Our New Maine Man

UPDATE: Just recieved an email from my "breeder" informing me that my new kitten's father is 32 lbs. and "still growing", she said she felt obligated to let me know that this kitten is going to be "very" large. My response? "Bring him on".
After a week of profound loss and sorrow for our beloved friend and buddy Mr. Peabody, PinF is happy to report that a finalist has been chosen to assume the now vacant throne of Peabody the I.

This said, there can never be another Peabody but there sure as hell can be another Maine Coon. PinF finds this breed of cat to be one of the coolest, most laid back, inquisitive, friendly, and above all--loyal companions that any cat could be. Taking into account there is very little in the gene pool that separates a domestic cat from it's larger and obviously wilder cousin's in the wild--this is quite amazing.

Maine Coon's are almost human like in their insistance that they be "wherever you are". They have got neither the aloofness nor the sneakiness of their "other" domestic cousins. They are quite large (Peabody in his prime was 20lbs. of very relaxed muscle), so any element of surprise is immediately lost with their physical presence alone. Although due to their size I've also found them to be very confrontational if their space is violated, rarely if ever backing down to any animal. Peabody once lept atop a brown Labrador and put the lion's clamp on the back of it's neck as the 80lb male dog ran yelping with Peabody on his back. They are nothing-- if not the fiercest protectors of their domestic domains. PinF loves this attribute....couch potato-to feline super hero.

After an exhaustive, and often emotionally draining canvassing of the the state of Florida PinF has become more educated on Maine Coons than he had as Peabody the I's caretaker and confidant for 15 years. I've spoken to dozens of breeders and afficianados regarding the "application process" and their "screening" after which I've come to the conclusion you may very well be able to adopt a child easier than a Maine Coon kitten. Still, I had to play the game. PinF's initial contact was the heart-string tugging letter--quite by accident really as I was feeling down as the search began. Explaining Sophia's and my loss and then how we need to find a replacement. This approach was obviously a wise one, as we have "automatically" been placed at the top of no less than three waiting list's since we are "grieving" the passing of a Maine Coon, and not first time buyers. PinF has to admit, these Maine Coon people are mighty classy, and very accomodating, further proving that "membership does indeed has its privileges" .

After narrowing the list down from either readily available Coons that were either a little older than we wanted, or not the gender we wanted, or 450 miles away from us-- we were finally contacted by a breeder just south in Dade County. She informed me who upon learning of our plight, that she had one male who would indeed be "very, very, large" who was promised out already, but due to my "grieving" status I would trump this person's wait on the list of next adoption. Cool. PinF is considering applying his grieving status to other purchases....maybe his next motorcycle, or even his groceries...like "my bananas died, they just turned black"....

And so, without further adieu I have photo of the heir apparent to the now vacant throne of Peabody I, he is only 8 weeks old, as such he will not be released to ascend to his rightful role as Monarch for another 3-4 weeks. He has been informed of his duties--quite simple really. Get fat, chill out, guard the kingdom, make Sophia and myself happy. Simple no? So PinF is now in a holding pattern, his search completed, he sits atop the adoption list waiting (and saving $$$$) prepared to enter into yet another bond of responsibility to another living creature. Sure it would be easier to just worry about myself and Sophia, but it's obvious I got so much more from my cat than he ever got from us; that and the fact that Sophia deserves to have a pet now more than before. Besides, now that she can really enjoy one as a young child and not as a hair tugging toddler. Another real "plus" is that I can assign her "cat litter duty" so maybe this isn't so bad after all. His new name? Tenatively it's "PEABODY-TOO".

Nine Lives Are Not Enough

PEABODYinFLORIDA 1992-2006

UPDATE: Had "the talk" with Sophia last night. Tough break for this little kid. First her pop-pop, now her beloved little buddy Mr. P. She wants to get a new Peabody and name it......you guessed it, Peabody. Of all the events you can shield your child from, death is not one of them. Death sucks.


PinF loves cats. Not dogs-- cats. I tolerate dogs, I like dogs, I also admire dog owners' dedication to their pets; because unlike the cat they require much more "involvement". Want to experiment with the idea of having a child? Get a dog. You have to walk them, keep them out of things, clean up their poop and basically raise them as steadfastly as a two year-old child. Cats? Well they are independent, clean, and come with a built in program of survival. Unlike the dog, the cat is a predator and hunter; more importantly the cat is not a pack animal, but rather a solitary animal--- one that relishes it's solitary life of sleeeping up to 18 hours a day while it's owner is away, then patrolling the night time hours as it's owner rests comfortably. Try as man may, you cannot remove the predatory tendancies of a cat, something that fascinates me. I guess that's why cats have nine lives...because they're so damn rested.

PinF's lifestyle dictates his pet be self sufficient, quiet, and clean. So give PinF a cat anyday. When travelling it's nice to know I can leave a clean littler box, several strategically placed bowls of water and food and know that my animal is good to go. Try this with a dog. Most likely your house will resemble pooptown with a few articles of furniture chewed for spite.

PinF has had a Maine Coon cat for 15 years, Mr. Peabody is his name. He was adopted by PinF and his brother Flash back in 1993 from a woman in Philadelphia who was on the verge of an emotional break down due to a divorce and her landlord's edict that she get rid of four of her five exotic cats she was co-habitating with in a 800 sq. ft. apartment. Flash and I were imediately taken with Mr. Peabody when we visited to look over the "goods". She had a collection of cats that spanned the feline genus; a siamese, a persian, a ragdoll, a tabby, and standing tall as all the others scattered--- was 20lb. Mr. Peabody. We knew immediately he was "the one". This shook his very unstable owner to the core, and as Flash went out to the car to fetch the much to small small cat carrier, Peabody's owner broke down in a fit of tears crying "..he's my favorite..." in my arms. It was not pretty, and a bit much more than I had bargained for. My mouth was uttering words I tried to take back like "you can visit him anytime you want"....Flash came back in and was wondering what the hell had happened in the five minutes he had stepped out.

Maine Coons are much more than just cats as anyone who has ever owned one will tell you. They are true companions. They are also an indigenous feline to North America, big, strong, and eternally playful. They are incredibly dextrous with their paws and will open doors and clutch things like a child would with a hand. They are very durable, and extremely loyal. Maine Coons were originally from Maine and were nototious for their skills at ridding farms of vermin, so they were endeared to generations of farmers. More than anything the MC is quite unlike many other breeds in that they are very people oriented, gregarious, and downright friendly cats. Choosing always to be in whatever room their owners occupy, almost to annoyance. If I'm in the shower he's stretched out on the bathroom rug, cooking?--he's on the floor in front of the stove. You get the picture.

