A Day in the Life of Chaos

Over the holidays as my father and I worked diligently to rewire a number of things in my son's 1973 Karmann Ghia and during the process I became intimately acquainted with the most disturbing example of wiring I have yet to witness.  Wires that go nowhere and some that vanish into hollow cavities like snakes disappearing into the black of night left me with nightmares of smoke and acrid burnt electrical smell.  Fuses popped with disturbing regularity as I followed each wire like a prospector seeking a vein of gold.  Somewhere within the tangled jumble of dubious connections and occasional curse words I started to assume a philosophical approach and wonder if in fact the tangled mess before me was in reality a metaphor for life. I love the metaphor.  It is an art most cultures of the world understand but in our own it is sorely misunderstood and sadly underutilized.  I think I came to appreciate the metaphor the most when I was a college student and engaged in the study of Easte

As a modern Renaissance man I like to equate my life to the Renaissance.   My forties are not just growing older, they are a re-awakening.  An attempt to accomplish things I failed at earlier in life.  This can include languages like Spanish, French and German.  A certifiable attempt to discover artistic ability of which I have little.  Yet each of these is intellectually cerebral.  I also count among my failings mechanical ability.  Mechanical ability is much more than just dirty hands, it is the ability to problem solve. The other day my son watched me repair something and he told me he was afraid.  "Why are you afraid?"  I asked.  I half expected him to recount some occurrence involving a bully or a deeply introspective fear. "How will I know how to do these things?"  He asked, perplexed. I smiled and explained that as we grow into life we have two options.  The first is to pay people to do things for us.  That reality will either leave us bankrupt or at

The dreaded time has arrived.  Frankly it is one of the most dreaded moments in a parents life.  It is scarier than birth, more worrisome than marriage.  Harder than saying good bye as your child packs his bags and heads off to college.  No, all of those pale in comparison.  It is the moment when your child learns how to drive.  In America long ago we sold our soul to the devil.  In most societies driving is something optional that is eventually worked into as life and budgets permit.  People move with mass transit and trains.  America decided in the 1950's that we were not going to be this kind of society.  We were, and are a society of unchained freedom in love of the open road.  We should be the ones to decide where and when to go, not some transit planner. I wonder if the people that made those decisions ever thought about their kids? The result of our liberation from the transit ties that once bound us was ultimate captivity for the aged and the young.  This occurs whe