Life’s Little Mysteries

I’ve often pondered mysteries, such as the truth of conspiracy theories, if there are aliens, are there secret government agencies we know nothing about and if there are, what are they doing to us. Those mysteries formed the backbone of my first books.

My teenage angst centered around the meaning of life, and especially the meaning of my life, and though I never really found an answer, I came to an accommodation with the questions until after Jeff died. Then questions — oh, so many questions — haunted me. Who are we? Why are here? Is this all there is? Why are there still ties of love even though are loved ones are gone? Where did our loved ones go? Will we see them again? What is the meaning of life, and probably most haunting of all, what is the meaning of death? What happens to love when it is no longer needed?

The mysteries confounding me now are of a more prosaic nature. For example, in recent months, I bought white cotton pillow cases that collect dark lint. Nothing else in the house collects lint of that nature, so I have no idea where it comes from. It can’t come from the air. Because of sinus issues, I have to sleep propped on a stack of pillows, so it seems almost impossible for lint to collect between the pillows. And during the day, the pillows are propped against the headboard, so again, it seems impossible for them to collect lint.

I finally got frustrated, so I washed the pillow cases in a load by themselves, and threw a dryer sheet in the dryer when I dried them (though that is something I do not like doing). There was a smidgeon on lint in the lint trap, but most remained on the pillows.

Finally, I got out a roll of tape, and used the tape to remove the lint. This morning when I woke up, there wasn’t much lint on the pillow cases, but there was some. Are the pillow cases generating their own lint? But if so, why is it dark gray and not black?

Another thing that perplexes me is Tuesday. Why do so many things happen on Tuesday? Today, I had three different meetings to go to, plus I was supposed to play train dominoes with some friends. I went to one and a half meetings, passed on the game, and am preparing for the third meeting later on this evening.

See? Prosaic mysteries. Not exactly in the same category as the questions of life, death, and love.

Luckily, tomorrow is Wednesday, I have nothing scheduled, and I have plenty of tape to clean the pillowcases if necessary.

That will leave me open for more questions— vital or not — to pop into my head and baffle me.


Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

5 Responses to “Life’s Little Mysteries”

  1. rami ungar the writer Says:

    Keep asking those questions. You never know what will lead you to a story, or down the rabbit hole of research that’s cool to follow, whether or not you get a story out of it.

  2. Judy Galyon Says:

    Could the lint come from any night clothes you wear? I have the mysterious problem of why does Mike’s pillow case end up dark in the morning & mine is not? Life is so full of mysteries, we will never figure them out. Let me know if you figure out the lint problem.

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