Over the past 15 years Mr. Peabody has defended me from bats, squirrels, dogs, raccons, and mice. Most recently he has been called on to repel the reptilian invaders all around PinF's headquarters, killing no less than 500 lizards since moving to Florida 9 years ago. About seven years ago PinF was awoken at 4AM to the most un-Godly noises I had ever heard--clearly a fight was in progress, something Mr. Peabody never really got into much so I rushed downstairs in my underwear and threw on the outside lights to see what was going on. In my haste I gashed my big toe open; at the time I had a pool and and a one year-old so I had the child fence around the pool to prevent Sophia from access. In my still half asleep state I could make out a huge ball of snarling fur running, fighting, snapping, and splashing within the fence. I quickly went back in and grabbed a broom and came back to break up what I believed to be a "cat" fight.....as I came upon the the furious ball of fur I relaized that it was a racoon--not one but two! Peabody was on top of one with a throat hold, while its mate was on top of Peabody.

By this time I was fearful for my trusty mate's life, so I rushed the now snarling and backtracking racoons with the broom handle, swinging and prepared to kill the raccoon to protect Mr. Peabody. The first raccoon leapt 6 ft. over the fence, and just as the bottom raccoon stumbled trying to make the fence I swatted the snarling pest. He was clearly injured from his engagement as he scurried up the fence with a lame front paw and a now sore backside. Mr. Peabody had opened a family size can of whoop-ass on him, I was quite sure that these coons being the smart animals they are wouldn't be back through these parts again. By this time the adrenelan was pumping hard as I grabbed the soaking wet Mr. P in a towel and brought him inside for a post battle inspection. He was clearly freaked--shaking and soaked. As I was to find out later from the vet, the raccoon will often take the fight to the water in order to use his webbed feet in an attempt to drown his adversary. Poor Mr. P!. At first light I called work and hurried Mr. Peabody over to the Vet where he was seen immediately, fearing the worst-- my wife said her good-byes in advance. I was sure due to rabies and such that Mr. Peabody's valiant fight may have cost him his life. Much to my surprise after an intense head to tail inspection Mr. Peabody showed no skin breaks what so ever!! He was issued a rabies booster and awarded a unanimous decision over two wild animals! The Vet had explained that due to Mr. Peabody's size (almost 24 inches long, and 20lbs.) and his thick, long, waterproof coat of hair he was able to surprise, over power, and dominate not one--but two raccoons.

It was further discovered to be trash day, as such the coons were doing what coons do--trash picking. The hour of the night and the fact that the coons were traveling in a pair further suggested that they were not rabid but were healthy, curious, albeit very unlucky-- coons, that just happened to take a short cut through Mr. P's domain, violating his perimeter. Being the incredibly vigilant cat that he was--he engaged the "enemy". All of this with no front claws. He was afforded macho hero status in the Vet that day, and I as his owner could not have been prouder of what he had done. For to know cats, you must also know that as solitary animals they see their owners as their parents; as such he was protecting me and my perimeter. Conversely, dogs are pack animals, and have Alpha leaders, humans walking behind their dogs on a leash essentially are showing their place in the "pack" to their dog.

Mr. Peabody is old now. I noticed he had been losing weight since the hurricane something I had attributed to his getting lost for 6 days, possibly he had eaten something that had given him parasites? This combined with the fact of his old age. Still, after being away for three weeks for my father's death I returned and saw Mr. P. very differently. I rushed him over to the Vet where he was subjected to a battery of tests and lab work. The initial diagnosis was hyperthyroidism, a controllable condition, so my hopes were high as I left the Vet Friday night. I received a call yesterday that all the labs were normal, as such they would need to do an X-ray on Mr. P. So back we went, me and "Mr. Famous", as the staff had read his file and were aware of his bravery in battle. I no sooner arrived home and my phone rang. It was the Vet and she said she had "bad news", the X-ray had revealed a large mass on Mr. Peabody's liver. I was stunned. I could not say anything, the Vet could sense my shock and said nothing, allowing me time to absorb this. My options are clear, but due to his age, and the size of the mass, she advised I should probably put him down. Loss is becoming a recurring theme in PinF's life as of late. Yes he is "just a cat", and yes he's lived a long, faithful, and fun life. He's even gotten to live in a tropical climate, freeing him from the "housecat" chains he was raised under in Philadelphia. But he's my buddy.

The one true constant in my life despite all the up's and down's and incredible changes I've experienced--has always been P and me. He is my last connection to Philadelphia, and his passing represents much more than that of a pet, but of an era, one which saw me leave everything in Philadelphia except my buddy, Mr. P. The moves from Philadelphia and around Florida, the hurricanes, the divorce, all of it-- he's been there. This era ends Monday. I have the week-end to explain death once again to Sophia and to pamper Mr. Peabody, as she has been Mr. P's biggest admirer for ALL of her life. PinF has had many pets in his life--none like Mr. Peabody, he was a giant amongst his peers. His size was small compared to the joy he brought and the loyalty and love he so unselfishly showed us. PinF is trying to find the message in all the loss. It's in there, I know. For now I shall focus on indulging Mr. Peabody with all his desires--shrimp, salmon, raw hamburger. He's going out the way he's always longed to live--in gluttony.

Chilling

The Book of Life

Flew in from Philadelphia emotionally, physically, and spiritually depleted. Not to mention, nursing my first cold in probably two years--yet one more reason I forgot that I like Florida, colds are harder to come by. When flying from a 26* climate there really is nothing more offensive than landing in 91* weather. That's right, PinF had chosen a record high temperature day to return, making it feel as though I was landing in Panama instead. Starving, aching, and now sweating-- I made my way to the spanish bakery and had a cuban coffee and sandwich then dove into my bed for the first time in weeks. I took a double shot of Nyquil that night and had the type of dreams that are like an all night movie in your mind. When I awoke I was back to almost-normal, congestion gone, sinuses clear, and sniffles dried up. Still my mind was clogged with the many images of the past few weeks. Kindnesses shown, words spoken, prayers recited and always my dad and the despair I witnessed as I and my brothers ministered to him right to the final moment. So much has happened, and yet so little time has been allowed to take it all in. I'm in the process of doing this now as I look back on so much; like a good book read all to fast without drinking in all that it was and savoring the finer nuances of the story.

I collected Sophia who was still on spring break and we made our way to the more familiar environs of our local beach. We proceeded to do what we do best---chill. She had her various books, art supplies, and sand implements and I had an Ipod, a newspaper, and a book. We stayed for 6 hours--as much therapy as it was relaxtion as it gave us each something familiar about each other and our lives before going to Philadelphia. We laughed, we cried (just a little), we played, we made sand sculptures, we hunted for beach glass and we ate hot dogs from the pier. This to me is like taking a giant exhale after all I had seen, done, and felt the previous two weeks. Never mind the fact that there was tons to be done still, I needed to get the head right first. I had the fore thought to just cancel work and get my life in order for the next five days, and part of getting it in order was doing the familiar things-- riding the cycle, hitting the beach, and just relaxing. Mission accomplished.

