Teachers, Lessons, and Gifts

PinF has fallen silent the last week or so. Consider it my end of year reflection, blog-fatigue, or just plain old end of semester break. Of course I often need to be inspired to write and cannot just pull something out of a hat, so I guess this too has had something to do with the lay off. The holidays. Just saying this can raise the stress, excitement, and dread in many of us. PinF is no different in this department, constantly striving to provide for my daughter the type of holiday memories and lessons she can build her life's lessons upon. Holidays are a great teacher. Many of us go through our lives living one way 51 weeks of the year, and quite another way for that one holy week. Human nature I guess, we all want to be good, decent people all of the time, it just isn't that easy, or practical for that matter.

Trying to live a good and decent life, one that offers lessons, takes on an even greater urgency when you have a child. In essence you are the ultimate teacher, the sooner you realize this, the better and more effective teacher/parent you will be. As tough as the holidays were for me, and despite the bad judgements that were made by some people; I know I can only control the message, values, and behavior that I project. To this ends I think Sophia, despite having to split time in two totally different enviroments, saw some profound lessons this Christmas.

Loyalty- my first is and always will be to Sophia, she witnessed this again this year as her father was involved in her Christmas pageant, right down to the sewing of the garland on her angel dress. Although PinF's religious dedication has changed somewhat since his catholic upbringing, one thing hasn't changed - and that is his belief that all children need some type of spiritual direction. My involvement in her religious and spiritual education is if nothing else, a foundation of my beliefs, my hopes for her, and of course a moral direction for her to steer her own life. Where she takes that direction will be up to her after she turns 18. Slowly she has learned the values of that "one hour" a week that you thought would kill you as a child. I'm sure it was a harder lesson for me since I had the distraction of many brothers each week in mass, whereas Sophia seems to truly enjoy the church, the traditions, and the singing.

The pride any parent feels for their child during public events is always an emotionally powerful feeling. I experienced this firsthand once again this Christmas as I was an "angel" volunteer, tasked with organizing 20 little girls-- wings, halos, and egos - all according to height. Myself and another parent had a lot of fun, and our task actually appeared easier than shepparding the many lambs in attendance for the Christmas eve mass. This year was profoundly different for Sophia, her parents were no longer together, and what family she did have in the state were not attending the mass, so it was me, and my life-long buddy from Philadelphia John, who also wanted to see Sophia. She was perfect, I had her hair and outfit looking great, though I could see in her face that she was scanning the entire church looking for other familiar faces that sadly weren't there. That disapointment in her face hurt a bit, but all I could do is be there for her, and so I was. This was another important lesson, though it may not register for her for quite some time, it did for me that night. The lesson that in our child's mind there is no more important event than that in which your child is participating in. I made sure she knew how proud I was of her, and how much I loved her.

There were profound lessons in this most holy night as I watched the nativity scene play out before my eyes and was reminded once again that this was about Jesus, not the mall, and not about gifts or parties. Sophia was to leave with her mother after mass to be with her mother's family and cousins, something that it isn't now, nor do I expect ever will , get any easier. The natural thing to want to do is be with your family on Christmas eve, though with divorce comes a schedule; and this year was not PinF's year. I bide my time, my temper, and my emotions. I try to look at the journey and not the route, because in the end it's about the destination and not the manner in which I travel to get there. And the destination for me is in delivering a nice, responsible, decent young lady who knows well that the virtues and values in life have little to do with material wealth or possesions and much more to do with spirtual wealth, love, and most importantly respect of oneself and family coupled with compassion. Everything I saw on this Christmas eve lead me to believe I am indeed on the "right path" in this regard, the challenge is in staying on board even though the "vehicle" is uncomfortable.

PinF had a tree this year, this was really more for Sophia than for my own need. To be expected I guess, becuase you really don't realize that many of the motions of the holiday are perpetuated for the children in our lives more than ourselves. Still underneath the tree were a good amount of gifts, mainly Sophia's mind you, though a few found there way to PinF as well. PinF was a very lucky recipient of three last minute parcels, all from important parts of PinF's life- friends, and family. From one of my oldest and dearest friends a FedEx box appered almost out of nowhere with several gifts, this was actually the only gift for PinF had up until this point. Thanks Bird. The next morning saw two other packages arrive on Christmas eve, one a parcel of Dutch coffee mailed by (mis)adventuresofchuck himself; this was a really nice surprise from a really good and valued friend. Thanks Chuck. The other package was from my mom, which like my mom is apt to do, touched me in an almost bittersweet way by including an ornament for my tree made by me some 32 years ago. In an instant I was taken back to the dining room table at Ridley Drive in 1974 on Christmas morning painting the little balsa wood ornaments, powerful stuff. Thanks Mom.

For all the emotions, joy, and heartache felt during these the most emotional weeks of the year, PinF is still a great lover of Christmas. And even though his father still resides in limbo at the hospital, his sons all search for answers to the right direction to move in, and PinF's mom is sort of removed from the immediacy of my day to day life - PinF is able to recognize his real gifts this holiday. Sure I got some great books, some nice things for my house, and other little things, but my greatest gift was again being involved in Sophia's life and realizing how lucky I am. Despite all the disapointments that I cannot control, I still keep my mind and my eye on the greater gifts, these are the blessings we all have in our lives. My father is not well, but I had over 40 Christmas's with him, so it could be much worse. My mother is still in good health and here with us all, again another gift. I have four healthy, and fun brothers - all of whom have the unique distinction of having known each other all of our lives. This is in essence the coolest part of a sibling-the shared experiences, though differing opinions, of being raised by our shared parents. My friends, these too are real gifts that anyone can give themselves, becuase unlike family you can pick these "gifts" out, PinF is richly blessed in this department. And my favorite gift of this Christmas? Sitting next to an angel at Christmas eve mass, replete with wings and halo, not just any old angel-but "my" angel, and hearing her whisper in my ear "Merry Christmas, I love you papi"

Holiday Sampler (A Legal Re-gifting)

As PinF prepares to celebrate another Christmas in Florida it seemed appropriate to offer a Holiday Sampler (a re-gift) of sorts, of the past 9 months of postings. Often times my postings are not what you would either characterize as brief, light, or even happy fare. Such is the life of PinF this past year, full of tumult, sadness, and political outrage over the seemingly senseless dying of Americans home and abroad, not to mention my on-going postings of tough times with regard to my father's health and its effects on me and my brothers.

Still I would be remiss not to mention the many personal notes I often receive by email with regard to certain postings; many times what people won't post in public, they convey in private through a heartfelt email. Often times my subject matter has made others recall certain painful or difficult times in their own lives. Most times I'm able to jar a happy memory and in the process illicit a few chuckles along the way. PinF appreciates all the encouragement, kindnesses, and well wishes he's received over the past 9 months from many friends, family, and indeed the new foreign friends I've met through this site. To that ends, PinF is assembling a mini-montage of sorts from the last 9 months. I've picked one post from each month since April until now December, a Holiday Sampler for the readers of PinF, so that you don't have to skip back, scroll down, and seek past postings.

