The Good, the Bad, and the Unfortunate

My faith in Kirk has been rewarded! Armed with new "professional style" clippers, he gave me a wonderful haircut Monday evening. Conspicuously absent was the bottle of wine that played such a prevalent part in my last "home hairdo rendezvous." Thanks Kirk - it looks and feels great!

I bet if I lost about twenty pounds, grew six inches, whitened and straightened my teeth, started taking steroids, and had plastic surgery to deepen my dimples, I could be a real Adonis.

Just like Maria in "West Side Story," I feel pretty.

Unfortunately, I also feel disgusting. I had to go to the dentist yesterday; broken tooth. I'm not at my best in the chair. I drool. Alot.

It seems like there was an inordinate amount of cotton an aparatus in my mouth for this procedure. Was the good dentist punishing me for delaying his holiday festivities? Or for neglecting to brush my teeth after a two hot dogs with mustard and sauerkraut lunch?

Or was it just because I drool so much?

The Cat's Away....

And the mice will play! The Pokrinchak's are in New Hampshire, continuing their Christmas celebration with Kirk's family. I think I'll turn up the thermostat. (I've already moved my car into the garage.)

I need some dish detergent; I bet Julie has some. I'll just head upstairs and get it; maybe get all of the glasses and silverware they've "borrowed" over the years too.

Play time; now, where are those little Dallas Cowboy figures Miles got for Christmas? I'll give a whole new meaning to "Dirty Santa."

Mmmm; it's getting a little warm in here. I could turn down the heat, but I think I'll just put on my bathing suit. (I've become accustomed to warm Christmases.)

Wait, I can't leave you with that image burning your retinas.

Hey, is there anything more precious than three grown sisters in matching pajamas?



Merry Christmas. I hope the new year brings you peace and joy.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The day before the day before Christmas. Anticipation at a frenzied peak; family arriving from the left coast in 12 to 48 hours.
I planned to celebrate the season with a thorough gospel of what Christmas means to me, but..... There's a Reno 911 marathon on; gotta go.

I think it was Jesus who said "love yourself; love one another." (I may be paraphrasing, but it's a great idea.)

Enjoy the season. Enjoy family and friends.

Count your blessings; use your toes.

LIVE FROM NEW MILFORD, IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT!

.....Hosted by Geeg and Pop, with special guests, Miles and Landon. We were babysitting and we had big plans. (No, Mema, I was not planning on grilling Gee.)

Take out food, a movie, and a sleepover. That was the plan.

Landon was up for it; Miles, not so much. He hasn't been feelng well. Still, we gave it a shot. Chinese food was naturally a hit with Landon. Miles, not so much. Landon munched on sweet and sour chicken with white rice, including seconds. Miles picked; he really only wanted cookies with paper in them, and a piece of birthday cake.

We got "Horton Hears a Who" for our after dinner entertainment; rented it the very first day it was available. This was gonna be big! Landon was into it. Miles, not so much. He wanted to watch "Sesame Street Christmas" (available any old time from the library) instead. Or, maybe we could play race cars.

Geeg pulled out our sofa bed and settled in to watch Horton. We all did for a while, but Miles soon opted out. He and I headed to my room to watch Sesame Street. Landon gleefully bounced from one room to another.

Miles gave Horton another chance, but the confusing plot was lost to him, having misssed the crucial opening segments. (What's a who? Who lives on a speck?)

So, he and I played race cars for a while.

Time for bed. Like Goldilocks, there were some difficult decisions to make. We tried the pull out couch. Too soft.

We tried Geeg and Pop's bed. Too high.

The boys preferred the comfort of their own beds.

Fine. Geeg put Landon in his crib. I climbed into bed with Miles for a while. (He still wasn't feeling well.)

Saturday night with Geeg and Pop was kind of a bust, but then it happened.....

"Pop," Miles whispered angelically.

"What Buddy?" I asked, my ears dancing to the melodic tone of his voice.

"How 'bout some music?"

"Sure," I said, and turned on his CD player.

After just a few moments, again Miles said "Pop?" (My ears were still dancing.)

"What Buddy?"

Sweet and soft, he said "you're hurting me."

I'm pretty sure he wasn't talking about an emotional hurt; it's okay for me to sleep with my grandson, right?

I guess my massive bulk was pressuring his frail, but masculine body.

"Sorry Miles. Sweet dreams." I'm outta here.

And so it goes............

Hey, let's play good news, bad news.

First the bad news - Giants lost to the Cowboys last night.

