Now Where Did I Put That…

I don’t know about you, but any time I need a government issued document such as my passport, I can never find it.   Going on a trip, I need a few days notice just so I can turn the house inside out and upside down looking for my passport.  It will be where I left it from last time.

I have a safe place to keep these types of items.  I ensured I would have a special location, a safe location for all my important documents and such.  But somehow I always think that where I leave it will be better, safe and easy to remember.  Until I need it.  Then I can’t find it.

So panic comes into play and after a wee bit of panic, I go to the original safe location and of course realize nope the item never made it back there.  Hence the need to turn the house inside out or upside down.  I’ve been known to leave my passport in my suitcase because surely when I’m going to travel again I will automatically grab the suitcase and find the passport.  Makes sense, I guess.

My passport has been known to be stored in a cupboard where I keep dog food.  Yeah, I can’t explain that one, but I doubt anyone would think  to check there if s/he decides to rob the house.  I guess that’s a bonus!

I blame lupus or exhaustion for these weird quirks.  But to be honest I have a family member who has placed all banking information as well as large sums of cash in the freeze.  Gives a whole new meaning to cold hard cash.  That quirk was to ensure this family member always had access to funds and in a way that if the house was robbed, the odds of the mines being found aren’t that high.

Its weird, quirky or whatever you want to call it.  Mostly it’s just one of those things that I go through because I adore chaos oh so much.  But of course there may come a point where it won’t be a mild panic because no matter how much I turn the house over I still won’t be able to find what I need.  Then it won’t be quirky or funny.  It will be…well I’d sooner not think that way.  Unless I forget everything else too, and then I hope I just roll with the punches.

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A New Type Of Shy or My Odd Muscles

It seems my muscles aren’t where I thought they were.  Apparently mine are under my bones!  I know!  Shocking right?

No one warned me about the issues with this rare condition.  Blindly did I go for a massage as recommended by my health care provider.  A massage that was supposed to help me get control of my pain.  A massage that, I was assured, would be anything but stressful.

The massage therapist told me that there was going to be some deeper work, to get to the muscles causing the issues.  So okay, I was a bit prepared.  But I had no idea that my muscles were hiding under my bones so massaging them would be challenging.  As in the therapist had to “lift up” the “bones” to gain access to the muscles.  As in the therapist basically had to massage through my entire body.

For the record this was what I would call stressful.  And painful.  Painful enough to leave.  Painful enough to know that the therapist did not use “regular” pressure.  Sure I can buy that we all experience pain differently, but come on, there is no way this was regular pressure.  I’m pretty sure no one would call it normal pressure after seeing that I’m several various hues of deep purple from this massage.

Now to be fair, since apparently my muscles are beneath my bones it’s not the therapist’s fault.  Therapists are there to work on the muscles and if the muscles happen to be buried deep in the body, beneath hard, bony structures well then different tactics are required.

I know it all sounds silly, mostly because my muscles aren’t really beneath my bones.  But sometimes with conditions like lupus it can seem as though your muscles have become cement or are hiding beneath your bones.  But its honestly just lupus.  Which is good because I cannot fathom muscles hiding beneath my bones.  I can fathom lupus, because I live with it every day.  I also get why sometimes massage and lupus do not go hand and hand.  I just wish the people understood this when I bring up pain issues.

Not Another Fish Tale

I was listening to a couple of old fishermen tell tales the way they always seem to do in these tiny, coastal town pubs.  The weren’t talking about the fish that got away, or how big the fish was that they caught.  They were talking about the water, the wind, the waves, the siren calls of mermaids and monsters  from times long before either of them.

I suspect most of the pub was listening, or at least half way listening to what these men were saying.  It wasn’t that they were overly loud or that either of these men commanded attention with their presence.  I guess part of the appeal was that there was no music in the pub, and the location of the men allowed their voices to carry over the softer conversations of others.