Thank you all, and Happy Holidays. ----------PinF

April 2005: First post, really just an online copy of my remarks when asked to speak at my mother's Hall of Fame induction ceremony at Little Flower Catholic High School for Girls.

May 2005: PinF's remarks over yet another somber Memorial Day as Americans continue to sacrifice for what I believe to be a mis-guided appropriation of our greatest resource: our young, brave soldiers.

June 2005: This was one of my daughter Sophia's several postings, her summer movie reviews. Of course PinF is able to discuss any number of G rated movies released this year if anyone wants to that is.

July 2005: A classic tale of Sophia's reluctant tooth migration.

August 2005: Sophia's heading off to school and the many undertones to the lessons we all learn by breaking away.

September 2005: This post dealt with all the finger pointing and senseless blame after the heartbreak and destruction of Katrina, and the few who were in direct contact with God.

October 2005: Kind of heartbreaking, and I know we all see at least one of these that gets to us. This is a post about the first woman from my area killed in action in Iraq.

November 2005: Reminiscing days of Thanksgiving long since past, and the many unsucessful cakes in PinF's life.

December 2005: PinF's most recent installment of how much things change over time, both on a personal level as well as physical, with regard to relationships and loved ones.

A Wonderful Magical Day! by Sophia V. Paynter

Editor's Note: HOLIDAY TREAT TIME

As a special holiday treat to the many readers of PinF, my beautiful seven year-old prodigy Sophia Veronica, has penned a holiday story for school which I just had the pleasure of proof reading. Her story is wonderful and she's decided to make another guest Blog appearance and re-copy from her note paper onto Blog format, enjoy.

PinF wants his audience to know that the copy below is unedited and the original draft from Miss Sophia......


Have you ever had a snowman come to life? Well i did and i will tell you all about it. To begin with, in the morning I asked my mom if i could go outside to play. She said ''yes''. So i got all bundled up and went outside and played until i got bored.I called Sienna to come and play. We started to build a snowman together.Then we went inside to have hot cocoa and chocolate.

Next, we got bored so we went outside. But when we got outside, he wasn't there! ''Mr.Snowman, Mr.Snowman" we called him as he came back in his place.

Last,Sienna and I started playing with frosty.We played Tic-Tac-Snow and tag and many other games untill it was time for dinner.We said ''bye" to frosty and hoped we would see him again.

In conclution, when my snowman came to life we started playing Tic -Tac-Snow, tag, and many other games.It was a wonderful magical day.

Merry christmas SOPHIA

pinf

Twenty Years, Three Passports, and a Daughter

When PinF was 7 he got his first Passport, the world was his oyster so to speak. I look at my daughter Sophia today and she is on her second passport, having traveled to 5 countries already, and she is as blasé about this as I would be about going to the supermarket. This is her world, and she illustrates that so clearly and often when she is so surprised to hear that her papi didn't have the internet, dvd's, and microwave popcorn when I was her age. Of course my passport was a tad different, as were my travels at her age. PinF would have to travel through books and what he learned in social studies classes, because his first passport was made in Ms. Johnson's class at Garettford Elementary school in Drexel Hill. I took my first "trip" to Buckingham Palace London; the trip was great--the weather sucked as we were always told it did in England. This was a class project designed to expand our world in 1969 and introduce us to the concept of other countries. It wouldn't be until 16 years later the PinF would actually get to see that famed building in the heart of London, and I distinctly recall standing there on that cold day in December thinking of that first passport and that day in Ms. Johnson's class.

Today marks twenty years ago that PinF took the $1200.00 his father gave him to buy a car and like a twenty something year old is apt to do, spent it elsewhere. Of course the story isn't that simple and the facts are usually based on who's recalling them, but since it was me who spent it, you can take it from me. This was a classic tale of impetuous youth. I had "discovered" my then girlfriend was carrying on with my then best friend. Truth of the matter was she wasn't even really my girlfriend anymore, it was one of those slow dying adolescent relationships that you keep going back to. That isn't to say the betrayal of a friend didn't hurt-- it did, though looking back now I was as much to blame as anyone. Again, this is one of the best aspects of growing old, you're able to see much more clearly, accept much more balme, and give much more forgiveness.

Nevertheless, PinF reacted with a passion that wasn't understood until much later in life. PinF was born with wanderlust. He always wanted to travel, striking out early and often with silly follies of either running away, or just up and going places either by hitchhiking, or on a motorcyle. Never really "running away" so much as "running to" something. I wanted to know what was on the "other side" so to speak. Suffice to say this "incident" in my 22 year-old life would provide the catalyst to dare myself and just go-with no plan, and surely not that much money-- and so go I did. I told no one in my family-- selfish I know, but remember I'm doing the "wounded heart" thing, so I felt no need to be caring and adult like. As a parent myself I now realize how selfish and worrisome this was to those who loved me. I got a ticket with People's Express, which at the time was a cutting edge air carrier breaking down the barriers of cheap inter-continental travel, the cost was $79.00 well within my "budget". I was filled with dreadeful anticipation as I really had no plan other than to leave, just like so many ill-prepared forays into the world before. I remember first setting foot in Gatwick and hearing so many odd accents, seeing so many differently dressed peoples, and wondering OK, what now?

I met many interesting people from many countries and continued on to see the wonders of my then world, in Paris, London, and finally Amsterdam. I partook of the bacchanal that is Amsterdam, even meeting an old girlfriend from Demark and seeing all the city had to offer. I went to the VanGogh museum the Rijksmuseum and of course the famed red light district. Of course this was at a time when PinF was particulary interested in the offerings of this wonderful country. Throughout my two weeks I was constantly reminded of all I had left by the ever present Christmas themes throughout these three countries, and would, at times become a bit homesick for leaving. Nothing major mind you, though I was always cognizant of the Christmas season for sure. I continued on my "journey" and found myself standing in front ot the Mona Lisa, and then at the top of the Eiffel Tower, surely my trip would not have been complete without visiting Notre Dame Cathedral, and so I did. France, or I should say Paris, was a disdainfully hostile place, but I didn't care as I moved on full of wonder throughout the city via the Metro. It was here I finally broke down and called home 3 days before Christmas and spoke with my mother, she of course had put all the facts together by now and was aware of the circumsatnces surrounding my "trip", she told me to come on home for Christmas, and in that moment I felt for the first time very far away from home. Funny enough, I can still remember the drunk French guy banging on the phone booth door, and having to use some 'international adjectives" on him to get him to chill.