I'm really back now and in many ways it is a bit harder than I thought. My desk at work reads like a time capsule of a period that now seems so long ago. When I left here I knew I was going for the final chapter of my father's painful reality. I now return to post-its of this doctor, or that social worker, number's of hospitals, addresses, etc all littering the walls around me. It's almost melancholic to remove these reminders however sad they were, because in removing them I remove a little more of the closeness of my father to my day to day routine. Sure I've lost the daily dread of speaking to the doctors, nurses, and my brothers about discouraging news and developments; yet I've gained a gaping hole in my heart knowing that what I just went through was "IT". I'll never see this person in this lifetime. This takes a bit of time to get your thoughts around I'm sure, so I'm in the acceptance phase of this, something I know is normal so I won't dwell. Anyone who's lost a close family member will obviously know of what I speak.

So I'm finishing my coffee, doing my morning routine today when my phone rings just minutes before I'm to head out into the glorious day that awaits me. It's Sophia's mother's phone and it's minutes before Sophia is meant to be in school, so I answer with a certain level of dread for what it is I'm going to hear. What I hear is sobbing, crying, and alot of snot. I ask Sophie to put her mother on the phone. I ask what's going on? Much to my delight it is Sophia crying because she can only order 2 books from her book of the month club as opposed to her library stocking rate of 5. In an instant I realize how blessed I am, and I'm back in the here and now of my life. Here is a child with an insatiable need for books--not toys, not game-boys, but books! I'm instantly flashed back to a moment 4 years ago when we were in KayBee toy store looking for some piece of Chinese manufactured plastic crap and I issued the challenge: " Sophie I'll make you a deal, you can have this one toy, or you and I can go to Barnes & Noble and I'll buy you 5 books".....She sheepishly looked around at the madness in the toy store and then back up at me and she said "let's go Papi, I want five books". Well as my Irish luck would have it, she is able to recite this "deal" four years later everytime the "book issue" is broached.

I asked her mother to give her the money, and I will reimburse her later today. Some would call this giving into blackmail, and in a way it is. Though I would counter that to give into an educational blackmail is a good thing. How many parents would love for their children to read; and read for fun, not just learning. It reminded me of when I visited my mother serving in the Peace Corps in Honduras and how she had begun a library in her small pueblo right out of her house for the children. It is a fact that many children in third world countries barely make it to 6th grade, so my mother wanted the children to know that reading wasn't only for learning, but that you could read for sheer enjoyment. Of course this was something totally new and exciting to these children, coming to this American woman's house and signing out a Cat in the Hat, or Curious George book. I marveled at the joy it brought to these kids, as word spread quickly and my mom's house soon became the local hang out for the 5-10 year-old set.

Sophia is full of love for learning, for this I am blessed and cursed, as she now has well over 150 books in her room. One thing I'm sure of--she's read every one, and in most cases several times as she always picks about five of them before bedtime for me to read with her. Yes things are slowly beginning to appear normal again, the beach, the books, the motorcycle rides. Every so often sad thoughts creep into the mix, or Sophia will comment about how sad it must be for me. It is sad I tell her, but I also remind her that just like her children's Bible we bought at the church book store, her Pop-Pop is in heaven with Jesus now. She understands this because she read it. So on we go, everyday creating another page in our own "book" of life.

Going "Home"

So I here I sit; sniffling and sneezing from my two week sojourn north. A trip that saw lot's of tears, lot's of laughs, and an equal amount of self discovery. I watched a giant of a man slowly dwindled down until there wasn't much left. I watched as brothers huddled, rallied, and grieved. In the end I return from where I came with all my dread, sorrow, and worry. I'm physically and emotionally drained, and as I sit here at US Airways gate C-23 I try to make sense of all I've seen, done, and lost. It'll take a little while as I suspect the return to my "normal" life will also provide much needed introspection and solitude.

PinF moves forward still--back to Florida. I need to for more reasons than the weather and my job though; mainly because it's my "home". Although I left an entire family and hundreds of friends, Pa. is not my home anymore it's where my family lives. I live in Florida, and to Florida I now return. PinF will be back soon though, after some R&R.

William Lawrence Paynter 8/10/33--3/13/06

Thanks to my countless friends for all your prayers and well wishes. My father left last night on his next journey. Godspeed.

Privileged, Peaceful, and Loved

That my heart is aching there can be no doubt. Yet still I am able to see the the many hidden messages in what seems like a long life in a child's eye, and an all too short one in a son's. I am now embroiled in the final chapter of my father's last days. It is as surreal as it is real. No one ever really prepares any of us for this moment. Still, as I sit here in his hospice room I'm grateful for several things:

1. Having had a father for all of my youth and well into adulthood. Something many of my friends, cousins, and countless others never had.

2. I'm grateful I at least have the chance to actually say goodbye, hold his hand, caress his brow. Again, something many people never get to do when death either comes as a shock or too early in their loved one's life.

3. I'm grateful for having had the ability, the opportunity, and words to say what I always wanted to say while I could, either in writing or as in the recent months before my father's current bout of illness-- to his face.

4. I'm grateful too for having had this time in hospice, as painful as it might be so that I can really feel, appreciate, and drink in all that it was that my father meant to me as a man, a parent, and as a friend.

In considering to write or not to write one asks whether or not what you're feeling is either too personal, or worse still, too maudlin. This experience as I sit here in this room, and indeed this whole floor- where death is all around me and slowly creeping up on so many souls is an extremely rich and valuable one. If nothing else it gives me a greater appreciation of the greater good than evil in the world despite what you read daily to the contrary. I am surrounded by people who have chosen to be among the dying; as I get to know them, almost all of them use the word "privilege" when describing their work.

Yes it is hard to be here. Yes it is extremely sad to lose my dad. However, given a choice there's no other place I would choose to be at this time. This is in many ways the perfect convergence of being in the right place, at the right time, for the right reason. I can only benefit either in wisdom or compassion from this experience--most likely both. Still my overall opinion of this experience is one of gratitude and blessings. I cannot complain that I feel as though my dad was taken too early, yet rather I celebrate that I at least had this long, fully aware of the many people who never got what I had. As I've observed this process I've noticed how each of my four brothers has adjusted to this phase as well; each has done what they can in their own way. We've all brought different skills, personalities and sorrows to this, the final days of my father's life. Each one reconciling and processing the experience in their own way, and as painful and sad as it all is I'm also aware that we are still each other's greatest strength though I often lost sight of this fact throughout this ordeal.

PinF has certainly been throught the ringer this year, most if not all has been covered in one form or fashion through this blog, which got me to thinking as I sit in this room; how many blogs did I write regarding my father's situation since July? I don't know myself. Next step? You guessed it, I've culled all of the archives of PinF for any relevant posts that chronicle this most incredible journey, one that has finally brought me to South Philly were I now sit camped out in a room here at St. Agnes. Many readers of PinF may not know what the hell I'm on about, so I thought it a fitting tribute that I chronologically re-post as a sort of tribute to the man I call "dad" and more importantly one who I also call my friend-- Bill Paynter.


