There’s an old saying that “Seeing is believing.” As with other old sayings, such as “Live and learn” and “Practice makes perfect,” this one doesn’t seem to apply to me. Or maybe I believe too much. Sometimes I see things, ordinary things that my mind refuses to leave ordinary. My tendency is to enhance the mundane, turning it into either soul-stirring wonder or something involving imminent catastrophe. The vast middle ground of daily life holds little interest.
I’d be reluctant to admit any of this, but Heidi Turner of The Happy Freelancer recently had the courage to write about her own special worldview, which her annoying non-writer friends describe as an overactive imagination. Personally, I think her friends have been sent here from another galaxy to short-circuit our creative spirit with invisible laser beams emitted from their eyebrows; but that’s just my opinion.
* * * * *
It was early evening on a late summer day in Florida. I was standing outside the Mexico pavilion at Epcot. The pavilion had a dining room that was half indoor and half outdoor, but had the feel of an open-air restaurant. It sat several feet below sidewalk level, allowing passersby to look out over the heads of the many people eating their chimichangas and enchiladas, the evening’s quiet interrupted only by the occasional clinking of fork against plate. The sunset was breathtaking. Purple and orange clouds seemed to float motionless under a sky splattered with red, pink, and more shades of blue than I’d ever seen in one place. I stood transfixed for several minutes, soaking in the experience, really living in the moment. I felt exuberantly alive. Then I realized there was a woman standing beside me. She too was looking out over the crowd. I turned to her, then back at the wondrous scene above us.
“Have you ever seen a sunset like this?” I asked. She looked up for about two seconds, then back at me.
“That’s the ceiling,” she said.
I looked closely and for the first time noticed what appeared to be air vents and heating ducts among the clouds. The sunset was a mural painted onto the restaurant ceiling, which neatly explained why nobody else was looking at it. I said goodbye to the woman and headed over to the Chinese pavilion, hoping they hadn’t painted fireworks on their walls.
* * * * *
I was at my desk in the office at home. During a short break, I happened to glance out the window and there in the grass under the old hickory tree was a beautiful bird. Its feathers were shades of red and brown. As it sat near the trunk of the tree, the bird rested with its head curved down and away from me and its tail pointing straight back.
A full minute passed and the bird hadn’t moved, so I left my chair and went out the back door to check on it. Maybe it was sick, or had been attacked by the neighbor’s cat. I approached and found that it was neither sick nor hurt. Actually, it was a piece of wood. I picked it up and examined it, realizing that a broken branch from the hickory tree had fallen. The sunlight reflecting off the bark and the resulting shadows had given it the appearance of a brightly colored bird. I had once again gone from this exquisite sense of oneness with the universe to feeling like a moron.
* * * * *
I was driving southbound on the Bronx River Parkway, in New York’s Westchester County. At some point I looked off to the left and saw what appeared to be a man, sprawled on his back halfway down the hill. This was a small highway, with two narrow lanes in each direction and no place to pull over. I was on my way to a fundraising event I’d helped organize, a thought that still perplexes me, as I have trouble organizing my underwear drawer.
The fundraiser was moving along smoothly. It was a dance-a-thon or skate-a-thon, or something. I didn’t really need to be there, and the more I stood around trying to look instrumental, the more my mind flew back to the scene on the parkway. I had spotted a dead body. I was sure of it.
I did the only rational, responsible thing there was to do: I sneaked away and called the New Rochelle Police.
“I think there’s a dead body on the Bronx River Parkway,” I said, trying to sound serious, sensible, urgent, and sane, all at once.
“How do you know it’s a dead body?” the police department person asked.
I said I didn’t know, but that was what it looked like. I told him exactly where I saw it, between two exits on the northbound side. He said they’d have a look, and thanked me for calling. I felt like an upstanding citizen. But still, my curiosity was twitching and I needed to see for myself. The next day, I retraced my route, this time taking a friend along for the ride. And for the corroboration.