Of course in order to get home I had to get back to England and buy a ticket, so off I went the next morning, actually kind of sick of the rude French and looking forward to my cheery cousins on the otherside of the channel. Of course anyone who has ever been to France knows of their notrious labor strikes over the most ridiculous reasons, say for instance they work 32 hours, if you ask them to work 34 it's an all out invitation to shut down the entire rail sytem. This was PinF's luck, when he got to to Calias, France for his return ferry, the French had indeed staged a holiday strike. PinF was not to be outdone, he immediately partook of the holiday revelry amongst the overly friendly and never affected Brits, and was sauced within hours. Merrily reciting filthy british rugby songs and such, and generally insulting the French Gendarmes charged with watching us, we passed the time packed like holiday sardines for 7 hours while the British government tried to negotiate a way for the many returning citizens to be brought back. No dice. Eventually the Brits did what they've always done best, they went it alone. They dispatched 3 British ferries across the channel to fetch us poor, stranded, holiday drunks, I love the damn British, they always get it done, not matter the circumstances. Problem was when we finally boarded the Captain made an announcement that that seas were a "bit rough", no matter I thought, we're going home.

I had never really been on a "big" ship until I took a ferry from England. And for anyone who has been in rough seas you'll know what I mean when I tell I you it's the most God awful thing you can experience, especially on no sleep, 12 beers and passing a bottle of Jameson's. The ship was raised up and then raised down, one minute you would be climbing up the hallway, and the next running down, there was puke in every hall and on every wall. The bar was a veritable war zone of bodily fluids, spilled beers and broken glasses. Still, incredibly the mood was festive. Well, long story short, PinF got home. He still had to meet with his dad and suffer the ire of having wasted the $1200 he had been loaned three weeks prior to "buy a car". We met in the Plumstead, and I was sweating it kind of. I was with my brother and not eager to hear what I though I was to hear. Blame it on Christmas, blame it on understanding, but my father's first question was "how was London?" He wasn't mad, disapointed yes, mad no. He was quite happy actually to have me back, and I think if I could ask him now he was secretly happy and envious for having traveled so far on so little.

And so it went, we had a few beers and all was pretty much forgotten, my father was like that. It was afterall, only money. I suppose had I spent it on something less meaningful and educational it might have been an issue. This trip had awoken a deep desire to travel more, and see more and I have. PinF returned to Europe two years later and traveled exstensively, eventually living abroad for a year, and then would see parts south and central America on several visits. This all was started twenty years ago this week. How do I know? Sophia and I were looking at passports and we pulled out my first one, and there in the first page was Gatwick, airport December 10, 1985. I was again reminded of this trip when I heard the song for famine relief "Do They Know it's Christmastime" (Feed the World) in my car last week, this song was all the rage on the ferry ride to Holland that Christmas. I've often said that the truest and most pratical education any person can receive is to travel and expose themselves to the cultures, attitudes, and peoples of the world. I will definitely encourage Sophia to study abroad, though it may be no big deal to her when she's ready for college as she's such a seasoned traveler already, not to mention our world shrinks a little more everyday. Still twenty years has passed since I first struck out to see the world and I'm still longing to see more, to that ends PinF is planning a little trip soon that'll take him away for awhile and immerse him many cultures and experiences.......stay tuned.

Walking the Line...still

I had been wanting to see it since it was released. My father and I had both discussed it back in October before he fell ill, each of us eagerly awaiting its premiere and wondering whether or not a relatively unknown actor with no musical background not to mention being of Puerto Rican descent could pull it off. The movie is "Walk the Line" the story of Johnny Cash, oh and he (Joaquin Phoenix) did pull it off. My brother Flash (Chris) had called me several weeks ago, and told me to get ready, it was heavy. He said in many ways you'll see your life kind of flashback when you hear the music as well as witness the metamorphosis of actor into real life performer. He was right. I was deeply affected, probably more so because of the present state we all find ourselves in with my father's ongoing medical struggles. It hurt to watch the movie and know he was "there" and I was here; I was in a comfortable movie-plex with popcorn being allowed to escape the here and now. PinF had mentioned before how he and his brothers were raised in a very musical family, and how Johnny Cash played a prominent role-- like a soundtrack to our youthful memories of our father's musical tastes. This movie brought much more than the life of Johnny Cash to the forefront of PinF's impressions.

Biographical accounts, whether they are presented in literary or cinematic form can sometimes be a sort of mirror to your own life, since what you're reading or as in this case watching, may have taken place during your own life. Johnny Cash's life was hard. His music spoke of the hard times, heartaches, personal demons, and faithful deliverance from a life of deceit, lies, addictions, and pain. Johnny Cash's story is like anyone else's who has ever succeeded or prevailed against overwhelming odds and circumstances, he did it with the love and belief in himself from others, most notably his second wife June Carter. In many ways I believe my father saw something of himself in Johnny Cash, or at least he wanted to. They both were born about the same time and like Johnny, they both served in the military during the tail end of the Korean conflict. My father once related to me that he got hooked on country music in the Army, after he had a chance to see Johnny Cash in Texas while at Fort Bliss, also on the bill was a relatively unknown by name of Elvis Presley. Sure enough in the movie they were playing small venues in small towns throughout the south, so I kind of felt like his story was kind of my father's story as I watched the movie. And as I watched this story play out through the songs of my youth I was transported in many ways back to Drexel Hill during the late 1960's and early 1970's. I remembered us all going to "see" Johnny Cash at the Spectrum in Philadelphia maybe 1971 or so, and how we were seated in the back row up very, very, high and how he appeared as a little back dot on stage. Still his distinctive barritone voice was not depleted by our distance to the stage and although time has diminished many of the details of that night, our being there with my parents that night is still fresh in my memory.

I kept thinking how my dad would have loved to watch this movie, and how the music would have moved him so. Always one thought away was his present lingering condition that never allowed me to truly "escape" into the movie. Still I reasoned that if it makes me think of him that much more then the movie serves us both in different ways. I remember clearly listening to Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison in early 1970, I was eight and the world was probably in many ways as dangerous and angry as it today. We were at war then as we are today, still my childhood awareness of all that swirled about in the world was limited at best. In many ways your "world" as a child is defined by your parents interests, opinions, and actions. We probably could have never imagined then, but as we've grown older my brother's and I all have a special place for Johnny Cash in our hearts, and his music shaped and affected us all in different ways. One thing is for sure, we all know the words by heart to almost every damn Johnny Cash song there is, and I would venture to guess none of us could listen to him without thinking of our father, ever. This fact is clearly illustrated in many forms, whether it be my brothers Scott and Bill performing "I Still Miss Someone" live together, or by the CD collections we all have that contain Johnny Cash. It has even permeated another generation as Sophia has learned the words to Ring of Fire and knows all too well that this is her papi's musical history.