Good news - I'm not complaining about it at the water cooler at work this morning!

More good news - Kudos to Geeg for walking the walk; volunteering at the local homeless shelter last night.

Better news - She didn't have to stay; no homeless women in New Milford last night. I hate to sleep alone and, as you know, it's always all about me.

'Tis the Season

Lots to ponder during this festive holiday season. Naturally, I am even more aware of my blessings during this time, but I find myself reflecting on some of the gifts I have received and truly appreciated in the past.

I'm not sure of the occasion; it was probably a Father's Day. Julie gave me a framed photo of my father. Unexpected and thoughtful; I was touched. My father was 72 years old when Julie was born. He was over 80, and a stroke survivor when he moved in with us. My kids never really knew him as a young or even middle aged man. My mother was always the fun grandparent, playing games, telling jokes, giving out candy, hugs.

So I am very pleased that my father's memory is kept alive; the picture is in our China closet.

Thank you Julie.

I clearly remember the occasion of the gift I most cherish from Sara. She wrote me a heartfelt letter shortly after my mother's funeral. I think that's when I started treating Sara as an adult.

This may not have been sent as a gift, but it was received as one.

Thank you Sara.

Several years ago, Amy began sending her mom flowers at school on December 5, the birthday of Amy and Sara. How thoughtful. I suppose this gift is not specifically for moi, but whatever is done for my better half is done for me. (The flowers were sent home this year, where I graciously received them.)

Thank you Amy.

My mother was the most gracious recipient of gifts I have ever known. (Her wailing response to the receipt of a bathroom vanity is legendary among the Guastellos.) I've never been that good at it, but the gifts I have chronicled here are still appreciated and I am so pleased that my children agree with the philosophy that it is better to give than to receive.

Having said that, it may seem contradictory that we are attempting to minimize the gift aspect of Christmas this year.

Not so. We don't need a holiday to exchange gifts, and, while flowers aren't cheap, the expense of gifts is irrelevant. It is, of course, the thought that counts. During this holiday season we have already enjoyed the warm hospitality of John and Sara's home. Julie and Kirk are opening their house to all on Christmas day. As for Amy, her presence is always her presents.

Geeg of course has given me the greatest gifts of all. Three girls, three pearls. Or, is it matching pearls and a jewel?

THE OTHER GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD

Julie's birth is not the subject of this entry; second child (birth) syndrome. (Another girl? Just one? Okay great! Let's go home.) Still, she is a major character in this tale.


Saturday, December 6, 2003. Our youngest daughter is expecting a baby, a boy, in a couple of weeks. There's a blizzard outside, but she suffers from cabin fever. The wacky expectant parents brave the wintery mix and head for 5 o'clock mass. Spaghetti dinner with Mom, Dad, and Sara, then back home to patiently wait for Miles to arrive.

Except Miles wasn't so patient.

The phone rang in the middle of the night. "It's time," Kirk said, "we're headed to the hospital."
Sara had stayed at our house that night. (It was still our house back then.)

"What's up?" Mom and Sara both needed to know. It was my extreme pleasure to announce that Julie was ready to have her baby.


We were ready too. Lessons learned from being a lousy expectant father, I was totally enthralled with my iminent role as "Pop." Mom was anxious to use her ultra cool nickname of "Gigi!" Julie is famous in our family for, among other things, her perfect smile. But it is Sara's radiant grin, upon hearing my announcement, that is engraved in my memory. "Aunt Sara" was primed. I'm so happy she was with us for this momentous occasion; wish Amy could have experienced it as well.
We met Julie and Kirk at the hospital. Kirk was cool. (Not.) Ever the fashion plate, he was looking oh so dapper in his hospital scrubs.

My youngest daughter, however, was fully prepared to be what she always wanted to be: Mommy. (Holy crap! My baby is having a baby!)

But, it turned out it wasn't precisely Miles' time; one more day of baking in the oven was required. No problem; Geeg & Pop didn't want to go to work on Monday anyway. (Neither did Sara.)

Monday, December 8, 2003. Hello Miles. I love you. We all love you. Hope you enjoy the center of the universe. Again, nothing wil ever be the same. Use your super powers carefully. God bless the family Pokrinchak.

As the song says, Bruce Springsteen was "born to run." I like to think that Kate Smith was "born to be wild." Me; I was born to "Pop."

And I'm lovin' it!

THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD

Friday, December 5, 1975; the due date for our first born. We were expecting a (as in 1) baby. The morning was uneventful; I went off to work at Read's Department Store. Christmas season; a busy day was anticipated. And it was.
I got a call from my bride around noon. It was time. I went back to my desk to put some things in order. It was, afterall, the Christmas season and the personnel department was very hectic.
But the wonderful, mothering women in the office pushed me out the door. Priorities!
I rushed home, nervously kissed my bride, and we headed out to Danbury Hospital to...............wait.
Naturally, we got lots of attenion from doctors and nurses. I did lots of pacing and throwing up. The plan was to put our lamaze training to work and expand our family via natural childbirth. I was scheduled to be in the delivery room, the primary inspiration of my gastric issues.
But by early evening, our plans were changed. My child's birth was not going to be natural and I would not be in the delivery room. (Thanks be to God.)
The doctor's assured me everything was fine. They sent me to the waiting room, appropriately nicknamed "Pop's Corner." In about 20 minutes they would call me, they said, to see my new baby. I went and watched a Knick's game.
More than 20 minutes passed. I think more than an hour passed, but I was okay. The Knicks were winning.
I should note that I was not a very good expectant father; one of the few regrets in my life. Instead of basking in the miracle that was going to happen, I spent 6 months fretting over the responsibility I was about to encounter. I sucked at expectant fatherhood.
I suppose I could have reflected on that while waiting in "Pop's Corner," but I didn't. The Knicks were winning. But, as time passed, I did get a little nervous. Then the phone rang. My life changed forever.
"Mr. Gasestilla," someone was saying, "come and see your children."
"WHAT?" I asked?
"Congratulations, Mr. Gasestilla, your wife gave birth to twin girls!"
I immediately turned to the other waiting man in the room, and asked him his name.
Maybe this call was for him. No, his name was Smith or Jones or something. The call was for me.
I was completely bewildered as I headed to the delivery room. I didn't get very far; I had no idea where I was. I remember the pediatrician coming to get me. The first thing he did was apologize. He had successfully predicted the day my baby would born; he just didn't know how many would be born! Absolutely amazing!
Regrettably, I don't remember much about the initial introduction to my daughters. I was completely stunned. Regrettably also, their mother was fully doped with whatever the drug of choice was in those days.
I do remember going to the pay phone in the hall and calling my mother. When I heard her voice I suddenly realized how incredibly thrilled I was to give her this wonderful. delightful, overwhelming news. I burst into tears, tears of unadulterated joy; the most emotional moments of my life.
I was now the father of 2 little girls; Amy and Amy's sister. Whatever responsibilites I had been concerned about were now doubled. The anxiety doubled, bills doubled. Doubts doubled.
And none of it mattered.
I was the father of 2 precious little girls.

Words fail me. I can't describe the euphoria I felt that night. This morning, the thirty third anniversary of that glorious day, I'm feeling it again.

Happy Birthday, Amy & Sara.

Who Am I?

Super star Beyonce recently released a new album featuring an alter ego. In an effort to remain current and relevant, I too have created an alter ego: Poop, the world's most cantankerous grandpa.



Poop doesn't play trains with his grandchildren; he ruins and savages the track layouts. If he plays Checkers or Uno, he always wins and taunts his opponents. His favorite outdoor game is vicious no holds barred tackle football. He is Poop, the world's most cantankerous grandpa.


He is boisterous and obnoxious at karaoke and dance parties, and encourages the same behaviour from other would be wallflowers. He throws balls at his grandchildren. (Hmmm...)


When he babysits, he makes the boys watch Jerry Springer or Daily Mass. If he takes them to the grocery store, he doesn't buy them donuts. He buys them pomegranetes. He answers all childish questions with "I know you are but what am I?" (Or quickly and almost incoherently, "little baby says what?")


He tells his grandsons that the Tooth Fairy rips teeth from their bloody mouths and Santa Claus died after he ate a rancid Easter Bunny.




He insinuates that Old McDonald has an unnatural relationship with his sheep. (EeI,eeI..OH!)



(That's ba-aaaad.)


He will eventually teach them that it is okay to say "crap" to anyone except teachers, nuns, and priests. (Not that those people can't be full of crap....)





He is Poop, the world's most cantankerous grandpa.
He only shows up on rare occasions. Maybe after a Giants loss, if he misses his nap, or if he had tuna casserole for dinner.


No, I'm just kiddin'. (Remember, I'm a kidder.) Poop never shows up, or at least he doesn't stay long. Pop's grandsons don't inspire that kind of behaviour. They only bring smiles, giggles and pride to Pop. S0 funny, so smart, so adorable............for now.


