chuck off to a good start before heading into the interrogation chamber located at the Plumstead. Luckily for the coalition there was no shortage of traitors for the cause, each participating in their own way, and all of them providing much need information. Most prominent among them would be "agent X", located in Annapolis, his identity is protected because he’s still in deep cover on "other OP’s" that as a coalition member I am not at liberty to divulge.

Also eager to turn state’s witness and collaborator was none other than the man known as TXXBAN CHXXK, again his name blacked out to protect his identity. Rounding out our list of turncoats willing to put their integrity, names and future relations with Chuck on the line were none other than DXDX BXXBX and her team operative NXXX BXXBX themselves in deep cover as well, due to their intimate complicity in this affair. In fact almost all of Chuck’s long list of "friends" were too happy to accommodate the coalition’s requests for secrecy and misinformation, MR NUXXER was a perfect example listing child care issues as a reason he may "mot make it to Sligo’s". All in all my undercover treachery and black OP’s proved completely unwarranted as Chuck blabbed on at the Plumstead, tequila after tequila softening the already easy target even more. Once again, this only further proved that my "Gordon Liddy" tactics weren’t even necessary with a target of such opportunity and innocence.

The plan was eventually put into motion on my "GO". General Plow eventually acquiesced on his initial reticence to let the troops go in. He knew as I did too, that we had flown in a secret weapon, one not used on the good people of Pennsylvania for some time—known only as the "KG" option. A man who’s power has never been truly gauged, though the patience with which it tries has often been reduced to shreds. To be safe we unleashed a counter-weapon, agent Soul Mate, she herself an untested, if not undeterred force of equal if not more power than "KG". And so it was a battle of the titans was unleashed on the good party people of Chuck’s 40th birthday. Destiny you say? Maybe. Fate? Possibly. Outcome? Never in doubt. Chuck was caught completely off guard.

I like to think it was all a well choreographed battle plan unleashed by the coalition for the purpose of leveling the cantankerous Chuck for once and for all. I think we succeeded. Judging by the Intel from all of those who were there to witness this battle, I think the war on Misadventure is being won, but I caution the good people of Media, we are in for a long war, and sacrifices will have to be made. We did our part for one night, and for this the coalition owes a debt of gratitude to all in attendance for their gritty determination to see Chuck attain 40.

Pizza, Trains, Chinatown and Chuck

It's coming. I know many are waiting for the literary version of the weekend. Still busy playing catch-up, so here's a montage of the w/end.

1.Sophie w/ cousin Grace

2. Sophia and Birthday boy Chuck

3. Sophia with her beloved Apollo pizza

4. Swarthmore College campus as viewed from train station

5. Lnasdown Station for a good friend far away.

6. LOVE statue Philly.

7. Media station.

8.

Crusty Memories

Though she resides 1100 miles to the south, Sophia is still very much a child of her father's hometown. Sophia is coming to Philadelphia with PinF. It was time, the fares were cheap and there's a winter chill in the air that allows us to wear items we wouldn't normally get to wear (scarves, gloves, hats, coats), and it is of course--Christmastime.

This visit will be an abbreviated version of our normal sojourn north. Our itinerary will of course include a visits to our favorite museums, eateries, and neighborhoods all unique to Philadelphia and beloved by Sophie. Oddly enough our first and most prized stop along the culture train will be Sophia's favorite pizzeria, Apollo's pizza in Media. This stop is scheduled to occur Friday night immediately upon arrival into Media; this has been the subject of several conversations while going over our "game plan", and we'll arrive with game faces on for sure.

In our visits to various local pizza establishments here in Florida, Sophia and me are always looking for that "one pizza", the one that both satisfies and qualifies as the "best". High on our list would be Pizza Bella, and Palm Beach Pizza Department; and though they're each close, as of yet we haven't yet found what Apollo's has -- the perfect crust. When PinF was a child-student of pizza starting out in Drexel Hill in the 70's, Friday night was always pizza night. For the five Paynter boys there was only one pizza-- California Style on Garrett Road, next door to O'Donnell's Irish pub.

This was the quintessential pizza. Whatever the hell "California" style was I'm still not sure, but there was many different styles then, "Drexel Hill" style was another. The point was, we Paynter boys devoured it - and fast. There was a hierarchy as anyone with siblings can attest---the older ones ate more, and invariably, faster. One of the classic "tricks" of doing so was to leave the "bones". By bones, I mean the crust. This way the eater was free to pounce on the next slice as the others was paralyzed by the unspoken rule of not taking another slice before completing the one you had.

