The Problem of Socks

(Not a sponsored post. Just a post about a product I’ve never used, but am fascinated by.)

I first discovered the Sock Slider while waiting for a prescription at my local pharmacy.

Since it was spring (and thus nowhere near Halloween), I’d already exhausted the “seasonal” aisle. Spending too much time in the “candy and chocolate” section seemed a dangerous occupation. And so I turned listlessly down “As Seen on TV,” checking the time and wondering whether my name had been lost in the intercom static minutes before.

Looking away from my phone in this most torpid of moments, my gaze fell upon a middle shelf, and my consciousness awakened forever to the pinnacle of modern technology: the Sock Slider.


Socks hanging off the back of a wooden chair. Photo by Jisu Han on Unsplash


I’ll admit it. My first thought was to wonder what use this product could possibly serve. See, I’m one of those insufferable minimalists. I stubbornly avoid new items unless I can identify a significant value the item in question will add to my life. And, though I don’t consider myself particularly flexible (I can’t touch my toes, and my downward-facing dog is an absolute joke), I’m fortunate enough at my current life stage to be able to bend my knees, ankles, hips, and back with the reliability and control required to put my socks on.

And that was my second thought: the realization that not everybody is able to bend their knees, ankles, hips, and back. This trivial plastic contraption would simplify the mornings and evenings of anyone whose body resisted contortions I take for granted. For such a person, this item would add immense value.

In all likelihood, I’ll someday be among those grateful for such an invention. My present state of affairs is ephemeral. Even if I’m spared any kind of accident, my joints won’t last forever. Some of them are already creaking and crackling. I’ve certainly had a day or two wherein socks posed a logistical puzzle requiring the application of pluck and the support of a wall. Someday, those days may become most days.

Someday, those most days might be the precious few good days.

Perhaps if I’d reached someday in a bygone era, I’d’ve kludged together a solution. Something involving dowels, perhaps, and carefully clicker-training a large, amenable cat. But thanks to the modern world—thanks, in no small part, to the way well-applied capitalism encourages ingenuity and rewards the spread of ideas—I won’t have to. Someone’s already created a solution for the problem of socks. Someone’s gone through the trouble of manufacturing such items, packaging them, marketing them, and shipping them to pharmacies and home goods stores. For me, the problem is solved before it has even become a problem. Before I ever realized such a problem existed for anyone.

How wonderful to live in a world full of solutions. Not only the sweeping inventions that guide our present towards the future—the printing press, the vaccine, the internet—but the tiny, almost inconsequential ones as well.

Netted cases to protect baseball caps in the wash. Fleece blankets with built-in sleeves. Toilet-cover night lights.

I don’t mean to encourage anyone to order everything one sees on TV. I’m still a minimalist; still committed to the notion of only taking on items poised to add value.

But how marvelous to inhabit a world prepared to solve such comparatively trifling problems. Think of it all. No more concern over wear-and-tear for baseball cap enthusiasts. No more choosing between continuing a good book and staying toasty warm on long winter nights. No more pitch-dark wee hour bathroom runs and/or no more spoiling good sleepiness with a glaringly bright light.

No more dreading the exertion of applying socks to one’s feet morning after morning. No more beginning each day frustrated by one’s physical limitations. No more starting off on a losing endeavor.

What a time to be alive!

And small solutions often feed into big ones. Problems abound in this world, many of them sprawling and daunting. But human beings are tinkerers, each of us full of ideas. Ideas ripple and evolve. Solutions form and reform as new problems emerge.

Optimism cannot help but exist in a world containing Sock Sliders.

Once again – not a sponsored post! Have you ever found a simple, ingenious contraption that solved a small but critical problem in your life? Tell us about it in the comments!

If you like what you’ve read and want to have more, please follow my blog or sign up via email—the link is in the right-hand sidebar! WordPress users will get my posts directly in their reader feeds and all others will receive my weekly posts right in their inbox. You can also find me on my Facebook page and Instagram! I’ll be trying to get more active on each account moving forward, so please, if you’re interested, follow me on social media!

Happy witnessing!



The One that Got Away & Started It All – or, Cosmos Mystery Area

I have never visited Cosmos Mystery Area, a goofy “believe-it-or-not”-style tourist trap outside of Rapid City, South Dakota.

That’s not for lack of desire, nor lack of awareness, nor even lack of opportunity.

