A Day in the Life of Chaos

Harry Cooper's goodbye is today.  In my office goodbyes tend to happen a lot.  There is a lot of mobility, especially among those that want to climb the ladder of promotion.  The ritual is usually the same, an obligatory awkward lunch where the office gathers and the boss says some sugar coated litany of words.  A plaque is given and the person moves on.  They clean out their desk and disappear.  You can always tell the guys that have been around,  their work area is covered with the most mementos of distant offices and past goodbyes. Honestly I am going to miss Harry a lot.  Harry is one of those people in my office that will come by and say hi.  He will sit and talk for awhile and then move on.  He doesn't want anything, he doesn't have an agenda.  He is just a nice guy and a working friend.  Harry is also black and even though he doesn't know it, has taught me a lot about race and what it is like to be a black man in the south.  You see Harry accepted me. In the

Yesterday there was a rally in Columbia.   Oh you probably wouldn't know it if you weren't there but we took our grievances to the steps of the South Carolina State House and demanded to be heard.  Pity there was no one inside.  Only a group of students snaking their way up behind the speaker.  A young black kid started dancing like Rocky Balboa with a towel around his neck.  Honestly he looked more like the Rocky of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame. Despite the lack of notice by those in power, for the couple hundred in attendance the cause was just.  It was a rally to support the union members in Wisconsin fighting a governor determined to strip them of their union rights.  The governor is a puppet of some of the most wealthy and powerful corporate interests in the nation, largely funded by the diabolical Koch brothers.  These right wing libertarian minded fanatics are quietly determined to fund the end of unions in America.   They pay for the Tea Party and fund their rallies.  Th

Human beings have secrets.  We all have them, some are little, some big.  Some life changing and some insignificant.  They can reflect past misgivings, hidden desires or future actions.  The Catholics figured it out.  Confess and they give you absolution.  Its easy, you do it behind a wall and it goes straight to the big guy.  Is there any wonder there are a lot fewer Jews.  For a Jew when you screw up it is time to deal with the consequence both here and in the afterlife.  Of course also mandating men having to cut their penis might have had something to do with it. There are a myriad of reasons we keep secrets.  Some are out of emotional necessity, some are simply humility. Every voluntary confession however it is done, is to meet a persons own needs.  It is mostly a way of relieving guilt that nags at the soul and festers like an open wound.  Of course most wounds heal but at the moment the panic of the guilt can overwhelm sensibility.  Confessions are rarely made for the benefit

As I march toward the future and age exercises its steady and firm grasp on my life, I find myself progressively looking for ways to detour its progress.  Its like I am standing behind a dike and bit by bit leaks are sprouting all along it.  Desperate to stop the flow of water I place my fingers in the holes, then my toes.  Right before me a huge hole opens and with no appendage left I open my my mouth, pick up a wad of cash and smash it into the increasing gap.   We all have things we hate about our own bodies.  In a cruel twist of fate the powers of the universe or, perhaps it was my grandfather's fault, wrapped hair frustratingly into my genetic code.  No, not hair in the good places like on my head.  Oh no, why would I want hair there?  It would only serve to shade my scalp from the sun and conceal the raw sexiness of my rounded skull.  As it is I have a built in oven I could fry an egg on in the summer if I wanted.  No, my grandfather willed me a bald head and hair in the mo

When you are a parent there are fuzzy invisible lines in life.  You don't know where they are or when they are crossed but inevitably when raising a child there is a point when they are.  One day you look back and realize something changed. It happens in the smallest things yet the ones that make you smile and also make you sad.  When you are a father and have a son there is some point when they stop holding your hand.  When kisses disappear and when hugs are farther and farther apart.  When the unbridled admiration a child holds for their parent isn't quite so strong, when they would rather spend a weekend with their friends than with you.  We look at the pictures that line our walls detailing each stage of their growth and wish we could step back for a moment in time.  This is not to diminish the pride we feel as they progress and become adults yet there is something innocent that seems gone.  I think this is one reason why some parents have children later into life.  They

In life every profession, every trade seems to attract a certain personality.   Doctors are clinical, lawyers gluttons for minor detail.  Nurses are givers and analysts are analytical always asking questions and looking for inconsistencies.   Engineers are problem solvers and financial people sleep and dream numbers.  There are the people who like to work with their hands and become craftsmen and people with minds for marketing.  Then there are plumbers.  Plumbers seem to be unique even amongst those engaged in the construction and home servicing trades.  Just turn on the television and what do you find?  A show built around plumbers who are ghost hunters.  The plumber is a man we seldom see unless it is an emergency and when you call, they know that they have you. The other day I had a plumbing emergency.  It started in the morning when I walked down to my basement and noticed an odd smell.  All around my washing machine there was a brown spatter pattern on the linoleum.  My son was

Four years ago when I turned 40 years old I flew back to my home in Alaska for the 25th anniversary of my high school graduation.  How quickly the years passed.  In retrospect it seemed simply a flash of light or a blink of the eye.  Life is really that way, it is a jumble of experience interwoven into a blanket that covers our lives.  Each fiber makes the whole but unless it is a pretty pattern we scarcely recognized them once they are fixed to the rest.  Someday the blanket will cover our heads and the life that we once were will vanish underneath. I ventured back to that 25th year reunion largely because I knew a friend of mine from high school was going to attend.  She was a person that could have been a relationship but in the end never was.  Some how divergent personalities, insecurities and the web of experiences kept us apart.  Our words crossed paths over the years, yet seeing her in Alaska was the first time I was face to face with her since I slept on the floor of her apar