Michael Robert Dyet's Blog, page 58

Gentle Breezes and Waves of May Warblers

Hmmm, if I had but one month to live, is there any doubt which month I would choose?

Spring seems to have been playing a game of Hide and Seek throughout April – peeking out for a few days and then retreating. But it has reappeared, hopefully here to stay, as the calendar turned over to the month of May – the favourite month for birdwatching enthusiasts.

Forget about gardening and May flowers. May is first and foremost Warbler month. These diminutive (usually smaller than Sparrows) and brightly coloured birds bring a gleam to birdwatcher’s eyes.

The first Warbler to arrive (usually in late April) without fail is the Yellow-Rumped Warbler – aka the butterbutt. As the name suggests, the distinctive yellow rump, together with the yellow crown patch and yellow wing patches, is a welcome sight for winter weary birders.

Not far behind will be Palm Warblers – handsome little sprites with a chestnut cap, white eye stripe and yellow underparts with brownish streaks. These grounding loving Warblers constantly bob their tail as if forever excited about the prospects of another breeding season.

Pine Warblers also arrive early but are less viewer friendly than Palms. Quite distinctive if you do lock your binoculars on them – bright yellow breast, greenish back and two white wing bars. But they like to hang out high in pine trees leaving us to register their presence most often by the even-pitched, musical trill wafting down from above.

Next in line is the Black-throated Green Warbler. Black throat + yellow cheek + green back + white wing bars makes the identification definitive. I often know they are about before I see them as they regularly serenade the woods with their dreamy zee zee zee zoo zee song.

Black-and-White Warblers are also in the advance scouting group of Warblers. The name says it all – streaked black and white all over making – making them easy to identify as they creep along tree trunks and branches.

Next I’ll be on the lookout for jaunty Nashville Warblers – bluish grey head, white eye stripe and yellow breast – and handsome Black-throated Blues which need no description. Black-throated Blues also signal their presence with their distinctive beer beer beer bee call.

Around the second week in May, waves of Warblers begin to arrive and the Warbler day count pushes into double figures. By the third week in May it is full-blown Warbler mania with the opportunity to rack up close to thirty different species if luck is on your side. Once I’ve ticked off all the regular Warblers on my spring list, I’m on the hunt for the tough-to-get species.

A Cape May Warbler – bright yellow cheek with chestnut eye patch and yellow streaked undersides – is always a highlight of the day. Spotting a Mourning Warbler – blue-gray head, black bib and yellow belly – skulking through the underbrush warrants a fist pump.

I could go on and on and on. Suffice to say that May is made for gentle breezes and waves of Warblers – my metaphor of choice for the exquisite beauty and diversity that abounds in the embrace of nature as it awakens to another spring.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Trumpeter Swans and the Hard-Earned Gift of Flight

Hmmm, can we find wisdom in the Trumpeter Swan as it wills itself into flight?

Take note the next time you see a swan gliding gracefully through the water. Is the bill mostly orange or all black? Mostly orange = a garden variety Mute Swan. (A misnomer since they do in fact vocalize on occasion.)  All black = a Trumpeter Swan.

Trumpeter Swans were once driven to the verge of extinction by hunting. Thankfully, captive breeding programs and reintroduction of the offspring have now made them a semi-regular siting, albeit almost always with the yellow wing tag indicating they were bred in captivity.

On Leslie Street Spit (aka Tommy Thompson Park) today, I watched a half dozen of them cohabitating peacefully with diving and dabbling ducks in a sheltered bay.

Watching a Trumpeter take flight, giving it’s’ trademark nasal honking call in the process, is an eye-opening experience. At 60” in length and weighing in at 20+ pounds, they are one of the heaviest living birds capable of flight.

We tend to think of flying as something birds do effortlessly. But Trumpeters remind us that is not always the case. Flight does not come easy to them. Getting airborne is a laborious process of skipping across the water and furiously flapping their 80” wings.

Watching the determined Trumpeter achieve flight was a random act of metaphor to remind me that what comes instinctively does not always come easy. On those days when the things that should be simple somehow turn into a struggle, I will recall the Trumpeter willing itself into flight.

Some days we glide with grace on waters still and placid. Some days we battle the waves for all we are worth. We cannot have one without the other.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

The Hunter, the Hunted and the Road Less Travelled

Hmmm, is loyalty at risk of going extinct in our day-by-day society?

I have settled into my latest “home” after being compelled to scramble to find new accommodations on short notice. My moving “To Do” list is pretty much completed, although Bell Canada is still charging me for service I canceled six weeks ago. Morons!