Maybe when they get older, they'll be somewhat obnoxious, and Poop will evolve. But I really don't think so. I will always love them for better or worse. With parents like Julie and Kirk, their worse won't be so bad.


Still, if the boys were a little less charming, it might make it easier for Geeg and Pop to stay in Florida for longer stretches of time. (Always looking for the silver lining.)


Have a Happy Thanksgiving.

LANDON'S BIG ADVENTURE

Geeg and Pop thought they were beginning a new tradtion a couple of year's ago; taking our grandsons out for their birthday when they turned 3. We had a wonderful time with Miles that year, and took him out last year as well.

Unfortunately, we didn't think this new tradition through; we don't plan to be here in January when Landon turns 3. Oh, oh.

Landon was recently perusing some family pictures and saw evidence of our celebrations with just Miles. He wanted to know when it was his turn. Geeg and Pop fretted over this for a while, then realized we don't need no stinkin' birthday to celebrate with our boys!

So, with Julie's permission, we planned on taking each of they boys out, individually, for no other reason than we love them. (Awwww.)

Controversey immediately erupted when we tried to decide who to take first. Miles solved the dilemma by deciding that he didn't want to go out with us. Okay, we'll go out with Landon first. (Miles has since changed his mind and is already asking us to set a date for his big night out.)

Wednesday night we fought the wind and cold, and headed for Brickhouse. Landon, the classic second child, was casual; not dressed to the nines as Miles had been for his first night out with

G & P. No matter, he was cute as a button.

Dinner started out with a toast to our favorite second grandson.

Scintilating conversation followed.

Yada, yada, yada......Wine and milk, pizza and grinders, a charming little boy. Ice cream for dessert. What a man, what a man; what a mighty fine man. Thanks, Landon, for a wonderful evening.

Not Much to Say

My first blog in over a week; not much goin' on. Geeg and I continue our lives in the quiet desperation that is retirement.


NOT!
SNAP!


BOOLYAH!

Life remains better than good; I simply haven't had much inspiration lately. Not that this is a competition, but the ever prolific Julie has nothing else to do all day but chronicle the delightful adventures of her growing princes. Still, I can't believe she has yet to mention the spectacular train layouts the boys and I have made.








Or our Monday routine; Julie and Kirk go to the gym (or do they go to breakfast?)early in the morning and leave the boys in our care. For hours. And we're not allowed to turn on the tv.

My children, as much as I adore them, are beyond the age of cute episodes for Daddy to exploit.
Plus, I suspect they hold back information for fear it will reach this stage.

Anything new that Geeg and Pop do these days is usually related to the aging process. Any disclosure of such activity would fall into the category of "too much information."

I'm not complaining. Sometimes I dream that I have to get up and go to work. You can't imagine the euphoria when I realize it was just a dream; that I am free to enjoy the 'slice of heaven' that is my typical day.
So, as we approach this joyous holiday season (closely followed by a return to 'south heaven'), I continue to enjoy the simple life.

I scour all grocery store flyers for the best bargains. (We're having t-bone steaks tonight; $3.99/lb!)
I meticulously try to average better than 45 mpg on every car ride.
I surf the web, trying to find the best deal on the best GPS money can buy on a pension budget.
I connive to beat the phone company; switching plans, investigating alternatives. (Tracfone?)
I rediscover the library! I've already removed 2 dvd's from my Netflix cue; borrowed them for free from my new favorite place.

And so it goes. I simply do not have much to say or write about, and past attempts at fillers were unanimously ignored or criticized. (Man goes into a bar...) My hair does not look particularly funny these days; no need for an updated self portrait. ( I did recently give myself a trim with one of those haircutting combs you may have seen in 'Dr Leonard' catalogs you may get in the mail. No comments from the local peanut gallery, so I guess my 'do looks ok. I got a few comments on my new walking outfit; shorts over sweats, but nothing particularly outrageous.)



Yada, yada, yada, the simple life goes on. I wholely endorse and reccommend it.







P.S. Hold off on the cantankerous responses regarding my description of Julie's day; I was just kidding. I, better than anyone, recognize the miracles she (and Kirk) perform day after day. I'm a kidder; I kid.

CONSPIRACY THEORY

It is common knowledge that the media had a huge role in the election of the Democratic presidential nominee, Barack Obama. Not so much radio and tv - every Limbaugh caricature is offset by the Oberman's, spewing half truths and flame throwing innuendo; but the liberal press, who exploited the segment of the population that can read.

