Tag Archives: metaphor

Caulk

Caulk: (n) a waterproof filler and sealant, used in building work

Not everything is a parable.

Truthfully, you have to be careful with metaphors. You can slice them as thin as the cheese at Subway.

But I will tell you on this Independence Day–I am caulk.

I realized this early on in my life. I am not wood, iron, steel, or as the song says, titanium.

I am caulk. I find the holes and I fill them with my gentle, sweet, comical but purposeful, passages.

I am not here to tear down, nor am I here to be a building inspector, informing you about what parts of life should be condemned.

There are dear, brave souls who do such reconstruction. They free slaves, liberate nations and find actual cures for disease instead of just bizarre treatments.

I am caulk. I come across cracks in the concrete and I fill them in with wit and good cheer.

It buys time. It keeps us from leaking like sieves.

It holds things together–waiting for the hour when common sense can sit down and have dinner with wisdom … and let tolerance pick up the check.

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Bush

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Bush: (n) a shrub or clump of shrubs

One of the more comical things to pursue is a return visit to the homestead of your youth, to discover that everything is half the size, half the beauty, half the value and therefore, half the blessing.

I did it.

I went back to my home and just had to giggle all through the process, peering at the lawn I was convinced was twenty acres in size when I had to mow it, but now seemed barely large enough for three children to play.

The brick home I remembered as being hugely sufficient was now a postage stamp for a very tiny letter.

But there, next to the driveway, was the bush–still remaining–always a great paradox to me, or maybe even a metaphor. Because every year this bush sprouted little red berries, which looked so tantalizing, but my mother insisted were poison. And every time I reached over to pick them, or even touch them, she screamed her warning about their danger.

Yet in all the years we lived there, nobody ever tried to remove the damn bush so little fingers wouldn’t be tempted. It just sat there, being beautifully red with fruit, crying to me to disobey my mother and pursue the wonder of the unknown.

Yes, now I know how Eve felt.

 

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