I paused today to take stock of the various places I have hung my hat in the 57 years I have under my belt. It was a bit of an eye-opener to discover that I have had 11 different addresses over the years. That is a disconcerting number for someone who is by nature change averse.

My experiences have run the gamut of just about every type of housing from basement apartments and in-law suites to apartments and condos to townhouses and a semi-detached house. My latest abode is a ground-level, townhouse unit which is a far cry from the 18th floor apartment I gave up.

Shifting life circumstances account for my moves – leaving home to go to college and then university, financial considerations, noisy neighbours, marriage, divorce and, most recently, creepy critters. It seems I am more adaptable than I give myself credit for being.

Mobility is a defining characteristic of the times in which we live – from one home to another, from one job to another, and for many of us, from one spouse to another. The underlying message seems to be: Don’t get too comfortable. Change is always just around the corner.

I have always had a strong desire for stability which unfortunately seems destined to go unfulfilled in our current circumstances. I have come to grips with that reality in recent years and done my best to recalibrate my expectations.

But I cannot help but wonder about the implications of a society that has traded stability for mobility as a guiding principle. What becomes of loyalty, and its’ near relative commitment, in this new equation? Both seem to have gone the way of the Dodo bird.

Modern life is by definition a day-by-day proposition with the prevailing attitude being: What’s in it for me? The Darwinian principle of survival of the fittest has never been truer.

The predator-prey metaphor seems to be the most applicable one for our times. You are either the hunter or the hunted. There really is very little middle ground remaining.

But I have never been inclined to bow to peer pressure. More often than not, I chose the road less travelled. I remain steadfastly loyal to those who are loyal to me. For better or worse, it is who I am and have no intention of changing.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Sneezing Flycatchers, Tail-bobbing Thrush and the Fire-throat Blackburnian

Hmmm, would it surprise you if I t claimed that birdwatching is a thinking man’s hobby?

First a confession: It is always a highlight of my spring birding when I focus my binoculars on a male Scarlet Tanager in full breeding colour. There are few things more breathtaking than this unmistakable bird – scarlet plumage from head to tail accentuated by jet black wings.

But I also derive great delight in detecting a sneezy fitz-bew call from a brushy area and ticking off Willow Flycatcher on my day list without setting my eyes on it.

Serious birdwatchers have a variety of identification tools in their arsenal. We do it for the pure joy of it, but rest assured that our brains are fully engaged.

For example, I hear a mimic thrush holding forth with its full repertoire of calls. One repetition per call means a Gray Catbird. Two repetitions translate to a Brown Thrasher. Three or more repetitions make it a Mockingbird.

(Aside for Hunger Games fans: There is no such bird as a Mockingjay, although Blue Jays can do a convincing mimic of a Red-tailed Hawk screech.)

Behaviour is often diagnostic as well. Even if I am not fast enough to lock my binoculars on that small bird spiralling on a tree trunk, I can often make the identification. Spiralling up the trunk signals a Brown Creeper. Spiralling down the trunk tells me it is a Nuthatch.

Tail-bobbing is also a good indicator. Tail-bobbing Warbler = Palm Warbler. Tail-bobbing flycatcher = Phoebe. Tail-bobbing thrush = Hermit Thrush.

Habitat often fills in the blanks as well. We call sparrows that cannot be identified little brown jobs. But if it is near a marsh or at a pond edge, it is a safe bet to call it a Swamp Sparrow. Grassy or weedy areas or sand dunes, on the other hand, point to a Savannah Sparrow.

A good day count, for those of us addicted to this pastime, depends on staying alert for a variety of cues. So yes, birdwatching is a thinking man`s hobby which is one reason among many that I fell in love with it many years ago.

It is not too much of a stretch to assert that birdwatching is an apt metaphor for life in general. The holistic approach makes for a good day count just as it contributes to good physical and mental health. The wider your perspective is the better off you are.

Mind you, I still love to spot the unmistakable orange fire-throat of a male Blackburnian Warbler perched high in the trees. Stimulating the brain is all well and fine. But now and then it is nice to just breath deep and marvel at the elegant strokes of nature`s paint brush.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

When I Grow Old and Wear the Bottom of My Trousers Rolled: Simplicity Lost

I grow old… I grow old…

I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled

~ T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Hmmm, when I reach the ripe old age where appearances no longer matter and I wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, will I spend my days reclaiming simplicity lost?