However, I suspect the Republican party also conspired to sway the election. I think they realized that no one person can resolve the issues this nation faces in a time frame that our impatient citizens will accept. I think the Republicans tossed the Democrats the hot potato, expecting them to hold it for only 4 exasperating years.



I think they threw the election.

How else do you explain Sarah Palin?







Time for the donkeys to play defense; the elephants can remain offensive.
(Relax; it's just blog rhetoric.)

What a country, and I'm tickled pink to be here!


In a parallel universe, I live in Toronto, Canada. I am still working. I take the bus into town where I sell Lazy Boy furniture. I live in an apartment. I don't think I am married.

I don't own a grill. I don't have a pool. I don't go to, or even think about a house on the beach. I've never been to Vancouver; never been on a sea plane. I am still consumed by baseball. I enjoy Canadian football. Sometimes I throw things.
Still, I've got all my limbs, all of my senses. My mind functions.
I love the Canadian National Anthem; I enjoy the benefits of socialized medicine. The accents of my friends continues to charm.

CONGRATULATIONS

The phone rang early this morning; Geeg answered it. Based on the portion of the conversation that I heard, I determined that Sara was on the other end of the line. Towards the end of the call, Geeg congratulated her. I immediately assumed that Sara had gotten a promotion. (I knew she wasn't announcing an engagement; Geeg's feet were still on the ground.) Because I am at the center of the universe, because everything is about me, I decided that Sara's promotion meant an expensive Christmas present for me. Congratulations Sara!

In fact, Geeg congratulated Sara for successfully voting today. I'm not sure how I benefit from that, but I agree that congratulations are appropriate. It really is a big deal.


Politics aside, this is an historic vote; one that will result in the election of either an African-American president or a female vice president. We've come a long way baby, and I give credit to my generation. (I also credit my generation for creating the best music ever and developing a rebellious style of appearance and behavior that is cheerful and effective. I apologize to future generations that were left only with disco, rap, and tatoos to express themselves with. But, I digress.............)


I can't say that I am enamored with the political process. Candidates are so polished and rehearsed; it's difficult to know if you are buying the product or the packaging. Still, we do have a choice and an opportunity to make an educated decision.

So, congratulations to all of you that took advantage of this opportunity to, perhaps, change and hopefully improve the world.

Let's start this improvement by abolishing gansta rap music.

Julie - clean up your IPOD!

Bon Apetit

We saw a heron eat a fish on the beach one day last week. He ate it whole, like a snake eats a rat. That's just not right. I guess he got the nourishment he needed, but a fresh seafood dinner should be savored.

Who do I have to call to right this wrong? Let's get this heron some dentures and a bib so he can enjoy his next feast. Marion - please call Eleanor; maybe she has some D.C. connections with Mother Nature.

I want to throw a dinner party for this heron, but I'll need some help.

Amy, you live on the glamorous west coast; invite some stars to join us. See if Lawrence FISHburne is available.

Julie, you have royalty in your family; see if the Prince of WHALES can join us.

Sara, will you coordinate games and entertainment? I'm thinking sCRABble while we dance to music from SEAL and Hootie and the BlowFISH.

Geeg, please plan on providing your famous TUNA casserole.

Holy MACKERAL, this is going to be fun!

Anybody got any ideas? Don't CLAM up on me now!

Welcome Home

We came home from our Canadian vacation on a Sunday afternoon, several weeks ago. Kirk was outside with the boys, playing and doing chores.. When we got out of our car, Miles ran to me with a huge smile on his face, and jumped into my arms.

I didn't write about it before, because I thought perhaps this "spontaneous" welcoming had been orchestrated. If it was, I didn't want to know. It was a glorious treat to come home to!

We came home from Florida just a few days ago, early in the evening. Landon was awake in his crib. He was happy to see us, but he played it cool. It was time for bed.

Miles was already sleeping.

We arranged for Julie and Kirk to go exercise early the next morning. They wouldn't see Miles before Miles saw us; there would be no orchestration this time.

I was at our dining room table when Miles came down the next morning, sleepy eyed. He didn't run to me, but he did walk pretty fast. The grin wasn't particularly wide or enthusiastic, but it was there, and hey, he just woke up.

He gave me a big hug.

I love being in Florida; I'm a sun and beach type of guy. But, nobody cares if I come or go.

This is home, and I'm glad to be back.

