I was scheduled to work today, but that was canceled. As we know, this is the time management equivalent of a snow day, so I can just do whatever I want — no, actually, I can’t say that two weeks in a row. I have already done all the work for the store that I plan to do today, but I need to put in an hour or so for my business, do the grocery shopping and housework, take #2 son to gymnastics, and get my Thanksgiving meal planned.

With any luck, I will be able also to get in some work on my SWAP.

I’ve been thinking about thinking. #2 son and #2 daughter both brought the point up independently this week by suggesting that it was strange that they were always thinking.

I think that all of us think all the time. “I think, therefore I am,” after all. That was Descartes. Then there is C.S. Lewis, who said that the conscience, which I would class as part of our minds, was like letters being delivered along our street: we only get to open our own letters, so all that we know about other people’s letters is what they tell us and a reasonable assumption that their letters are probably much like ours.

But both my kids said that when they say things they think, other people seem to be amazed, as though they don’t think all the time.

I don’t think that’s the issue. It is, rather, that we all think about different things, and are often uninterested in what other people are thinking. That is of course one of the reasons that I blog. Most of the people I talk to in real life are not interested in knitting, but here I can encounter people who are. Not that I’ve written much about knitting lately, I’m sorry to say. I also do not know people in the real world who care that I’ve doubled the store website’s page ranking. However, I can’t really go and play with the SEO folks in blogland, because I would be like the neophyte knitter who is still trying to do garter stitch without having different stitch counts in all the rows, while they are all doing Fair Isle and Viking cables.

So I figure that my kids are thinking about things that the people around them do not care about. They should write about these things, instead of continuing to say them to people who cannot politely escape. Readers who don’t care to hear about what we have to say can click away in an instant, so we’ve done them no harm by maundering on.

And then, having had these conversations and thoughts about the conversations, I read in The Science of Discworld: The Globe about The Mind. I’m enjoying that book very much, and I am going to give in and order the others in the series at some point, I can tell. The trouble is that they are British books, not available in the U.S., and therefore have to be ordered for large prices and fiendish amounts of shipping — each one is less than the cost of a pizza, however, so I may give in at some point and do it.

Anyway, this book was talking about the various theories through time regarding what the mind is made of.  I have never thought about that before. If I had been asked that question in a situation in which “Huh?” was not a suitable answer, I think I would have said that the mind is made of electricity. Really, though, I have never thought of the mind as being made of something. I don’t think of the mind as having a physical presence, or mass, or as something that takes up space. I think of it more as a process.

I read eagerly to the end of the chapter that concerned itself with this question, and have learned that no one yet knows what the mind is made of. So I could be right on this point.