Michael Robert Dyet's Blog, page 61

Tim Hortons: Would You Like Fries with That Double-Double?

Hmmm, will my morning cup of Tim’s coffee still taste the same when the ink dries on the paperwork?

Say it isn’t so, Timmy!!! U.S. chain Burger King gobbling up beloved Canadian icon Tim Hortons? Is nothing sacred? Tim Hortons is as Canadian as hockey, Don Cherry and maple syrup. Stopping in for our morning cup of Tim’s is akin to waving the flag.

Unfortunately, profit trumps national pride. Tim Hortons reportedly has plans to open another 500 outlets in Canada. But as always, the huge U.S market beckons and dwarfs the dollar potential here in the great white north.

Tim’s has been expanding into the U.S. market and finding the going tough. Their enviable brand equity here has not translated well south of the border where Starbucks rules the roost. Tying their wagon to a U.S. fast food giant and leveraging its foothold is apparently too tempting to resist.

We should not be surprised. Canadian ownership of major corporations has been eroding for decades across multiple product categories – mining, oil, whisky and steel, to name just a few. We are destined, it seems, in corporate terms to being a subsidiary entity.

It is, of course, not just a geographic phenomenon. Giant multinational corporations compete with each other to see who can grow faster. They move across the world like an advancing army swallowing up smaller corporations at an alarming pace. I would wager a large sum that executive job titles with “Acquisitions” embedded in them are the fastest growing ones.

I guess we can take some solace in the fact that the dollar figure at play in the takeover of Tim’s – reportedly in the neighbourhood of $12.5 billion – is the largest ever acquisition of a restaurant chain. You can buy our icon out from under us but you have to shell out the big bucks to get it.

Lost in all of this corporate hype are the humble origins of Tim Hortons. NHL legend Tim Horton established the first outlet in Hamilton in 1964.He partnered with Ron Joyce to expand to forty Tim Hortons restaurants over a decade. Joyce bought out the Horton family’s shares when Horton died.

One has to wonder what Horton is thinking now, as he looks down from the great beyond, about what has transpired with the company he founded. It may just be the loyal Canadian in me. But I like to think he is shaking his head and saying: It just won’t be the same anymore.

An interesting sidebar to the story is the fact that the CEO of Burger King is only 34-years old while the current CEO of Tim’s is 60. Step aside Baby Boomers. Generation X is taking over and they think globally where we still think locally.

I expect that I will still stop at Tim’s for my morning coffee evening after the dust has settled. But there will be a lingering regret as I do so. Tim Hortons was a proud metaphor for all things Canadian. Now it will become just one more cog in the big U.S. corporate wheel.

Will Tim’s coffee still taste the same? Or will there be a lingering aftertaste that just seems not quite right?

~ 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.

 

Bubbling Water, a Vanishing Aquifer and Turning a Blind Eye

Hmmm, how far into the future might the ripples of our neglect reach?

I went for a stroll this evening through a park which has a large, shallow pond. I noted with interest that the water levels were higher than I expected for late summer.

Farther up the pathway I saw a place where the asphalt had been dug up and replaced leaving a distinct hump. As I approached the hump, I heard water bubbling into the pond. My curiosity was piqued as this was an entirely new development.

At the edge of the pond, I discovered what I can only describe as a huge bladder about ten feet long and four feet across. A large pipe was attached to it pumping water into the bladder. The bladder was swollen to capacity and water was bubbling out of holes and seams into the pond.

This was a curiosity that demanded further investigation. I followed the pipeline down the path to another hump. The pipeline went under the path, back above ground, through what appeared to be a mobile, industrial pumping station and into the corner of a site which had been excavated for a new apartment building.

The explanation seemed simple. Rain water had gathered in the excavation site and was being pumped out into the pond. But the pipe, which was about eight inches in diameter, seemed to me to be rather large for the purpose.

I traced the pipeline and realized that it was running along the perimeter of the excavation rather than into it. Smaller pipes arched off the main line at intervals of a few feet and went vertically into the ground. It seemed (speculation on my part) that water was being extracted from underground and pumped out into the pond.