Incredibly, much like my own parenting experience, Sophia's preferences are in direct contrast with my tactics back in the day. She loves the crust. She leaves no "soldier" behind when it comes to her pizza crust. Her preference has altered my style as well, as she now asks for my crust as well. She still eats the "body" of the pizza, but prefers the crust. I put this down to the lack of predators in her environment. In my day you had to be quick, crust was a time waster and of little taste value on Lasher Road. So as life is the greatest equalizer, I have a daughter and not a son, she loves the crust not the cheese.

Ironically maybe Sophia might have been the missing link at the table of pizza predators. She would've ruled the crust. Not that she doesn't already-- being the only child. So the countdown has begun. We have Apollo's Pizza, The Franklin Institute, the Reading Terminal, Chinatown, and hopefully the Christmas light show at Macy's. Ambitious I know, but we're used to squeezing all we can into what little time we have. We pack light, have a plan, and keep moving.

Isn't there anyone out there who can tell me what Christmas is all about?

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the lord shone round about them, and they were so afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you this day is born in the City of Bethlehem, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men'". That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.


Watched the all-time classic yet again this year. Sophia and I love it. The meandering yet steady piano orchestrating the "action" is as much a feature as the pre-technology animation is. How cutting edgy was this? No way in this so-called politically correct nation we live in now would any producer ever create such an obviously Judeo Christian slanted show, one that even quotes the bible. This must have been a real gamble in its day.

There is simply no way I can watch this show without being transported back to a simpler, carefree time when Christmas really seemed like a season, and not a "reason". By this I mean a reasom for the sales, pushing each other at 5 AM in mall parking lots, and the never ending onslaught of spending enticements.

So if for nothing else, you can lose yourself in the simple message, the easy animation, and actual children's voice-overs and not polished adult actors. Of course there was a time when such a production was truly cutting edge.

For starters, Charlie Brown is a generally a downer. The music, while I personally love it, is a bit melancholic with the haunting piano solos. Obviously the dollar drives all decisions on television, and the mere fact that Charlie Brown is on for the 42nd year would speak volumes to its commercial success.

Nothing says Christmas season is upon us like the simple old Charlie Brown. This show is as much a part of "Christmas" as Santa. Again, the threads of my childhood run through the fabric of my own child. Really quite cool, not to mention I still really enjoy the show. I think this year I'll download this excellent soundtrack of yesteryear via today's IPod technology.

Onions, Celery, and China

THANKSGIVING 1982

The first Thanksgiving Day smell I remember is celery and onions. When PinF would wake up as a child in Drexel Hill it would inevitably be to the peculiar odor of onions and celery being sauted in butter in preperation for the stuffing. To this day nothing else evokes memories of past holidays like this odor wafting through the house, as if the concoction is is signaling your brain that it's Thanksgiving. So it was as I stood over the stove this morning stirring the translucent vegetables as my mind wandered through Thanksgivings past.

Sophias' tucked away in her bed comfortable in the knowledge that as soon as the parade begins I'll be waking her so she can enjoy the many floats, celebrities, marching bands, and pomp as it marches, dances, and floats its way through Manhattan.

So much has changed. So much. This time last year I awoke to yet another Doctor as I stood in my kitchen doing exactly the same things. He sought my authorization for what would become an increasingly steady list of procedures. I can remember trying to steel myself as he so matter-of-factly discussed what he intended to do and telling myself that I was doing the right thing, and to be strong. I wonder too, where we all would be a year from now. Well we're here, my father isn't. Life is so much about what has been as much as is about what will be.

To think that 44 years ago today myself and my parents were all linked and together in Delaware County Memorial Hospital as I made my debut into the world almost seems surreal. So again as I prepare to carry on and create the memories for my daughter that my parent's created for me as I ponder my blessings and experiences that have me made the man, and father I am today here in Florida.

We're all woven into each other for better or worse. We all leave indelible smudges and scatches on each other. I was reminded of this as I began my routine this morning and I began to assemble the different china pieces I would need for the meal and noticed a chip here or there. I have beautiful china given to me by my mother who herself was a recipient of the same from her mother, my grandmother. The link is static. It runs from my maternal grandmother to her daughter- my mother, and then straight to me. Touching this china today evoked thoughts of the many McCormicks and friends who've laughed, cried, argued, and enjoyed meals and company via the meals they've served, myself included as a child long, long, ago. It's like living history. I never break them out now except for Thanksgiving. Still their poignancy and history is rich and powerful.