PinF knows not where his father's life is headed these days, as not long after I got out of the movie I received a call that my father had again been placed in intensive care after developing another infection. Options are now running slim, and decisions are becoming harder. I had intially held out hope that me and my dad would watch this movie together while it was still in the theatres, then I thought at the very least we would rent it and watch it together. It's beginning to appear he may in fact never get to see it, for this I am saddened since I know what joy this would have brought to him. When I was last in Philly, I had brought my CD player and some Johnny Cash into his room, and it seemed as if it took away his pain-- if not only temporarily. Johnny Cash and Bill Paynter for me are synonymous, and I cannot think of one without considering the other.

Back in 1989 I had the great fortune to again see my father's hero LIVE when he played of all places- the Alpine Inn on Baltimore Pike in Springfield. My brother Rob had noticed the show advertised whilst driving by one day, immediately he called my father and within hours my father was at the ticket window with $400.00 buying 10 tickets. The venue was to hold maybe 1000 people in a sort of Las Vegas style presentation. Tables would be used in place of chairs or standing room, and cocktail waitresses would be employed. My father had for the first time in a long time all five of his sons together, and quite rightfully we were all seated at the front table in front of the stage center. Though he loved Frank Sinatra with equal passion and zeal, I'm sure this would have had to be considered his ultimate live musical experience. I'm equally sure it was the same for my brothers, I know for myself it certainly ranks right up there with seeing Bob Marley in 1979 from the eighth row of Irvine Auditorium with my life-long friend Tracey Wright-Mchugh. That night we ordered our beers not by the bottle, but instead by the case, as my oldest brother Bill was in attendance with several Army buddies from Fort Bragg and they didn't want to be bothered by waitresses or waiting for their drinks. So there we all sat, seeing an iconic figure of our youth and indeed all of our lives not but 10 feet in front of us. I think you could have heard a pin drop when he walked up to the mic and said "hello I'm Johnny Cash".

The defining memory I have in my mind of that night in April was that of my father and Johnny clutching hands as he finished his last set and said his good-nights to the approvingly cheering, whistling, and clapping crowd. It was a moment in time that seems to be etched in my memory as for so many years they seemed "connected", so it was all so fitting to see my father's hardened hand reach through the throngs of fans and be clutched by Johnny himself. This capped off an evening, if not a life-time of adulation of my father for Johnny, of course it also started another round of embellishment and stories. It was hard to watch this movie, yet I knew I wanted and had to, the songs, the man, and all he stood for and battled against were painstakingly presented in a very raw way. By the time the movie ends and Johnny is standing with his then wife June Carter in front of hundreds of hardened convicts at Folson Prison, you are completely absorbed into the character and feel as though you are watching an old movie clip of the "man in black" himself. Emotions are high right now for all of us--his sons, as we struggle with our father's condition five different ways. This movie was for me a microcosim of our shared musical/life journies as we continue to "walk the line" of our collective lives together through what continues to be uncertain times.

8,760 Hours

Last year PinF had Violet Incredible running through our house on Christmas morning, the whole get-up including the wig, the mask, the black gloves and boots, and of course all the innocence that comes with such an outfit. We saw the movie on opening day in November, and from then on she was obsessed, and I was her Mr. Incredible, we were always joking with each other acting like the family of Incredibles. I was thinking about this as I stood alone next to the stage in the over crowded lunch room of Sophia's school waiting for her class to sing in this year's Christmas pageant. As I stood there I was doing the math, and I came up with 8,760. It sounded like such a large number, yet in my mind it was painfully small. One year equals 8,760 hours, and in this time so much had changed. Sophia just had to have the outfit last Christmas, and like any parent who has ever had to get that "one" gift their child coveted against what at the time seemed like slim odds, I found it. Funny though because this past weekend Sophia and I were talking about last Christmas and I asked her if she wanted to wear her outfit out that day, already knowing the answer of course but wanting to see her reaction. She looked at me half smiling, half embarassed, and said "papi, I can't wear that costume out in public". It was then that I first realized how much difference a year makes in all of us. She was that much more grown, where the youthful and childlike lack of inhibitions are suddenly one day shed. Just as quickly replaced by the early signs of modesty, and suddenly a young girl appears where once was a little baby-girl of a daughter.

Now here I was changed as well, I was at her school attending her Christmas pageant alone; I was OK with this as usual my concern was more for her comfort. I could see her mother on the other side of the auditorium also alone. 8,760 hours. This time last year I was still married; my father was whole in both mind and spirit, and Sophia was doing her Christmas show in front of both her parents. Now my father lies in a hospital bed in a sort of limbo as I am asked daily to make more and more decisions regarding his care, always hoping the decisions I make are for the greater good of both his future and ours-- his son's. Still my salvation is in knowing despite all that has changed Sophia continues to thrive and succeed at all her endeavors and walk in the light of her parent's love. I'm secure in the knowledge that in these 8,760 hours, these were events that I didn't have control of per se, events were occuring that I could only weather, not change. I can only control the outcome of these events in that I try to assure her that though the physical make-up of her surroundings have changed, as well as her parent's locations, the one thing that 8,760 hours hasn't changed is how much pride and joy she brings to me, not to mention how loved she is.

The 8,760 hours since last Christmas have not been easy ones for sure. Ever the optomist that I am, I'm well aware that just as I have made it through the upset and changes of this past year, I'll be that much stronger and past them this time next year. Many questions still surround much of the changes of the past year for my father, my daughter, and me. One thing I am sure of is that the number 8,760 in of itself sounds huge, when in fact it all went by so fast. And like those hours that have flown by, I know that the number represents many more good times and memories than sad ones. Tonight was just one example of this as I watched her come off that stage all excited and proud, and in that one hour I saw in her all the joy she has despite all that has changed in her in these past 8,760 hours. The other change I noticed as we watched the rest of the show is that I'm getting older and she's getting bigger because my shoulders are killing me from her sitting on them so that she could see the show.

PinF has Invited some Friends Over

PinF has added some new and quite frankly, very interesting links. On Wednesday while surfing around the Blogs of the world just to see what's out there I came across an artist from Italy with a Blog that showcases wonderful pieces of art in several mediums. Often times as I've looked out of my own little Blogisphere of friends to see what's beyond the horizon I have found there's a whole lot of shit. This wasn't the case with Michele Omiccioli's site, he's an artist in Italy with a Blog that shows like a mini gallery of his works. I complimented him on his work and we struck up a conversation that 10 years ago would have been impossible. He responded in kind and thanked me for visiting when in fact it was I who should be thanking him, as it's so nice to find quality of any kind on the internet as the medium slowly slips into mediocrity. After exchanging several email's I decided I was impressed enough with his work that he should enjoy a link to PinF in hopes that I could at least do my small part in bringing a little color to my friends and maybe a bit more exposure to his work. Michele responded in kind by informing me he was sending three drawings from Italy!! PinF is a lover of art, and in all forms, so I am eagerly awaiting these pieces and may in fact feature them at a later date here on PinF; I will definitely have them framed an added to my collection. I hope any readers of PinF pay Michele's site a visit and enjoy his on-line gallery. Some of PinF's favorites include: A, B, and C. Check him out and let him know PinF sent you.