Perhaps, I thought, the contractor struck an underground stream while excavating. Naturally, construction would have to stop while the engineers were brought in to size up the situation. Their solution: sink pipes into the ground, extract the water and pump it into the pond.

But this would not be a solution if the problem was an underground stream. The source of the stream could be miles away and of indeterminate volume. I had a momentary image of miles of interconnected, underground waterways connecting to Lake Ontario!

 I did a bit of digging on the web and concluded that a more likely source of the water was an aquifer. An aquifer, according to a Wikipedia article, is “an underground layer of water-bearing permeable rock or unconsolidated materials  such as gravel, sand, or silt”.

Let us set aside for the moment the impact on the pond, an ecosystem in itself, into which the water was being released and the mysterious purpose of the huge bladder. I could not help but wonder what the long term consequences of draining an aquifer might be on the stability of the land above it and the life forms that might indirectly rely upon it.

All too frequently, in the pursuit of human endeavour, the choice is made to not look beyond what is convenient for us to know. Turning a blind eye is a dangerous choice. The vanishing aquiver may just be a metaphor for pulling the rug out from under our own feet – or the feet of generations yet to come. Our neglect could be their undoing.

~ 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.

Requiem for Robin Williams

Hmmm, is that the collective quiver of hearts in mourning which resonates so bittersweet?

I am normally not one to pay much attention to Hollywood celebrities. Their lives are too far removed from my daily reality. But I confess that my heart shuddered when I heard the radio report of Robin William’s death and the tragic circumstances surrounding it.

I was, and am, a great admirer of his body of work both as a comedian and an actor. There are many talented performers in show business. The number of true artists is considerably smaller. Robin Williams was one of them.

Comedy is, if you will excuse the pun, a funny thing. What tickles one person’s funny bone may elicit no reaction from another. Humour is a language all its own with many dialects – amusing, droll, silly, biting and slapstick, to name just a few.

Then there is that rare form that leaps across boundaries and unites us in its universality. It infuses laughter into both the light and the dark in Iife. Few are those who can master that language. Robin Williams was one of them.

He was a comic tour de force on stage or before the cameras – a virtual whirlwind that fed on its own momentum. We often forget that humour is emotion, perhaps one of its most healthy forms. It can be cathartic and liberating when employed by those born with the gift to make it so. Robin Williams was one of them.

Williams could have made a very comfortable living based on his comic genius alone. But he had greater aspirations and achieved acclaim, including an Academy Award, as a comedic and dramatic actor. There are a handful of actors I enjoy to the extent that their appearance in a movie, regardless of the plot, makes it a must-see for me. Robin Williams was one of them.

Good Will Hunting earned Williams his Academy Award. But perhaps his most prophetic role, in retrospect, was in Patch Adams. His sensitive portrayal of a man suffering from depression, who admits himself to a mental institution and finds that using humour to help his fellow inmates gives him a new lease on life, was hauntingly close to his own experience of life.

In the stories and tributes that have streamed out of Hollywood in the last few days, Williams is portrayed as a sensitive, humble and loving man who never let success change who he was. Tragically, the backdrop to his onscreen and onstage brilliance was a long struggle with depression, as well as alcohol and drug addiction, which eventually overwhelmed him.

This I know. Those who dare to soar the highest have the farthest to fall if they lose the joy. They take the risk because it is bred in their soul to do so. We should not condemn them or consider them weak for falling. We should praise their choice to fly without a net.

Robin Williams was one of those who dared to fly. He is a heroic metaphor for courage in the face of a crippling weight few of us could bear for as long as he did.

Rest in peace, Robin. We mourn your loss but are truly grateful that you shared your heart with us. We wanted so much more of you. But you gave all that you had to give.

~ 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.

 

Butterfly Camouflage: A Labour of love

Hmmm, when a butterfly spreads its wings, can it be that the world as we perceive it suddenly changes?