As I picked and chose my pieces Sophia appeared behind me, wiping the sleep from her eyes she said "wow, papi where'd we get these?"....she was thinking we had new tea party china. So it was that I explained that this china is probably 70 or more years old, and that it was her great-grandmother's. "Wow" she said, as she grasped the history and beauty of the pieces. I told her that one day when she is grown and has her own home that she too would have the china. And in this small way her family's Irish side slowly and poignantly is conveyed through tangible and historic means.

Sophie's calling me every other moment now, telling me this person is appearing or this float is coming.....funny how Thanksgiving is as much a repeat of past years as it a continual absorption of family values, histories, and traditions. There isn't the madness of four siblings that I enjoyed as a child, yet there is peace and complacency that I didn't have as a child. So as much I wish Sophia had siblings and maybe more family to share with on this day, I'm also cognizant of the quality of time we have in this format. I remind myself too that Sophia's memories of her days as we live them are based soley on what "she " knows, and not my memories. Result being that she loves her solitude, routines, and traditions that we've come to create and enjoy, not to mention being #1.

PinF's blessings are many, and as I renew another year of my journey I always get a chance to look at the bigger picture by virtue of the holiday I was born on. I miss my dad and remember sitting on his shoulders trying to see the parade on Broad Street. I'm thankful for my mother too, as this day forever connects us; being born on Thanksgiving as I was. I gotta run now, as Sophia has called my no less than 6 times asking me when we're going to watch the parade together. The onions and celery have filled the air, the china has graced the tabled. Memories, past and present are rich and palpable as they are constantly being made as well as pondered.

Life is good, I am truly thankful all that I have. Nothing is dearer or more appreciated than that of having that cute eight year-old beseeching me to join her for the parade, little does she know she's starring in her memories of tomorrow.

Happy Thankgiving from Florida.

Happy Blog Day

So I drag myself out of bed. It's 40* and brilliantly sunny. I feed the cat. Boot up my computer in between making coffee. See there's a message on my ceel phone--strange, who calls pre 8AM on a Wednesday? It's my birthday I realize as I begin to listen to the message.

The older I get the less I realize my birthday, I guess that and the fact that Sophia is not with me yet, so I don't have my 60lb. walking, talking, reminder. I check my email, then blogger. Surprise! I'm my own 20,oooth visitor to PinF.......fitting I suppose. Happy Birthday to me.

SBJ

Sweet Baby Jesus----do I see nearly 20,000 visitors? OMG. There is a special something for that 20,000th PinF reader.....the countdown has begun

College Calls

Another autumn gem of a weekend here in PinFland. An all day beach excursion with Sophie on Saturday that included the Juno Beach Art and Crafts Festival was followed by our main event, Villanova-Northwood. This event became more exciting the closer to tip-off we got. Sophia, worldly as she is for an eight year-old, lacks completely the experience of sporting events with which to compare. There was a palpable buzz on campus as we made our way to the brand new Countess de Hoernle field house. About the size of a typical high school gymnasium, it was a real treat to see a Division 1 basketball team this close. Throughout the game Sophia screamed, hooted, and hollered for "her" Wildcats. She had tried to get me to buy her a posterboard to make signs supporting her 'Cats. I declined. She of course had other plans. She brought along her pad and markers and made "Go Wildcats!!" signs, and "Boo Seahawks", waving them throughout the game. Funny stuff.

The "game" in of itself really wasn't about winning or losing, rather it was more a story of recognition, and in this way Northwood did just that. In attendance were rollie Massimino's long time friends and almost his entire championship squad from 1985. Really neat. Villanova's team seemed like giants sitting as close as we did, not to mention next to the Northwood team. One of the nicest touches were some of the Hall of Famers in attendance, Chuck Daley, Billy Cunningham, and even hockey great Bobby Orr(seated coutside in photo to left). Incredibly many in attendance either didn't know of this, or were too young to know who they were. We happened to be making our way to the concession stand and I came face to face with NBA great Billy Cunningham. I asked if I could have a photo of Sophia and him, and he was most obliging, bending down low so that I could fit his 6 7" frame into the photo with Sophia. I didn't realize my camera was set to video though, so I got a mini video instead.

