It's one of those evenings that I relish. The tv is off, the cats are snozzing, and the only sound is that from the Interstate. The lull and gush of traffic. The tinny shriek of a motorcycle. The whale-like-grumble of an 18-wheeler. A banshee keening of a siren. And through it all an everpresent mechanical droning.

I noticed that I was near the poetry section, so I thought I'd look for something by Seamus Heaney. My first encounter with Seamus was shortly after he won the Nobel. Someone I worked with asked me who he was, but I only knew what I seen or heard on the news. So my co-worker went on line and found a Real Player version of Seamus reading "Casualty." The co-worker was so intrigued, he took the time to find out the meaning of the line "It was a day of cold - Raw silence, wind-blown - Surplice and soutane." Within a couple of weeks, I bought the collection, "Collected Poems 1966 - 1987," that included "Casualty."

The book has become one of my favorites. (I "plunge my hands in" several times a month, and always manage to find something fresh. One line that I love is from "Limbo." "Now limbo will be - a cold glitter of souls.") So I was eager to see if I could find something else. I briefly considered "Beowulf" but passed. And I looked at several others but couldn't decide.

As I was plundering through the books, I realized I was next to Ginsburg. But again I was unable to make a decision. Then it clicked that I should look for something by Wilfred Owen. (See the entry earlier in the week about the movie "Regeneration," and Owen and Siegfried Sassoon.) The most logical choice was "The Collected Poems of Wiflred Owen." And indeed that's what I bought. I've yet to dip into it, but I'm looking forward to doing so.

I was thinking about the delicious sensation such meandering offer. You discover one thing that leads to another that produces another. And each step along the maze brings a new delight.

Since my house is reported to have a cat smell to it, I decided I'd buy some incense. Which I did yesterday at Pier One. "Blackberry Sage." So I lit a fire, and soon the cat smell was diminished. Only to be replaced by the tangy odor of "Blackberry Sage." Said odor seized my nasal passages and began to throttle them. This morning I turned on the AC to try and clean out the air. I was sitting on the couch, reading "Vanity Fair," when I began to notice a terrible stench that was so bad, I almost tossed my cookies.

I got up and relized that the heat was on. I'd forgotten that I'd turned up the thermostat to the floor furnace last night because it was chilly. The AC brought the temp down just enough for the furnace to kick on. It took me a few minutes to determine that during the night, one of my feline companions had tossed her cookies - onto the floor furnace! Do I need to spell out that the stench was in effect fried cat vomit?!

Why do these things happen to me? I really try to be a nice guy. I'm wave at small children. I help old ladies across the street. I wear my seat belt. The only idea I have is that in my prior life I must have been exceptionally wicked.

Ted goes in search of the twink and finds him at what appears to me a flop house. There was a beautiful scene of Ted holding and kissing him as "Traviata" played in the background. He tells Ted to leave, but Ted stays. A shot so lyrical and tender that I was almost in tears.

PAX!