Metaphors of Life Journal: Conjuring New Worlds from the Artifacts of Life Gone By
Hmmm, if I cannot find a time travel portal to revisit the carefree days of childhood, I can at least immortalize them for all time on the printed page.
Growing old frequently lands you in a state where recalling the happy-go-lucky days of childhood has an irresistible appeal. I recently had one of those dominos tumbling down memory lane days.
Our brain is most fertile when we are in a reflective state of mind. A thought triggers a memory which in turn unearths another recollection which throws open a door to experiences decades old. Experiences that were unremarkable when they occurred are animated in the lens of memory.
Walk with me, if you will, through this stream of consciousness.
Collecting fallen chestnuts from century-old Chestnut Trees on Main Street, polishing them to a high sheen, boring holes through them with a screwdriver and stringing them together to make a chestnut necklace whose only real value is in the making of it.
Crossing the railroad tracks to Brook Pond and wading in with bare feet. Catching tadpoles and bringing them home in a pail of water hoping they will transform into frogs while you sleep.
Kicking through knee-high grass in the vacant corner lot to pick wild strawberries eating them as you go. Or catching elusive grasshoppers and putting them in a glass jar with air holes punched in the lid just to admire them for a few hours.
Pickup games of street hockey or baseball or three on three football where the final score matters less than time spent with friends and making that one spectacular play.
Riding your bicycle – with banana seat, high handlebars and wobbly rear wheel missing half a dozen spokes – around the neighbourhood for no other reason than the summer wind on your face and because it feels like freedom.
Climbing the neighbour’s tree every fall to pick pears, fill a six quart basket on a rope, lower it down to awaiting hands below, pull up an empty basket and start over again until the tree is bare or sunlight is failing.
Life was majestically simple and oh so sweet back then. I would give a king’s ransom to wind back the clock and relive those unpretentious days over and over again. Alas, it cannot be.
But what I can do is shape each of these memories into a metaphor and weave each of those metaphors into a story. For that is what writers do. Conjure new worlds from the artifacts of life gone by and give them immortality on the page.
~ 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.
Growing old frequently lands you in a state where recalling the happy-go-lucky days of childhood has an irresistible appeal. I recently had one of those dominos tumbling down memory lane days.
Our brain is most fertile when we are in a reflective state of mind. A thought triggers a memory which in turn unearths another recollection which throws open a door to experiences decades old. Experiences that were unremarkable when they occurred are animated in the lens of memory.
Walk with me, if you will, through this stream of consciousness.
Collecting fallen chestnuts from century-old Chestnut Trees on Main Street, polishing them to a high sheen, boring holes through them with a screwdriver and stringing them together to make a chestnut necklace whose only real value is in the making of it.
Crossing the railroad tracks to Brook Pond and wading in with bare feet. Catching tadpoles and bringing them home in a pail of water hoping they will transform into frogs while you sleep.
Kicking through knee-high grass in the vacant corner lot to pick wild strawberries eating them as you go. Or catching elusive grasshoppers and putting them in a glass jar with air holes punched in the lid just to admire them for a few hours.
Pickup games of street hockey or baseball or three on three football where the final score matters less than time spent with friends and making that one spectacular play.
Riding your bicycle – with banana seat, high handlebars and wobbly rear wheel missing half a dozen spokes – around the neighbourhood for no other reason than the summer wind on your face and because it feels like freedom.
Climbing the neighbour’s tree every fall to pick pears, fill a six quart basket on a rope, lower it down to awaiting hands below, pull up an empty basket and start over again until the tree is bare or sunlight is failing.
Life was majestically simple and oh so sweet back then. I would give a king’s ransom to wind back the clock and relive those unpretentious days over and over again. Alas, it cannot be.
But what I can do is shape each of these memories into a metaphor and weave each of those metaphors into a story. For that is what writers do. Conjure new worlds from the artifacts of life gone by and give them immortality on the page.
~ 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.
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