Bless Me Father

I often reflect on my good fortune; my luck, my blessings. A recent peaceful walk on the beach provided the revelation that Geeg often prays for me; prays that my faith in God and church will grow. I believe her prayers have been answered.


I do have faith, though admittedly it is restricted by what I consider common sense and free will.


I did not even attend the baptism of my first borns, but now I willingly enter the house of the Lord on a more than regular basis, to reflect on ........well most of the time my blessings, but my mind does tend to wander.


(I still can't figure out who is going to play third base for the Giants next year. That lady in the first row reminds me of that stuck up old bitty from "The Andy Griffith Show." I wonder what Miles and Landon are doing now. That shirt I bought for a dollar at the thrift store sure has a huge collar. The Giants can't trade Matt Cain! What's for dinner?)


But when I am most attentive; when I am benefiting most from the experience of mass, I am counting my blessings.
And then I recall some of my favorite song lyrics.


When it comes to luck, blessings, I am reminded, by Eric Clapton, that:


It's in the way that you use it,
It comes an it goes.
So don't you ever abuse it.
Don't let it go.


So run with the guitar riff of "Slowhands" and shout with joy when the blaring trumpet announces the joy that is ours!

To be fair, mass is not a completely joyous ceremony. We are reminded of sorrow. And then I think of Joe Cocker painfully expressing the fact that:

Everybody hurts sometimes. Everybody cries.
When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone, When you’re sure you’ve had enough of this life, well hang on. Don’t let yourself go, everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes.

Still, the true message of the church is hope. No lyrical blog of mine would be complete without encouraging everyone to heed the following Bob Dylan suggestion:

May god bless and keep you always, May your wishes all come true, May you always do for others And let others do for you. May you build a ladder to the stars And climb on every rung, May you stay forever young.

And so it goes..............

My Backyard

Do you kids remember my dolphin friend Adolph? (Did you get the joke; a DOLPHin named aDOLPH? Ha! How many of you thought it was a sick 'Hitler' reference?) Well, word got 'round the beach that we were back in town, so Adolph stopped by. He was obviously excited to see us.






(Sorry for the shaky camera work. I guess I was excited to see him too.)


The couple in the ocean is a very well disguised Martha St*wa*t, and her male servant, Paco.


Just like Greta Garbo, we just wanted to be left alone, but they insisted we join them for martinis, extra dry. (Geeg had a sombrero, ignoring political correctness, considering Paco's Mexican descent.)


We regaled them with stories of our Canadian adventure. Martha tantalized us with tales of prison life. (It's shocking what one has to do to get pimentos in the big house.)

State of the Union - Living on the Edge, continued

The stock market is kicking the crap out of my investment plan. Concessions have been made. I went to a thrift store recently, looking for a pair of sandals. I left mine at my other home. (I pause here to preface the rest of my comments, noting that finances cannot be all that bad as long as I am referring to multiple dwellings.)

I found a terrific pair of sandals. They were only $2.99. Perfect for the beach, plus they fulfilled my desire for danger, submitting me to the possible perils of contracting athlete's foot from another man's shoes.

Still, I passed, reluctantly ackowledging that I have a perfectly good pair of blue boat shoes that I rarely wear since Leslie made fun of them 4 years ago. Concessions have been made.

We had "take out" pizza last night. No toppings. Admittedly, it was a white pizza. We paid extra for that, but, hey,, you gotta eat.
I didn't pay $500 to go to a Rays-RedSox play off game.
I didn't get a navigation system in my brand spankin' new 2009 Prius.

(Readers beware: there is in epidemic of car buying spreading thru this family.)

The "Sisters of Perpetual Hope for the Lost Souls of Devil Worshipers and Hockey Moms" may have to wait a while for their next donation from me, but I'm not asking for a telethon yet either. Let's not confuse my investment plan with my retirement plan, which is to never work full time again until Yankee Stadium is entombed in ice; evidence that hell hath frozen over.

What's next? I'm not a doctor, I don't even play one on tv, but I've got patients. (patience)

I'll ride the stormy waves of wall street as long as I can float in the gentle waves of the Gulf of Mexico. There is no charge to go to the beach.

And I still don't even know what cat food tastes like.

Denial. The breakfast of champions.
Denial. It's what for dinner.

Denial. It's a beautiful thing.

(Hey, 3 denials worked out okay for Peter...)

Hi Miles!

Miles called me yesterday.

He told me that Olivia was coming over and they were going to have noodles for dinner and peanut butter cups for dessert. Landon took a nap. Miles tried, but he couldn't.