Mother Nature has a few tricks up her sleeve to help her care for her children. The Comma family of butterflies is one of her more elegant achievements.

 

All of the Commas have a dead leaf pattern on the outside of their wings like this Eastern Comma. (They get their family name from the small, comma shaped white mark which is barely perceptible in this nondescript exterior.) Imagine seeing this against the bark of a tree or the dirt of a pathway. It is an unrivalled achievement in camouflage.

Now let’s look at four members of the Comma family when they relax and spread their wings.

 

This is the Eastern Comma with its wings unfolded. (Apologies for the poor photo. Eastern’s are notoriously skittish and avoid close contact.) This Eastern is an aging one whose colours are faded. But the contrast from the camouflage of the outside of the wings remains striking.

 

This handsome specimen is a Question Mark Comma – so named because the comma mark it bears has a small dot beneath it. It is elegance personified with its exquisitely scalloped, white-frosted wings and its earthy palette of orange, brown and black with a pale yellow spot band.

Now let’s move on to two of the more elusive members of the Comma family.

 

This is the Gray Comma. I can hear you thinking: Umm, it looks like the same butterfly to me. Part of the enjoyment of studying Commas is learning to recognize the subtle differences between them. A bit less chocolate brown on the hind wing with a slightly more prominent yellow spot band. Add in the more grayish exterior, with fine white striations, and the identification is made.

 

And finally, we have the Green Comma. It is almost indistinguishable from the Gray, particularly in an older and faded specimen like this one. But look closer and you will see the cut in the wings. On the outside of the wing, a few fine green spots are diagnostic although they are often not detectable.

The Comma butterflies are conclusive evidence that Mother Nature is a master in the art of camouflage. I like to think of Commas as metaphors for the fine brush strokes which she lovingly labours over to adorn and protect her beloved creatures.

We can unlock the code to this camouflage if we care to do so. But once we do, we are by default sworn to honour and protect her creations. We become the guardians of all that we are privileged to behold.

~ 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.

On the Run from the Digital Messiah

Hmmm, is it my fate in life to be caught between two worlds?

I read today that the Saint Catherine Street West Chapters location in Montreal is closing. For my readers south of the border, Chapters is Canada’s signature big box bookstore.

Three large Chapters locations in Toronto have also recently closed. The 35,000 square foot space, which the Montreal Chapters occupied, will now be the world’s second largest Victoria’s Secret store. The moral of this story: Books come and go. Lingerie is forever.

All joking aside, the demise of Chapters is a clear sign of the times. The printed book is a mature product on the downside of its life cycle. Those of us who do still buy hard copy books increasingly make our purchases online rather than at bricks and mortar stores.

The plain truth is that we are living in the digital era. A quick Google search reveals that Americans now own four digital devices on average and spend 60 hours a week consuming content across devices. College students are partially responsible for pulling up the average. The average college student owns seven digital devices.

Digital immigrants, of which I am one, have little influence on this reality. The relatively small amount we spend on printed products cannot measure up to the serious bucks that are laid down for digital devices.

The digital device business model is all about psychology. New versions are churned out on a regular cycle with the latest and greatest features. It is no longer about need. It is about created demand. Self-worth is now tied to having the most recent version of your device of choice.

I recently bowed to the pressure and purchased a smart phone. I am trying to condition myself to use at least some of its functions to justify the monthly cost. But quite frankly, I still have not mastered the simple act of turning it on.

I put all things electronic behind me as often as I am able in favour of roaming through meadows and marshlands. Increasingly, I feel caught between two worlds – the natural world of tangible and immutable things and the ever changing digital world of virtual things. My heart is in the latter world while my brain is occupied with trying to keep pace in the digital realm.

I feel at times like a fugitive. I’m trying to stay one step ahead of the digital messiah who wants convert me to the new digital religion. My faith and my loyalties still lie with the natural world which has no need of such things.

My most heart-felt desire is to remain free and unencumbered. Butterflies flying free will always be my metaphor of choice. I have to run the never ending race in the wired world. But my heart will always be elsewhere.