The relevant, ineffable lack was far more fundamental, interpersonal, and ultimately illuminating than anything else.

… Boy, that highfalutin beginning better have a decent payoff!

View of thick, peaceful pine trees and a smooth body of water slipping down over dark rocks. Black Hills, South Dakota. Photo by Derick Berry on Unsplash

Like most of my tourist trap stories, this one begins with a billboard. It was the summer of 2011, and my ex and I were in her grandfather’s car heading from Rapid City to Mount Rushmore. The Black Hills skimmed by my window, entrancing in their shadowy sylvan beauty.

The yellow-and-red words bloomed suddenly from the pines:

COSMOS MYSTERY AREA: See It. Feel It. Survive It!

What on this green Earth, I thought, is “It”?

I forgot the billboard almost immediately. The 23-mile stretch of highway between Rapid City and Mount Rushmore is lousy with billboards advertising everything from wineries to cavern tours to bison steakhouses. And once you hit Keystone, your attention is diverted entirely by thoughts of salt-water taffy, commemorative knick-knacks, and shootouts at high noon.

But I recognized a similar sign a few hours later, on the way back to Rapid City.

See It. Feel It. Survive It!” I read dramatically, striking a theatrical pose in my seat.

“What’s that?” my ex’s grandfather asked.

“A billboard. For some tourist trap.”

“Oh,” he harrumphed. “Well, we’ve got plenty o’those.”

And South Dakota does. Tourism is an important economic force in the state, especially around national monuments, parks, and historical sites (not to mention the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, which essentially doubles the state’s population for one week out of every year). On this visit alone, my ex and I had visited Mount Rushmore, purchased a truly disturbing amount of fresh fudge in Keystone, taken hokey-costumed saloon-style photos, hopped across the Wyoming border to circumambulate Devil’s Tower, attended a chuckwagon dinner show, bickered our way through the now-defunct Black Hills Maze, and explored Rapid City’s downtown “City of Presidents” statue series. And there was still more to do.

But something attracted me to Cosmos Mystery Area. Melodrama was certainly part of it. And I imagine the appeal of choosing my own adventure also played a role, as our activities so far had mainly involved being driven around by my ex’s relatives, who had each generously decided on sights to share but had also elected not to share their itineraries with us or each other (to near-universal consternation).

And then, of course, there was mystery. What in the world was It? Something to be seen, felt, and survived? What curious something was hiding out there in the Black Hills?

It could be anything. After all, there was gold in them-thar hills, and caves full of crystals, and entire prospector town set-ups, and lakes for waterskiing, and arrowheads, and wineries, and sundry abandoned structures, and inexplicably “out of business” cave systems for sale, and who knew what else.

That night, I took the matter to Google.

“Dude. This place sounds ridiculous,” I said to my ex. “I found reviews.”

“What is it?”

“No idea,” I answered cheerfully. “Some kind of weird like… optical illusion thing? Or something with magnets? I can’t tell. But the reviews are incredible.”

“That good?”

“No,” I beamed. “Good and bad. Evenly split. No in-between.”

I was not kidding. Half of the reviews gushed about what an unforgettable, worthwhile stop Cosmos Mystery Area had been. Five stars! Don’t miss it! A complete delight!

The other half were all furious indignation. Don’t waste your money! One star, and only because there’s no lower option! Horrible! Boring! Dumbest tourist trap ever ever ever in the history of mankind!

“I’ve absolutely got to go to this place,” I said, still scrolling through the five- and one-star rankings.


Something about her tone made me look up from my computer. She was frowning, utterly bewildered—and not in a charmed way.

“Because—” I couldn’t quite figure out how to put it to words. The answer was obvious to my thinking; so obvious as to defy explanation. The very question flummoxed me. “Because whatever it is, it would make a great story,” I said finally. “Either it’s amazing and interesting and cool, and it makes a great story. Or it’s a complete shambles, and it makes a great story. It’s a win-win. Right?”

She made a noncommittal sound in response and changed the subject.

And so we didn’t go. Instead, we went antiquing (which we both enjoyed) and visited the Black Hills Caverns (which was something my ex wanted to do). We chatted with relatives and ate fresh rhubarb pie and watched a thunderstorm rage over the Black Hills. We passed the Survive It! billboards several times. Then we went home.

“I like tourist traps,” I said in the middle of Wyoming. “The really weird ones especially.”