More and more often I find myself taking mental journeys to the simpler days of my childhood. I was born and raised in a small town, and yet there was an endless store of interesting and uncomplicated things to do.

Picking wild strawberries, or catching grasshoppers in a jar with air holes punched in the lid, in the meadow in the vacant corner lot a stone’s throw down the street.

Crossing the railroad tracks to catch tadpoles in Brook Pond and bring them home in the hopes that they would transform into frogs in a pail in the basement.

Collecting chestnuts from the sidewalk on Main Street, polishing them to a high sheen and boring holes through them with a screwdriver to make a chestnut necklace,

Going for a ride, on my bike retrofitted with high handle bars and a banana seat and missing spokes in the wheels, for no other reason than because it was a carefree act of independence.

Shooting baskets at the public school basketball court with whoever happened to be around and not otherwise engaged at the time.

Playing street hockey with the gang with a tennis ball for a puck, a baseball mitt for a goalie glove and Canadian Tire mesh nets that always materialized from somewhere.

A pick-up game of football in the public school yard where the score mattered less than hanging out with friends and competing for bragging rights.

The common denominators in all of these activities: we were always outside, they did not cost a penny, the could all be done within a half hour from home and our parents never ever worried where we were or what trouble we might be getting into.

Yes, these are the liberties of childhood where responsibilities are few and time is a surplus commodity. Adulthood robs us of these privileges which seemed in the moment to have no price tag or expiry date. I concede that we all must grow past such unencumbered times.

Nevertheless, each and every one of these pursuits stands as a metaphor for a bygone era when fun was deceptively simple, fresh air was the only medicine we needed and endless summer days seemed a gift from heaven.

When I grow old and wear my trousers rolled, and my mind begins to wander, I hope it finds its way back to this lost time of simplicity. If it does, please do not rescue me. Just smile, touch my hand and leave me be.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

E.T. Revisited: The Eyes of a Blind Man

Hmmm, if a real-life E.T. from a lesser evolved planet spent a year among us on earth, what three questions might they pose on day 365?

“I must say that your technology, while quite impressive, leaves me somewhat puzzled. These electronic boxes, which you call computers and devices, are intended to save time and make all your lives much easier. And they most certainly do so in many ways.

“But I have observed that so many of you seem to be sorely afflicted with this condition called stress. It seems that each of you has more work to complete than you have time to do it in. You are perpetually running a race that never seems to finish.

“It seems to me that, while the technology is designed to serve you, in many ways you serve the technology. Can you explain that paradox to me?

“I am also fascinated by this institution you call the pharmaceutical industry. It seems that millions of dollars are spent every year developing medications for everything from athlete’s foot to male pattern baldness. This industry consistently reaps billions of dollars in profits.

“But you have this dreaded disease called cancer which takes millions of lives every year. It causes such terrible suffering, shortens so many lives and leaves so many others bereaved. You have many treatments for it but no cure.

“Would it not make more sense to put aside the research that is happening on those lesser afflictions and redirect those efforts to finding a cure for this scourge of the ages?

“And finally, your planet has this wonderful concept called an ecosystem. Every living thing is intricately interconnected. There is a circle of life, which extends from the simplest to the most sophisticated creatures, which exceeds anything I have ever witnessed.

“You are an intelligent species. Your scientists have discovered and documented the checks and balances within this marvelous system. You know what you should and should not do.

“But you seem to have an insatiable thirst for what you call development. Marshlands are drained, woodlands cut down, farm land plowed under and rivers diverted in this pursuit with so often only lip service paid to the impact.

“Can you explain to me why you, as a species, strive so hard to understand the balances in your world and yet act in a manner that flies in the face of that understanding? I confess I cannot puzzle my way through this behaviour.

“It seems to me that, as a species, you so often practice do as I say, not as I do. Or to put it another way, in what I think you refer to as metaphor: You see so clearly with the eyes of a blind man.

“My apologies if I seem presumptuous. I am puzzled and merely what to unravel the mystery. Can you help me understand?”

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Divers, Dabblers and the Elusive Great Lakes Harlequin

Hmmm, is it bred in my DNA to find delight in the company of avian friends?

Spring has officially arrived according to the calendar. Mother Nature typically does not pay much heed to our predetermined season start dates. But we are close enough now that I am beginning to mentally trace the footpaths of my favourite early spring birdwatching locales.

Waterfowl are the stock in trade for winter-weary birders like me as soon as the temperature lingers above freezing long enough for the ice to break up. My first outings of the season will take me to the sheltered bays of Humber Bay Park and Colonel Sam Smith Park.