~ 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.

Grandfather Terra Cotta Tree

Hmmm, can we wish for more than to age as gracefully as the wise old tree of the forest?

I am a creature of habit in my summer ramblings for the winged wonders of nature. I regularly visit a handful of my favourite conservation areas in which I have identified the most productive areas. Much of the time I am retracing trails that I know like the back of my hand and diverting to check hot spots that reliably produce good sightings.

But occasionally, on overcast days when there is less activity than usual, I’ll venture down a new trail to see where it might lead. Yesterday was one such day at Terra Cotta Conservation Area. I was exploring a new trail when the tree at the top of this post caught my attention.

It is clearly an aged survivor of many summer storms and harsh winters. By size alone it stands out from all the trees around it. The half severed branch on the left side is itself larger in circumference than the trunks of any tree within shouting distance.

It’s gnarled and wounded form shows the stubs of branches long since sacrificed to the vicissitudes of the weather. Some may well be souvenirs of Hurricane Hazel which tore through southern Ontario sixty years ago. Others could be much more current reminders of the devastating ice storm from six months ago that ravaged trees without mercy.

I see this war torn veteran as the wise old grandfather of the forest. Each ring in its trunk holds the legacy of days past which may be all but forgotten. If it could speak, the tales it might tell if it were so inclined!

Grandfather Terra Cotta Tree embodies many lessons:

Life is not a sprint. It is an endurance race towards a finish line of which we are never quite certain. There is no prize for getting there quickly. It is the lessons along the way that count.

None of us gets through life without scars. The fates turn against all of us at one time or another regardless of how worthy we may be. The only question is whether we let the scars make us bitter or we wear them as badges of honour.

We all must plant our roots somewhere. It may or may not be a physical place. But there must be something to which we anchor ourselves to give our life meaning and feed us the strength to withstand the storms.

Old age is not the penalty we pay for the years of life we are given. It is a gift we learn to live into with grace – expecting not to be exempted but instead thankful that we are among those fortunate enough to receive it.

Grandfather Terra Cotta Tree is in the twilight of its years. Woodpeckers chisel holes in its trunk which is hollowed and weakened. Creatures find refuge there from the rain. The pile of sawdust at its feet continues to grow.

The day will come when its resilience is used up. It will topple to the ground and slowly decay. In time, it will complete the metaphor for which it has always been intended – the circle of life in which every living creature partakes. As the sun sets on one life, it always rises on another.

~ 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.

 

A Day Like No Other Beneath Cerulean Skies

Hmmm, how often in a lifetime do such days of glory come along?

It was one of those rare, picture-perfect summer days. A cerulean sky arched from horizon to horizon with barely a wisp of clouds. The temperature topped out in the mid 70’s with just the intimation of a breeze tickling the leaves.

Time was not the race against an invisible foe that it so often becomes. All of creation seemed to push the pause button and breathe deep with utter contentment. Tomorrow and the troubles it might bring seemed too far off to contemplate.

I had chosen to visit one of my favourite summer haunts for the winged creatures that I so love to pursue. Fifteen minutes down the trail a gaudy Red-spotted Purple butterfly posed with uncharacteristic patience on a delicate white flower.(Whoever thought to name it “red-spotted” was either colour blind or mischievous, for the spots are clearly orange!)

I found my secret side trail that less attentive hikers pass by unnoticed. Do they have any notion of the little slice of heaven that lies beyond twenty feet of bushes and thigh-high grass? It does not disappoint today. Tiny skippers (think butterflies the size of your thumbnail) frolic in the meadow as thread-thin pond damselflies cling to single blades of grass.

Back on the main trail, I reach the bridge and descend to the river valley. Last year, at this same time in this same place, a Baltimore Checkerspot – ink black with cream spots and orange checkered wing edges – appeared much to my delight. But today there are at least four of them fluttering about in the damp meadow. Only on such a day as this, could it be so.

