Greatest Mysteries Of All Time

I’ve spent a large part of my career studying mysteries. Most of beliefs, disasters, healing and faith. Some of them I have come to understand, while others have eluded me. But there are mysteries that are well beyond my grasp.

The first mystery I cannot explain, and I suspect has been plaguing mankind for a long time, is the missing sock mystery. You know the one where you put two pairs of socks into the washer and when you toss them in the dryer, you assume they still are a pair? And yet when you pull them out, there is only one. I have looked everywhere for the missing sock, but never found it. I assume this type of mystery has been happening since the beginning of washing machines. Maybe even before. Perhaps it has happened since washboards or beating socks against rocks. Who knows!

Then there is the mystery of missing time. When you are bored or carrying out a task you dislike time seems to slow to a crawl. It takes forever for a minute to tick by. Yet when you are doing something you enjoy, the minute you start something time goes into warp speed and suddenly your time is up!

But perhaps the biggest mystery of all time is how can a dog know that you have bought a present for them when they aren’t with you? If you have a dog you know what I mean. You just step in the door and they know there is something waiting for them! Sure sometimes what you have may have a smell and we all know what they say about the noses of dogs, but sometimes what you buy doesn’t have a scent and still the dog knows you have something just for them. How does this happen? What do they possess that we don’t?

A Different Point

They say there are pressure points in the body that if pushed upon, can render a person incapacitated. They say anyone, even a small or slight person, can render the largest of people into a state of being unable to do, well, anything.

I knew about these points from a self-defense class I took years ago. I forgot about them until recently when my own body decided to betray me. It rendered me into a state of uselessness without the use of the pressure points. What’s the point of having these pressure points when your body can carry out the same feat without needing them?

What I need more than these pressure points, is points that will give me more energy. Or end the pain and swelling in my body. Or maybe a little something that will remove the some of the stiffness out of my joints, especially my fingers and thumbs so I can type like a normal person.

May I just say that what good are these pressure points when the person is taller than you are? I mean if you have to reach a considerable height upwards, you cannot effectively apply the right pressure or get the spot exactly correct. (Not that I have tried, for the record.)

I’m just saying that those of us who have chronic illnesses need other points to be pushed upon. The ones to heal and make you feel better.

Simple Meals

Beloved meant to cook a nice, simple meal. Or so he said when he told me his plans in the morning. Cooking is sort of his zen time. And he’d rather have the kitchen to himself. To be honest, when he’s cooking I’d rather be out anyway.

So I left him to his recipes and opera (to sing along with as he cooked) and took the four-footed one out on a few errands and then some quality time reading in the shade. This way I was able to enjoy myself, the four-footed one could get a bit of an outing and and adventure before coming home and neither of us would be under Beloved’s foot.

Now remember, the man said it would be a simple meal. Simple, to me, means nothing elaborate. Elaborate to me means a pile of dirty dishes and a mess everywhere. So naturally when I stepped into the kitchen, I was expecting to find maybe a few dishes and some small mess.

Naturally I was shocked to see Beloved had used just about every pan available and there were smudges of colorful items all over the counter tops. I am not sure if my shock just made it seem this way or if it was reality, but the pans were haphazardly stacked and seemed to be swaying. Or maybe they seemed to sway because I was actually swaying from the shock.

The food was wonderful, not simple, but still nice. The clean up was a bit more elaborate, but not too time consuming.

Little, Wet Noses

I can’t explain how much depends on a little, wet nose. There are no words to describe the importance of a little, wet nose in my life.

That little, wet nose wakes me in the morning as it pressing into my arm or cheek. When I open my eyes, that little, wet nose comes into view, followed by warm brown eyes and a wiggling body so full of love and ready to start her day.

That same little, wet nose greets me when I come home from an outing. It pushes into my hand or brushes against my legs as the body attached to it wags and wiggles around waiting to be picked up. Then that little, wet nose is likely pushed against my neck as I get kisses from a warm, pink tongue.

If I am feeling off. that little, wet nose nuzzles up against me the four-footed one curls against me, ready to rest or have a nap.

If the little, wet nose is feeling playful, it will be rubbed back and forth on my arm as if to say, “come on out and play with me”. Or so I like to think. For all I know, that little, wet nose may want to use my arm as a tissue. But I’d rather not think that way if it is all the same to you!

I need little, wet noses in my life!

Waving With Care

I admire those people who can wave their hands in the air like they just don’t care. I really do. It isn’t that I can’t wave my hands in the air, I can. On a good day. But I always care.

You see nine times out of ten, when I raise my hands, or move them, there is a pain involved. If I raise my arms up in the air I am guaranteed to make all sorts of noises that should not come from the human body. From snapping and grinding to popping and clicking. And that’s just the warm up noises! Huge cracking like noises can be heard if I then attempt to do any movements.

And I care about this stuff. Because honestly there is no real reason for my body to sound like a broken down piece of machinery. Other than the damage lupus has done to it. But I’m like an old machine in dire need of oil after being overused. And yet I’m not chronologically old enough for these noises. So yes I care.

Beloved once told me he knew exactly where I was in the house simply by following the noises. You see at that time one of my hips clicked while the other one popped whenever I walked anywhere. At that time I think my one shoulder made a loud snapping noise too when I moved. Making it impossible to sneak around.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I waved my hands in the air like I didn’t care because I really did not have a care in the world. No joint pain, no swelling in my joints or odd noises. Just the fluid, easy movements of youth.

Noodling It

Have you ever just felt like a wet noodle? You know, all limp and without any support or structure to be, well, upright? No? Well I wish I could say the same.

Some days with lupus, or maybe it is more with medications I take to deal with lupus, I feel a bit like how I imagine a wet noodle would feel. All limp and useless for most anything. I suppose I could be used to transport sauce, provided someone did the actually adding of the sauce and the moving of me.