The melodious yodeling of rafts of the aptly name Long-tailed Ducks will drift across the water to me as soon as I arrive. (Confession: Long time birders like me still secretly call them Oldsquaw although the field guides have long since erased that name.) They will be transitioning to their summer plumage – jet black neck and breast, white face patch and chocolate brown back.

Greater Scaup, black at both ends and white in the middle, will also be plentiful placidly riding the waves. As I scan the flocks, I’ll watch for the dark red heads of regal Redneck Ducks mixed in and cohabitating with their cousins.

On the edges of the larger flocks, frenetic little Buffleheads, easily identified by their half white and half black heads, will be diving and surfacing every few seconds with boundless and infectious energy. Spike-billed Red-breasted Mergansers will also occupy the fringes.

Here and there I’ll pick out elegant Golden-eyes – black head with tall peaked crown, distinctive oval white spot and the yellow eye after which they are named. Delicate black scalloping on the snow white sides completes their handsome attire.

In the inner bays, I’ll cross my fingers for majestic Hooded Mergansers raising their hammer-head crests – a three-quarter moon of white against inky black. Or the stocky, large-heads and brown flanks of the smaller Ruddy Ducks.

Closer to shore the dabblers will be feeding – bumb in the air as their head plunges below the surface. The ubiquitous Mallards, black-rumped Gadwalls, plain-Jane Black Ducks and sporty Wigeons with their buffy forehead and dark green eye swatch will all be on hand.

Turning my attention back to the outer bays, if I`m lucky a few White-winged Scooters, usually on the open water, may have wandered into the bays. And if I`m very lucky, one of the few stray male Harlequin Ducks, that choose to winter on the Great Lakes, may linger as its morphs into its unmistakeable, bizarre summer plumage.

The April accumulation of divers and dabblers, and elusive strays, on the shores of Lake Ontario is my reward for riding out another winter. They are a trusted metaphor for the comforting cycle of the seasons that endures in the face of so much around us that has become willful, unpredictable and seemingly intent on unsettling our hard-won peace of mind.

My name is Michael. I am addicted to birds and have no desire to be cured. Spring is coming and I fully intend to pursue my obsession at every opportunity. You know where to find me if you need me.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Downsizing to 660: Forget About the King-size Bed

Hmmm, does the new reality of rental living have a trickle-down effect on our psyche?

My apologies for being missing-in-action from my blog for the last couple of weeks. Life threw a curve at me that required my full and undivided attention. An intolerable situation in the apartment building I was living in forced me to find a new place to live on very short notice.

In slightly less than two weeks, I searched for a new place, found one, secured it, set up utility accounts, signed a lease, packed and moved – all the while keeping a lot plates spinning at work. Fortunately, I found a good place in a nice neighbourhood albeit with a larger cost attached to inhabiting it. But it was an exhausting and nerve wracking stretch of time.

I had lived in the same place for over eleven years and did not realize how much had changed in that space of time. I was caught off guard by the new reality of rental living – downsizing of our living space – when I bravely struck out looking for a new place to hang my hat.

My old apartment was spacious at 740 square feet including a solarium. I quickly learned that the new standard for a one bedroom apartment, condo or townhouse is 660 square feet including the balcony (for units that have one). That equates to about 550 square of livable space which seemed to me the equivalent of living in a shoe box.

It is easy to see the logic from the building developer’s perspective. Smaller units = more units per building = more rental revenue per building. If you want spacious living, be prepared to shell out big time for the privilege.

Renters with budgets to live within have no choice but to downsize our expectations and our possessions if we want to live in a newer building. In Tolkien terms, the living space available to us seems more appropriate for hobbits than for men.

An aside: It seems counter-intuitive that the trend in retail is the big box store. Cavernous stores that you can get lost in if you are as directionally challenged as I am. I cannot help but wonder: Who are these big box stores selling all their wares to as many of us downsize our living space?

This new reality of rental living also has me pondering the nature of home. Our home has traditionally been our castle, our retreat and our emotional safe haven. This is truer than ever in a world where we are forever looking over our shoulder for the unexpected threat.

What does it mean for our psychological well-being that our safe haven is contracting around us? Do we subconsciously compress our emotions to safeguard our peace of mind? Can we recharge to the same degree that we used to when we had more space within which to relax? Do relationship issues become more acute when we are tripping over one another at home?

I am naming it the 660 metaphor – the downsized physical, and by extension, emotional space into which we now have to fit our hopes and fears, our need for security and our increasingly complex relationships.