I would have phoned Beloved, this being something close to his heart, but he wasn’t anywhere close enough to make it in the next few hours, plus my phone had decided to not work.  Frankly it’s time for a new one, but according to the people in is wee pub, it’s a curse from a long-lost sailor.  A curse on any woman who would otherwise be inclined to chat.  Apparently the sailor was less than thrilled with women talking and would make sure that things like phones didn’t work sporadically.  He also had a ,Evans of ensuring interesting conversation was always happening by menfolk just so you know the women would be silenced.  According to the legend when he was dying and had cursed the women of the town, a witch had ensured he’d spend the rest of eternity surrounded by women talking and laughing.😉

When I first made my way to this land of mists and mystery I wouldn’t step foot inside a place like I was in.  I certainly wouldn’t have listened to the myths and lore, but somehow it grows into you.  And there is a certain charm to these stories.  A way for people to explain he unexplainable, excuse poor navigation and confusion.  A means of finding meaning in the meaninglessness in the senseless loss of younger lives.

Beloved isn’t one for all these stories, but a good sea monster tale, especially one from the North Sea would be spell-binding for him for certain.  The best I could do was listen closely, jot down the odd note here and there and wait until we were speaking to let him know.  And no doubt, when his schedule cleared up, which I’m sure it would miraculously do almost overnight, he’d be making his way here.  To capture the stories of the sea beasts and listen to the men tell how you can find one of these rare creatures today.  I sound him, he’d offer money to be taken out in a boat in hopes of finding even just a mere glimpse of the creature.  And ultimately would settle for more “data” and “verbal proof” that Nessie and her friends are still with us.

why Beloved isn’t nearly as interested in sirens and their beautiful songs or mermaids is beyond me, but offer up a good sea monster story and he is right there.  Eagerly taking in the story and mentally comparing it to everything else he has already heard.  Frankly I wonder if the siren song is the tale of these monsters.

Into Every Life A Little Rain Must Fall

I should have started on the boat much earlier from the looks of things.  I’m not sure how much more rain will fall, but I don’t think the boat I have is going to be big enough for everything that I need to keep dry.

At this rate the dogs will grow scales and become some hybrid cross between dogs and fish.  Although both dogs have always been excellent swimmers so they don’t mind the water.  Provided they can get in and out of it now and then.  I can swim too, but I’m not as inclined to enter the muddy waters filled with who knows what all just because I can swim.  I need a boat!

The boat will have to be large, yet light.  I need to load up my books and electronics, clothing and food and places for the dogs and I to sleep.  I need to have indoor plumbing and access to hot showers and excellent coffee.

It’s really why we don’t have a boat now.  We do however have a kayak, but there isn’t space for everything in my kayak.  Plus I’d end up getting wet because it isn’t enclosed.  I also have a rubber raft, but again space isn’t right, I’d get wet and I think the darn thing has a slow leak.

Beloved ever so kindly offered me water-wings.  Hundreds of them to add on to either the kayak or the raft.  Of course he finds it all amusing that the water isn’t exactly up to his knees yet and I’m ready to sail or at least float away.  Granted I wasn’t expect this to be what the locals call a soggy spring.

Soggy spring means, to me, that the ground is wet, maybe a bit of rain.  Melting snow or slush.  Mud.  These things are what I call a soggy spring.  Not water that falls for days on end, or water that falls all day and all night and leaves puddles big enough to lose small cars in.  That’s not soggy.  That’s just a wet spring!  I’m sure at this rate we will have water lilies and not much else growing happily.

When the sun emerge we shall be like moles sticking our heads out of our dark tunnels.  We will have no clue what that bright, burning light means.

But it’s just a soggy spring they assure me.  This isn’t even really downpour rain Beloved said.  It’s just a steady drizzle.  A steady drizzle from a huge, bottomless bucket.

Anyone know how to build boats fast?  Or should I hope the house just lifts off and floats on the water?

 

Get A Grip

Today was the annual “Lob A Lemon” festival.  What?  You’ve never heard of it?  Incredible!  It’s such fun!

You see you get some nice, sunny lemons that happen  to be just perfectly ripe.  Rinse their skin and then from there is just depends on your style.  Some people like to zest the melons first so that they can add the zest to water.  Other people will give the lemons a few squeezes to soften them before the event.