I asked Miles if he saw the dolphin video I sent him. He said he did. He also said he saw 2 squirrels in has back yard. He wasn't sure which was more exciting.

I told Miles I was at the beach. He wanted to know if there were waves. "No," I said, " the water is very calm today."

"I know," said Miles, "because I can't hear them."

Miles wanted to know where I was sitting. I told him I was near the back of the beach, where we flew his kite.

I told Miles I ws surprised by how well he hit the ball the last time we played. I asked him who taught him to hold the bat up high. "I don't know, I just learned," he said.

After about 8 minutes of small (literally) talk, Miles asked me if I wanted to talk to Landon or Mommy. I chose Landon.

Landon, with some coaching from Mommy, also told me that 'livia was coming and they were going to have noodles and peanut butter cups. He took a nap.

Then I spoke to Mommy. She told me that Miles called because he missed me.

If you think this is pretty boring stuff, please re-read the first line. That's all that matters.

Two boys, two joys...................................

ANDY'S GANG

During an unprecedented lapse in our northern neighbor's homeland security defense, Andy's gang invaded Canada last week, despite submitting shoddy and inaccurate customs papers.
(One person even claimed to be a Canadian resident!)

Accompanying Andy, (AKA "Sheriff") was his moll and personal nurse, "Hawk Ear" Elaine.
The brains of the gang consisted of "Swivel Hips" Jeanne, Crystal (AKA Stotdah?), Champagne Kathy, and Patty "The Libber."

For muscle, Andy brought Goomba Johnny, 4Burger, Conductor Bob, and Little Jimmy, the Mini Guinea. Little Jimmy is thought to have connections to the Gambino (not Bambino) family.

No one is quite sure what this gang was doing in Canada, but they spread their mayhem cross country.

Their first stop, Toronto, survived unscathed, though the train station proved to be a challenge for this innocent tribe of rural Americanos. No worries; they left without incident.

They settled in for their cross country tour, via rail, with minimal confusion. After several hours of acclimation, and only a few falls and stumbles, they seemed to regain their sense of direction. No big deal, since the only options were east and west.

After an excellent lunch, (the Mini Guinea appeared to be especially impressed by the lamb chops) a few of them entertained themselves the first day by playing a wild game of "where the hell are Jim and Jeanne?" (I guess "east and west" was a real challenge.)

Conductor Bob immediately infiltrated the infra structure of the train by buddying up with a talkative, but naive native who provided valuable information to the gang.
Of course, all this information was lost once Conductor Bob joined 4Burger at the Bar Car.
The Sheriff and Little Jimmy enjoyed the bar on occasion as well. Goomba Johnny was apparently the designated driver. (Who knew he could drive a diesel engine?)
Jeanne, after finally accepting the fact that there was no casino car, amused herself with card games, apparently hustling the other gang members.
Kathy was last seen shouting "more champagne!"

Bed time was something of an adventure; the rooms were a marvel of space saving engineering. Most of the gang crawled into their quarters after literally leaving their rooms to make their beds. 4Burger got his exercise by climbing up (and often down) a ladder to bed.

The gang spent day 2 allegedly enjoying the scenery, but perhaps they had some ulterior motive. Were they gathering information for some devious scam? Even the Mini Guinea, the self proclaimed anti-christ of sightseeing, took over 100 pictures! Still, they seemed to enjoy all of the bodies of water. (Canada seems to be a great place to live if you are a fish - plenty of lakes; not too many fisherman.)



It was a slow day; no further evidence needed when you consider the gang was looking forward, with great anticipation, to a stop at "Sioux Lookout!" They took this quiet day as an opportunity to relax - eat, drink, and be sedentary.

Crystal debuted her culinary critic skills by proclaiming that Patty's dessert was good, but her's was better, even though she hadn't tasted it yet.

Day 3 highlighted harassing the other passengers; one in particular suffered multilple humiliations. 4Burger stepped on her toes, Conductor Bob spilled her drink. Good times.

Little Jimmy and Patty the Libber engaged in separate acts of indecent exposure.

While using the potty in his room, the Mini Guinea failed to recognize the pocket of civilization the train was passing thru. He mooned Canada.

The Libber provided an unexpected peep show to a confused and elderly male traveler who inadvertenly opened the door to her room. (He said he was sorry, but I doubt it.) More good times.

The day was completed with a boozy rendition of "how many relatives can you fit in a room?"
(Or was it a closet?)



