A friend just told me about her parents. While she described a mission completed and the journey home. It felt remarkably familiar even though a world away. I am still savoring the lingering warmth of her descriptions.
She has both her parents. My wife and I live with my father. He lives at the back of our house in a cottage we built together. He had dinner with us tonight like he does every evening. We talked and laughed and later he crossed the eight feet to his place. We can see him when he sits in his living room watching television. He is eighty-one years old.
He gets angry that telephones are so complicated now, and that the television has more than just on and off and receives more than three broadcast channels. Before electronic circuit boards he could repair almost anything, and was known for it. But with today's required testing procedures for electronics he often ends up in a stalemate.
He often laments the unnecessary complexity of every day items, saying "they just don't have to be so complicated!" Yet he can can still name all the tree, shrub, and flower species in our yard and this part of Florida. He knows when to plant our garden and what grow best in our exposure, even to which way to orient the furrows. Could it be that complexity is in the eye of the beholder?