Another interesting and almost "art like" link would be that of a gentleman named Tim Campion, through whose Blog you can travel through South America with him as he steadily makes his way from his starting point in Alaska all the way to the southern most tip of the continent, Tierra del Fuego. Oh and did I mention he's doing this trip alone on his BMW GS1200 motorcycle? This is compelling reading as well as fantastic photos as Tim's travels have him connecting with indigenous peoples of the America's all while photo-documenting many areas that most people are unfamilar with. Currently Tim is in Peru where he has posted his latest photos and story, I have also had the good fortune to be in contact with this Blogger as well. To those of you who know PinF, this has long been a dream of his as well, something PinF hopes to do this year on a smaller scale mind you (Central America). Tim's grit and determination are well admired by PinF and I highly suggest readers of this Blog check in on him, cheer him on, and offer kind encouragements for his truly epic adventure. Blogs like these showcase this medium in it's finest; allowing a reader or visitor the opportunity to walk outside of his or her world and outside of their doors to explore what's beyond our horizons. Often times we live in our own insulated worlds so it's nice to remember that there are those who are living life and doing the things many of us only dream or read about. Vicariously living a dream is better than never dreaming at all.

"Christmas IS for Kids"

When PinF was a kid Christmas was always a special time. And as quickly my mother would begin hiding the gifts, my brothers and I would begin to run reconnaissance snooping missions, trying to discover anything we could. My father on the otherhand would seemingly go about his business as usual, going to work and coming home, not really seeming affected by the season. His standard mantra throughout the holiday season was "Christmas is for kids", almost Grinch-ingly begrudging the joy we as children had for the holiday. He was into it and all, just a bit jaded I guess.

Sure enough as I have become a father myself, I can kind of find a kinship with these sentiments, since Christmas has become even more of a commercial barrage than it ever was when I was a kid. Truth be told, if I didn't have a child I'm not sure I'd even have a tree this year. PinF is preparing to celebrate his first Christmas in a long time as a single man again, something I'm actually OK with, instead worrying more for my daughter's welfare as she prepares to go through this holiday season with "her" family split and her parents in two different houses.

So all last this week and last, Sophia has been with me full-time as her mother visits her family abroad, not exactly an easy task, what with preparing lunches, ironing her uniforms for school, doing her homework, cooking dinner, giving baths (taming her wild hair afterwards), and then waking her up, preparing breakfast, doing her hair (I'm getting better everyday). All of this while trying to get myself ready, and timing it all perfect so as to get her to school in time enough to allow me the time to get to work. Phew. The point? We spend hours talking, playing, doing homework, and talking. Lately the majority of our talks have revolved around---you guessed it, Christmas.

So Monday I pick up my little chatty Cathy and she's totally aglow having just gotten her first report card with grades as opposed to the checkmarks that are used in 1st grade. Pride doesn't quite describe how I felt when I saw the 4-A's and 1-B on her report card. My pride was secondary to my joy in seeing her sense of achievement and accomplishment as a result of her study habits and discipline, not to mention the extra work we put into her math studies (B). Coincidentally enough when I picked her up at her friend's parent's that Monday afternoon they had just purchased their tree (Nov. 28), this wasn't going to bode well with my avoiding the onset of the holiday. All the way home she peppered me with "when can we get our tree" , with me responding "maybe this week-end". Truth is, I wasn't really in any hurry to be buying trees when we're still in November, not to mention I just wasn't feeling it as of late. Today I realized this was selfish and narrow-minded, and wasn't taking into account her excitement for the holiday season.

So today I just felt like I should get the damn tree and started remembering what it was like when I was a kid and just how excited you do get, not to mention I was still feeling chuffed over her report card and figured she deserved a treat. As soon as I picked her up I drove straight to the tree stand without saying a word, as we approached she figured out it was "time" and you could see her face lighting up, and the closer we got to the trees the more I was excited to let her pick whichever one she wanted. Afterall, this has been a tough year on everyone-- especially her, so I wanted to see her happy and if she wanted a tree on the last day in November-- than so be it. We then had to buy a stand, lights and a whole host of peripherals. Sophia was beaming, and I was feeling pretty smart myself. When we got home, she did her homework while I cooked dinner and I had a feeling so I asked her to check the TV guide to see what was on, and guess what was? Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Talk a bout a time warp, how weird is it to sit and watch the very show I would watch year in and year out as a child with my brothers. These shows to children are such a part of the whole holiday season. So there we sat eating our ice cream, watching a show I must have seen at least 20 times in my life, with the Douglas Fir wafting throughout the house.

My dad was right, Christmas is for kids. What he didn't tell us was that there's a kid in all of us, no matter how old you are. And so for about an hour I was a kid again with Sophia, remembering the days many years ago sitting in Drexel Hill with my brothers just as she will one day remember these times as her memories. So PinF has officially begun his Christmas season courtesy of the gentle, persistent, prodding of his "kid". PinF is all the more thankful for Sophia having reminded me that Christmas is for kids, and that as adults we have to remember this and not get caught up in our own day-to-day distractions. So bring on The Grinch and Frosty, I'm ready now.

Good Riddance

End of Hurricane Season Party tonight @ PinF's 8PM until ?....... attendance: Mandatory.
As a courtesy, PinF has begun the ticketing process for all fans of PinF. I just woke up and poured some rum in my coffee to start the celebration, yoohoo.

Reaping the Bounty

Ok, so I'm sure everyone's Thanksgiving was delicious. With this in mind, I'm not going to go into any great detail regarding PinF's meal, it was delicious, and the day was full of poignancy and fun. The weather was quite spectacular-- sunny, hot, and just about as beautiful as could be. There's something weird about starting your day looking at chilly spectators lining a parade route at some northeast parade on TV, and then stepping outside in bare feet and shorts. It takes a little getting used too, but believe me once you are, it's almost hard to imagine your holiday any other way. Sophia and I used this weather as a springboard for our entire extended weekend, one that featured the motorcycle quite a bit.

Saturday Sophie and I loaded up and headed out at 10AM for the West Palm Beach green market. One of the nice aspects of Florida in the winter is the variety of outdoor events that take place more regularly because of the cooler weather. Art festivals, musical events, and of course the venerable green markets, an event which harkens back to the day when the farmers located about 30 miles west of the coast would bring their bounty to the street markets. Of course the idea has been polished a bit, probably because of the fact that we're two miles from Palm Beach island, still there are the mom and pop farmers alongside the nouveau "goatcheese" dealers and florists, all of which make for a nice little market. These little markets spring up in every community from October to April, just in time to capture the flowing dollars of our neighbors to the north while also complimenting the almost spring-like winter weather.