While walking back to the car we passed the student housing, which in this case are cute townhouses. Sophia asked who lived in these and I told her the students. She was surprised and asked where their parents lived. At home I told her, and that college was a special time that you got to live in a little house with other girls while you studied. She warmed to the idea and said she'd like to attend Northwood, that way she could be close to her mami and me.

For Sophia college must seem like light years away. For me it looms just beyond tomorrow's horizon. I can only hope that she'll feel this way when she's 19. My heart hopes she's close, but my mind tells me she's going to go far, from home and in her life. Either way, I'm sure she'll remember this, her first "college visit".

PinFer's Paradise Flight Leaves Sunday

Whoa Nelly !! PinF almost went missing worldwide. I checked my 19 million dollar Lotto ticket only to discover one number....two numbers.....three numbers...(already a winner)....four numbers!!!....and.....and.....that was it. I was one of 4,377 players who hit four of six....a mere two numbers away from overindulgent, worldwide decadence and galavanting. Damn. You can bet all the friends of PinF would've been boarding my chartered jet for the celebration party!!!

Still PinF's investment cost him $10.00 and he earned $85.00, leaving him with a net profit of $75.00 to re-fund his Lotto ticket, which it should be noted rolled over and is now worth an estimated $23 million for Saturday. Better keep a "to-go bag" packed....I've been feeling kind of lucky lately, I don't want to sound prophetic on the PinF site---but I think Saturday will be the day. You've been warned.

David Becomes Goliath

My Old man loved basketball, college basketball to be exact. And when it came to college hoops it was the old Big Five that he loved. The University of Pennsylvania, Villanova, Temple, St. Joseph's, and LaSalle. If he had to whittle these five down he would take Temple, St. Joe's, and Villanova. If pressed further he would easily tell you there was no comparison in choosing his favorite; it would've been Villanova. I clearly remember that magical journey, almost befittingly matching the date: April 1st, 1985. The only fools that day were the mighty Georgetown Hoyas lead by Patrick Ewing as they walked off the court that day almost dazed by what had just transpired.

My father would talk about that game for the next twenty years of his life. He loved the grit, determination, and the unwillingness of the smaller, and on paper- mis matched "David" against the nationally touted and much feared "Goliath"- Georgetown Hoyas. God he loved that team. It was therefore quite fitting that he was buried on a day that I think he himself would have been proud of-- St. Patrick's Day, and Villanova's semi-final game of the NCAA playoffs. I made remarks to this effect when I spoke at his funeral, saying something to the effect that had he been attending a funeral on such an auspicious day it would have been an "Amen, God bless and let's get to the game", and for no one to be sad, because he would have wanted everyone cheering for his boy's at 'Nova and enjoying St. Patrick's Day.

PinF saw it by chance. I was perusing the Palm Beach Post sports page as they gloated over the Dolphin's improbable victory against the Bears in Chicago, when I saw that tiny Northwood University right here in West Palm Beach was ushering in a new era this Saturday night. This tiny business school was beginning a new chapter in their history with the inaugaration of a men's basketball program. The news flash here is that they lured the legendary and disheveled Rollie Massimino out of retirement to coach their program through its infancy. The fact that this school only has 900 students makes this a big deal, the other fact of note would be that almost the entire student body wasn't even born when Rollie lead his Wildcats on their improbably title run.

I'll be in the stands Saturday night. I bought two tickets of the 1600 that the tiny field house can accomodate. The first game? Division I Villanova. These NAIA upstarts figure to have no chance, none, nada, zilch. Of course this would be missing the point. It's already been announced that Hall of Famer Billy Cunningham will be there, so will legendary Hall of Famer Chuck Daly, along with a host of national press, as this will be the first game in the new field house built for Rollie's team. I'm sure there will be no shortage of luminaries on hand as Rollie has proved to be quite the ring master when it comes to garnering attention for his program and calling out big favors for the school and team. This of course is not about winning, it's about competing and learning. I was planning to take a buddy, but now I'm leaning towards taking my little buddy--Sophie. She loves hoop, she loves Philly, and she's never been to basketball game, and with all the inaugural "hoop"-la, this could be just the ticket for her to get a taste of it.

I know this much is true. If my dad were here today he'd be on a plane down on Friday. He would've loved this. So PinF will be there, and Sophie too. And I'm sure in his own way, so will my dad.

GOT VOTE?