Later, I traverse the loop trail that winds and coils around two small, weedy lakes. An Emerald dragonfly greets me and traces loops along the shoreline at head height. It hovers now and then within arms’ grasp as if to say: “And who might you be? Friend or foe?”

The trail bends right around the shallow elbow of the lake. And here, once again in echo of a year ago this week, the first regal Monarch of the season floats by in search of the Milkweed plant on which it will lay its eggs. The next generation, that will make the arduous trek to the mountainsides of Mexico, is about to be conceived.

I bear left now as the trail arches around the back side of the elbow. Carefully make my way down to the edge of the lake. I know that Clubtail dragonflies like this spot. Nothing about this day disappoints. A Lilypad Clubtail with its distinctive gold claspers is perched on a lily pad regarding, with what seems to be amusement, tiny bluet damselflies darting hither and nigh.

At this point, the day has delivered all I could ask for. Any other winged beauty that crosses my path will be a bonus. But the best is yet to come.

On the far side of the lake, where the path ambles through willows between the lake and a stream, a nickel-sized butterfly catches my eye perching on a long, curved leaf that cradles it like an infant. Pearl gray with a fine spot band. A Hairstreak! Uncommon and always a delight.

I note the field marks. The orange crescent band on the wing tip is the key. I consult my field guide. The verdict: Acadian Hairstreak! Another lifer and the perfect end to an idyllic day which truly seems heaven sent.

Such days as this are metaphors for what life was meant to be at the dawn of creation. They are rare, precious and to be prized. A gift like no other. I shall commit this day to memory to take refuge in when the troubles of days yet unseen come haunting.

~ 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.

 

 

Survival by Deception in the Milkweed Fields

Hmmm, is there a glimpse into the inner workings of nature in those orange beauties cavorting in the Milkweed fields?

Monarch butterflies have arrived, in my stomping grounds here in southern Ontario, after their 2,500 mile migration from the mountainsides of the Reserva de la Biosfera Mariposa Monarca (Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve) in Mexico. In my mind, it is not full blown summer until I see the stunning flashes of orange and black fluttering past me.

But the mating butterflies you see in the photograph at the top of this post are not actually Monarchs. Examine the photo closely. Do you see the curving black line across the hind wings? Monarchs do not have that line.

These butterflies are called Viceroys, a member of the Admiral butterfly family, which have evolved to mimic Monarchs. Why would this evolutionary adaptation have occurred?

Monarchs feed on the toxic milky substance in Milkweed plants and are able to metabolize it. But it makes them toxic to their predators affording them protection from predation. By evolving to imitate Monarchs, Viceroys gain this same protection without having to make the epic migration that Monarchs do.

I am quite partial to Viceroys. Their unique survival-by-deception strategy is a random act of metaphor for the intricate relationships woven into the fabric of nature.

So, the next time you see a Monarch butterfly, take a closer look. There may be deception afoot.

~ 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.

 

My One-of-a-Kind, Never-Before Seen Manifesto

Hmmm, are you and I each simply a dot on a graph?

There is an entire industry built around the science of personality profiling. The Myers Briggs Type Indicator system is the best known of the dozens of systems in use. I’ve never been evaluated by its measures. But I’ve been around in the workforce for thirty plus years so I’ve been through the profiling exercise more times than I care to count.

My experience with these systems is that they are all variations on the same theme. Each one ultimately pigeon-holes you into one of four quadrants. The only question is how far along the spectrum of that quadrant you land.

As an aside, there is one profiling system that I contend makes all the others obsolete. It is called the Enneagram. I recommend you check it out if you are finding the other systems lacking. You may just find it startlingly insightful.

But it is not my intent to encourage you to put yourself under the microscope of any one system. At the end of the day, their usefulness is limited. They simply give you the comfort of knowing you fit into a predefined category and therefore are within the parameters of “normal”.

All these systems fall short, in my humble opinion, in one vital respect. They fail to acknowledge a fundamental truth: You are absolutely unique. Yes, you share specific traits with some people. From time to time you feel you are looking in the mirror when you are with them. But at other times, if you are being honest, you believe you are a polar opposite to them.

