A Day in the Life of Chaos

I write a lot about life and death.  I love life and contemplate death.  I don't believe in easy solutions.  I don't believe in heaven or hell, beyond that I have no idea. I do believe in death, I do believe in pain.  I suppose there are few who would disagree.  I do believe in the anguished voice of my son when I tell him his father could have died.  I believe in the concern of my wife or in the tormented tears of my father facing a reality that wasn't, but could have been.  I believe in the power of a bullet to fly through the air imperceptibly fast, striking my flesh and sending my life into the chasm of universal question's without living answers. It seems the philosophical side of myself predicates the story I must tell.  There are few times in life when one sees a possible moment of their exit from humanity.  Of course there is the natural moment when the years and our bodies consume us.  Still, there are other moments, disturbing moments that once they hap

I am sure if one paid critical attention to my blog over the years they would rightly perceive I live my life in a constant state of internal analysis.   Many have told me I think too much and honestly they are probably right.   Still thinking is my trade as is analysis and the two skills while earning me a living, seem to haunt me in everyday life. I haven’t written much lately.   I think my urge to write is often stimulated by complexities or questions in life.   When they are present my creativity like water seeks a path and many times the blog presents the channel that I follow.   Often time’s questions in life are stimulated by my own actions and I suppose I am entering another one of those phases as I make another effort to secure a position overseas for the majority of the professional years I have left. I took a walk at lunch today.   It is spring in South Carolina.   The weather is friendly while the pollen chokes your throat.   Spring brings a sense of renewal

"I need a change."  It is an expression I have often uttered in my life as I have never been a person that can stay settled too long.  I think there is something about the hidden synapses of my brain that craves variance and at times unpredictability.  When I look back on my life from my perch of 46 years there has been a lot of change and some constants as well.  One constant was my own childhood.  I am thankful to have been able to grow up with the same set of friends living in the same town.  At one point my parents simply moved across town and I was devastated.  This despite the fact I actually remained in the same school.  I swore when I moved to my current location I would afford my child the same opportunity.  I don't know if it is as equally important to him yet I have never tested the idea.  As he enters his Junior year in high school my promise is nearly complete.  He has lived his memorable youth in one house and grown up with the same boys living around him.

As children grow older they progressively separate themselves from their parents.  This isn't a bad thing, it is part of their own preparation for life.  Still it can be a hard and at times torturous process as they reach for independence and still want security.  As parents, we do our best to provide security but know in our hearts we have to let them go. For most teenagers their ambitions and activities take them away from their parents.  I would look rather odd riding around in the back seat of my son's friends car.  I would most certainly at best wind up in traction and at worst kill myself if I ever tried to step on one of my son's skateboards or long boards.   Still I think we as parents try to think up activities to keep our children close to us.  Often they are things that we desire more than they do and the activity itself becomes a torture to the very child we want to hold close.  In a sense our very attempt to be with our child drives them further away. I

Today as I look out from my window from the 12th floor of a federal building I stare over the top of a picture I hung on my desk as an inspiration.  It is a picture taken not long ago of President Obama sitting in the seat that Civil Rights icon Rosa Parks once occupied on a bus in Alabama when she refused to leave and move to the back of the bus.  He is looking out the window almost as if someone might request the same of him.  It is a sad reminder of a time not long ago when people were not equal in this country.  Yet step by step we move forward yet it is a constant struggle.  It is a lot like a crying child reaching for a candy bar in a grocery store, eventually they will be pulled along and assume a proper course.  It might hurt and embarrass the child's mother in the process but she knows what has to be done and eventually the screaming child will learn as well. Yesterday our President took such a step in acknowledging that LGBT people have a right to join in marriage just

Since South Carolina was an early Republican primary state the roadsides are still littered with campaign signs.  Many are for candidates no longer in the race.  Among all the rubble is one sign that stands out.  It is for a man running for County Coroner.  Perhaps I am missing something but there just seems like there is something wrong with his campaign message.

They say when you learn to ride a bicycle you never forget.  While technically this is true, there are times when I truly wish it was not. I like to think of myself as a 44 year old man in reasonably good condition.  I mean I have pudge but it isn't excessive.  I am energetic and I like to take long walks.  Wait, that almost sounds like a personal add on Match.com.   I most certainly am not an Adonis but in truth I never was.  Ahh  Adoinis... that symbol of all that it is to be a man.  Sheltered by Aphrodite as a young man he represents virility and strength.  Beauty and grace.  He also has a nice pecker that in the case of the Roman version pictured was not hacked off by Pope Pius IX when he set about removing all depictions of the male member in the Vatican and covering them with a fig leaf..  Over Christmas my father and son convinced me to go on a mountain bike ride with them.  Columbia, SC is blessed with a beautiful mountain bike trail park and it seemed like a good idea.

My mom would be surprised if she was alive today.  She spent a large amount of her childhood growing up in the South.  For my part, as the heir to her life experience,  I was the victim of turnip greens and salt rising bread.  I have to admit, the okra grew on me.  While she had lived in the North since graduating from college if you listened carefully you could still hear that twang in her voice.  Her parents spent their last years in Louisiana and her brother still lives in Birmingham, Alabama.  Her son was a product of the North, literally.  I grew up in Alaska probably closer to Canadian than American.  Okay, Canadian with out the socialism surrounded by guns and anti-federalism.  Come to think of it, maybe I was the only socialist non-Canadian Canadian in the state.  Well, Canada aside today I call Columbia, South Carolina my home. If my mother were alive today she would have been shocked but perhaps a little bit proud.  I am not sure why, maybe it's a Southern thing.  Wh