Mama Africa

Ok. PinF is in. I just stepped foot in Africa and have begun underwriting a childcare start up in Kenya. My portfolio is listed in my links and I will be adding a few more business startups shortly so do check in to see the progress, country, and industry that Sophie and I begin to help.

Whenever it warrants I'll even post a copy of any correspondences I have with my business owners/borrowers. For now I'm happy to welcome aboard Sarah Wanza and her cause. Her needs were nominal by most business standards, and I'm just happy to be a part of her team.

Compassion and Empowerment

I picked up Sophia from Catechism class yesterday and she informed me she had to write a mini report on the saint of her choice by next Sunday. I asked which saint she chose to write about. She told me she had chosen the saint named for her middle name, also named after my mother—Veronica. Legend tells us that she was the wife of the Roman officer who by defying public opinion demonstrated her compassion by wiping Jesus’ face with her handkerchief as he stumbled with the cross in Calvary, only to discover his image was transposed. She is said to have also cured the the Roman Emperor Tiberius soon after with this relic. This should be good, and I look forward to her report as she’s inspired if for no other reason than her namesake.

Sophie also had with her a paper bag that she is to fill with a non-perishable food item for next week. Sophie told me it was for “poor people”…she expounded on this and said “…..she had seen poor people before….” I asked her where, figuring she might be referring to the poor people she’s seen in her mami’s country. She said in the road begging for money, referring to the homeless Vets she sees panhandling in the medians at red lights on the way to ice skating. I explained there are lots of poor people, all over the world in fact and that it's good to give and to help them.

Skip back to last week, when I was on the Halloween candy begging tour with three little girls.

PinF arrived home haggard, wet, and semi-flu feeling from trick or treating in the rain last Tuesday night with his three rookies; a six year old and two eight year-olds. I set about making myself something warm to eat and sat down to watch a little TV, and was glad I did. I tuned into PBS just in time to see an incredible feature on the series Frontline.

The story involved an internet startup company (KIVA.ORG) that has funded small business ventures throughout the Third World where often times either corruption or red tape has prevented internationally funded projects like this from reaching their intended targets. This idea (KIVA.ORG) was different in the sense that the money goes directly from the internet lender to a carefully screened financial intermediary in the country. These intermediaries are carefully vetted and verified as credit worthy, non corrupt, and fiscally responsible.

The KIVA intermediaries serve two purposes. For starters they help the prospective loan seekers chart their business plan, their short/long term goals and their specific funding needs. In many cases since we’re talking about the Third World, the amounts of loans requested are under $500.00. Taking in account that the average wage in many Third World countries is often a dollar a day, this in fact is a major loan for the prospective borrowers.

Apparently, due to the overwhelming response after the Frontline special aired their servers completely crashed, leaving them with no web presence in the critical hours and days after their national exposure. PinF made note of their site and checked back occasionally until they finally came back online. Yesterday PinF logged in, read about their history, its operating officers, (former Google and PayPal execs) and their mission statement. Surprisingly enough KIVA has no agenda other than directly impacting the lives of small time entrepreneurs around the world. They have no religious or political mission and exist solely for the good of the people they serve. I liked this.

PinF was sold. The show featured some of the people impacted by the program, specifically in Uganda, and then it would cut to a young business professional in California. As he talked about the satisfaction of actually seeing his “investment” at work, and how he looked forward to the emails he would receive updating him of such. It occurred to me what a unique way to build a worldwide portfolio that directly touches lives, as opposed to sending a check to national non-profit juggernaut where you never “see” how or where your money goes or the impact it has.

PinF created an account to KIVA, and I would encourage others to read about this organization and consider joining me. This week PinF and his junior financial advisor Sophia will sit down and comb through the prospective start-ups that seek capitol, from there we will discuss the various people, where they come from, and their businesses. And like any lender we’ll choose which prospective borrowers have either a good idea or definitive need. I figure to loan $100.00 to start and invest in four different people/businesses. The site allows for loans as little as $25.00 and in doing so we will enter into a partnership with a person somewhere around the globe that we’ll be able to follow through correspondence and loan repayment updates. We plan to diversify, as such the site allows you to track your loans and chart them into what sectors/countries and watch as your loans are repaid and ultimately the impact you have on your borrowers’ business.

KIVA states that they have a 96% repay rate due to the diligence of their in-country partners as well as the seriousness of the prospective borrowers. Once the loans are repaid, we can then either elect to cash out or reinvest. This figures to be a cool interactive experience for both us, one that will ultimately teach several lessons, the least of which is compassion, and that brings it all back to her report on Saint Veronica. At least that's the idea anyway.