Yes, some days I feel just like a being with no internal support or structure. I am blessed, of course, to have external support and structure in terms of friends and loved ones. The thing is, sometimes this just makes me realize how much of a limp, wet noodle I am. No one means to remind me of this aspect of life with lupus, I know that for certain. Still, it happens and it reminds me how different I am from others.

I try to find the bright side of being a wet, limp noodle, but the reality is, sometimes the bright side is that I can keep the chair or the sofa from floating away. Because that’s basically the extent of what I have energy, being a sofa or chair weight. Like a paperweight, but for furniture.

There was a time when I used to think a lot about this part of living with lupus, but sometimes you can noodle over things a bit too much and it all becomes a big, gummy mess. Get it? Wet noodles, congealing together? Okay I will stop and just focus on maintaining the position of the furniture.

Oh To Sleep

I have to confess, I had no idea that lurking beneath every day surface, rests a not-so-nice, or almost-homicidal being. Shocking? It was to me. All it took was a couple of nights of really poor sleep and some drivers making bad decisions for this part of me to emerge.

Sleep and I have a slightly odd relationship at the best of times. When I am finely ready to fall asleep, sleep decides to elude me. Dancing just on the edges of my reach, almost taunting me as I stay in a bed trying to will sleep to come my way. When I need to focus, when I am too busy to stop, sleep likes to cuddle up next to me and rest against me like a comfortable blanket.

Sometimes we get things sorted out and sleep visits me just when I want it to. I suspect that this is just to keep me on my toes before it dashes away again for a while.

So you see sleep and I have issues. Add to this set of issues someone who has taken to having coughing fits throughout the night and things get a bit unpleasant. No it isn’t me who is coughing, nor is it the four-footed one. That’s right, Beloved has developed this charming habit of coughing for a lengthy period of time when I’m trying to sleep. To be fair, it probably wakes him up as well, however that is so not the point.

So I’ve had a few days of really crappy sleep while having to navigate dangerous roads. Again, to be fair, the roads aren’t that dangerous, it is the drivers who fail to pay attention to that make it so dangerous. I’ve had people almost run me over while I’m crossing in a marked walkway with the right of way. I had someone try to back their car right into me because they weren’t looking.

So when Beloved started his latest coughing fit, I seriously thought of taking my pillow and placing it over his face. I’d hold it just until he stopped coughing, and then I’d make him go sleep on the balcony. I didn’t actually do it, I just thought about doing it.

I also did not harm the latest driver who just about hit the door I was stepping out of. Although I did think of how lovely it would be to smash him in between the doors.

I don’t know, sleep better come before this not-so-nice side of me decides to stick around.


He pushed and pulled. He stretched and slapped it. He said this would relax the dough and make it better. He said it was like a deep tissue massage, leaving the dough feeling all loose and ready to rest.

Beloved is a bit of an odd man. But he can make amazing bread. This is something that has eluded me for years, this making of bread. I’ve tried various types of dough to different degrees of failure.

I’ve created the most lovely to look at and completely inedible buns. I have shaped beautiful loves that magically became horrible things when they were pulled out of the oven.

I have made things that seemed unable to bake. Other things that seemed to incinerate themselves almost immediately. I’ve had things rise and other things decide to this was against the laws of gravity.

No matter what I’ve done or not done, I have yet to make bread that is edible and looks like it should. So I watched him, hoping to somehow master through observation.

Beloved tells me that the trick to a good bread is really to start with exact, quality ingredients and to knead it with confidence. Since I’ve used his ingredients, let him measure things out and still had disasters, it must be in the kneading. And apparently I’m not kneading it right!

Breaking Bread With A New Friend

Eating outside will be fun he said as he started to gather supplies. You will enjoy it he promised as he started to cook. It will be great he exclaimed as I raised an eyebrow his way.

Beloved has a thing for eating outside. I assume it is because he didn’t do it much growing up. So any chance he gets, if the weather is good and we have the right food items, he will prepare a delicious meal and insist we eat it outside.

He will point out that historically my ancestors would have eaten outside. Of course they also ate raw meat before the discovered fire, but apparently that’s not the point. Nor is pointing out that ants will soon join us along with wasps and other insects. Oh no, none of that is the point.

So I just let him get on with getting the meal outside, banking on the ants getting their invitation and showing up. Because the ants always drive him inside. However this time was different.

Before the ants could arrive, a seagull showed up and stole some food before we had a chance to taste it. This was something that had never happened to us before. So the food was brought in and research about how to avoid this in the future was carried out.

Apparently if you stare at a seagull you will make it uncomfortable and it will leave. However it may have friends and they may not sit together so it would be impossible to keep staring at all of them. Meaning they could sneak food away as you are staring at one of them.

So eating inside should probably continue to happen, because I’m not up to staring at seagulls while keeping an eye out for all the insects. But that’s just me.

A Dog’s Life

I must confess, I am envious of the four-footed one’s life. I mean I don’t want to eat dog food, nor do I want to drink out of a dish. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like a leash either. But her lifestyle is something to envy.

She gets up in the morning, has the most incredible stretching routine to remain nimble and flexible. She takes care of her toileting needs (granted I wouldn’t want to do that outside) and then is all set for breakfast.

She is well fed, but not overfed. She is taken for walks, where she mostly picks the route and the duration. She naps when she wants, where she wants for as long as she wants. There is plenty of time to play, explore and learn.

She doesn’t need to worry about bosses, bills, or taxes. Oh no, her life is a life of luxury and dare I say leisure?

Sure I might get bored if that was my day everyday. But there is something to be said about the simplicity of her life. She wakes up happy and seems to be happy and full of joy. So for a little while at least, I’d like to have her life.