I believe, with passionate conviction, that you and I, and every other person on this planet, are each truly one-of-a-kind. No one else possesses the precise combination of characteristics that you do. No one else sees the world quite the way you do. No one else occupies the exact same place, in psychological and emotional time and space, which you do.

This can be a frightening concept because it means that you are standing alone even as you surround yourself with friends and lovers, mentors and heroes. There is comfort in defining yourself by the relationships you form. It makes you part of a bigger whole.

But I contend that deep down inside each of us, in a place that is not easy to find and somewhat disconcerting when you do, there is an unequivocally unique individual. Think of it as your DNA make-up if that helps you conceptualize it. But it is more cosmic than biological and more spiritual than psychological.

You may or may not choose to go looking for this inner, never-before-seen person. Few if any of us, myself included, every fully grasp that heart of hearts that beats deep within us. But it can be quite liberating to take the journey and catch a glimpse of it.

Here is the metaphor I offer you. Think of yourself as a pebble on a beach amidst thousands of other pebbles. The waves wash equally over each pebble. But those waves sculpt each pebble in an intricate way that cannot be duplicated.

There is only one you. There is only one me. So let’s forget about categories and revel in our magnificent individuality.

~ 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.

 

Random Bugs, Corrupted Messages and Sensory Deprivation

Hmmm, is my car controlled by a dysfunctional family of squabbling, electronic siblings?

Confession: I am not really a car guy. My main criteria when buying a car are: reasonable price, reliability, long shelf life. It does not much matter what it looks like, how fast it will go or how many bells and whistles it boasts. In fact, the less complicated it is, the happier I am.

Unfortunately, automobiles these days are anything but simple. They are rumbling, high tech computers encased in a couple of tons of metal and glass. And like any technology driven device, they are quirky and temperamental. My 2009 Accent has a characteristic quirk. At irregular intervals, it will misfire once or twice before starting.

I asked my mechanic about the problem. He explained the role of the crankshaft and the camshaft in starting the car. Each apparently has a sensor. These sensors send and receive signals from each other. Apparently they miscommunicate randomly which causes the starting problem. It’s one of those nuisance problems you live with since it is difficult to remedy.

I could not help but imagine the two sensors communicating like squabbling siblings. I imagine it goes something like this:

Sensor 1: Ignition sequence initiated. Over.

Sensor 2: Say again? Over

Sensor 1: Dumbass! I said: ignition sequence initiated. But now we’re stalled. Over.

Sensor 2: Not my fault. The message was corrupted. Over.

Sensor 1: You always say that! What a screw-up. You need to be replaced. Over.

Sensor 2: Nothing wrong with me, bud. You need to be recalibrated. Over.

Sensor 1: No, you need to be reprogrammed. Over.

Sensor 2: Do not! Over.

Sensor 1: Do so! Over.

Sensor 2: Do not! Over.

Sensor 1: Ah, should the guy behind the wheel be turning purple? Over.

Sensor 2: That could be problematic. He may blow a gasket. Let’s try again. Over.

Sensor 1: Ignition sequence initiated. Over.

Sensor 2: Message received. Ignition confirmed. Vehicle is running.

Sensor 1: You’re still a dumbass. Over.

Sensor 2: Bite me. Over and out.

I long for the good old days before cars came bundled with software that the engineers are not able to debug before production begins. There are now cars that can park themselves. But you just know that at some point the parking module is going to malfunction. Picture yourself trying to convince the cop it was not your fault.

“Honestly, officer, the car was parking itself. It suddenly accelerated and went over the curb, sideswiped the parking meter, took out the little old lady and crashed through the coffee shop window. There was nothing I could do.”

I view my car as an expensive necessity for getting me from Point A to Point B. But I’m forced to concede that it is also a rolling metaphor for the technology dependant world in which we live. We are at the mercy of high tech devices that squabble and miscommunicate, often without rhyme or reason. It gives sensory deprivation a whole new meaning.

~ 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.