A Day in the Life of Chaos

Goonies Like many in America and pr obably the world I recently spent a chunk of time binge watching Netflix season 3 of “Stranger Things.”  It's a fun show that most directly in my mind connects me to the “Goonies” a kind of seminal experience of my child hood.  It came out in 1985 just as I was graduating high school and while most of the kids depicted were a tad younger than I, it still seemed to somehow frame my own childhood.  Maybe it was a last grasp at being young.   “Stranger Things” harkens back to the same time period in its depiction of average American kids battling the evils of the world or in the case of “Stranger Things,” another world.  On the surface I find the plot doesn’t capture as much of me as the depiction of suburban America in the late 1970’s and 80’s.  The time that was mine.  The show does an amazing job of capturing the nuance of the time.  From music to iconic events and images.  It touches on the heartbeat of what it was to be a child during

When I was a young man, maybe 13 years old, I visited my grandfather before he died. He was a salty old man, well he looked old. In truth I don’t think he was much older than 65.  Come to think of it that’s only 13 years older than I am now.  The thought makes looking in the mirror a whole new experience.  How could he have looked so old?  I think people of his generation just looked older.  Maybe they lived harder lives. Maybe it was the years of cigarettes or gallons of booze. Maybe it was being a Navy veteran in a war this world is starting to forget. Maybe he was just a sick man with paper thin skin wrapped like cray paper  over worn and fading tattoos.  A man dying of a disease that took him when war and motorcycles never could.  Before he died, as a young boy, I sat beside him and he presented me with memories he thought I might appreciate. One was his Navy Blue Jacket Manual, a guide to being a seaman.  Another was a large certificate I barely understood. It looked impor

It was a very special Christmas that year so long ago.  As a young man my family traveled to Europe in the winter.  There is something different about Europe in the winter.  It is a combination of many things.  The cold harkens back to my childhood Christmas’ spent in Alaska.  There is purity in the air.  The kind of Christmas that American’s imagine but left long ago.  One where commercialism and gifts are secondary.  Where cold weather is a sign for people to huddle together in conversation relishing a hot cup of mulled wine or coco.  The steam of their cups collides with frigid air as it drifts upwards into the night.  The smells of hot sausages  wafting through markets and ginger bread baking in ovens behind frosty shop windows.  Small market stalls and street side stores sell hand made goods that are as far from plastic packaged merchandise as we are from the round full moon hanging over our heads.   Some how in this panicked and manic 21st century, Europe has preserved the