There was little traffic, and as we approached the spot I slowed almost to a stop, and pointed.
“There. What is that?”
“Right there?” she asked.
“Yeah, right there. What does that look like?”
“A bag of leaves.”
I glanced at the road, then back to my left. I squinted. It was a large plastic bag of leaves, tossed down the hill and broken open. Some of the leaves had spilled out in different directions and the spills looked like arms and legs. But now that I knew what it was, a broken bag of leaves, I tried to see it as a dead body and I couldn’t do it.
Driving through New Rochelle, I was careful to stay just under the speed limit. I also wondered if the police had any way of tracing a call made from a pay phone.
* * * * *
One late summer evening, while driving a few blocks from home, I looked up and to my right and saw a shiny oval object hovering in the darkening sky. It was silver and was about the size one of those helium-filled party balloons would appear to be if it were forty or fifty feet above the ground. I did some mental calculations and decided this thing must be a thousand feet up, and about the size of a small airplane. It floated motionless for seconds, then drifted left or right, seemingly without aim. No vehicle originating on Earth had the ability to move like that, especially while hanging in mid-air. As it changed direction so did I, steering the car with one eye on the object and the other on the road. My heart was pounding.
Minutes passed and I wondered why no one else was paying attention to this strange thing above them. Ignoring the familiar feeling of humiliation now taking shape in my brain, I pulled into a shopping center parking lot, turned off the engine, and got out. Looking straight up, I could now see that the object was exactly what it appeared to be. It was one of those helium-filled party balloons, hovering forty or fifty feet above the ground. Recognizing a chance to appear normal, I headed into the store and picked up a bag of carrots, which were on sale and which my mother had always said would help improve eyesight.
To tell you the truth, I’ve been eating carrots all my life and I don’t think they affect eyesight one bit. Where do people get these crazy ideas, anyway?
Margaret Reyes Dempsey
February 9, 2011
Astigmatism is my diagnosis. But don’t have it corrected. These posts are far too entertaining. Sometimes we must suffer for our art.
The graphic of the guy napping under the leaves made me giggle.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
Thanks, Margaret. By the way, your book is on its way. I can’t wait to read it.
LikeLike
Margaret Reyes Dempsey
February 10, 2011
Yay!! Maybe you should have selected the Pony Express shipping option.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
Pony Express service isn’t available in Canada yet.
LikeLike
Jessica Sieghart
February 10, 2011
Everyone should get Margaret’s book! It’s so much fun I couldn’t put it down. Go ahead. Click the button 🙂
LikeLike
writerwoman61
February 9, 2011
I came to your blog via AA at Big Happy Nothing…really enjoying it!
I feel your pain…my problem is two-fold: I’m blind as a bat without correction (I only see shapes and colours), and I’m one of the most unobservant people you’ll ever meet (which means I’ll give something a quick look and get the wrong idea about what I “saw” entirely).
Funny post!
Wendy
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
I’m glad I’m not the only one. Thanks for the comment. And congratulations on getting the Stylish Blogger Award!
LikeLike
souldipper
February 9, 2011
Charles, your description of the sunset was so entrancing that, at “more shades of blue”, I stopped reading, went back to the beginning and read it aloud so I could absorb all of that beauty.
Imagine the impact when I read the woman’s response: Full belly laugh. At risk of my seriously straight neighbours peering through windows, the volume was stuck on 10.
Nothing replaces the ability to laugh at oneself. Thank you.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
Thanks, Amy. That’s exactly the effect it would have had on me, had I not been feeling completely ridiculous.
LikeLike
magsx2
February 9, 2011
Hi,
That must of been one fantastic painting on the ceiling, 10 out of 10 for the artist. Loved the story about the balloon, I agree about the carrots, I think this was made up by parents many, many, years ago, to get the children to eat them, like so many other “wives tales.”
I love reading your blog, always get a good laugh and brilliant story’s, thank you for sharing these stories.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
It was many years ago and the mural is probably long gone. I don’t know if the painting was that good or if I’m just that dense. Could be both. (Probably both.)