Could it all have started this long ago in July? Not long after arriving I made this observation. On the road home I was able to put my dread and fear in proper order based on a conversation with a stranger. Not but a few months later I was again called back home after the unfortunate auto accident that placed my father in his current predicament. Upon my arrival I was left with little to do other than be by his bedside and ponder the next step, essentially reduced to holding his hand. Before leaving I was able to see some music, something always good for the soul so I posted this observation. Seasons passed as did holidays, when Thanksgiving came around I made this observation. As time passed during his illness more events occurred that had me wishing he was healthy. Specifically the Johnny Cash movie had come out, we had spoken months before how much we were looking forward to this, sadly he was not to see it. I commented on such after my brother recommended seeing my dad's favorite performer being portrayed in the movie Walk the Line. The seasons continued to march forward, Christmas came further highlighting what a dire situation my father's condition had become, still we continued to pray for a turn around. For the first time in my life "my" family wasn't whole, I commented on the season and what it meant to both Sophia and me, ever cognizant of the void left by my father's illness. Not too long after the holidays along came a real reminder of my father as the movie portraying his idol won the Golden Globe bittersweet to be sure, because this would have made him immensely happy. With a continued eye on affairs to the north I felt the increasing pressure to begin to explore futher options, albeit begrudgingly. Not quite a month ago while still very preoccupied with my father's condition I was reading the Inquirier online and came accross one of those "gut check" stories that puts your own pain and trouble into perspective, and as usual it had to involve music---go figure. Certainly I have received all sorts of support either in person, by phone, or email. Much of this support has come from friends who have traveled this road before me, as such they are capable of knowing the many emotions such a challenge presents. Their support and wisdom inspired this post. Of course I'm in the "here and now" now, as such just before leaving I had to once again tell Sophia I was leaving, the difference this time? I had to broach for the first time in her young life, the subject of dying. It wasn't easy as she could sense my pain and I too could feel her's; still dying is something as natural as being born and an important lesson to learn no matter how painful.

As I Go, So Shall You

"She will take her lead from you; as you go--so shall she." These were words of advice I received from a close person in my life last week when I described how upset Sophia was regarding the news that her pop-pop was going to die. Truer words could not have been spoken. PinF has deliberately backed away for awhile, not fielding any calls other than necessary ones. I've not not really felt the need to blog either as I've tried to work through my own feelings and emotions regarding my mine and my brother's decision to allow my father to pass peacefully with the help of hospice. Though in many respects I've felt a sort of responsibility to share with the many regular readers of PinF that which they've either followed, supported, or advised me on for over the past 6 months. This after noticing either concerned phone messages or emails, thus I have been prompted to inform though not dwell- the many readers and concerned friends of PinF, as it's really too painful still.


Sophia has taken her lead from me in ways I had never really thought about until I witnessed such raw emotions after I told her I must leave for Philadelphia and that her pop-pop was going to be leaving for heaven. I have been living in Florida coming up on nine years this St. Patrick's day. Leaving was hard, as it always is when it is done on behalf of another. If I had my wish I would have never left, as I knew the day I left a little part of my dad died. Still like I've writen in earlier posts I still maintained a close, in touch relationship by phone, mail and visits. Speaking almost every night to my father allowed me to stay in touch with how he was doing and still monitor his health and happiness.

This frequent contact created a long distance bond between Sophia and him as well, something I really never gave much thought to as it was never something to mull. Now it is. And now I can see why she is so moved by the news, as she too feels the daily loss of his familiar voice. Sophia has always been encouraged to write thank you notes, send birthday cards, and generally be as involved as a little girl can be so far from her extended family. This again was her "taking her lead from me", as I try (though not always) to remember birthday's, Mother's and Father's days for all my family since I am so far away. Of course these little home made cards were often highlights of my father's day as he would call up to say he received this drawing or this home-made card. My father responded in kind, sending Sophia one of her most prized possesions-- her pink Eagles hat along with her pink sleeved Eagles Superbowl shirt. Every Sunday, she dons both and prepares to settle in with me to watch as much as her seven year-old psyche can really take. I know she does it for me, so I often implore her to go out and play, and that I'll call her when we score. Suffice to say she played alot during gamedays this year.

She still has her first pair of ice skates her pop pop bought her from Bill Battey's, something I've learned are not to be messed with when I recently suggested we give them away to some little girl who might be able to use them. Of course her reaction was that of a child on a mission to the Figure Skating Hall of Fame, preferring to save them for posterity. I know of course it's the sentimental value that she cherishes, again "taking her lead from me", as I too keep the sentimental items of value from my past. My father and Sophia enjoyed quite a different relationship than any of her other relatives in Philadelphia because she "followed my lead" and spoke to him very often in her seven years. He got to see her skate last Christmas of 2004, something she was quite keen on him seeing. She got to tell him she's a "Philly girl", knowing full well how proud this makes him when he hears it. They complimented each other's style well, so it was always an easy and stress free reunion for them, as they never seemed to need to "catch up" since they stayed informed about each other's lives. So as I navigate my way through these most powerful and sentimental emotions of loss and grief, I am constantly reminded of those words of advice and I check my emotions for Sophia's sake.

Sophia will survive. I will survive. Loss is part of life, though in times like these you do feel a sort of tendancy to try and re-savor the moments long since past. I'm comfortable with mine, and I believe Sophia is too, and as she comes through the pain she'll really only remember the happy memories and the positive impact of her pop pop's life on her's. I will soon be in Philadelphia to complete the journey that in many ways we're all on until the death of a parent. I'm ok with it, as long as Sophia keeps her emotions in check, because as Sophia goes-- so go I.

The Teacher Becomes the Student

All the time a person is a child he is both a child and learning to be a parent. After he becomes a parent he becomes predominently a parent reliving childhood. ---Benjamin Spock



It's no secret to any regular reader of this blog that PinF is completely enamored with his prodigious little companion Sophia. There is an ease to our relationship that is neither spoken nor defined. We know each other's boundaries both emotionally, and physically. She knows my likes, dislikes, quirks and most importantly my expectations of her. I too know her's. She's a child prone to praise and encouragement; whether it's her nature or the fact that she's an only child, she despises disappointing those who matter--her teacher and her parents specifically. This I see as a wonderful trait as she places her expectations of herself higher than those who matter would place on her, something every parent wants their child do.

Sophia arrived Thursday for her four days with her papi quite sheepishly. Her mother explained she was a afraid to show me her math test. Of the many blessings I'm grateful to have in my life one of my dearest would be Sophia's ease and love of learning, as she's always excelled with school. Again, she places high expectations on herself-- I like this, as I realize that one day this may wane with either the advent of boys or possibly teen angst-fueled rebellion. First thing I did was tell I didn't care about the test-- it is but one test of hundreds she will take this school year and she's never failed one yet. It was of course in the dreaded discipline of math that this travesty occurred, PinF was himself a victim of this "curse" as well. Specifically it was a test on "time"; how to read a clock, and the various ways we "tell" time.

