12th Annual Florida Keys Cycle Ride

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

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

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

Naturally Mystic

Has it really been one month?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brush with Independence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep the Dream Alive

Less Sleep, but More Blessings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snapshots in Time

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

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

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

Shades of Empathy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Belle of the Ball

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

Suffice to say the Ball was quite fun.

Gonna Have A Ball

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching Over Me

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither am I.

The sunset.

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

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

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

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

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

Who Needs Some Beach?

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

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

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

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

Doing the math....

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

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

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

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

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

Sunrise over the Palm Beaches

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

Blogged & Logged

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

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

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

Seeing What I Was Missing

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky Us

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

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

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

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

I think she knew what I meant.

The State is Great in 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Study in Flight

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

Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-- Mahatma Gandhi