LikeLike
Snoring Dog Studio
February 9, 2011
I’ve finally picked myself up off the floor. I can barely type this, though, through the tears. How do you get to be this unassumingly hilarious? How do you take words and mundane events and weave such pathos and comedy and humanity and sensitivity all in one post? Please continue to see things that aren’t there. And share them. One of these days, someone will see the very same thing. Wonderful post, Charles!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
“How do you take words and mundane events and weave such pathos and comedy and humanity and sensitivity all in one post? Please continue to see things that aren’t there.”
Uh oh, SDS. I think you have it, too.
LikeLike
dearrosie
February 10, 2011
The description of you sharing the painted sunset with that woman at Epcot is hilarious! Congratulations BB. My family wanted to know why I was laughing like a mad woman, so I read it aloud to them and they also had to hang onto their stomachs…
I’d love to hear the woman’s version of the story… “There was this lunatic admiring the sunset painted on the wall..”
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
I wish I had a photograph of that place, Rosie. It was very realistic. And you know, millions of people visit Epcot every year. I couldn’t have been the only one who made the mistake. I bet there have been at least two or three others.
LikeLike
Jessica Sieghart
February 10, 2011
I read this last night hoping to share my story of “seeing things” with you, but I still can’t remember what it was that I mistook for something else. It was recently, too! You’ll have to excuse me, I’m crazy right now. LOL
I hope you forever keep seeing things that aren’t there. This was a riot! I don’t even remember seeing anything like that when I was at Epcot. That shows you how much I pay attention, I suppose. 🙂 Now I want to go back just to check it out. (that would be the only reason. Disney is also on my Las Vegas list. Glad I went, but have no real desire to go back). Your dead body story had me in tears. People see “dead bodies” more than you’d think. No one will be looking for you for reporting it. It gives them something to do instead of driving around in circles in their beats and it’s one of those “you never know” things. The eyeballs peeking through the blinds still have me laughing in your cartoon.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
The Epcot episode was in the mid-1980s, so I’m pretty sure that restaurant has been redecorated by now. I’ve been looking for pictures online, but so far, no luck. When your incident comes back to you, why don’t you write a post about it? If this catches on, maybe we can start giving out the Delirious Blogger Award. Meanwhile, I hope your life calms down. Thanks, Jessica!
LikeLike
Mitchell Allen
February 10, 2011
Charles, have you considered the point of being shown all of these ?
Margaret nailed it with the second part of her comment.
Your gift is to turn the mundane into the spectacular.
That lady standing next to you at Epcot? She wouldn’t have – nay, couldn’t have – written this entertaining post.
Each of your senses, apparently, are tuned to unused bands on the FM wavelength. And we get to enjoy the broadcasts.
Cheers,
Mitch
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
Thanks, Mitch. I’m almost sure I feel better now. But if I’m in the unused part of the FM band, you must be operating somewhere up in the Gamma Rays. I’ll catch up to you one day.
http://www.morphodesigns.com/
LikeLike
Val Erde
February 10, 2011
Mitch – unused bands on the FM wavelength – lol! And so true.
🙂
Charles, you have finally written the definitive post about yourself, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been trying to ‘pin you down’ (does it hurt?) and not succeeding and now I have a much better idea…. because, I.am.like.this. And in fact, if it weren’t for this type of perception I wouldn’t be able to paint the sorts of things I do, because that’s how I do it. I see something in something that looks like nothing and I define it so that others can see what I see. That’s my art in a nutshell. (The shell of exactly what sort of nut has yet to be identified).
And you DO paint pictures with what you see – you do it all the time, in words!
Eeeeeee!! Gotcha!!
😉
🙂
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 11, 2011
Val, you’ve been one of my role models for totally honest confession right from the beginning. Thank you for that, and for visiting and commenting. I’m always happy to hear from you.