After some hugs of assurance backed up with some healthy encouragement of just how good a student she really was, I was able to convince her to show me the "test". Oddly enough PinF is not a screaming, easily annoyed, or angered parent in case you're wondering. This isn't because this isn't my nature-- no, it's more because of the daugher that I was blessed with requires none of this type of carrying on. (See paragraph 1) She handed it over. She bombed it alright. A 56. Hopefully, she like I, was able to recognize that the real test was not the one she had failed, but rather that she came to me and though I may have been disapointed, I'll never be mad. I explained to her that her disapointment in herself made me more proud of her, as it showed how she really cared about failing the test, this in itself was much more of an important "test" to me. Well, I had to sign the test to assure the teacher I was aware of this so I did. I also wrote her a note telling her that by Monday Sophia would know "time" and all it's many nuances along with the equally diverse ways of desciphering it as well.

Saturday ushered in a "cold front" with rain here in PinF's part of Florida. A perfect day for sitting in and studying. Though Sophia loves school, she is first and foremost a kid--as such she also loves to play, something I knew I would have to be conscious of as we veered down "Study road" on a Saturday. We had bought a work book for 2nd graders on "time". Well let me skip the details and submit to the many readers that I know for certain that I picked Sophia up from religious school at "11:48", we discovered that though the lap top says "12:18" the stove says "12:20". We really didn't have to leave for the movie at "3:50" because it wasn't to start until "4:15" and so on. That's right-- I might have given her too much clock knowledge, as I was now reminded of the time of almost all functions and tasks throughout my day. Mission accomplished. I told her how proud I was that she put in the extra time this weekend. We probably studied about 3 hours off and on, and it paid off--quite literally. She went to school all puffed up with pride and feeling renewed and ready, and I went to work feeling like my weekend was spent very wisely. Equal parts play, work, prayer, the movies, learning, and laughing. Funny thing is, I think I learned more from her than she did from me. Either way it was the type of experience I know she'll carry for a long time, these are of course the most rewarding times spent.

Being a parent is a constant reminder that the teacher (in this case ME) often becomes the student, and as I often remind Sophia "you learn something new everyday".

The Music Of Life

Everyday I check Philly.com to see what's happening at home. This gives PinF a sense of connection even though he no longer lives in Philly, Philly still lives in PinF's heart. Often times I'll read of some senseless murder or embarrassing scandal currently afflicting the good people of Philadelphia. Occasionally I'll even write the Op Ed page in support of a columnist or a particular story.

How many of us get so caught up in our lives that we often don't realize our own blessings all around us? I know that I, PinF am most guilty of this at times, as I have allowed the situations of my life to cloud my vision at times. The important thing is our ability to empathize, lucklily I am able to. My father's declining health and all it has meant and done to me, my outlook, and indeed my view of my own mortality was all put into perspective this morning when I logged onto to Philly.com. I read a quote recently that really puts into perspective our own parent's mortality and what their passing often represents--- a loss of our own innocence: “Parents, however old they and we may grow to be, serve among other things to shield us from a sense of our doom. As long as they are around, we can avoid the fact of our mortality; we can still be innocent children.”

While reading the news this morning I came a cross a story so sad, yet so beautiful that it kind of kicks you in the stomach and warms your heart at the same time; more importantly it put into perspective the true nature of loss. In doing so, I kind of realized that many of my own petty annoyances and worries are just that, as I tried to imagine going into a recording studio to do what these children did with their dying mother. The story of Marcia Glover-Banks, a single mother raising her children while dying of terminal cancer struck me as an especially poignant lesson that nothing is guaranteed in this life. She and her three daughters just recorded a song written by her, about her and her three daughter's love of each other as she now prepares to die--- barring a miracle. This is a woman who is receiving hospice yet still caring for and raising her three children. How beautifully sad. You can listen to the song here.

It always comes down to the music, and though it's almost too heart wrenching to listen to-- listen you should. What a wonderful legacy of selfless maternal love this mother has given her three daughters along with the connection that love has to the music -- in all of us. She in her infinite maternal wisdom knows far too well that the pain of her passing will one day pale in comparison to the gift she has given to her daughters and the lesson it holds for their future.

Threading the Needle of the Dawn Sky

I went to the Florida Keys and took not one photo. I chilled, I read, and chilled some more. I will attempt to recreate the trip with words instead.

Unless you're in the Marine Corps, waking up any day at 5:15 AM is difficult at best for the majority of us; doing so on a Saturday morning is torture. And so it was that PinF peeled himself from his sheets about as easily as a label peels from a pickle jar. Questioning my wisdom/decision as I stumbled through the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, I began to eagerly approach the idea of riding to the Keys on my bike. Looking outside I could see clear sky with no clouds, plenty of stars and a brilliantly lit moon; the temperature was a moderate 68*---after my first sip of coffee I knew it was on. I was heading to my southern office to tend to some overdue business. Of course the whole point of a bike is to ride---preferably further than the super market and I was also eager to try out my new Metzler Tourance tires from Germany, that and I'd like to think maybe next year I'll take the trip I've been telling myself I would to Central America. So call this another trial primer run, with full luggage.

Showered quickly, layered some warm clothes anticipating the chill at 80 MPH and the fact that it would warm up equally as quick. I had already packed the night before and had the bike luggage with the necessary equipment ready to go--- small repair kit, rain suit, books, laptop, towel clothing. I eased the V Strom onto Florida's turnpike at 6:26 am in a still very dark light of dawn. The moon illuminated the road over my shoulder from the west and I could see hundreds of stars shining. To the east I could see the first vestiges of the much anticipated sunny and warm day that had been forecasted. I went to the "shuffle mode" on my POD, this always keeps the tunes unpredictable and fresh. With music pumping and wind rushing, I felt completely alert and alive as I hovered in the 80-90MPH range. Not many people on the turnpike at this time so I was able to enjoy the ride.

Having been under considerable pressure for some time now with family issues and my weekly commitments with Sophia's religious education, it was incredibly gratifying to be hauling ass down an open stretch of highway with my first free week-end in months. At 7 am I was almost half way to my destination in Key Largo and was mesmorized by the feeling of freedom and awe as I was literally threading the needle. On my left (east) was the brilliantly warm sunrise, while on my right high above was the 2/3 full moon. I had never given as much notice to the dawn sky as I was now; blame it on the music or the fact that I was on a motorcycle, but the beauty of the moon and the sun were stunning. I was glad I had made the decision to take this trip and eager to enter the Keys on such a glorious day. By 8 AM I was at the "end of the line" Better known as Homestead, as I approached the toll I could see three hot air balloons hovering; they too were enjoying this almost spring like day.

Due to a technical glitch my IPOD crapped out at this point-- which sucked, but also allowed me to really take in all the sites and sounds of such beautiful lands. I was just coming into the Upper Keys, just south of Biscayne Bay National Park, here there are reminders of the everglades and with them come an area teeming with with widlife and exotic birds. Nothing was lost on my senses, the smells unique to the Keys and their saturated grassy regions were first, soon after it was the water as I began seeing the turquoise and tranquil seas occasionally. I was to eventually meet up with my friend of 30 years Lauri MacLaughlin;(in white top w/blue flowers) she's been living in the Keys for 20+ years now and has one of those fascinatingly important jobs that make a difference in the world. Lauri is a marine biologist with NOAA working to improve, repair, and save the reefs of the marine sanctuary that is the Florida Keys.

