A Day in the Life of Chaos

I grew up during the middle and end of what could be considered the Golden Age of television.  It was an era when there were three channels.  Almost inconceivable today in an era of endless variety.  When I turn on my 150 channel cable package I search through pages of networks I have never heard of.  I find my televisions on services like Hulu, Netflix, Apple and Amazon that don’t even broadcast a signal.  Long gone are the broken signals of NBC, ABC and CBS that we pulled in with a split antenna extending out from the television set.  The sitcoms we watched were more like theater productions often filmed before live audiences, almost always with canned laughter. They were made on studio sets and the actors seldom changed locations.  The other day I was sitting at my desk in my corner of an office filled with modern half walled desks.  There is a bit more privacy these days than the open squad room of eras past yet everyone still essentially works within sight and voice of each othe

As you age it becomes increasingly difficult to segregate moments of time.   Our memories can recall events yet trying to reconcile the event with age can be problematic at best.   I find that if I start with an event I can build a recollection however, if I was to start with an age, say what happened to me when I was 8 years old, it is nearly impossible to construct.   There are times when I attempt to torture my mind by trying to rebuild a picture of not only an instant but everything that was around me.   Often times our only recollections are programmed around photographs that remind us and often reconstruct moments long forgotten.   When does this happen in life?  How old are we when our minds transition to a point of fogginess with incidental clarity?  I have recently taken interest in period television that reconstructs the past.  My past.  I drift away from the story to analyze the environments and try to recall if it was the same as I remembered.  Sometimes when I watch a pe