LikeLike
cooperstownersincanada
February 10, 2011
An excellent post, Charles! I’m glad I’m not the only one who has this combination of faulty eye sight and an active imagination. I was once out on a date with a woman and we were walking together, talking and having a good time, when I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks. I said to her, “Wait, why is that guy hunched over on the sidewalk like that? Let’s go the other way.” To which she replied, “That’s a mailbox.” In my imagination, it was a man vomiting on the sidewalk. I guess I’m a sick individual 🙂
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
I think our brains are wired to see patterns, whether they’re there or not. Even young children have the trait, and probably to an even greater degree. It’s better to think you’re seeing something and be wrong than to miss something you should have noticed. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Thanks, Kevin, for always reading and commenting. I really appreciate it.
LikeLike
heidit
February 10, 2011
Okay, maybe we’re really related. Why do I suggest that? Because one afternoon while sitting in an open-air restaurant in Hawaii I looked over to a tree nearby and noticed some beautiful, brightly coloured birds sitting in the grass. “Look at those beautiful birds,” I said to my lunch mates, who looked at the birds for a split second and then looked back at me as though I had just announced a beautiful UFO was landing nearby. Turns out, the beautiful, brightly coloured birds were really beautiful, brightly coloured sandals.
I love your story about the dead body. I’m still laughing about it.
Also loved “Personally, I think her friends have been sent here from another galaxy to short-circuit our creative spirit with invisible laser beams emitted from their eyebrows” (I think that’s actually true. I’ll try to get more information and I’ll let you know.) I’m also familiar with the feeling of humiliation.
I don’t think you should feel humiliated at all. I think you should celebrate that your mind wants to see wonderful things even where they do not exist.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 10, 2011
You and I agreed that every writer has a dead body story, and that’s mine. I hope it’s my last.
Good luck checking out those friends of yours. And please be careful.
LikeLike
Allan Douglas
February 10, 2011
You would think that I’d have learned not to be drinking my evening mug of coffee while reading your blog. But no; here I was, sipping away contentedly remembering some of the beautiful sunsets I’ve seen as I read. Then I got to, “That’s the ceiling.” and… well… it got messy. Let’s leave it at that.
I truly believe that having extra sensory vision is a by-product of being a creative genius. Your ability to see the extraordinary in the mundane is just part of your gift. If you were to become a super-hero, that could be your special power. Superman has x-ray vision, BronxBoy has comic vision; the power to see humor in anything and tell about it so convincingly that even the most dastardly villains will be rolling on the floor clutching their sides until the police arrive.
Well… maybe that’s a LITTLE over the top. But I always enjoy your stories, and I WILL learn to put the coffee down before visiting next time.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 11, 2011
Quite a bit over the top, but I certainly appreciate the sentiment, Allan. As always, thanks for the kind words.
LikeLike
arborfamiliae
February 11, 2011
From one of your replies-to-comment: “I think our brains are wired to see patterns.” I agree. Wholeheartedly. What’s amazing is how differently two people can see the same reality. How one person can see a pattern and another see nothing at all. Or how two people can see two entirely divergent patterns in the same reality.
Perception is problematic. It’s deeply flawed. And yet we all rely on it–and don’t have a choice. For me, this highlights the importance of having other people in your life, of having relationships where there’s enough trust and depth that we can pull one another aside and whisper “um…you’re crazy. You’re seeing something that’s not there.” We all need that from time to time.
This post made me think of the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. It’s been quite some time since I’ve read it, but I seem to recall that it meditates on the same theme.
Thanks for the post and thanks for reminding us all to question and challenge what we think we see.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
We used to have a satellite dish mounted on our back deck. Even after we switched over to cable, the dish stayed there for a couple of years. Whenever I mowed the back lawn (and I mean every time), at some point I would see the dish out of the corner of my eye and think it was someone standing there trying to get my attention. Sometimes it would happen three or four times in ten minutes. I was always amazed at how strong that tendency was to see patterns, easily overruling my short-term memory.
