The Human Mind is an incredible organ, capable of reading word salad writing.

Did you notice I misspelled ‘mind’?

It is not a typo. I did it to make a point.

Despite the fact the letters in the word ‘mind’ are a bit jumbled, I suspect that most of you still understood what I meant.

That is because even the most disorganized mind – even a mind such as mine – can make sense of misspelled words in a sentence, providing the first and last letters of the word are in the right place.

For example:

Rcenet sutdeis hvae sohewn taht the hmuan biran can raed wrdos taht are mssillped povrdinig the frsit and lsat ltteres are crorcet. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

That was surprisingly easy to read, wasn’t it?

But it was a bear to write!

This begs the question, if my mind can find order in such chaos, why can’t I find a pen when I need one?

How is it that I can gather my belongings – including my cell phone – walk out the door, and discover my phone missing as I get into my car?

Why is it that when I am late for an appointment my glasses disappear at the precise moment that I need to leave the house?

For Christmas I got a leash for my glasses so they can hang around my neck. Very sexy. I might actually wear them if I knew where they were.

I read somewhere that some phsycists believe these items slip into another dimension only to reappear when another set of eyeballs is searching for them.

Case in point: I searched through my car, high and low, looking for my checkbook. Looked on the floor, between the seats, in the glove box, the trunk, and in that little compartment between the front seats – it simply was not there!

Wife comes out, peaks under the frontseat, pulls out the checkbook. Took two seconds.

Am I blind? Heck no! I cna eevn raed snetnces taht sohlud be iilelablge!

OK, that last sentence might have been a bit of a stretch for you all. It was for me. And if you are still reading this column, my hat is off to you (frankly, because I can’t seem to locate it).

Things just disappear in our house, especially food. Where did that watermelon go if not into another dimension? Clearly if it were sitting somewhere in the house my highly evolved frontal cortex would have easily detected it! I can only conclude that it is no longer in this particular plane of existence but instead within the bellies of my ravenous children.

That is a logical explanation. In fact, I often blame the kids – perhaps unfairly – when something goes missing. But things vanish. At one time I had enough screwdrivers to keep a set in every room of the house. Even if the kids had misplaced them, why haven’t they shown up somewhere in the house? They have clearly slipped into a parallel universe or were whisked away by gremlins.

If I had used them outside I would blame the dogs. As soon as my back is turned those underhanded hounds will bury anything I happen to set down.

My pack of drillbits? Chewed and buried, discovered months later only after the dogs had decided to return them to me.

My large, heavy-duty vice grips? Still gone, but I suspect one day I shall once again come into contact with them, probably with the rapidly rotating blades of my lawnmower.

But my goal was not to dissuade you from reading this fascinating tome, but to urge you to think twice before coming down too hard on publications that contain typos. Judging by what the brain can do, is it any wonder that publications have a misspelled word or two? I am surprised there are not more typos in newspapers, books and magazines. Indeed, editors are of an impressive breed, able to ferret out the many jumbled words that find their way into a publication.

As for my missing items, I have mostly myself to blame. My disorganized brian (note to editor, I spelled it wrong on purpose) is the cause for most of my misplaced items.

And as we conclude this month’s ever-fascinating journalistic masterpiece always remember: if you can read this, thank a teacher. And if you can raed this, tanhk yuor crebarel croetx.