Breathing space is at a premium when we close the door behind us. Our psyches have no choice but to recalibrate and compress. Welcome to the 21st century – and forget about that king-size bed.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week

Battling the February Blahs with Great Spangled Glory

Great Spangled Fritillary

Hmmm, can I banish the February blahs with a glance back to the summer of 2013?

The temperature has dropped to a bone-chilling -25º Celsius with the wind chill factor. My car devoured the equivalent of a week’s pay in repair costs. The Maple Leafs have reached unexplored depths of futility. The 6:30 pm rerun of Corner Gas is the highlight of my day.

It’s official. I have the February blahs. The handful of charms Old Man Winter has in his arsenal have long lost their limited ability to inspire me.

I am impatient beyond measure for sultry summer days when the meadows are abuzz with nature’s winged angels. I would give a king’s ransom for the golden splash of sunlight of a Great Spangled Fritillary like the one at the top of this post.

I captured this stunning beauty on June 30th of 2013 at one of my favourite summer haunts. Great Spangleds are difficult to edge close to for a photo opp. But this one seemed inclined to pose for me. As I study this prized photo, the artistry of Mother Nature amazes me.

The graceful arch of the curved wings in repose, like hands cupped in prayer, and its lighter-than-air perch on a sprig of clover, a golden crown on a purple scepter, in the verdant canopy of ground cover.

Its molten gold garb embellished by wavering lines, wandering spots and subtle speckles of black and edged by the ticker-tape fringe of white and black. And hidden on the backside of the hindwing, silver dollar spots against a background of chocolate brown and delicate cream.

This random act of metaphor, a chance glimpse into the heart of nature’s artistry, is my metaphor of hope to sustain me through the remainder of my winter hibernation. My kingdom for an early spring!

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Jury Duty: Adventures in the Technology-Free Zone

Hmmm, are the hallowed halls of justice exempt from the digital age?

Statistically speaking, I was long overdue. I made it well into middle age before being called to be considered for jury duty. Now I can cross that “To do” off my bucket list. (What can I say – I have small dreams.)

I was not sure what to expect other than that there would be a lot of waiting involved. The process turned out to be both interesting and scratch-your-head perplexing.

Day One starts with a hundred plus prospective jurors lined up, like cattle being herded to market, to check in. No problem in the technology era, you would think. A few keystrokes for each person. You would, unfortunately, be wrong. Nary a computer in sight.

Really? Seriously? A paper-based check-in system. Did we just get sucked through a black hole back to 1970? I guess they shot the whole IT budget on the security scanners at the entrance.

The courtroom where we assemble looks rather like a church. The seats are pews. The lawyers, prosecutors and judge wear snazzy (not) black robes with white sashes. The judge gives her well-practised sermon. Falling asleep, however, is a breach of protocol. So ends Day One.

On Day Two, we assemble in the courtroom again. Hello, what’s that on the front desk? It’s one of those rotating drums used to draw random names. Cool! There is going to be a prize draw. I wonder what the prize is. Maybe a “Get Out of Jail Free” card?

Alas, there is no prize draw. The drum is how they select names to divide the two hundred plus (yes, it doubled from day one) prospective jurors into groups of twenty.

“Panel 115 – Juror # 7214 – Legal Secretary… Panel 113 – Juror #382 – Millwright… Panel 116 – Juror 3982 – Alligator Wrangler.” Okay, that last one may have been my mind wandering a bit.

If I am lucky enough to be in one of the first few groups, I could be through the whole process by day’s end. On the other hand, being in a later group ups the odds that they will already have the 14 jurors they need before my number comes up. I draw Group 3, number 4.

Flash forward a few hours. Group 3 is led down a winding, twisting hallway – turn right, turn left, turn right, turn right, turn left – to the courtroom for the moment of truth. Rather like winding your way through the large intestine.

My time to enter arrives. Surprise! It is the rear entrance to the same courtroom from earlier in the day. Really? Seriously? We had to navigate the labyrinthine hallway, with the Minotaur snapping at our heels, just to get back to where we started?

In five minutes, it is all over. I answer the two yes or no questions: No and No. The defence lawyer consents. The prosecutor challenges. (Guess I should not have shot that spitball at her.) So I’m free to go. Rather anticlimactic after all the waiting and the pomp and ceremony.

Knock knock. Who’s there? The digital age. For God’s sake, let me in. No thanks, we prefer to remain a metaphor for all things tradition-bound, stodgy and landlocked in time. 

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.