Some will overhand lib the lemons while others will underhand the lobbing.  Some people toss them almost apologetically and still others happily get into the lobbing with passion and joy.

Okay so Lemon lobbing isn’t really a thing, but it could have been.  Well to be honest it was a thing today in the house.  Not because I felt like lobbing lemons, but it seemed that way.  Lemons are apparently hard for me to hold and so a few found the floor, one went towards the dogs, Beloved had to move fast least he get a lemon splattered up in a dress shoe and yes friends ones went in my oven.

I blame lupus for this day of citrus circus acts.  Beloved has doubts about them, given the accuracy and the fact his dress shoes are basically new.  Let’s face it, if I wanted to splatter his shoe with lemons, I wouldn’t be able to hit anywhere near him.  I’m just not that accurate and he knows it.  Often times the object I want throw ends behind me, so clearly this ability with the lemons is super natural so to speak.

If it weren’t a waste of food, d be all for lemon lobbing, providing that’s what you wanted to do!

Seeing With Closed Eyes

“It’s like anything,” he was saying as I tried to blink away the spots I was seeing before my eyes, “you can overwork them and they become fatigued.  Rest is in order.”  Not exactly what I wanted to hear.  Not exactly something I could comprehend, but there it was.  Rest.  The big elephant in the room with my lupus, the eye doctor and myself.

You know how some times words take form on your lips without you giving it even a passing thought?  As if they are a force all of their own?  I seem to have a lot of these moments lately so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I heard my own voice asking how exactly was I supposed to rest my eyes?

obviously reading all the fine printed material I tend to read doesn’t help, nor does working on the computers and tablets do me any favours.  Reading limited printed, in proper lighting was offered.  As was sitting with my eyes closed and just relaxing.  He even suggested cucumber slices resting atop closed eyes.

Eyes.  What next lupus?  What next?  Is there any end to your greed or need to show your power?  Why does this dance, nay, this relationship with you have to be so challenging?  Why must we struggle against each other, showing strength and will in some weird contest?  Haven’t you done enough?

These were the thoughts that have been bouncing around my head as I listen to the birds and animals.  As I feel the sun, take in it’s brightness behind closed eyes.  And somewhere, as. Think these thoughts I feel more of the fire fanning flames within me.  Some of the fire is lupus. Flexing her strength.  Some of the fire is my own anger or outrage at this disease and my own unease with it.

I must work my way towards fight the fire in a good way.  Surely this can happen easily as I still have more days of resting my eyes.  Surely I will find a way to see in other means, the way some other people can.

Bunnies, Hens, Easter And Down The Deep Hole

How do you explain Easter eggs coming from a rabbit and do it with any credibility?  I suspect parents have this down to some form of an art.  But me, try as I might, I just can’t do it.  You see it comes down to logistics and biology.  Somehow I can’t make that work with the idea of a bunny providing eggs.

I’m not saying that said bunny lays eggs, I mean we don’t need to spell out how the bunny gets the eggs.  I like to think a friendly hen provides the bunny with eggs.  Magical eggs of some sort.  Yep I can get my head around talking animals, animals helping each other out and magic.  Hey Disney taught me this is possible. 😉

Disney also taught me that in this magical world of talking animals, things always turn out the way it’s supposed to.  With an assured happily ever after unless you happen to be the bad guy.  Then you may not have a happily ever after.

Maybe that’s why I can’t fathom that a talking bunny steals the eggs.  I want a friendly bunny with friendly hens and magical eggs.  Because hey, who wants a bunny that steals eggs?  And then leaves the eggs for you.  I mean you’d be in trouble for being in possession of stolen property or perhaps even worse, kidnapping.

Bet that never crossed your mind did it?  Think about those lovely eggs the bunny has left you being a form of kidnapping, kidnapping babies from the worried mama hens.  Can you still enjoy those delicious chocolate eggs?  I probably could, given I’ve never met a hen that lays chocolate eggs, all wrapped in foil.

Okay some whole thing, the whole idea from the bunny to the eggs does make us sound a little crazy.  But sometimes it’s okay to be crazy!  It’s fun.  Besides Disney makes its fortune this way!