A Day in the Life of Chaos

Very young Patrick There is a land far to the north that in many ways seems disconnected from reality.  When you live there it is like living on an island and news from the outside comes in snip-its that leave you at times questioning your involvement with the rest of the world.  It is a magical place and I when I first came to know it,  the largest city was still developing.  Many roads were unpaved.  Television was primitive.  There were only three networks and shows would come up on tapes from Seattle with a two week delay.  Try to avoid a Monday Night Football score for two weeks!  The town was so news starved there were actually two news papers.  How many cities these days can boast that? The people that lived there were as disconnected as the place.  They seemed to all be running from something and everyone had a different and unique reason for their flight.  Somehow in the self imposed exile there was company among strangers.  Everyone seemed to revel in being different, be

David Hockney's "Pearblossom Highway #2." As I cross the mid-point of my life and move toward third base I always find myself wondering where is home?  These thoughts have recently come brilliantly to the forefront as I not long ago made contact with a distant cousin who is in the oil industry.  He lives a life of wandering that makes my own seem humble.   While Texas is his home his journeys carry him to Russia, Egypt, Oman, Yemen, Kazakhstan and East Africa.  Oh the old saying, "Home is where the heart is." has a certain ring to it but does it really mean anything?  As human beings we associate experiences with places and they color our minds in a collage of memories.  For some these are all close to home and for others, they span the world.  I often wonder if those that never lived a vagrant life are more satisfied?  They must feel so connected to the place that they live.  Like it is a part of them and they a part of it.  Are they happy with this or do th

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