Of course along with the farmers, bakers, florists, and other agricultural tenants come other "lesser" known purveyors of goods and services. These are the one's that make the market, they give it color and fun. Take for instance the old man playing the flute...people don't realize that this was integral part of agriculture back in the day, as the farmers didn't have jam boxes back then. These men were the "charmers" playing to get the fields to grow I suppose. Sophia and I especially liked when he went into some christmas selections. This guy garnered several dollars from Sophie and I due to his ingenuity and skill, not to mention his ability to really play to his crowd with those christmas favorites.

Moving along we started to notice the decidedly "christmas" feel to the market, as Sophia spied some pine cone christmas trees on a table being sold by a florist. Of course they were crafty and eye catching so I naturally told Sophia to pick "one".......suffice to say I spent twenty minutes at the table while she tried to whittle me down to purchasing three, as she couldn't "pick just one". Eventually she did choose one, and we were free to once again move about in the beautiful sunshiney day......where exactly the "pine-cone christmas tree maker" fits in to the agriculture of yesteryear I'm not really sure.

By now Sophie and I were getting our groove, and after sampling numerous items of cheese, croissants, and other tidbits we were in search of the real Florida. We found it in a very unlikely place in the form of a young man plying his "agriculturally rich" trade on the side walk. His service left very little to purchase, but as he demonstrated I could imagine the farmers of yester-year being motivated to harvest even more bounty. Struggle as I did with the sense of allowing this young man into a "green" market, Sophia seemed to get a bigger kick out of this guy than anyone. He was nothing if not enterprising, his skill was "magic tricks" and he seemed quite nice too, he gave Sophia three card tricks for a dollar.

Just as I began to wonder what type of farmer's market employs card tricks as a featured "service", Sophia and I stumbled upon another highlight of the market. I spotted a dread-locked young man with happy grin and a large mug of coffee, just chilling and feeling no particlar need to "hawk" his goods like the many other vendors. His approach was much more laid back, as he let his artwork speak for itself. I use the term "artwork" loosely, as his work was both art and implement. Following a centuries old craft he constructs various hats and goods from the ever abundant palm fronds found, well-- just about anywhere here in Florida. Still this was a big favorite of PinF and daughter, especially with the little bird add-on that sprouts from the top of the hat. Malcom was from the British Virgin Islands, and his wares were expertly made, unlike some other vendors I could actually imagine a farmworker using his items.

By now the sun was high and hot in the sky, and it was approaching 11:30 AM, Sophia and I had already agreed upon a lunch outside on the promenade surrounding the fountain at Bellagio at City Place but we first had an appointment at Barne's&Noble. Sophie adores the bookstore, again something I thank God for as she has little knowledge of any video games and for good reason. These were banned by act of parental decree some 4 years ago by none other than PinF, as I run a democratic-dictatorship--this is where we openly discuss all issues and I make the final ruling, with I might add-- no room for appeal or input. I've seen the effects of children who sit on a couch all day thumbing away at some fantasy land, so I decided early on that they were banned, and not only for Sophia, but anyone, friend or family that might bring them into my house. Sophia is all the wiser for this decision, and to be honest, she doesn't miss what she's never had. She loves books, and this makes PinF very happy to purchase them for her whenever she wants them. Before heading uptown on the bike we stopped at the fountains of Clematis Street in downtown West Palm where I took this photo. After this Sophia wanted to take a photo of me, so after manning the camera all day I allowed her one shot. We finally headed off to the bookstore and our lunch, something that we were both looking forward to as Bellagio is a great Italian restaurant to just people watch-- not to mention great food.

Sophia and I were able to secure a key table on the plaza, with the giant christmas tree set off to the right of the dancing water fountains. We both reviewed our ride and our day, relishing in all the fun moments and colorful characters we had met. Sophia ordered her standard: penne pasta, butter only with a side of crusty bread and butter. I had the beef carpaciao with mixed greens and fresh shaved parmigano in a balsamic vinegarette. Suffice to say we were both very content, she with her new books and me just relishing the moment. I recognize all too well how my time with her will slip away unseen someday. For now I make a point of trying to savor each little moment and make a fuss out of the ordinary, becuase I know she'll remember the "big moments" of her life, I'm trying to help her remember the simpler one's like today. As we ate we commented on well, everything-- the people, the pigeons who kept begging-- and why we shouldn't feed them, and of course christmas. Still we had other fun to be had, we were on our way to meet her girlfriend Sofia, and go the beach for the rest of the day. Sofia, same name different spelling, has been Sophia's friend since pre-school and she too is bi-lingual, so these two are like two peas in a pod.

The beach was just gorgeous. Blue water, sunny skies, and lots of people. Sophia and Sofia played while I just enjoyed the scene, taking it all in and musing over my holiday weekend. In many ways it was nice not to be home for the holiday surrounded by the demands and pressures that short visits inevitably bring. Of course there is no replacing the familiarity of family and friends, though the longer I stay in Florida the more I realize that "home" is where my daughter and I are, not where my memories are. This is without doubt the hardest aspect of being a PinF during the holidays and recent crisis with my father. My heart is in Florida and my thoughts are in Philly, something I suppose will always be that way. All things considered I can deal with this as life is all about change, something that like the green markets of winter, come and go.

Duncan Hines Sucks (and other truths)

PinF was born on Thanksgiving Day 1962.

Of course my birthday doesn't always fall on the holiday, still Thanksgiving always reminds PinF of his birthday because as a child this is when the birthday hoopla would take place. Growing up with four brothers we usually celebrated Thanksgiving dinner at our house, as road trips with a family would be difficult, not to mention who wants to invite 7 people? As kids I think this was just fine with all of us as we had things to do; football in the street, the parade, ride your bikes and any other activity that celebrated your freedom from school. Of course nothing beat mom's cooking anyway, to look at any of the Paynter boys today you'd never know what finicky eaters we all were as kids.

The normal attendance at my parent's home for the Thanksgivings of my youth was always my father's mother, mom-mom. An incredible woman who herself was a nurse for fifty+ years right up until her death at age 74 in 1981. I think of this often as I've watched my father respond to the nurses attending him and have wondered if he feels just a bit more nearer his mother. Though now as a parent myself, I can see more objectively both the blessings and the curses of this woman, though curse is probably too harsh a word. She was loving too a fault, which usually meant she stuck her nose where often times it didn't belong when it came to issues of ether of my parents reprimanding us kids. This of course would cause friction between my parents and so on. So the Thanksgivings of my youth are peppered with the inevitable family conflict. But that's family right? And isn't it usually the most emotion packed holidays when tensions and troubles seem to rise like a souffle? So this is what you'd have: the doting grandmother, a lifelong artist friend Mina Smith from Philadelphia, and either my mother's twin sister's or occasionally her oldest most controlling sister, the one we all have-- Aunt Mary. So put all these people in a bag- shake for 5 minutes, open and distribute around the dining room table, sprinkle 5 boys seperated by 11 years and you have the perfect recipe for the typical Thanksgiving. These are funny memories that I know all brothers remember, in different ways mind you, but for better or worse, they're OUR special bonding and shared pasts of years gone by. This is one of the special dividends you get with siblings, especially grouped close in age-- you all get a history of your entire lives, the funny the bad, the embarassments, the triumphs, and everything else in between.

