Do you ever just sit and stare and recognize you don't have a thought in your head, except for the recognition of emptiness? Is it a chemical thing, I wonder, or maybe there just isn't enough oxygen being pushed up toward the top of my head. Or maybe I need to reboot. Whatever the reason, yesterday I didn't form a single cohesive thought to be expressed on my home page, and it was kind of like a blog vacation.
My sister called late in the afternoon to see if something was wrong--she is a regular reader and was shocked to find Tuesday's post where Wednesday's post should be. Nope. Everything is fine--and not fine in the socially acceptable sense--I just didn't have anything to say. Not a stinking thing. I occupied my time with a little of this and a little of that, sailing through blissfully completing tasks as assigned. The office person asked for a file--here you go, early even. Dinner? Have a carmelized onion quiche. Catbox is dirty? Not anymore. Kid has a concert? Lovely. What did I think about all of it? Nothing.
When I was a kid and would stumble across days like this, I would go outside regardless of the weather and feel the ground. During the summer, I would lay in the grass in my front yard (back in the day before I was afraid of crawling things) and watch the clouds go by--literally--watch the clouds as they moved West to East, reshaping and bumping into each other, melding and disappearing. Sometimes the neighbor kids would join me, and we would solve the world's troubles from the point of view of a 10 year old while laying in the grass and looking up.
In the winter, I would put myself in the foot-deep snow in that same front yard and make angels or snow families or piles and piles of snow balls with no one to hurl them toward.
In the spring, riding my bike through big puddles with my feet stuck straight out was the thing to do on a numbskull day.
In the fall, my neighborhood gang would pile up leaves and plow through them, only to pile them up again--rake and scatter, rake and scatter, rake and scatter, with no other agenda but the activity.
Ahh. Here's to numbskull days--it's a shame they don't come around more often.
My sister called late in the afternoon to see if something was wrong--she is a regular reader and was shocked to find Tuesday's post where Wednesday's post should be. Nope. Everything is fine--and not fine in the socially acceptable sense--I just didn't have anything to say. Not a stinking thing. I occupied my time with a little of this and a little of that, sailing through blissfully completing tasks as assigned. The office person asked for a file--here you go, early even. Dinner? Have a carmelized onion quiche. Catbox is dirty? Not anymore. Kid has a concert? Lovely. What did I think about all of it? Nothing.
When I was a kid and would stumble across days like this, I would go outside regardless of the weather and feel the ground. During the summer, I would lay in the grass in my front yard (back in the day before I was afraid of crawling things) and watch the clouds go by--literally--watch the clouds as they moved West to East, reshaping and bumping into each other, melding and disappearing. Sometimes the neighbor kids would join me, and we would solve the world's troubles from the point of view of a 10 year old while laying in the grass and looking up.
In the winter, I would put myself in the foot-deep snow in that same front yard and make angels or snow families or piles and piles of snow balls with no one to hurl them toward.
In the spring, riding my bike through big puddles with my feet stuck straight out was the thing to do on a numbskull day.
In the fall, my neighborhood gang would pile up leaves and plow through them, only to pile them up again--rake and scatter, rake and scatter, rake and scatter, with no other agenda but the activity.
Ahh. Here's to numbskull days--it's a shame they don't come around more often.
Comments
I hope you just lay back and enjoyed your numbskull day, Robyn.
Here's to more of them.
Sassy, and we are giddy on your behalf as well.
Prudence, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to return to the 10-year-old days because then I would have to through the 16-year-old days too, and high school sucked. But I don't mind taking a numbskull day at this age once in a while.
Rich, be careful what you wish for, I guess, and what interests you pass on to those kids.
Gigi in Lodi