A Day in the Life of Chaos

As life progresses I am progressively certain that much of our life is determined in the early years of our own lives.  We live with our parents voices always over our shoulder long after they are gone.   Perhaps it is their everlasting gift or, equally possibly, their ever present revenge.  One way or another they tend to always be there in life and in death.   I wonder how one day my voice will echo in the mind of my son.  Hopefully positively or at the very least, elicit a quiet smile.  It will probably resound mostly in my sarcasm or the stupid jokes that I make annoying and perhaps comforting in the same sentence. My mother’s voice often echos in my mind.  It happens at so many different levels.  Could it be that mother’s nag us more and that is why they stay with us?  Everyday at work when the cleaning women makes her way through the office she stops to clean the restrooms.  It always seems to happen at the moment I need to pee and I think she spends an excessive amount of insi

There are times when I can remember being a child.  I close my eyes and a vivid vision comes to play dancing across the neurotransmitters that record the memories of life.  It can be in the form of a sense, a smell or a touch.  They are good visions, not sad ones.  Recollections of moments of happiness.  The kinds of memories that I dare not contemplate before I sleep because if I do, sleep will never find me. As Christmas rolls around once again I remember the days as if they were yesterday.  My father is unquestionably one of the most talented people I have ever known.  Christmas always seemed like an opportunity for him to put his talents to the test.  There were nights when I would lay in bed waiting for sleep to take me on Christmas Eve and I would hear strange sounds in the house.  I wasn't allowed to investigate so my mind and imagination would just capture my sensibilities. I can remember one Christmas so vividly.  I must have been six, seven or maybe eight years

Something happens starting in your forties and moving on.  Up to this point we live our lives independently.  We spend years separating ourselves from our parents and learning how to function on our own.  Sure, parents are always there to help out with advice or to fix something but we are mostly focused on establishing our own lives and families. We have our own children now and they have so many needs.  We have jobs and mortgages to pay.  When something breaks we have to fix it, when its time to eat, we have to make it.  While all this is going on at some point in life our parents start to need us more.  It can happen very slowly and often we don't even perceive the change yet it happens. As I look around at my friends who share my age I can see it happening.  These days I see it quite brilliantly in the life of my father who is now in his 60's and has a mother in her 90's.   I see it in the life of my dear friend Peggy whose father in law spent his final days with them

It is impossible to know how much we influence our children but suffice it to say, we do.  It happens in a subtle way and often goes unnoticed.  It manifests itself in ways impossible to see let alone count.  It can be viewed in the way we dress, the way we live, our political or religious beliefs.  Sometimes it can be found in a our very personalities. I suppose it is the old nature vs. nurture argument.  Nature creates the canvas of what we are yet it is our lives and those around us that paint upon it.  There is a lot of good about me.  I am a kind person and I care for those around me.  I am spiritual and intellectual.  I am reflective and sometimes funny.  I can be creative and intense.  I love the natural world and I try to live life as positive and accepting as I can be.  While these are the traits I hope my child finds in himself there are others I hope he will not.  I curse myself when they creep out and wish I had kept them hidden away. I grew up with a stepfather who lov

My father always seemed old.  Okay, maybe older is a better word.  He never seemed ancient and he certainly has never been like "old guy."  Old guy is a guy in my office that is slightly 10 years older than me but has seemed old since probably the day he was born.  I swear to God his mother gave birth to him and he came out in a tie gripping about those nasty kids.  He drives a Cadillac, need I say more? My father never even seemed older in the way that young people view those 10 years their senior.  Like they some how came from a world alien in from their own.  A world with completely different culture, values and rituals when it comes to growing up. No, my father just seemed like a father.  He mostly stood in an adult world but still had or toe or two in the world of a child. As I cross through the midpoint of my life I often look at myself in terms of my father.  I consider my age and the stage in life of my son.  I think about how when I was at that point, my father s

I am fortunate in where I live to have property that borders a large wooded area.  To call it a forest might be a bit dramatic, perhaps the name Hundred Acre Wood better suits it.  It is an area green, filled with trees and home to all sorts of critters that occasionally make themselves part of my life.  The other day I smelled a horrid smell on my back deck.  Further investigation of the nasal sort lead me to a planter box where I discovered the smashed body of a bird.  I don't know what smashed it but it was beyond redemption and almost beyond recognition.  I scooped up the remains and noticed that nestled not far away was another bird.  It was youthful and I quickly determined it was a baby.  I left it alone and later in the day noticed the mother tending to it.  She would cuddle up beside the bird before venturing out for foraging runs.  A few days later I looked out and saw the baby walking alone along the deck railing.  I was concerned at first but soon decided it must be its