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Join me in figuring out "what now?"

Dec 4: Low Angle

december-photo-list SmallWasn’t sure if today’s photo was meant to be of a low angle, or taken from a low angle. So I went with the latter.

I think I’ve written about this before and I’ve probably used a similar photo many times (its a good way to take photos of quilts that I make), but it has significance much larger than that.

The thing I get from this is a sense of knowing, warmth and satisfaction. You see, at the top of the photo is a door. That is the door to my son’s bedroom. And looking up to see it closed like that, means he is in that room. And it means he is home with me, safe from the world at at large and available to me should I need him.

Looking up and seeing that is my sense of peace in a world all too insecure and frightening. Having him home warms my heart and makes me feel loved, without ever having to see his face or hear his voice. Knowing that he is there, is my inner peace.

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MacCupcake

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It’s All Jeff Bridges’ Fault

For a long time, I have tried to figure out what my “type” was when it came to men. I’ve been able to narrow it down some, but generally speaking, height and coloring really don’t play into it (not much anyway). I’ve dated blondes and guys with brown and black hair, even some gray. They don’t necessarily need to be tall, but should be at least as tall as me. Brown eyes, green, blue and everything in between is fine. They could be professional men or someone who works with his hands or his back. And income never really mattered. But he had to have style… and that usually came with feeling good in his own skin.

Age didn’t seem to be a requirement either. I’ve dated men who were older than me and younger. Sometimes by a little, sometimes more. He didn’t have to be fit, he could be carrying a little extra weight. But not skinny. A man who was comfortable with his shift off. A man not afraid of hard work, both physical and mental.

A man who could look at me. Who could see through any pretense and games. But a man who loved to play games. And take chances. A man unafraid of the world. A man with confidence.

And it would seem, a beard. Or at the very least, a mustache and a goatee. Facial hair was important. How much hair on his head, not so much, but on his face was a requirement. I never really understood this part, as my father and brothers never really worn beards.

Then, last night, watching old movies, it hit me. Like a ton of bricks. Not five minutes into the movie, this handsome hunk appears:

Jeff Bridges Against All Odds1984, I was a young 24 years old and seeing this guy in this movie changed everything for me. He was 35 at the time. The height of a man’s life, I think, where he knows who he is and has some years to back it up. Knows what he is doing, both with his words and his actions, and has purpose and drive. Lives life with enthusiasm and knows what he wants and gets it. Takes it if necessary.

And that beard put him over the top. For me.

And suddenly it all makes sense. This was the man that I have been trying to find all my life… and from time to time have found him. No, not Jeff Bridges, but my version(s) of him. The man that I eventually married. And another man that I also almost married. And maybe about four other men. Including the last one. It was funny during our breakup, I told him that if he really wanted me to stop loving him, that all he needed to do was shave his beard and mustache. Which he did. And I immediately was over him.

Hmmm. Guess it wasn’t really him I loved after all!

Jeff Bridges Against All Odds 3I was in love with Jeff Bridges. Or at least my version of him. The age thing never varied much either… it was always somewhere in the thirties, when a man really starts to come into his own. And from which he lives the rest of his life.

Jeff Bridges Against All Odds 2I guess for me, I will always be attracted to the essence of this guy. It could even be Jeff, he has maintained that rough, gruff exterior and confidence. Alas, it is not to be.

So, I will leave with you with last shot. And I will spend much of the next week or so in this strange and wonderful place where I was oh those so many years ago when I first fell in love. Or was it lust? Whatever it was, it was Jeff.

Jeff Bridges Against All Odds 4Ciao!

MacCupcake

 

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Way Up High or Down Low

When did it become too late for passion and love and heat and romance and sex? Seems I am rolling along getting to experience all the highs and lows of the intricate dance of a man and a woman and then one day, listening to music, you realize that you no longer experience what is being sung about. No more, do you do “the dance”.

Does it happen in a single moment? Like crossing some horrible black finish line? Or does it just come on slowly and gradually so that all of a sudden, you realize like I did, that it is just – poof! – gone?

God I used to love the feeling of falling in love. Or was it the feeling of lust? That sensual attraction that makes you want to have your hands and your mouth and your lips and your body on another person? To be near that person? To hear their laugh, their anger, their joy, even their silence?

Is that just a natural end-to-life? You’ve passed the point of procreating and even raising your babies and now, all of a sudden, there is no need (for the one that has been around) to be around anymore.

I was working in the garage this morning and listening to music. The song tells of a love of a man who wishes he had done it differently – “If I could, then I would; I’ll go wherever you will go, way up high or down low, I’ll go wherever you will go.”

Boy do I remember feeling so hopelessly entangled and endlessly in love that I would have walked on water for a man (or men) from my past. To feel so strongly and to care so little for myself, it was like an addiction to the strongest drug in the universe and you keep looking for that initial “high” over and over.

Maybe it is what my mother experienced once her children were all grown and she looked around and saw that the ‘spark’ of what makes life worth living was gone and why suddenly, she announced one day that she was ready to go. Can it be that life is not worth living without that rush and heat and flush? That once the passion is gone, it takes with it the passion for life?

MacCupcake

Read more: The Calling – Wherever You Will Go Lyrics | MetroLyrics
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