The Morning Light; An Early Morning Entry; Lunch Reading and Violence via the Web; Post Lunch

Hmmmmm! I was up at 8:30 this morn just in time to watch the sun splash through the east windows of the living room.

There's a brief period in the morning, when the sun manages to shine directly into the living room. literally giving ever thing a golden glow. Hanging in the window is a miniature replicate of the rose window in Notre Dame cathedral in Paris that gleams with an ethereal light for a few minutes. And the wire basket of gem stones that I've collected recently glitters as though each stone were fueled by a miniature furnace.

The sun crawls down the northward wall highlighting a collection of wooden cats and pre-Columbian reproductions and a terracotta leopard mask replicated from a cloak buckle design found in the tomb of Tutankhamun.

I got up and went into the bath which also has an east window. Across the street, the parchment leaves of the elm tree were back lit by the sun into a fiery mass of yellow lanterns.

All this wonderful magical luminance takes no more than 15 - 20 minutes and is something I rarely see. But what a sweet and glorious pleasure it is.

I was also in the mood to write an uncommonly early morning journal entry. Such was not to be though.

Within minutes, Minerva was here absolutely demanding that I make a place for her on my lap. This is not at all unusual. She loves to curl up against me and take a nap. But I have trouble seeing the laptop keys. And frequently her furry little black paws hit the mouse pad buttons. I'll move her to the side, and she then attempts another path: crawling on the back of the couch; jumping on the shelves to my right; inching up on the corner of the couch. And, of course, I feel guilty for not devoting some time to her, but I'm also fearful of dropping the laptop.

But back to why the earlier effort failed. I took my morning pharmaceuticals with a glass of iced tea, which is about the only thing I drink. Rather than brew it myself, I just buy the generic sweetened type at WalMart.

Minerva appeared, of course, and managed to swat the glass onto the floor with tea running down the front of the bookcases, onto the couch and across the floor. It just so happens that the section of bookcases in question contains a group of expensive books on Frank Lloyd Wright. I immediately grabbed everything, moved them to the couch and started dabbing ,wiping and blotting.

I then had to figure how where the ice cubes had vanished to. I found one on the other side of the room.

Then I remembered, I wanted to finish adding some more of the cave painting images that are on the left of each page. I have ten I use, and another ten that have never been converted to the proper size.

I'd also was trying to wash a comforter and a blanket that I needed to check on.

Then it was time for lunch, so there went that best laid plan.

For about a week at lunch, I've been reading the December issue of "Wired" which has a cover story on what Google is getting for its $1.7 billion purchase of YouTube. An article, I have yet to come to.

I did jump ahead and read an article on "sex, drugs and triple murder on MySpace." A group becomes friends because of MySpace. However, one has just finished serving nearly eight years in jail for beating a guy with a baseball bat. "A 1998 hospital psychological evaluation mentioned past diagnoses ranging from 'impulse control disorder' to 'Jekyll/Hyde personality shifts.' " The "friends" trade photo shopped images on MySpace, until "Jekyll/Hyde" snaps and shots three of his companions.

(In the August issue of "Wired" was a story of the murder of a Russian spammer. " 'Who Killed Vardan Kushnir' He withheld employee pay, boasted of his sexual adventures, enraged the government, and flooded Russia with 25 million emails a day. Then one morning, his mother found his bloodied body on the bathroom floor, skull bashed in.")

(I've made note before that the remarks left on unmoderated comments sections are frequently akin to something like "road rage." From the scatological to every variant of xenophobia. And it's usually phrased as the most personal of assaults. Oddly enough, those at YouTube are among the worst culprits.)

My next stop was CVS to pick up two prescriptions I'd called in earlier: one a decongestant; the other, a generic of Xanax. I feel fortunate that I've had little use for the Xanax. And actually this refill was because one of the cats had knocked over the pill bottle spilling about half on the floor.

Once home, I brought in the comforter and blanket. Checked the mail. And put on my dusk mask and gloves and used the pitchfork to fill two containers with leaves, roots and pine straw from the back yard.

Next, I took a shower to be sure I was rid of as much pollen and grit as possible. Changed into sweats. Took the decongestant and two headache pills and started on this entry. Only to find myself about to nod off about 15 minutes later.

So again in the tradition of journalistic integrity, I note that this entry started at 1:15 pm and was resumed at 7 pm.

Since I'm not feeling well, it is now time for me to stop and go to bed to read about a serial killer in Los Angeles whose victims are attractive young gay men. "L. A. Heat" by P. A. Brown.

PAX!