PinF made Key Largo in record time due to all 1000cc's of his V Strom participating. Lauri had clued me in to a nice Monroe County park (Harry Harris Park) to check out. Arriving as early as I did I cruised off of Rte. 1 and went to see the park, it was as reported--perfect. Nice beach, swimming lagoon with calm water, showers, boat launch, etc. I asked the park guard (Francisco) where to get a good Cuban breakfast and he instructed me about 1 mile south on US 1 to the Cuban market on Tavenier Key. I arrived ready as susual to do some linguistic sparring as my Spanish is never as good as I'd like yet never as bad as I think. Today was no exception as I confidently ordered my breakfast , this of course caught the attention of the almost exclusively older male clientele, as I was the only "gringo" as far as I could tell. I was chilling nicely reading my Palm Beach Post that I had brought with me, sipping on my cafe con leche thrilled with the ride I just completed and anticipating my delicious breakfast followed by a relaxing day in the sun on a nice beach.

Struck a great converstaion with a retired Cuban man, himself a Bay of Pigs veteran who escaped Cuba and came to America where he obviously profited by the American system and now lives a comfortable retirement on board his boat. One thing about Cubans, whether you agree with our policies or not; you'll find no more fierce supporter's of America and the democracy she represents. Finished up the political rap, downed my juice and hopped on the
V Strom, which by now had found a few gawkers outside, made some small talk and then I was beach bound. I was able to locate a chair from the guard, and positioned myself in my office near a power source where I was able to replenish the IPOD and jam....read a little of Frank McCourt's new book "Teacher Man", took a swim, read some more, fielded a few calls from non-suspecting northerner's and chilled some more. Almost uneventful, except everytime I looked around I found myself giving thanks for where I was. After 9 years in Florida, I still take nothing for granted, most notably a warm sunny day in February. The day by now was at least 80*, no wind and not a cloud in sight. (Sorry PA. people)

Lauri arrived and we decided to go back to her house where PinF could assemble himself and shower, then we were off to a local dock restaurant called Snapper's to have some lunch. PinF started of with a pint of Stella, followed by locally caught and prepared fish ala cerviche. I complimented this with some fried conch and 5 huge pink Key West coconut crusted shrimp.....you know the drill. PinF was feeling no pain by now- the sun, the cold brews, the delicious food and a great friend all while sitting in paradise. Pulled out of the Keys at 5:30 and was home by 7:30, another nice, fast, and exhilirating ride with great tunes to fuel my pace.

Woke again on Sunday to another glorious day of Sunshine, sans clouds. This time I would be on my local beach in Juno right next to the pier, this is where we always sit. Sophia and I set the umbrella, laid out the blanket and then got ready for our favorite pastime---hunting for beach glass. We stayed until 6pm saw a manatee swim by, we played games and goofed all day. Sophia is an incredibly entertaining and wise child for seven years. She commented on how "time goes so fast" and how "....she could remember when she was five......" referring to some event on the beach. I agreed with her and told her that her papi could rememeber being 7 yrs. old and on the beach like it was yesterday, so it was good that she recognized the speed of how time flies and to truly appreciate the good times. She said she would.

Upon review, my weekend offered a brief if not needed break from some daily worries, though they were never far from my mind. Still I was able to recognize, appreciate, and truly enjoy all that is Florida, and it reminded me how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful region of this country. I was able to ride in the light of the moon as the new day's sun chased me into the Keys; I saw the beauty of the dawning sun and fiery colors of the dusk sun-- all within 12 hours time. The next day I was able to relax on another beautiful beach with my beautiful daughter doing nothing more important than just plain old appreciating each other's company and our beautiful surroundings.

Does it get any better than this?

http://timtraveler.blogspot.com

Wow! I'm not sure how many readers of PinF have been following this blog,(http://timtraveler.blogspot.com) but for those of you who haven't, may I suggest that you do now. This guy (Tim, coincidentally) has been traveling since late summer from California to Alaska accross the US and then down through the mid-Atlantic states and into Central and South America. Along the way he has been posting incredibly interesting and colorful stories of the people, places, and cultures he has encountered. It's been said that a picture is worth a thousand words.....if this is so, then this site is worth over 10 million words because of the image quality he has posted along way, from Machu Pichu, Peru to where he now finds himself--- on the edge of the South American Continent at Tierro del Fuego, Argentina. I have enclosed the above photo posted today taken of an iceberg. Tim's camera quality is as much responsible as his eye, as he has literally hundreds of incredible photos taken of breathtaking mountains, lakes, landscapes, and people. The most incredible fact is that this journey has all been done on a motorcycle!

Check it out.

Happy St. Valentines Day

To all of PinF's Valentine's, especially Sophia. Con Mucho Amor--- PinF

Passionately Golden Dreams

Every Thursday at 4 PM. It sounded easy enough in December, so what the hell I thought the kid L-O-V-E-S skating --every Thursday would be fine. In order to faciliate this activty I have altered my Thursday schedule so that I now arrive before the security guy does, do my work when there is almost no one around and then leave at 1:30PM so I can meet Sophie outside of school. From there we go to the house, eat a small snack and the get her "equipment" on. That's right, equipment. Sophia is taking ice skating very seriously these days, as such every accesory is of utmost importance, not to mention necessary. The last time she took lessons (level 1) she was cool with jeans, sweater and a pair of fleece gloves. That was last year. Level 2 has naturally elevated her "game", and in doing so has passed the cost of her "game" on to me and her mother.

Her equipment now is no less than the figure skates, the dress, the tan panty-hose (the kind that cover the skate down to the blade), her wool gloves, complete with faux feathering along the wrist, and finally her matching scrunchy to tie back her hair. Of course after all this she certainly "looks" the part; realizing full well that she may be more in love with the fashion than the sport. Still, this is OK because reagardless of her motives, she's nothing if not passionate for what she is doing. Passion. This is what any endeavor is ALL about, and I told her that so long as she has it, she'll have lessons. Because for me it's all about the love; if she loves what she's doing I love her doing it, I care little if it's skating, ballet or tee-ball. Just love it. And boy does she, almost too much, as I have to peel her from the ice at the end of class.

She lives for Thursdays, as she knows it's all about her for an hour, and of course me watching her, and her spins, her dips, her cross over and oh yes--her falls too. Of course I should mention also that she isn't just "another pretty face", she's actually quite good. She took to ice skating immediately when about three years ago I decided to do something other than a movie after reading an article about a rink oepning in S. Florida. At first she wasn't to keen on the "ice", and truth be told, I hadn't been on it for at least 12 years. We warmed up quick enough and before you know we were in the flow of over-sexed teenagers skating along to what seemed like the 8th grade dance DJ. I told myself that night that Fridays probably aren't the night we should skate. I couldn't ever remember teen-agers being so overt about sex and sexuality, at least not when I was at Skateland in Brookhaven in the late seventies. Suffice to say I made a mental note of this, and Sophie won't be skating on Friday nights.