Thank you, Kevin, for the thoughtful comment and the book suggestion. Maybe we’ll get together someday and open our own bookstore. It sounds as though we already have the inventory.
LikeLike
Melinda
February 11, 2011
I’m wiping off the tears from laughing. Those were some great tales!! The Epcot episode…I know exactly what you mean at that place. I’m glad I’m not the only one that sees things differently. I’ve identified fallen tree limbs as a number of things. You probably didn’t see an old post of mine about the time the kids and I studied the wonderful nature that was the owl living on the neighbor’s roof for a week before I found out it was plastic. Love the pictures.. Do you draw them?? I keep meaning to ask that. If you did then I am so jealous! 🙂
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
I haven’t seen that post, Melinda, but I’m going to look for it right now. There’s a house around the corner that has a dog statue on the front lawn, and no matter how many times I drive by, I always think it’s a real dog.
About the pictures, here’s how I explained it to Linda Paul a few days ago:
“The artwork is all from iclipart.com. I manipulate the images, usually combining one or more, and add the dialogue. But the original drawings were done by some anonymous artists. I’m glad you like them.”
LikeLike
Melinda
February 12, 2011
That is still impressive you can manipulate it and make it look like it was drawn that way. People shouldn’t put fake animals in their yards because of people like us. I watched a fake rabbit for awhile down the street wondering why it was always in the same place. Can you imagine the horror of seeing something you’ve lovingly watched for weeks suddenly missing a leg?
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
Speaking of pictures, I loved your drawings (and the narrative) in your recent post about rage in the carpool drop-off line at school.
http://www.findingthehumor.com/kids-2/carpool-rage/
LikeLike
shoreacres
February 12, 2011
Ah, but Charles – momentary lapses of perception can be excused or forgiven. On the other hand, when a friend was given a wonderful potted palm from the estate of a recently deceased neighbor, it took six months of watering and tending for him to finally throw up his hands and say, “Tell me what to do with this thing. It’s not growing.”
“I should think not,” I said. “It’s silk.”
What did crack me up was your comment that your “tendency is to enhance the mundane, turning it into either soul-stirring wonder or something involving imminent catastrophe.”
The proof for that is your illustrations. Have you ever really looks at the eyes of your cartoon characters? They’re walking the thin edge of hysteria!
Me? I’m the chronicler of the vast middle ground. But I still enjoy coming over for a walk on the wild side!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
Linda, in defense of your friend, I’ve been fooled by more than one artificial plant. Especially when they have green leaves. (Actually, the fact that I’ve been fooled isn’t much of a defense, is it?)
You’re the chronicler, all right, and one of my favorites.
http://shoreacres.wordpress.com/
LikeLike
Damyanti
February 12, 2011
As a child I remember my father taking us for a fireworks show. They had these beautiful lights that remained after the fireworks had exhausted themselves. They slowly drifted then winked out.
On our way back, I pointed at one such light. “Look Dad, that light has stayed up so long! And it is as big as a full moon!”
It was the full moon, of course 🙂
Incidents like this abound in my life. Thank you for making me realize I’m not alone 😀
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
You’re definitely not alone. I even have a full moon story myself. From the back seat of my friends’ car, I remarked on how big and beautiful the moon was. They looked up from the front seat and said, at the same time, “That’s a streetlight.” Ever since then, whenever I admire the moon I first check to make sure it isn’t attached to a pole.
Thanks for the comment, Damyanti. It’s always nice to hear from you.
LikeLike
Priya
February 12, 2011
“Practice makes perfect”. It seems to have worked, Charles. But it depends on the way you look at it. You have become perfect in making people see what you see, without giving them an eye-ache. Lovely post!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
Thank you, Priya. I think I may have become perfect at giving people a headache. As for lovely, that’s the word that came to mind when I read your latest post on love.
http://partialview.wordpress.com/2011/02/11/only-love/
LikeLike
TexasTrailerParkTrash
February 12, 2011
I love this. Seeing what isn’t there must run in my family too. My mother looked out her front window and saw something white lying on the lawn. She was certain it was a used condom–in a neighborhood of either geriatrics or pediatrics. When I went to investigate, I found it was a plastic wrapper from a package of Slim Jim beef jerky. Feel free to insert your own joke here.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 12, 2011
It just proves what I’ve been saying about myself for years: some people should never look out the window.