My parent's were fun parents, whereas some people might have felt overwhelmed with the thought of taking 5 boys in a car downtown for the parade, they didn't. We all would go, this is without doubt an experience all children should enjoy at least once in their live's. I've already brought my own daughter to the parade in Philly twice. Nothing prepared you for a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner like the chilly air of the parade, added to this the warmth of the fireplace surrounded by family and friends and you a memorable day. My mother for all her skills in the kitchen would inevitably bake my "birthday cake" every year, I say this in quotations because just as inevitably, something would always happen to that damn cake. I know if my mom is reading this now she's cracking up and smiling ear to ear, because my mom's nothing if not able to laugh hardest at herself. A trait learned I'm sure, by doing nothing less than living life head on and taking all it has to offer. I am very thankful for her indeed. God bless her becuase every year she would "doctor" the cake before presenting it, and every year there would be the obligatory apology for this year's "problem" . I'm cracking up recalling this now.....and if I'm being honest, and I AM, I clearly remember being 7, 8, or 9 years-old, and lying like a child does when he doesn't want his parent's to know that the kid knows there's no Santa Claus. I would say things like "it's ok Mom" , or "It's great, really it doesn't taste burnt?" So concerned was I with hurting her feelings during an obviously pressured filled day, that the cake's quality wasn't what was important. So as it often does in life, the holiday meal preparation would inevitably fall apart at its weakest point--this was usually the Duncan Hines "link" of the chain. Normally the "incidents" were always the same culprits, they would usually include-"left in the oven too long", or baked without one of the few ingredients, in an absent minded moment of confusion. My mother and I have laughed long and loud over these memories, and sitting here now I chuckle as I recall the debacles of my "cakes". Though I know too, that I wouldn't have had it any other way. This takes nothing away from meal though, they were always perfectly delicious- especially that corn casserole.

My phone was ringing at 8AM today with no caller ID. As I have the last few weeks, I steel myself with every Philadelphia area code call, odd hour-of-the-day calls, and the one's with no caller ID. I was just preparing the coffee, checking the bird, and planning my day when it rang. Sophia was yet to wake and I was tuning in the parade for her. The caller identified himself as Dr. Jones, he assured me first that his call was not related to any change in my father's status. He was calling to inform me that my father was scheduled to have a cardiac procedure to clear a major artery already precariously blocked; I being the Power of Attorney he was in need of my authorization. As he droned on about the "percentages" of complications, the possible outcomes, and a host of other technical, yet necessary information regarding William Paynter patient, as opposed to Bill Paynter my father, I patiently listened. He was nothing if not the most thorough man I've spoken to, and his tone was one of genuine care and professional confidence. He asked me if I had any questions and I mustered one or two foggy queries. With that it was done. He will be taken at 9AM tomorrow for yet another procedure, all which I must keep asking myself whether I am making the right choices. As of now, I am. He's making progress and I must allow for him every chance to build on his progress. Still it's difficult.

PinF was extremely blessed the other day to receive birthday wishes from all over the globe, in the form of email's, phone calls, and cards. Still the one thing that I realized more than any other, was that this was the first year of my entire life that I have not spoken to my father on my birthday. This call this morning had the same effect on me, it made me realize that as much as my life is "happening" right now with regards to planning mine and Sophia's dinner, watching the parade, and planning a beach trip, he is "there". Here the man that has been at the "head of table" of so many of those dinners of my past is now spending his Thanksgiving where he did 43 years ago waiting for me and my mom--in the hospital. It kind of brought the whole situation to the forefront to start my day with a surgeon, an obviously dedicated man, as he was calling me from just outside my father's room from the nurse's station on Thanksgiving holiday too. In one respect you want to humanize the process and make him understand that this is the man who carved so many turkeys, held me up for the parade, and threw the long bomb to us on the field. But you know you can't. That is just emotions of the moment rising when you hear the cold, calculated, language of medical reasoning, even as I know it is not possible for this Doctor to see your emotions, love, or yearnings for the person you know, to return.

So it's on with the show, as I'm sure my father would want it no other way. I have a little girl to chew my ear all day about her Christmas list, how lucky her cousins are that they live in Philly and can go to the parade, and how she wants snow too. Of course I could have never imagined reliving the summers of my youth on a beach Thanksgiving Day, but to her this is what she knows, so the uniqueness is lost on her. Little does she know her cousins would trade places in heatbeat to be going to the beach to make a sand castle while the turkey bastes. That's the funny part of life, how as children(and some adults), we always want what we don't have, when in actuality she has an 80* day without a cloud in the sky to enjoy in her bathing suit in the sand. My father loves the beach, and I shall remember him today as I look out at this beautiful day and I'll say a little prayer instead of running all the medical odds throught my mind that his Doctor most thoroughly started my day with. Still in many ways I'm much more thankful than I would have imagined a few weeks ago, my father has a fighting chance and no one's giving up on him, for this he has himself to thank . I'll miss my brothers, mother, and various other guests today as they gather in Manayunk, though I'll be in touch by phone, and I'll kind of be there by memory too.

As for right now, PinF can smell the bacon calling him and my coffee mug is empty. Sophia lies behind in me bed watching the parade schreeching with excitement of her pop star favorites and complaining "how they're soo lucky!!" to all the spectators. As I look outside, there's a cobalt-blue sky with a brilliantly unobstructed sun, temperatures are rising and so is PinF's yearning to get to the beach and really be so thankful for so very much. That's today's story, Thursday November, 25 2005 in the life of PinF.

God Bless All.

Wise not Old

Tuesday, November 22 2005

You may feel you are in the right place today--everything just automatically falls into place. All the numbers add up and there are no complaints from the public, especially if you are working in a Complaint Department or in an Employee Department. Money benefits come your way today. This is a nice day that should just flow along. Enjoy the company of your loved ones this afternoon. Meditate to relax your mind. This evening you will do well in activities that include children, young people and your home and surroundings. You could feel real support and harmony at this time for circumstances and those around you. You are compassionate. You also enjoy serving others, you worry about their welfare. Let others serve you for a change.


