That's two hours later than usual. When I do that my body feels a bit lighter and less achy but it takes awhile for my brain to engage. I feel a little foggy-headed. But I've done this long enough to proceed with my early morning routine on cruise control.
I took the dogs outside and waited for them to finish their morning ablutions. Upon my return, my 8-year-old grandson presented me with my morning mental calisthenics:
"Grandpa, do you have a crane?"
My brain does a quick search through my mental file cabinet: "crane"...
"Crane" – noun:
1. any large wading bird of the family Gruidae, characterized by long legs, bill, and neck and an elevated hind toe.
2. a device for lifting and moving heavy weights in suspension.
I know the word, don't understand the question.
"A what?" I ask, blowing out the cobwebs as quickly as I can.
"A crane," he repeats patiently, "You know, to hold up your leg."
I know Isaiah very well and I know that when this conversation ends I will be slapping my face with Oliver Hardy-like consternation.
"I don't know what you mean," I tell him, perfect straight man that I am.
"You know," he explains again patiently, but with a growing sense of exasperation, "A crane to lean on so you don't have to put your weight down on your leg."
"You mean a CANE??" I ask, like the idiot I clearly am.
"YES!" he says, the exasperation arriving. "My leg hurts."
May God forgive me, I pulled rank on him. "Your leg is fine, go get ready for school!"
It never ends.
Copyright © 2011, Dave Williams. All rights reserved.