LikeLike
jesswords10
February 12, 2011
I love the way you see the world! My favorite was the bird you left your house to rescue and found out it was a piece of bark. That’s delightful. I think the weirdest thing I swear I saw was a live cartoon person walking down the hall of my high school. I was too awe struck to see if anyone else noticed. At least your “sightings” are real things or plausible like UFO’s, no one will agree I saw a cartoon man walk towards the bubbler. *shrug*
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 15, 2011
Thanks for the nice comment, Jess. But about this cartoon sighting at your high school: you can’t toss something like that out there and then just walk away (even with a shrug). It calls for some elaboration, and maybe even an entire post. Was it a famous cartoon person? Did he actually take a drink, and if so, did he get totally smeared? I need some details, partly because I like knowing there are other people out there who see things that might be considered — what’s the word? — exclusive.
LikeLike
jesswords10
February 16, 2011
If I shared anymore, someone would have me committed. And honestly when I turned around, I couldn’t find him anymore, so maybe it was all in my head. Talk to me about ghost sightings, I’ve got oodles of those for you.
LikeLike
Amiable Amiable
February 15, 2011
Laughing out loud again! One of these days, I’m going to be sitting in my chair with my laptop laughing like an insane woman, with tears streaming down my cheeks, and my husband will stop asking, “What’s so funny?” Instead, he’ll say, “Oh, reading a post by Charles, again, I see.” I love all of your “sightings,” but the first one got me going. Then, of course, I read every single comment from all of your readers because they make me crack up, too. Thanks, Charles!
P.S. There was no octopus in that video! But I didn’t want to mess with your over-active imagination. It’s too much fun!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 15, 2011
I have a feeling you could’ve written a similar post with your own set of alternate perceptions (I prefer that to hallucinations). But don’t tell me now that there was no octopus — it’s much too late and there have been way too many nightmares. The damage has been done.
LikeLike
Amiable Amiable
February 16, 2011
Right, okay. Yes, there was a video with an octopus. It was alive. And someone was eating it. Of course this happened, Charles. Really. Uh-huh. About my alternate perceptions. I’d just like to go on record as saying that there really was a talking ant in Vermont. He can tell you all about our conversations, too!
LikeLike
bronxboy55
February 16, 2011
And let’s not forget about the hotel where the giraffes come right up and poke their heads through the open windows.
LikeLike
Amiable Amiable
February 17, 2011
I dare say I was sticking my neck out with that post. Don’t forget the hotel where elephants transport guests around its grounds. But, if you’ve forgotten, no worries. The elephants never will. I am inspired to find another unique destination. Thanks for the inspiration, BB55, and stay tuned to Big Happy Nothing to find out about what I find out about!
LikeLike
She's a Maineiac
March 1, 2011
“I said, trying to sound serious, sensible, urgent, and sane, all at once.”
This entire post had me in stitches, but this line put me over the edge. Hysterical! Completely sounds like something I would do (and see). Scary part is my eyesight is quickly going downhill this past year. I’ve had to resort to holding the newspaper out about 10 feet so I won’t have to squint. Finally caved and bought some ugly cheapie reading glasses but I’ll be damned if anyone sees me wearing them. Thanks to your post, I’ll now be sure to keep a look-out for fake sunsets and bags of leaves.
LikeLike
bronxboy55
March 1, 2011
Slightly shaky eyesight or slightly shaky mind, taken individually, isn’t a major problem. But when combined, things can get unpredictable. (I’m speaking for myself, here, of course.)
Good luck with the new glasses, Maineiac. Thanks for your nice comment.
I really like your blog.
LikeLike