A Day in the Life of Chaos

When I was 12 I started to date Italy.  It was really more of a blind date, I never knew her.  I traveled there with my parents as part of a grand European tour.  The kind that sent us blasting by train from capital to capital and recalled the seminal movie of European tourism, If It's Tuesday This Must Be Belgium.  At one point we spun the dial and landed in Rome.  It was a chaotic place compared to the other grand European cities I had seen.  It was also ancient.  London was wonderful, Paris grand.  Vienna was regal but only in Rome did I feel like I was stepping toward antiquity.  Monuments a testament to time and civilization stood in stark contrast to the lines of traffic and the occasional modern building.  I don't remember a lot from my time there but I do think it was a taste of my future.  I remember horns honking, Vespa's whizzing by and the smell of diesel in the air.  I remember my father's frustration as he struggled to pull flimsy luggage carts over cobble

This blog gets some amazing hits in the far corners of the planet.  I just wanted to tell anyone out there, feel free to leave a comment or send an email.  I would love to know who you are!!!  People in life you meet or know are really the inspiration for everything.  Without those experiences I wouldn't have a thing to write.  I would just sit here and look at my belly button and that gets boring pretty fast.  I have seen hits from US, Russia, France, Germany, Denmark, Hungary, Italy, England, Canada, Armenia (I know who you are), Iran, China, India, Dubai, Singapore, Philippines, Japan and South Africa.  There are probably more but that is all I can think of at 8am in the morning with no coffee.  I know who some of you are but many others I have no idea.   You can post a comment whenever you want, you don't have to be a member.  You can also email me by clicking on my name or writing to bauerp6@aim.com.  Please tell me who you are and let yourself be my inspiration!!

As I grow older I tend to look back at the various stages or segments of my life and wonder which taught me the most.  Each had its moments.  Marriage taught me patience, fatherhood nurturing.  College taught me to be responsible and to take care of myself,  being a teenager taught me what it meant to become a man.  Despite all of these momentous stages one other stage stands out as the very foundation of who I am. Nothing is more impressionable, more formative, more developmental than the playground.  That small corner of a child's world was our zone.  It was our island in Lord of the Flies.  It was the place where children interacted with each other and the pecking order, the social hierarchy was established.  There were no parents, only an attendant and like a prison guard in a tower at the fictional Nazi camp Stalag 13, there was always moment when their back was turned or the spotlight didn't shine. Lake Otis Elementary school in Anchorage, Alaska was my proving ground

My mother bugged the hell out of me.  I can only say that now because she passed away eleven years ago and will never read this.  At least I don't think she will.  Of course I would trade all the irritation in the world to have one more day with her.  I might even let her smoke.  Mother's and the male children they spawn have a unique relationship and as a man I am still trying to understand it.  I say male children because I am neither a woman nor a mother so it would be difficult to see inside that world.  I am 44 years old, over half way through raising my own child and I still haven't figured it out.  Perhaps it is a mystery of the ages as distant as the ways of the ancients.  Despite this, as a thinking man I still try to understand.  I still contemplate the intense arguments I had with my mother in the morning as she drove me to school.  They happened so often yet I can't recall a reason for a single one.  I still wonder how my mother, who wanted so badly to

SC EYR314   The image of the license plate seared in my brain.  Moments before as I was cruising in my Nissan Cube on my way to work.  I was exceeding the speed limit tailing another vehicle about thirty feet in front of me.  Suddenly a convertible yellow Chrysler Crossfire appeared behind me.  It was driven by a woman in her late 50's with a terrible scowl on her face.  It was a kind of nasty sneer framed by leather skin from years of smoking.  The woman screamed lake money and the accompanying arrogance.   I didn't give her a second thought until a flash of light from her headlights drew my attention.  I glanced in the rear view mirror to see her waving her hand with futility in the air joined by a look of frustration.  Her lips were pursed like a constipated person trying to produce a bowel movement.   Puta (bitch/whore) I thought to myself as she continued her display contorting her face and flashing her lights again. What would she have me do, drive into the back of the

The first stage in rehabilitation is to admit you have a problem, then and only then can you begin treatment.  Isn't that what they always tell drug addicts and alcoholics?  So where does this leave American society?  These were the thoughts that darted through my head as I navigated the morning traffic on my way to work.   Vehicles were moving slowly as I pulled up behind a shiny black Lexus SUV, it's chrome trim glimmering in the morning sunlight.  I noticed a sticker in the back window with a large T-E-A spelled out horizontally.  I thought maybe the driver was a fan of the fragrant brew and wanted to share their love if it with the world.  I wondered if the driver preferred Earl Grey style black tea, green or some exotic blend.  As I drew closer more of the sticker came into view.  It said, "Taxed Enough Already."  Oh, how silly of me, it was a TEA Party member. I decided to catch a view of the driver and pulled up beside them.  It was a middle aged woman, ele