Vancouver paid the price of a 2 day invasion of the gang, as they initially perused their mark during a half day tour. The hotel tried to break up the gang by refusing entry to The Guinea and the Libber, but the gang held firm. Elaine made several reconnaissance runs for supplies, barely avoiding the perils of the sin that is Vancouver night life. At dinner, Conductor Bob tried to recruit a new member. He apparently was impressed by her spectacular...............service.

The second day in Vancouver was more like a day and a half. A tour of Whistler included an aerial view of a future olympic venue. Are they planning sabotage?

Of course, considering the average age of the gang, there were numerous rest stops.



Thankfully, they headed home that night, leaving Canada as they found it; serene, peaceful, charming.

Thankfully again, the USA accepted them back, albiet on a rinky dink plane piloted by Brittany and Opie.



So, what was there plan? Was the gang up to no good, or were they on a mission of commaraderie? Six days together, 24-7, they were surely tested with trials and tribulations.
They passed.

There is no doubt that family history creates the character that weaves the blanket that comforts us like nothing else can.

So...........a toast to those who were blessed to be born into this family, and to those who were blessed with the opportunity to share our lives with them.



















Vive Le Canada.

Vive la familia. (special thanks to our sponsor, Sheriff Andy.)

Man goes into a bar

A man goes into a bar and orders a draft beer.

The bartender serves the beer and says, "That will be five dollars."

The man says, "five dollars? That's outrageous!"

The bartender, near the end of his shift and not wanting any trouble, says, "okay, make it 4."

The man says. "That's better. Here's five dollars. Keep the change."

THANK YOU KIRK

I thought of several possible titles for this entry; "Sorry again, Kathleen," or "Be careful what you ask for" came to mind. "Cue Ball" might have worked. "Oops" would have been appropriate also.

Nice Friday night at the Pokrinchak/Guastelo abode. We got the pool covered, had some pizza, then Kirk stepped up to the plate. A family event; Pop gets his first post retirement haircut.The pictures tell the story. Suffice to say an equpment malfunction occurred.

The circle of life continues. The same clippers I used to cut my father's hair, took a detour thru the middle of my head. A shorter 'do than planned; definitely low maintenance.

So, sincere thanks to Kirk for giving it your best effort. You'll get another chance in 6 weeks, but please don't quit your day job.

Living on the Edge........

.....Of poverty. That's an exaggeration, but we continue to make adjustments to our lifestyle to compensate for the meager pension checks that are replacing the huge sums of money we used to receive as a teacher and a business mogul. (Those were the days.)

We have been fairly frugal most of our lives, especially once we set our goals for early retirement. Frugality is now reaching new heights, or lows.

We've switched from fancy gel tooth polish to simple tubes of toothpaste. I meticulously get every last squeeze out of every tube.

I buy less expensive cuts of meat. I especially enjoy finding discounts for not so red beef and not so yellow chicken.

(We haven't switched from tuna to cat food yet, but it is being considered.)

I bought socks this week; a necessity that developed because of my daily 40 mile (or is it 40 minutes?) walk. My favorite store is Goodwill, but I draw the line at socks. I'm not really sure where that line is; I do own a bathing suit purchased at Goodwill. ( I couldn't resist - bright yellow with velcro fasteners.)

I planned to buy "no show" socks, figuring they would be less expensive. Not so! Half the material, same price. Somebody is getting rich off of this style. (I bought them anyway; it's cool to be wearing socks even though everyone thinks you're not.)

I did buy new sneakers recently,the most expensive pair I've ever owned; a medical requirement.

Oh, and I also recently purchased a DVD/VCR recorder, but that's so I can transfer all my home movies to DVD.

When we get back from our Canada vacation, we're heading for Florida. We plan to buy a car there. Probably a tv too; maybe a home theatre system.

Hmmm...I guess suggesting we are on the edge of poverty is more than an exaggeration. It's a misconception. (It's a lie.) Truth is we are closer to the edge of....well, we're comfortable, content.

Health, family, snowbirding, a few toys........And so it goes.

Hey, I got a haircut today. Just one.

It was tickling my ear.

Sorry Kathleen

Votes are in. As promised, I will adhere to the choice of the majority. By a vote of 21 to 7......Pop is getting a haircut.............sometime before the end of the year.

So, Fabio has had his last dance.

Please welcome Gumba Guido!

Thanks for all who helped make this decision. For critics of my hair, just be thankful that I can't grow a beard. Who knows what could happen?

(I've got waaaay too much time on my hands.)