If you look carefully, you'll see the passing sailboat, further proof that Paynter-truly-is-in-Florida. Today is my birthday-- no fanfare just a little dinner with Sophia. Who's believing 4? years ago today my poor mother was stuck in Delaware County Memorial on Thanksgiving day having her own butterball. I've always felt mothers should join in on their children's birthdays as if it were theirs too, I mean they did all the work. So happy anniversary of my birth to my mom, and happy birthday to me. Another year, jeez where do they go?

Giving Thanks

I've been back in Florida almost a week now and I am only now starting to feel as though I'm really "here", still I give thanks. Separating my concerns for what has obviously been an ongoing and worrisome situation back in Philly, and trying to focus on Sophia and my job has not been easy. Added to this equation the upcoming over-hyped, hyper commercialized, holiday season blitz and it's enough to make you wanna retreat to an little island somewhere. Of course this isn't an option either, since all of my concerns and responsibilities would be hovering over my umbrella on the beach as I enjoyed my ice cold Corona.

Arriving home was good, Sophia and her mother came to Pick me up from Palm Beach airport. Owing to the fact that my bag had not yet appeared on the carousel, Sophia jumped out of the car and came inside to wait with me as her mami did another pass around the airport. There's nothing like the adoration of your child to make things seem better as she clung to me like lint from a dryer. For this alone I gave thanks. We talked about school, her field trip, oh and her math test was a proud topic as well. Of course what she really wanted to know was what had I brought her, as I always pick up something for her when I travel.

Sophie had patiently waited for me to see the premiere of Zathura, since we always do movies together, she had even declined seeing it with friends until I arrived- funny kid. After two days of work I had a weekend to finally give her the attention she deserved and that I missed. Friday night started out with another premiere: Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire. Now PinF isn't that big a fan of HP movies, still it seemed the thing to do with all the buzz surrounding the movie so off we went. As we arrived Sophie and I noticed all the kids dressed as different little characters, it was as if HP was to kids what Rocky Horror was to adults. If I saw one more kid in round spectacles waving a wand....thank God she's not into that. The movie was decent, the special effects mesmerizing, we ate popcorn and Goobers-- our standard fare for movies. Again as I sat there with her I gave thanks for such simple pleasures.

We continued on with our weekend, a rainy one but warm. Started Saturday with a pancake breakfast and some music. Then we did something I hadn't done for a long time, we broke out some magazines and glue sticks and made a collage laughing and joking all afternoon. It was pretty good actually, as she is a creative little girl. We used some old Philadelphia magazines so of course the collage had a Philly slant to it, as she considers herself a "Philly girl" which is kind of funny too. As the rain pounded the windows we spent the day just relaxing with our project, both us content in the moment and each other's company. Moments like these make me give thanks too. The afternoon was the highlight as we went to the Publix and bought all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and spent the rest of the day baking, this was fun. It brought back warm memories of my own childhood, when I too would get to eat the cookie dough from the bowl. Funny how in life there really are constants to draw memory from, and toll house cookies are one of them. No matter how long ago you made them, the recipe guarantees the same exact taste that you remember. Give thanks for this.

Sunday we awoke and went to mass after which Sophie went to Catetchism class in preparation for her Holy Communion. This allowed me a power hour to get the Sunday paper and peruse over it while enjoying a Stabucks caramel machiato. Sophia loves Sunday school, I mean really loves it. Funny because I can remember my brothers and I skipping St. Charles mass and Sunday school in Drexel Hill and then taking our collection money and buying penny candy. From there we would go to the "trestle" that carried the trolleys over the creek and hide out, making each other laugh with mouthfuls of candy. Ultimately we would then devote a certain amount of time to getting our stories straight before heading home for Sunday breakfast. That she loves Sunday school I am also thankful for, mystified--but thankful just the same.

Sunday was rainy too. Weekends like these begin to cut into a parent's imaginative creativity. It is because of this that I give thanks on days like these that I am parent to one child, and not three or four. When we returned from church I promised Sophie I would take her to Build-a-Bear to get a new holiday outfit for her bear. We were both feeling the slight effects of cabin fever so it was actually nice to visit a mall for once, something PinF does not normally enjoy. After "bathing" the bear and dressing her in her new outfit there was another issue to tend to. I had brought Sophia to have her ears pierced in August, she naturally chose the cubic zirconia "bling" from Claire's. For anyone who has never been to Claire's, well let's just say it's more of a mami/daughter place as it was next to impossible to get her out of the store, it's also quite simply put, nivana for young girly girls. Yet here I was heading back into the belly of the beast because Sophia had taken one earing out and had waited a few days before putting it back in. The young lady informed me the hole had filled in, ouch. This meant a re-piercing and Sophia wasn't really down with that. We got it done anyway with the promise/bribe of a small binge shop in Claire's if she complied. She put on a brave face and got through it, promising me that she would not take out these earings until Valentines, at which time the holes would be a bit more permanent. Her consternation at having to re-pierce the ear was lightened up when she told me that I didn't know what it felt like, at which I revealed I did, and that I had once pierced my ear. She's still asking me questions about this. I gave thanks that she got through it.

We arrived home and each of us quickly changed into our Eagles paraphanalia; she in her pink hat and pink Eagles shirt, me in my green Eagles hat. We watched the first few minutes, and then she bailed, choosing instead to work on the computer. The Eagles of course let us down again though we each shrugged it off and continued our weekend. Dinner was meatballs and spaghetti followed by the chocolate chip cookies. Homework was a snap, and then it was bath time and off to bed by 8:45. I spent the last hour ironing her uniform and making her lunch savoring the laid back weekend I had with a funny little seven year-old, while marveling at all we had accomplished, though none of what we did ever seemed forced. I turned the lights out and made sure she had her blanket on, and as I looked in on her I thought of my father and how child-like he too seemed and I wondered how he was. I gave her a kiss and gave thanks for the wonderful little person I was given.

As we head into the Thanksgiving week it's so easy to get caught up in the day to day grind, worrying about what we don't have. The funny thing about Americans is exactly that, we worry about what we don't have, whereas most of the world worries about what they don't have, but really need. We are such a pampered bunch of commercial consumers that we forget our blessings, and focus more on the "stuff" in life. Case in point: the mall yesterday, how obscene has Christmas become that a little after Halloween you begin to be bombarded with the commercial blitz. In a era of families whose father's, son's, and mother's, are soldiers dying far from home, and hundreds of thousands of people are still displaced by natural calamities, it's almost sinful to worry about what you haven't got. I'm just as guilty mind you, though weekends like the one I just had do tend to draw me back into what's really important and what I ought to be really thankful for. And so I am, having just been through the ongoing process of my father's medial condition and then to have that contrasted by the spirit of my daughter's zest for life. I will try to give thanks for the simple, more obvious blessings, and care less for what I have not got that I do not need.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you from PinF.