Macadamia, a nut since birth, rolled over the lazy dog as he prepared to make his journey into the uncertain world of single-fruits. He departed with convention and decided to make it on his own as opposed to being picked, sorted, canned and sold to people with too much money and too much time on their hands. Macadamia somehow knew there was a bigger and more exciting world beyond his shell and he wanted it more than a politician could ever want a vote. He was afraid and he blamed his fear on his sheltered upbringing by his typical parents who treated and fed him like a mushroom. Eventually the food will hit the fan he thought, and today is eventually.
Macadamia’s parents, two huge proteaceae, were typical nuts; non-athletic, non-adventurous, TV-watching, lock-the-house-up-by-8:00pm type of hard-shell fruits. Though they were good and tasty, especially when roasted and slightly salted, they were exceptionally uninteresting and predictable at best. They offered safety but not growth. Yet, when stories are told about them fifty years from now they would be described as quaint as the old woman who lived in the shoe, or the quite contrary Mary. Time will always hide the truth.
Time, like alcohol in sufficient quantities, has a way of numbing the brain and it also has the ability to take things from the past and mold them into something more pleasing and suitable for a child’s high school essay. Without the proof of photographs, time can make the bland beautiful or the grotesque handsome. It can make the coward brave and the stupid almost a genius. It can make the recluse into a party animal and the unemployed loafer into a wealthy businessman who lost all his wealth due to the trickery of a cunningly beautiful woman. Time - the greatest invention before the wheel, fire and possibly even the g-string.
