A Day in the Life of Chaos

There are two distinct forms of people in this world, the faithful and the skeptics.  Then there are a vast number that exists somewhere in-between.  I suppose I fall into this group yet my mind constantly tortures me. It asks me to ask questions, it asks me to doubt.  Relying on faith alone would be so much easier yet something deep inside of me reminds me that to do so would be to deny the very existence of my brain. Not far from my office in downtown Columbia, South Carolina there is a cemetery.  It is a mix of old and new graves that covers a large plot of land.  Often at lunch as a way of exercising I take a brisk 60 minute walk that often leads me to the winding paths, some mercifully shaded by tall trees.  For the most part I tune out the world as I walk by the graves with my iphone in hand and my ear buds in.  My eyes dance from one stone to the next reading the names and dates followed by a mental calculation of how long they lived.  Some names are so exotic, I wonder how th

Why do I do this?  I think it is a question many people might ask.  Why lay yourself out to the world? Why communicate your thoughts, fears and reservations?  Is it vanity?  Is it exhibitionism in a literary form? 1916 Journal The answers to these questions cannot be explained in a simple sentence or a thought.  They are more complex, more cryptic.   For me writing is my only creative outlet.  I am not artistic. I can't paint, draw, sing or play an instrument. I can't compose photographs and I am not good at math. I don't even have any party tricks. I can't make funny sounds from my stomach or turn my eyelid inside out.  About the only thing I can do is touch my tongue with the tip of my nose.  While it is helpful in cleaning the errant cream of a latte I don't think it classifies me as extraordinary.  There is one thing I can do and I think I do it fairly well.  I can word smith.  I can assemble little black shapes into a form that is descriptive and emotion

As we age bit by bit, soul by soul those that we know or better said that we knew go away.  Where they go is a subject for a different conversation.  Some will tell you heaven others will tell you dirt.  Truth be told these are philosophical questions much larger than my humble mind can ponder.  I can say that birth to life to death is a natural progression of organic life and it is only logical that those we cross paths with in life will at some point cease to exist.  While logical in the course of human events it still doesn't make the event any less painful. I don't understand what happens to some people when they grow old. Sometimes it seems like something changes in the mind.  I don't know if it is a way of compensating for the eventual reality or if it is a reflection of true emotions.  Perhaps this is one of the things that makes it so difficult.  In my life and family I have had considerable experience with this phenomenon. It started with a dysfunctional relation

Seventy some years ago my great uncle Bob who by all estimations was quite an eccentric man took a series of photographs of my great grandfather and a friend.  They were posed studio photographs and taken long before digital photography was ever conceived of.  I love these photographs for several reasons but foremost is the window into the playful side of my great grandfather's personality.  I have no idea why they chose monks but for a strange reason they always seemed perfect.  Another portrait from the same session was taken in a fisherman's weather hat and titled Cap'n Hart. It has yet to be recreated.  As the years pass memories fade.  Eventually one generation transcends the next and living memory ceases to exist.  The only thing that remains are the images of people who once walked our world yet long ago departed.  I love to look at these old photographs and wonder about the people.  Who were they?  What made them laugh and what made them cry?  Did they ever fall i

The Boudoir Divas This week I ventured to Las Vegas with my wife on very different terms than usual.  Typically I am meeting one or both of my best friends here for a few days of hiking, escape and exploration.  We usually stay in a cheap hotel in old downtown Las Vegas and for the most part eschew the glitzy glamor for a more pedestrian side of the city.  We quest for cheap craps, contact with locals and the discovery of the degenerate side of the city that provides endless colors for blogs. Trips to Las Vegas with my wife are on very different terms.  They focus on the glitzy side of Las Vegas and don't involve gambling.  They tend to involve a lot of culinary experience far distant from the $3.95 steak dinners and roadside burritos I eat with my friends.  Oh yes, and there is the shopping. Shopping for three men is a quick in and out.  For a woman it is hours of strolling.   I guess each experience has it's own pluses and minus' and should be taken on it's own t

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.

One thing that never ceases to amaze any parent is the perspective of age when seen through the eyes of a child. This morning I was eating my microwave oatmeal and watching CNN.  A story came on about the latest revelation of John F Kennedy's affairs.   Nearly 50 years since his death we still learn tales of his voracious sexual appetite.  Oh those were the days for a president.  The male club that surrounded him was sure to keep all his indiscretions close to their belts as most were engaged in similar ones.  Of course it is a phenomenon  not unique to males as Eleanor Roosevelt had her own lesbian and or bisexual lover.  Something about JFK entrances us though.  He was so damn good looking.  I commented to my son how much JFK did love the ladies.  He in turn asked me if I remembered JFK's presidency? "Son, I wasn't even born." I answered.  "His brother was assassinated when I was gurgling and blowing boogers out of my nose at the tender age of one."

A different face but the same school in spirit There are few professions I admire more in life than one of the most under paid ones, the teacher.  Perhaps the fact that both my parents were teachers has augmented my understanding and sympathy.  My father was a professor at the university level and my mother taught those that no one else wanted to teach.  I guess it was a tribute to her dedication that she would actually take up the mantle and give a final shot to those whom mainstream education had cast aside.  She worked for a program called S.A.V.E. that acted as a kind of last chance for many kids to get a diploma.  Each student was filled with a litany of problems.  Difficulties in life that made education seem like an unneeded add on.  On the other hand, education was the one element that provided any structure to their lives.  I am sure that the social studies teacher/gym teacher/part time counselor and sympathetic ear my mother was definitely must have helped. Hardly a day

I think the true measure of a man or of a woman for that matter is what they do with the entirety of their life.  No snapshot in time is good enough.  Only looking back at what they did, how they gave, how they treated others is it truly possible to pass judgement. As sparks fly in American presidential politics I think it is important to look back at our past presidents within living memory and consider what kind of men they were.  I think if anything is a true measure of the person it occurs in the post presidential years.  These are the years when these men whom reached the pinnacle of their own egos and power have to find a new voice and a new role.  They have spent their lives climbing in office and suddenly they can go no further.  They reached the zenith of ambition. I am not ashamed in the least at my liberal leanings and perhaps the error of my entire premise is that I approach it from a liberal perspective.  Liberals tend to focus on the we not the me and on humanity as a

This past weekend my niece gave birth.  She produced a tiny creature of six pounds nine ounces that gurgled and scowled like all babies do when they greet the cold reality of the world.  When I looked at the wrinkled face I couldn't help but remember my theory that we go out of life the same way we come in.  Her face looked like the wrinkled scowling face of an old person.  She wore diapers and a nurse had to wash her.  She won't eat solid foods.  Someone will carry her around and pay for her needs.  Why is the expected for an infant yet indignity for the old? Welcome to the world of parenthood I thought as I stood on one side of the hospital room looking at my niece laying in her bed.  Around her sat friends and relatives excited about the new arrival.  One girl her age held the baby for a few moments before squirming away confused on what to do.  As joyous as it all seemed there is a dark side to this story.  You see, my niece is sixteen years old.  With a person so young n