I am out of it. A few days ago someone asked me how old I am and I really could not remember. I was embarassed and thought, “Don’t panic, just subtract back to 1974. Oh crap, what year is it?”

But, for some reason, all this stress and sleep deprivation has brought to the surface bits of trivia I thought were long forgotten and I often find myself humming songs that are strangely relevant to my mood or outlook on that day. Like my brain is trying to help me out. It’s not quite ready to retain what day it is, what we’re having for dinner or when I last changed my oil, but it’s got no problem providing a little ditty to go with my despair, elation, or whatever. And the more heightened my stress, the more likely it is that the song will be a worship song. And if it’s really bad, a hymn.

So I was not shocked to find myself humming “How Great Thou Art” in the car yesterday. More surprising was the “artist” whose rendtion kept popping into my head:

http://www.monkey.org/~pheezy/shooby/shooby08.mp3

Andy and I used to crack up over Shooby Taylor all the time, he’s a classic. But what the heck is he doing invading my quiet hymn time? Weird.

And here’s the reason I’m stressed enough for a good old-fashioned hymn sing: Ramona is sick. She got our colds. Now that Andy and I both have it, we at least know what the symptoms are. Ramona probably has one heck of a sore throat and a tickly, nagging, coughy feeling. And the two rivulets of phlegm connecting Simon’s nose to his mouth indicate that congestion is not far away.

So we’re hoping so hard that Ramona will be able to get through this without too many problems. And praying that it won’t end up in her lungs. And no more emergency room and no more hospital for awhile.

Take it away Shooby, Jane.