The powerful force of the day slips by silently into the distance of the past, as do river waters towards the sea. It is 3:25 P.M. and I have not accomplished all that I desire.

What might be worse in the eyes of some is that I have not accomplished all that they desire. Those in my life who contribute least to its ease are those who would demand most from my limited resources. Today I am caught in the snare of my own disgust for those who seek to gain without giving. I do not believe that the poor will always be with us; I do believe that the selfish will always be with us.

I am working on a project that has to be one of the most painfully difficult I have ever attempted. A dear friend died several years ago; seeking closure on his tragic death I am slowly putting together a memorial web site to celebrate his life. This project is as fraught with difficulty as was his complicated life. Yet, I proceed towards creating the images and words. Perhaps they will allow the circle of his life to pass through and beyond the circle of mine.

My computer is once again my own. This is a tremendous relief and will serve as a personal cautionary tale for my future digital doings. Although I did not lose anything, I suspect that there were those who gained something by breaching the walls of my privacy.

As I sat in the 6:00 A.M. half-light, a bird called to me. A simple sound that passed straight into my heart and lit there a torch. Hours later as I sit at the computer, gazing up into the gray sky, the barren branches, the birds swoop past. The longing to share the world they inhabit is deep, compelling. I turn back to my pixels to write words that hold no meaning for other life forms.

Attila pointed out a very interesting bit of information the other day. Years ago, when I taught children the joys of food preparation, a young girl presented me with a Cookbook to express her appreciation for my efforts. This book remains a treasured part of my collection, it is Amy Vanderbilt's Complete Cookbook, Doubleday & Company, Inc., Garden City, New York, 1961. However, certain details about the book have gone unnoticed until this past week. Attila opened the cover and pointed out that Andrew Warhol drew the illustrations that have become so familiar. Andy has had more than his fifteen minutes in our kitchen.

Being in a playful mood this morning, I filled in an online application for employment with a financial institution. Lists of questions were presented to me, one after the other. I answered honestly. After completing the process I was quite surprised and amused when a final screen appeared telling me that I would not be happy working in the position they were attempting to fill, and that they wanted me to be happy.

I wonder if there is one question they use to screen out applicants or if they have calculated combinations and permutations on which to base their choices. They are right though, I would not be happy with the position they are attempting to fill. Now we both know.

Last week I came down with an infection. A trip to the Doctor's office resulted in a prescription for an antibiotic. The medication is one of the very few I can tolerate. The side effects are that I am less than alert, frequently tired, and feel mildly nauseous in the hours following my "dose" of medication. I am counting the days till my cure has run its course.

After a recent thaw, the sidewalks are mostly clear. Mostly is not good enough, since the exceptions are sheets of glare ice that are extremely slippery. It is not yet the time of year to resume walking about. I truly miss my daily strolls. