Grey Matter

 Have you ever wanted to matter to someone?
I mean, REALLY matter to someone?
To be the person someone looks for to anchor themselves in a crowd of strangers?
To be the one they invite places - not out of obligation - but because they genuinely want you there? 

Have you ever wanted to meet someone who wasn't completely apathetic about you? 
Someone who wouldn't mind spending time with you... without the promise of getting to "make it" with you? 

You ever want to sit in a treehouse and look at the stars thru a telescope with someone? 
Someone who wouldn't make fun of you for the way you say "pleiades" or for not being able to point out "polaris"... someone who could surprise you by pointing polaris out to you? 
To sit and talk to someone whose opening line wouldn't be "what's your sign?" because they know you are more than one in that regard... and that in others, "dangerous curves" is not off the table? 
To converse with someone who could not only name the nine muses, but could wax poetic about which one he'd like most to be kissed by? 

Have you ever wanted to matter to someone who believes in the good things? 
Like - Miles Davis' "Blue in Green" playing on an old phonograph machine at sunrise? 
Like - Doris Day chirping an earworm of "It's A Lovely Day Today" in your brain as you enjoy a walk during a warm summer downpour in a brand new sunshine yellow raincoat and galoshes? 
Like - baby laughter... like a really delighted baby laughing? 
Like - Buster Keaton movies? 
Like - enjoying a mug of warm wassil while wearing soft flannel pajamas sitting in an oversized armchair in front of a roasting hot fireplace while one of you reads adventure stories aloud on a cold weather day? 
Have you ever wanted someone to believe that you are one of those good things?

Have you ever wanted to matter to someone so they'd share things like that with you?
Those quiet little things - things that only those you really matter to know. 
Have you ever wanted to matter to someone that you could turn moments into memories with?

Alone in a Crowd

     I'm sitting here alone in a room full of people that I don't know. I'm here for a friend who has just lost her spouse. She is one of three I can list off the top of my head that this has happened to. I don't know if that means my generation has good or bad odds with spousal mortality. 

    I didn't know him well, not apart from what I've read and heard of him anyway. It seems he was a good man... a family man... really wanted to be a good dad, not like his stepdad... left high paying jobs on purpose because he was missing out on seeing the kids he and my friend had grow up and family time mattered to him. He also liked sports... coached all the little league teams and such. 

    Though I didn't know him myself, as far as I was aware he took care of my friend and their children, and that was all I needed to know. Well, that, and that they were inseparable, that they instantly clicked, and that she loved him. So did her family, apparently. Her sister considered him a substitute husband and he would do things like put up her sister's Christmas lights and fix things around her sister's house. My friend's family was crying more today than she was. My friend just looked tired... exhausted. Like she'd had a sleepless night. I suppose that is the earmark of a good man, your in-laws love you, and your wife misses you. 

    So, here I sit, an old friend at a funeral, surrounded by the vestiges of my old friend's new life. Apart from her family and her best friend (that I've also known since childhood), I don't know a single person here... not even her children. I'm without words for my presence here - because I feel like I need an excuse to be present, apart from my affection for her. I am clearly the pariah - set apart for God knows what. Still, it is lonely to be at a funeral alone. I cannot imagine how she feels. 

    Well,... that isn't entirely true. I can imagine what she feels... and that is exactly why I don't want to. I know how deep my thoughts can go and I'm already crying over a man I've never met. So, no, I am determined to not make more of a mess of myself than I already feel like I am. I will not attempt to imagine what she is feeling. 

    This entire room is teeming with life. Life that has gathered to remember the life that my friend has lost, but they don't even discuss him. They only talk about themselves. At the next table over they are talking about a restaurant down the road. At another they are talking about who is going to pick up grandma. Nothing is being said about this man that I don't know. Funerals are strange that way. Everyone apparently already knows everything about everyone, so there is nothing new to share. Then there are strangers like me, who have no memories of this man, who only have love for a friend. I hope strangers come to my funeral and ask the people who knew me questions about what I was like. I hope that I live well enough so that those who know me will have wonderful answers (or at least interesting ones). 

    They are clearing up the tables now, and the family is heading out. I still know next to nothing of the man - only his love for my friend.. and her love for him... and that is enough for me. 

Carl

You grew on me so quietly. You barely spoke ten words. 

Just the same, I fell for all those things I never heard. 

It never was about that - those things you never said.

The sweetness in your actions was what I saw instead. 

Remembering when I'd fallen, how you'd run to help me stand. 

If I had to do it over, I'd probably fall again... 

To see that care inside your eyes shine "just for me" once more…

Surprised by the concern there that I'd never seen before. 

There was that time I'd shyly sung, when I hadn't thought you'd hear. 

I never would've done it had I known you stood so near, 

But you'd stayed hidden right beside the bleachers I was in.

Emerging once I'd finished, asking me to sing again. 

On that trip we took together, when you chose to sit by me?

I listened when you spoke, instead of setting my truth free.

The silent tip of frightened tongue held words I couldn't say.

I had the chance to tell you then. I let it slip away.

You confronted my despondency and asked what you'd done wrong.

After you had noticed we'd not spoken all week long.

Had you really thought of me for longer than an hour? 

You'd paid that much attention? My sadness had that power?

Then, that day you saw me -- you saw my soul laid bare.

Your gaze had nailed me to the floor, and open to your stare. 

Since then I've wondered many times, had you finally seen my truth?

You shared with me such peace although your look was so astute. 

The last time that I saw you, your face had shined so bright. 

I finally got you talking when I asked, "Are you alright?"

But I saw that light grow dim when someone else approached.

He dared to hold me closely, I could've punched his throat. 

All you would've had to do was reach for me that day

And I'd have left him there alone and followed you away.

You nodded though - with sad respect - and made a move to leave.

My heart broke into pieces when you turned your back to me. 

Suddenly I knew you'd hurt, because I had been hurt too.

Then suddenly all that mattered were the things I knew of you.

Day by day we took it, day by day we both improved.

Until you went for surgery, until they had you moved.

That day I never had with you, things I never got to say…

Each and every single one was ripped from me that day.

And all I did was sit there, I couldn't even cry. 

That silent, foggy morning when you didn't say good-bye. 

Yes, you were front and center of a church packed full that day, 

And we're forever unrequited for the things we didn't say. 

(My thanks to EiAnderson at DeviantArt for the image!)

Things that freak me out a little bit.

Apparently Cariani painted Benjamin Barnes in "Portrait of a Man with a Dog" circa 1520 (That would be about 462 years before Ben was born.)

Or am I the only one that sees this?

According to the website that I found the painting on, Cariani may not have painted this at all. This may may have been an early attempt at a self-portrait of/by Leonardo Da Vinci. (Why was I looking up Leonardo Di Vinci? *Outside of the fact that we was brilliant?* Let's just say it may have involved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.)

Does that mean it is entirely possible that Benjamin and Leonardo look/looked very similar?
If the information is true that Da Vinci actually painted himself this way, I'm game to admit that could be very possible.

But  A) I've no reason to disbelieve the National Gallery.
And B) I have my own questions about it.

Granted, by all written accounts, Da Vinci was a striking young man... but a very tow-headed, light-eyed one. Everything I've read states quite plainly that Da Vinci was supposed to have golden colored hair and grey-blue eyes.
Why would Da Vinci paint his own hair and eyes a darker shade than they truly were?

Which leads me back to my original thought process. Who was Cariani painting? And why does it look so startlingly like someone alive today (again with the 462 year difference)?

(Just a disclaimer: I didn't ask permission to use either of these images... one is appropriately watermarked for Marc Abrahams. http://www.maosyndication.com/archive/celebrity:Ben+Barnes
The other I grabbed from someone's personal website *http://www.kleio.org/en/history/leonardo/newportrait.html* that linked to the Cariani information. My thanks to both of these sources. I'm not making a profit off this and no copyright infringement is intended.)

HOBI - writing some of the strange things in my mind (that probably shouldn't be there on Christmas night)

I try to stay away from the darker places of my mind. I tend to be a positive person and I try to bring that out, not only in myself, but in others as well.

But, there is a boy - a boy that I've know about since the age of nine.... twenty years. 

I have had countless dreams about this boy, two of them involve staircases. 

It has come to my attention that he has had "staircase" dreams as well, and it makes me feel strange. 

His staircase seems to come from a much weaker place than mine, with some unidentifiable female(s) - a steampunk fantasy in "Wizard of Oz" black and white.

His dream whispers a song to him - a whispered song that tries to sing through cadavers swinging from some fixed place in the air, a once-human chandelier. 

There is a bright light in his dream. 

He is going toward it. 

There is a bright light in both of my dreams. 

What is the difference?
In one dream, my staircase is well lit in a place that I am very familiar with.
I am going down the stairs and he passes me - ascending without a glance.
In the second dream, I am the one ascending as he trudges downward, again not once looking my direction. I have a power in the second dream that I don't in the first, but he doesn't know that. 

Now, my dreams may seem tame by comparison to a chandelier of death- but I must be honest, my dreams are usually much more disturbing.

I've been deep under the sea, chased there by enormous spiders that are trying to eat me.
I've watched myself be stabbed to death by a shadow that I could not see.
I've felt the pain of being stabbed as I watched it happen.
I've never run away.

This makes me wonder things.

I wonder how dark my mind really is. 

How deep a mind can introspect before it goes crazy?

I do not know. 

I've never let myself slip that far. 

Is this boy braver than I am for traveling into that dark nightmare that I do not talk about? 

Or am I more brave for having darker thoughts (that are often much more nightmarish) and maintaining my composure? 

Am I more dangerous? 

How are our dreams so similar? 

How can they be so different?

These must be universal themes. 

That is the only justification. 

• Stairs
• Lights
• Songs 
• Knives
• Monsters in the dark
• Monsters in the light
• Attraction
• Familiarity
• Foreign-ness
• Curiosity
• Bravery
• Vulnerability
• Agonizing moments of infinity that exhale forever before the final toll of some soundless bell

Does he really hear that?
Does he feel it? 

Does he see it?

Does he smell it?

Does he taste it? 

What is it?

Neither of us seem to know, yet we seem to dream similar dreams.

Do we somehow know, in some cosmic way, that we suddenly have one another's attention? 

Is that what it is? 

Perhaps we are old friends, much older than we think. 

We do have ancestry in the same part of the world. 

How do I know this?

Well, our last names are a start. 

Though I am aware of him, I do not believe he knows me.

I'd almost rather he didn't.
I feel as though we are consciously existing in my second dream right now.

Nostalgia keeps this boy in my heart... nostalgia and sentimentality.

But, I do not love him. 

His darkness is not dark enough. 

I do not love him in his darkness because he refuses to pull away from it to see the light. 

He seems without hope.

Drowning in a shallow puddle of mud, refusing to save himself. 

I almost hate him for this. 

I do not think he can go as far into the darkness as I can. 

I feel I bring a greater light with me... a stronger light.

Or perhaps it is that he has already gone into that darkness before me and it has nearly extinguished him - leaving him forever altered, with a weak flame.

Is my light strong enough to melt him?

Yes.
He does not know this, but in my soul I am certain of it.

Do I have mercy enough to melt his candle to my own?

No.

Not if he weakens my light. 

He crawls brown - like sticky tar... bemoaning his existence as he reaches out like a leech for the next stair step up. 

The truth is - I fear my darkness. 

The truth is - I fear his more.

Though my darkness is darker, his has the ability to infect.

He is an incubus of pity - and my sentimental attachment endangers me. 

I must let him go. 

I need to let him go. 

Send him skulking away to some other victim. 

The victim I am too cruel to be.

My darkness may be darker and much more bloodstained, but it is clear and precision - like a freshly sharpened knife blade reflected in the full moon's light on a crisp, starless night.
He is otherwise - a cesspool of dense, corrupted fog.

Just Me - Being A Girl

I was writing by the pool the other day and there were some gents sitting around enjoying a beer or two, having a conversation. Nothing wrong with this - nothing wrong with it at all. Of course, the conversation eventually worked it's way into girl territory, and I sat there pretending not to listen while I heard these two guys agreeing over something that I found terribly hurtful.

"Do you know what I miss the most?"

"What?"

"Having a girl at the apartment who will do the dishes."

"Yeah."

Do I believe it was their intention to be hurtful? Probably not. But, it was hurtful just the same, and the more I think on it - the more questions I have that rhetorically answer why it is hurtful to me. And here is the list of things that continue to run through my mind.

• Why must a girl be the one to do the dishes? Is she your maid, are you paying her to do them?
• Aren't you a grown man? Do you not have two hands of your own? Are you not capable of doing your own dishes?
• Do you believe that just because you are a boy that your time is more precious than mine is because I am a girl?
• Do boys dislike doing dishes? What makes you think that girls like doing them if boys dislike doing them? 
• Why must I be maligned to housework just because I am female? Do I not have my own goals and ambitions?

That hurtful phrase, "having a girl at the apartment who will do the dishes", is not the only place that I hear this. I've heard countless fellows that admit that they prefer girls who are, "a little bit dumb," or girls who "are the housewife type".

This is not to say that I dislike girls who choose to stay home and take care of their families. I applaud those girls and the sacrifices they choose to make on behalf of their families. What I do not like is men thinking that women are dumber than they are because girls make the choice to do this; or that these women are easier to tolerate because they are of a more nurturing sort.

I will be the first to admit it. I am not like those girls, but am I less desirable because of that? I shouldn't be and I don't believe that I am. But, I'm going to put it to you straight - I also haven't been on a "date-date" in about 10 years. So, maybe the guys around me don't agree.

Still, I have never been the type to pander to anyone else's desires either. I am not the housewife type, I cannot lie about that. That is not who I am. That is not who I intend to become either.

HOBI: I've not written here in quite some time... Shame on me!

I have found some fantastic new sites that I really love. I don't know how many readers remember the blog wherein I mentioned Toxel.com, this post will be very reminiscent of that! (Toxel is still very active in their posts, by the way, and I still love scanning the site from time to time. Case in point, their latest "Modern Studio Apartment" addition.)

Just recently, one of my best childhood friends and her husband decided to move their family to St. Kitts in the Caribbean, and she posted about houzz.com. I decided to check the site out myself, since one of my hobbies is admiration of lovely interior design. This site is amazing.

One of my favorite things about interior design in built-ins. This site has them by the pages! Not only that, but there is a 3D option on some of their photo albums! You do have to be a member of the site to see some of those options though (which I rarely ever do), but for those willing to invest more attention on those things - this isn't a bad site to visit! For those not wanting to sign up, there are still plenty of things to see without having to sign up for extras, which I genuinely appreciate!

Shout out to Mandy for the hook-up on this one! It is a stellar great find! I hope your move goes well! All my love to you and yours while you are away!

On to the more and the different. I have been a Deltec Homes fan for years now. Since I live in an area where there is a considerable amount of storm damage done pretty consistently, I've really been interested in building myself a solid home when the time comes for me to move out of my apartment. These homes are a little pre-fab, which annoys me a tiny bit, but ONLY a tiny bit. You still get the option of putting most of your walls up where you want them so it really isn't so bad. These guys also build efficient, they build green, and all of the houses are really beautifully done. Their website has so much information about building a house too! It really makes you stop and think about the things you will need, the things you will want, and how you are going to budget it all. This 6 Step Guide is a wonderful example of that. They've also been featured on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition! Tell me that doesn't help their credibility!

I've been a fan of Deltec for such a long time that I can remember when when their site only featured about 5 different links and about 10 different plans. To watch how that company has grown online alone has been incredible to me! And just in case you are wondering, if I build a Deltec for myself one day, I am holding out for the 1 story Chesapeake! I love the openness in it!




That's all for this installment. I'll be keeping my eyes open and hopefully sharing LOTS more with all my readers in the future! Again, my apologies for being so long between posts! Happy surfing everyone!