“There’s something very human about them. Maybe someday I’ll write a book. Like, a special essay for each place.”


The next year, our dear friend Andrew landed a great job in southern Wisconsin. He and one of his brothers decided to turn the cross-country move into an epic road trip, and Andrew started asking for recommendations for stops, determined to see as many marvelous treasures as possible.

“What states are you visiting?” I asked.

He was veering north, in part because he wanted to visit a mutual friend in Minneapolis-St. Paul. The route would take them through Wyoming, South Dakota, and Minnesota. They were already planning to see Mount Rushmore.

“Okay okay okay!” I said excitedly, clapping my hands. “Okay—dude. Like fifteen minutes away from Mount Rushmore, there’s this tourist trap called Cosmos Mystery Area, in the Black Hills. You’ve got to go.”

Andrew brightened. “Oh? What is it?”

I have no idea,” I said, still grinning. “I kept seeing billboards, but we didn’t go. It’s like some believe-it-or-not thing with like gravity, or magnets, or like—I don’t know, but it sounded awesome. It’s like See It! Feel It! Survive It! You know?”

“Sounds good,” Andrew laughed. “I’ll see if my brother’s interested.”

A few months later, a package arrived containing souvenirs from Andrew. Mine was a coffee mug from Cosmos Mystery Area, from one of those “find your name” gift shop racks. Andrew’d heard me complain about rarely finding Crystal spelled correctly, if I found it at all, so the gift combined several peculiarly personal themes.

The mug featured the dramatic tagline—See It. Feel It. Survive It!—and a stylized illustration of a crooked wooden house. This only deepened my curiosity.

When I next spoke to Andrew over the phone, I asked him about his adventure, and he couldn’t quite explain Cosmos Mystery Area, either. Not beyond what I’d already guessed, anyway. He’d email me photos. Cosmos was quirky, silly, an exemplary tourist trap with all the fixings. There were optical illusions and funny tricks of the light. He’d appreciated the recommendation: Andrew and his brother greatly enjoyed the stop, and they wouldn’t have chosen this particular destination on their own.

“You’d love it,” Andrew said. “It’s very Crystal. You should go if you’re ever in the Black Hills again.”

I haven’t been back yet. But I’ve thought a great deal about Cosmos Mystery Area, about the goofy billboards coloring the dark pine-scape, about the way my fascination didn’t match my ex’s. This one tourist trap wasn’t a dealbreaker, of course—no two people ever share the exact same interests. But somehow, Cosmos Mystery Area revealed a fundamental, unknowable difference between us. One I wouldn’t quite understand for years.

More importantly, the missed opportunity gave rise to a greater dream linked to a better understanding of myself. I loved tourist traps—the weirder the better. I craved a bone-deep sense of perplexity in the way horror fans craved well-curated fright.

I longed to chase curiosity and wonder wherever I could find it.

Have you ever visited Cosmos Mystery Area or any of the other tourist destinations scattered through the Black Hills? Or have you encountered a similar believe-it-or-not spot someplace else? Tell us about your experience in the comments below!

Cosmos Mystery Area now has its own website—check it out, and if you’re passing through the Black Hills, drop by and enjoy the ~*~mystery~*~! 

If you like what you’ve read and want to have more, please follow my blog or sign up via email—the link is in the right-hand sidebar! WordPress users will get my posts directly in their reader feeds and all others will receive my weekly posts right in their inbox.

Crystal Witnesses Wonders Facebook page and Instagram links are also in the right-hand sidebar. I’ll be trying to get more active on each account moving forward, so please, if you’re interested, follow me on social media!

Happy witnessing!

Temple of Goddess Spirituality – Cactus Springs, Nevada

Katrina and I stepped under the pale stucco archway. To our left, tucked between the eastern and southern arches, stood a tall statue of Sekhmet, ancient Egypt’s lion-headed goddess. To our right, between the eastern and northern entries, was an altar covered in small representations of the Divine Feminine: Quan Yin, the Venus of Willendorf, Parvati. The flagstone floor glistened with desert rocks, sand, and small glass pebbles.

Above us, open sky beckoned beyond a dome of intersecting copper circles.

Gazing up, I realized I’d made an error. The small, open temple wasn’t cut off from the Mojave Desert surrounding it, but the feel within its walls was different enough, and familiar enough. Sacred space.

“Hey,” I said, looking back at my sister. “I need to take off my shoes.”

