Queries tax the lax brain

I’m on vacation this week. It is a time for relaxing, for resting, for finally taking time to consider the inconsiderable, to ponder the imponderable.

Do fish sneeze? How do they know when they’ve wiped their noses dry?

Croutons are stale bread, right? Why do they sell them in air-tight packages?

Why does rain drop but snow falls? If it rains cats and dogs, does it snow penguins and polar bears?

These thoughts rumble around in my head, scattering the gray cells like dust bunnies abounding beneath the bed. These are deep thoughts, mighty thoughts, thoughts that require an extraordinary wattage of thinking.

So what size were hailstones before the games of golf and softball were invented? Or dimes, for that matter.

Would it bother Franklin D. Roosevelt to know that his face was etched the size of a dime while his cousin’s face was engraved the size of a mountain – Rushmore, to be exact.

Do we need to balance artificial intelligence with artificial stupidity? Or will the natural variety do?

This is why we need vacations – the opportunity to travel beyond all knowledge and arrive smack dab in the middle of the unknown. It’s not a far trip.

Which reminds me, if a bus station is where a bus stops and a train station is where a train stops, what happens at my work station?

How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man who is lost? Or is he just taking a shortcut? Again?

Where does tread go after it wears off tires? The same place fat goes when you lose weight? Or single socks in a dryer? Is there a universe full of single socks decorated with tire tread and stuffed with lost fat?

If you jogged backward, would all that lost weight come back? Or would it be all the lost tread, and that’s why it’s called a spare tire?

Why don’t people snore when they’re daydreaming?

Is a clear conscience a sign of a good judgment or a bad memory?

Why can’t people smell their own body odor? Is it the same reason you can’t tickle yourself? So if you can’t smell yourself or tickle yourself, how come when you hit your thumb with a hammer, that you feel? Immensely.

If you have to take a picture of cheese, what do you tell it to say? Mice?

I’ve never seen mouse-flavored cat food. Why not?

How did the first clockmaker know which direction was clockwise?

Honestly, how can one relax on vacation with such a great preponderance of imponderables pounding upon the brain? The questions continue.

Why is “abbreviated” such a long word? Why is “monosyllabic” five syllables long? What’s another word for “thesaurus?” If we think a word is misspelled in the dictionary, where do we look it up to find out?

If everything is coming your way, doesn’t that mean you’re driving in the wrong lane?

Why is experience something you don’t have when you need it, but something you own about five minutes after the reason you could have used it has passed?

Why is work the only place I can rest my brain? My vacation will end soon. Maybe then I can get a nap.

—- Find Cole snoozing at burtseyeview@tribtoday com, or at the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook. His first novel, “Bash and the Pirate Pig,” is available at book stores and on Amazon from B&H Kids publishers.