I digress. Suffice to say Sophia progressed quickly, so I signed her up for lessons. The rest, as they say is......well you know the rest. So now here we are three years down the road, and she's changed. Wants to watch ice-skating on TV, loves any Disney movie regarding little girls and ice skating. So the other day we made our pilgrmage twenty miles south to the ICE ZONE in Lake Worth, itself a study in pushy parents and pudgy kids. (More on that later)
After leaving she said to me that the teacher said the girls in the Olympics today were Sophia's age less than ten years ago, and that they too could be the next Olympic skater. She could, yes I agreed with her,I told her she could also be a hundred other things that I would be just as proud of her for too. So last night we both got comfortable on the couch, broke out the ice cream and watched the opening ceremony. I knew full well that this will be the first Olympics she remembers, just like 1972 was for me. She watched intently, almost mesmorized by the stunning visually rich show. As I watched her I thought how quickly she'd be that 16 year-old, and maybe she would be an Olympic skater, why not right? This is probably how it happens, girl takes gymnastic or skating class, girl sees girls a little older than herself on TV realizing their full potential doing what girl already loves, girl becomes inspired, motivated and re-applys herself towards the ultimate dream.

Well we'll see, I'm not getting too ahead of myself am I? Actually, maybe not since her coach Alexei Ulanov is himself an Olympic gold medalist, something I've never met until Sophia took lessons. So why not allow her to dream a "big" dream, if she wants it she's got a good start--she loves the sport, her coach is a gold medal winner and she has passion. So it all begins now in Torino and we're excited. Afterall, the Olympics are the only event that the whole world watches in unison, a warming thought in such troubled times. I thought of that too, and that probably somewhere in Russia Sophia's rival was watching with her Papi too, with the same dream. Isn't this what's so great about being a kid? You have SO many dreams, and SO many possibilities-- and the time in which to foster and realize both if you have the encouragement, and even more importantly-- the PASSION.

Hard to Notice & Impossible to Ignore(the lesson)

OK enough of the political rants. PinF is back with more familiar observations.

In an attempt to respect the confidentiality and confidence of their remarks, I shall not use their names. However-- their input, observations, and advice I will share. PinF as many of you already know has been dealing with the continually spiraling health of his father from afar, certainly not something I'm comfortable with, though it's something I have no real control over. My day is spent in an office, with a major portion of it on a phone. Because I am my father's POA I am often called on by various Doctor's, social workers, and an occasional family member during my day as I monitor and and try my best to direct what is being done with regard to my father's care.

Whatever sense of responsibility I've felt to my daughter as a parent, I have felt an equal if not greater sense of responsibility as a child to my Father, as it is he who is now in distress. I have examined my motivations and loyalties and suspect that much of my sense of duty to my father and of course my mother is possibly tied into to an earlier shared experience of having faced a nearly fatal medical event in my life at age 7. It was through this experience that I viewed the scared, concerned, and loving looks of each of my parents as I looked back up at them from my hospital bed. This experience has had a much more profound effect on me than I ever really gave much thought to until I had to reverse roles and look down upon my father in his hospital bed.

Knowing this I have deliberately, slowly, and cautiously approached every request for another procedure as well as calls for "ending" the ordeal, a referance to considering hospice. My reasoning throughout has been that death is forever and so long as he shows progress I should afford my father every reasonable chance to "turn it around". This ordeal, as with any life challenging/changing event, often reveals the best and worst in all of us. Of course there have been fissures in relationships, mis-communications, and disagreements that unfortunately extreme pressures incubate. None of us knows how we will or won't react under these extreme pressures and situations until such time as we are called upon to do so in our lives. Having said this, I received an email from a friend who has felt this same burden, both with regard to the care and more importantly the decisions and the pressures they create. Her father passed away not too long ago and she knows what PinF is going through, especially with regard to the fact that I am separated physically from the situation. She wrote me: "Quality of life is something we take for granted daily, and when someone doesn’t have it, it is awful. Humans are selfish creatures, and would rather keep someone around to make themselves feel better, rather than considering that person’s quality of life."

Spoken truths are powerful.

I'm sure in hindsight PinF is on one level of sub-conciousness guilty of doing this too; it is afterall selfish human nature to "hold on" and "not give up", but the time is quickly approaching a point where I will have to. That isn't to say I have not made every decision as an informed (as best I could be) patient advocate, I believe have. Hence my decisions have been made after serious considerations of my expectations and the possible outcomes, and more importantly these decisions were made one procedure at a time. It would be very easy to view the present state of affairs and believe the course and/or decisions were wrong or could have been made differently---this is not a luxury I ever have or can afford myself. I have taken the best information I was privy to, and weighed it with what I believe my father would want and then factored in his propensity to fight coupled with his will for, and love of life.

I recently spoke with another person, one who herself has both firsthand and professional knowledge regarding end of life issues. This is a woman with a life's worth of experience and knowledge who has relationships with both me and my father; she too offered sage advice as to possible solutions to my father's dilemma. For she knows well that my father would never want to be "ware-housed" and most certainly would choose to be free of his earthly existance if asked to choose. Most importantly she offered calm support for what at times has seemed almost too much, especially at a time when I am still navigating my daughter and myself through the lingering emotional mindfields of our own lives.

As she spoke and mentioned recently seeing him and how his body weight was now down to 147 LBs. I began to have several thoughts rush into my head distracting me from what she was saying. The first was in remembering what a strong man my father was physically, and how he used his body working hard all his life. As a child his arms would almost seem as if they were "hulk like", much the same way Sophia thinks I'm Superman in her eyes, he was in mine. The other thought that rushed into my head was that of a novel I read a few months ago, The Confessions of Max Tivoli, strange I know--but this is how PinF's brain works. This is a complex novel that is in a nutshell almost metaphoric for how we all eventually leave this earth. It deals with Max who is born in 1871 a 70 year old infant who is fated to live his life in reverse, essentially giving him seventy years on this earth. Physically he appears elderly and deformed, mentally he is an infant, as he physically matures in reverse, he also mentally decreases backwards until 70 years laterwhen he is physically an infant, however he is so with a seventy year-old mind. Essentially when he becomes a middle age man, he is mentally that of a child (probably true of many middle aged men). It struck me that in many ways life ends in one form or fashion almost child-like, as you become frailer, weaker, lighter and smaller. Often times these changes can be accompanied by the mental deterioration reducing a once vibrant, strong, and independent adult to an almost child like state. Funny how that is.

PinF will obviously be coming to Philadelphia again soon, and will again confront both the reality and mortality of his father. Options are dwindling, though my responsibility remains clear, even if it means letting go. In many ways it would be easier if he would make that decision for me, but of course life's toughest moments are never easy. This fact illustrates why in life we humans draw the most meaning and best lessons from the biggest challenges. Still it remains the task of the living to understand the meanings and lessons of such events in our lives. PinF will, it'll just take time.