Katrina stepped backwards several steps. “I was thinking the same thing.”

View of the sky from inside the open-air Temple of Goddess Spirituality. Photo taken by Katrina Reinert.

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Memento Mori V – Or, The Deer and the Turkey Vultures

CW: Animal death, decomposition, blood, death

The deer had been struck by a car a few hours before, as the sun warmed the early-dawn horizon. At least, I could only assume this was the case. I hadn’t seen the impact—wasn’t present for any last struggles or last breaths. All I had was the evidence as I came upon it: the fresh deer carcass, glossy-coated and gracefully arranged even in death, surrounded by seven or eight dark, stooped turkey vultures going about their grim business like so many Reapers.

Close-up of a turkey vulture’s head and shoulders. Photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash

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Five Tips for Living a Wonder-filled Life

If you’ve been following Crystal Witnesses Wonders, you know I usually use quirky personal anecdotes as the basis for my posts. But what if you’d like to experience more wonder in your own life? What if you’d like to spend more time in awe, more time amazed, more time delighted at the world around you?

Let’s take an experimental detour this week. If it’s a dreadful disappointment, we’ll return immediately to our regular programming and never speak of this again. If you’d like more content like this, please say so in the comments below. I’ll definitely have more to say about each of these five tips.

But right now, let’s dip our toes into some how-to goodness. Keep reading for advice on the Adventure AttitudeStarting Small, Making Mindfulness, Cultivating Curiosity, and Gathering Gratitude.

Man staring at a starry night sky. Photo by Cody Board on Unsplash

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The Mob Museum – Las Vegas, Nevada

Of the many theoretical shenanigans made possible by time travel, towards the top of my list would be this:

Late 1933. American Prohibition has just ended. I walk into the beautiful, brand-new, Neo-classical Las Vegas courthouse and post office building, approach the nearest official, and smile winningly.

I inform them that in fewer than 100 years, their basement—yes, this very one—will be home to a government-endorsed functioning speakeasy, complete with in-house moonshine operations.

I just want to see how they’d react.

Front view of the Mob Museum’s historical facade. Photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash.

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Atramentous Infinity – Or, Thoughts from a Nighttime Flight

Forty-five minutes after lifting off out of Houston—an evening flight bound for Las Vegas—I finished a chapter of my current book (Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods, an exploration of the Appalachian Trail) and wondered about the stars. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the dark outside my window, I spotted Cassiopeia, the vain queen, her five major stars prone directly in front of me. I smiled and shut off my reading light.

Then I noticed glowing on the ground below.

City lights at night, against a black landscape, viewed from an airplane. Airplane wing is visible. Photo by Giuseppe Famiani on Unsplash

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Hullabaloo Parade

No lesson this week—just hilarity.

The setting: a moving sidewalk leading into Las Vegas’ McCarran International Airport from short-term parking.

The characters: myself (laden with a children’s carseat, a pink backpack, and a rolling suitcase), my sister (encumbered with the same array of baggage), my nephew (six years old and wearing a backpack), and my niece (four years old, tiny for her age, wearing a unicorn backpack and carrying Pandie in her arms).

What could go wrong?

Scene inside an airport, featuring moving sidewalks in the center and terminals at either side. Photo by Hanson Lu on Unsplash

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All the Profound Clarity of the Gods

Communication did not become a problem until I moved towards the register. The woman behind the counter remained stationary, hands on either side of my donut box, giving me an urgent, confused look and gesturing with an open hand to the donut display before her.

I mimicked the gesture, my hand indicating the register. “Okay kha,” I said, nodding. “Finished.”

Multiple assorted donuts. Photo by Rod Long on Unsplash

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What Strange Luck May Come – Or, The Pea Soup Capital of the World

Andersen’s Pea Soup Capital of the World,” I read out loud, staring out the passenger side window at an approaching sign. “Buellton, California – 105 miles.”

“What?” my then-spouse asked, eyes on the road.

“I keep seeing these signs for this famous split pea soup,” I said, gesturing out the window. “It’s quite a claim. I mean, pea soup’s good and all, but—?”

“Yeah, famous?”

“Kinda wish we had time to stop,” I mused. “I’d like to see if it’s worth the hype.” I paused. “It’s even on the way.”

Close-up of fresh pea pod on a wooden table. Photo by Rachael Gorjestani on Unsplash

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