Today I called the custodian and asked for some batteries for our automatic paper towel dispenser. He said okay, and never showed. Later in the day he saw me, stopped, and said, "Oh yeah, I never brought you those batteries, did I?"
I said no, but that was okay. He said, "I'm getting old. I got them out and set them aside for you, and then just forgot all about them. Oh, I know why it was. The fire alarm went off after that, and I forgot." (We'd had a fire drill in the morning.)
I said that it was understandable to be distracted by the fire alarm. "Not really," he said. "I was the one who set it off."
That reminds me, before the break I got a new chapter book to read to the kids. I showed them the cover, which depicted the main character standing in a snow-covered tiny village, bending over and shaking hands with tiny people with pointy ears. I showed them all this, and noted the title, Stanley's Christmas Adventure. "Now," I said, "based on all this, where do you suppose the story takes place?"
D, an artistic, clever boy, raised his hand excitedly. "Santa Fe!" he shouted.
He's got the right idea, I suppose, but his train of thought seems to have jumped the track and pulled into the wrong station there.