I so believe in this site that I'm going to add a link to PinF site, something I’m not to quick to do for any cause. Because I’ve been in Third World areas where I have see with my own eyes both the despair and the hope; I think this is worthwhile cause that people can make a real difference with a relatively small amount of money. This lesson is especially timely with the onset of the overly abundant and obscene commercialism and waste that is set to begin this holiday season any day now. Not to mention this exercise will offer Sophia tangible lessons that all tie into one another---investing in people and ideas, and seeing the result of hard work, most importantly it will illustrate the value of a dollar and the effect that individuals working together as a group can have.

We’re psyched, and will post our loan portfolio once we choose our industries/people.

Thursdays With Sophie

Thursdays are exhausting, for Sophie and me. We drive the 25 miles to the rink for Sophia's weekly installment of figure skating lessons. In as much as it does require a certain degree of sacrifice, I know I for one draw a much greater return for being a part of this activity. I'm also quite certain that my little ice princess will recall fondly our once weekly rides to and from the rink where we discuss everything and anything. Laughing usually makes up a large part of the ride, that and Radio Disney 1600 AM.

Still it's what takes place once Sophia is on the ice and separated from her papi by an inch of plexiglass that amazes, annoys, and fascinates me the most. PinF is one of very few men at the rink, usually finding himself surrounded by various women talking a whole lot of nonsense. I hear it all; the infidelities, new houses, new breasts, new jobs, divorces, and most any other mundane, and self absorbed subjects you can imagine.

All the while Sophia is constantly looking at me out of the corner of her eye, checking to make sure I'm watching her every move on the ice. I usually blank out these overbearing Gucci wearing suburban complainers by inserting the earplugs and kicking the Ipod, thank God. It's during these times that I'm in my own little world, feeling the chilled air and watching the children--all to a soothing musical backdrop--miles away from some cheesy story of some department store injustice being bandied about the disinterested mothers in my midst.

Of course Sophia knows nothing of these melodramatic events unfolding all around her papi. What she does notice is me. She's constantly looking to me for approval, encouragement, and support. It occured to me today that I couldn't remember the last time I didn't use swearing as an everyday part of my language. Thursdays are no exception. I find myself uttering (under my breath) "shit", or "damn" sometimes, when Sophia might fall. This is all decidedly contrasted by Sophia's utterances of "oopsies", or "whoops" when she makes a mistake. How nice that must be to be so innocent of angry and obscene words. Lord knows I cannot remember when it was that profanity didn't lace my words.

PinF made another observation today as well. As I watched my daughter I realized there is a certain feeling I can only get when watching my child. Almost and indescribale feeling, any parent will know of what I write. Of course you can probably feel the same way about a parent, brother , sister or mate---but I know that when I see my daughter trying so hard to excel and to please me there is a certain sense of protective pride that just comes over you as a parent. This type of feeling lends itself to understanding what your own parents meant, felt, and experienced before you.

So as I sat there today blanking out all that didn't matter to me and focusing in on my little ice skater, I thought of my own parents and how many times they must have had these feelings, either from watching their sons perform on stage, a ball field, or a basketball court. Sophia for her part is as aware of my presence as I am of hers; her reward is my praise, pride and adulation for her. Sure she wants to do good for herself too, but her real joy comes from my happiness, the thing she doesn't yet understand is that my happiness comes from her doing whatever she wants to, so long as she is happy.

Sophia was given her U.S. Figure Skating ID card today. She hurriedly skated over to the glass and slipped it in between for me to hold for safe keeping; I'm not sure who was prouder of who. So on we'll go with our Thursday rountine, it's been 2.5 years with no signs of quitting now, especially since I've seen her grow from a 5 year year-old full of wonder and fear, into an eight year-old full of poise and confidence.


For this I would've driven 100 miles.

The PinF's

Halloween in Florida

Scary Sophia making the "transformation"..... Sophia, Allison, and Ashley taking on the "Mask", and making a few bewitching friends. These were good witches, they provided papi with an ice cold Corona.

Ashley's little spider-brother Jacob, rocking his 1st Halloween. Sophia and Allison. Another house on the 20lb candy tour route.

Pinhead, our new friend that we met at the Scary Halloween Bash at the local theatre.

Sophia trying to bring better focus on her candy collecting future.