Sabbatical

It has been a full week since I have had anything near a cohesive thought. Such a jumble of misfiring neurons has made it difficult to even contemplate blogging. Each time I began to mull a topic, I never made it past the first sentence . . . which strikingly is how I began today, though the time frame had changed with each passing day.

Again today I find my brain has less coherent thoughts than a worker bee who has been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a . . . what is that thing they did to Jack Nicholas in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest . . . a lobotomy. Almost as if to prove my point, it took me at least a minute to remember that wonderful word . . . lobotomy. I also find myself having to Google the movie to make sure I have named the slushy-brained actor and not the golfer . . . as I expected, I was wrong . . . Jack Nicholson is the Academy Award winning actor who had his brain blended in a movie while the golf club swinging Jack Nicholas’ brain may or may not have been so damaged

My stream of consciousness was interrupted by my wife, perhaps for the best, who requested my presence in the dining room where our son was putting on a ruse worth seeing. He had his spoon laying on his arm, which he held before him at about shoulder level. He proudly proclaimed, “My spoon up high sky on arm!” I laughed, then attempted to burn another word into his lexicon, “Are you balancing your spoon on your arm?” then returned to my study with the express intent of sharing the event.

Having thusly done so, I find myself almost late for church and still wearing my orange footie-pajamas. As I bounded down the stairs this morning, these homemade, hunter orange, fleece givers of winter warmth were to be my brag, but now I must un-don them and don something more appropriate for public ocular consumption. Too bad it’s not wear your pajamas to church day.