If You Lie Long Enough.....

Before you read this click here.

The few times that PinF has ventured into sensitive political issues he has ultimately invoked the ire of someone, specifically on the rabid right. PinF was in fact once a strong supporter of Republican polictics, at least when John McCain seemed to have had a chance of winning; sadly even he was a target of the "machine". Imagine a decorated, highly educated man of unquestioned moral character and honor was himself derided by the George machine. Now PinF is a strong Independent, choosing instead to seek politicians whose word is reflected by their deed, sadly even democrats have been guilty of the dirty tricks that the Republicans seem to stand for anymore. Irrespective of where you stand on the morality of war, there are some discerning points to be made. So I have to speak out. So I will.

How can a President be impeached for a little "adult fun" between two consenting adults in the White House, yet his predecessor can wage a war with an immoral agenda of death, destruction, and political meddling in sovereign nation's affairs, virtually unchallenged? Only in America I say. The only moral man of George W's administration resigned, deeply troubled by the bending if not total skewering of the facts. We have commited $18Billion dollars to the rebuilding of the grand and historically significant city of New Orleans. Yet this amount pales in comparison to the untold hundreds of billions of dollars we are spending to win an unwinnable war. Let us not mention our greatest and most precious assests-- our young American soldier's lives that are exposed to death and dismemberment daily in the pursuit of stomping out terrorism. Have we as a nation learned nothing by the agressive anti-terror campaign of Israel? They could not wipe terrorism out and neither can we. History will record the folly with which George and his minions believed they could.

It has been estimated that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan now cost the United States $4Billion dollars a month. In terms of George Bush's estimates, we could theoretically rebuild 3 major US cities this year. This is blood money, fueled by greed, natural resources and lies. George started "our war" off with $87Billion dollars in 2003, yet he has consistently come back for more and more....when do we as a nation wake up and start asking at what price? Can anyone even imagine $87Billion dollars? I couldn't, but now you can-- Look Here to see how scary and out of control this meglamaniac is. This war is not what "we" as a people stand for, nor is being treated as if you are less than American if you take a stand against it. It seems mighty peculiar to PinF that everytime a Democrat makes a challenge to this President or his policies, his name and indeed his career accomplishments are dragged through the mud by the evil non-miltary serving minions of George Bush. How we allow these men to hold positions of power when so much is at stake is beyond PinF, quite frankly it leaves me wondering where we are headed as a nation if we launch into wars based on lies and skewered intelligence. I for one feel no safer, nor prouder to be an American now based on our policy of bullying nations, and killing innocents, while evil men propagate the lies that accompany our policies.

Ok then. Let the right wing rhetoric and abuse begin. I love my country, but I hate it's policies of lies and hipocracies.
Cigars and sex = Impeachment, war and lies = a "holy crusade" of lunacy. Wow I feel better already.

SOUL FOOD IS GOOD FOR YOU !

Had any soul food lately? PinF has and along with Sophia, we're regulars every Sunday. The usual routine is to awake at 7 or 7:30, have some Life cereal, then we both slowly dress, plug the dual headphone jacks into the I-pod and cycle off for 9 AM mass at St.Paul of the Cross. Sophia and I have been doing this for the past three years, as I kind of phased religion into her life just as her parent's marriage was ending and as her maturity would allow an uninterupted hour of reflection. Her familiarity with church has also spawned other endeavors she loves, the Christmas Eve pageant being one in particular. Sophia loves this power hour of soul food, funny enough after a decade or more of estrangement from convential religious gatherings, so does PinF. I used to think you could keep your spirituality within, and worship in the church of your mind; you probably can but the act of commiting to such an endeavor of publicly professing your faith provides far greater rewards in the end.

PinF is speaking more of "faith" than "religion" when he attends church. Because for all I do get from the formal gatherings of traditional religion there is still much more I don't get, and indeed still take umbrage with. The biggest difference is as I've aged---or I'll say "matured" is I am less inclined to have "it" all explained and for it "all" to make sense. If that makes any sense. I can accept the non-sensical, choosing instead to draw out of my soul food that which I need for my sustenance and nourishment. Sophia too, as she is quite taken to what she loves most--the singing, so in this she has taken what she loves, and kind of sails through the "boring" parts.

Our weekly heapings of soul food have taken on a greater degree of nourishment as of late as Sophia has been preparing to make her First Holy Communion. PinF couldn't be any prouder. Every Sunday immediately following mass I drop miss Sophie over at the church school for her pre-Communion class for the next hour and a half. PinF then disappears to Starbucks for his dose of a more earthly sustenance, a grande caramel machiatto and the Sunday New York Times. That which I once found strangely forced and unnatural has come to Sophie much more naturally. Blame it on a different teaching approach maybe, that and the fact that Sophie really does dig God. Whatever the reason I am grateful as she shows an emotional maturity and understanding beyond her years sometimes, for this I give thanks.

This Saturday PinF will witness yet another mile marker of Sophia's development as she steps up to make her first reconcilliation, affectionately known to my generation as "confession". Of course this is mainly a Catholic thing, so for many the true meaning of making your first confession is either lost or just plain unknown. For PinF it was done by remembering the Our Father and a bit of scripted words beseeching forgiveness to a priest behind a veil in a dimly lit box. PinF is so happy to see those days, like so many of the dinosaurs of the Catholic faith- have changed, so Sophia will face the Father herself and profess her "sins", then she'll recite either a Hail Mary or and Our Father with the priest. Of course one thing hasn't changed since I did this and that is the fact that Sophia says she has no sins to profess. Funny, neither did I. So I told her "examples" of "sins", now it appears she's "going in" with papi's suggestions--no matter "God understands" I tell her.

The whole notion of forgiveness is kind of a strange to a child, as they really hold no long term anger or grudges and kind and move from one happy experience to the next. PinF has had to learn how to forgive many things in his life over the past few years, something I still work at daily. In trying to explain the whole notion of sin and reconcilliation I've explained that God's forgiveness of anything she does is like mine; there is nothing she can do or say that I cannot forgive her for. This allows her to grasp the idea a bit better, her fear seems to have disapated a bit, though I'm sure when the moment comes this Saturday morning we can expect a few last minute jitters. She'll be fine though, as usual I think I'm more nervous?

She is right though, she really hasn't any "sins" in the conventional sense, God knows she's never been disrespectful; being any only child she's never taken to using violence against playmates. But that isn't the point--she needs to understand that this is preparation for her "big day" in May. Strangely enough I've studied just as hard for this day, as parents now have to attend four classes prior to the child receiving these sacraments--something I do willingly. For I know it would be impossible for Sophia to find God and her faith without me attending church and leading by example, so I willingly and proudly walk the walk with her. I once read that when raising children you should be more concerned with what you do in front of them rather than what you say in front of them, as so much of what we learn in life is by example and not word. So Saturday PinF will be receiving an extra serving of Soul Food, and why not? It tastes great and has no calories. Blessings to all.