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.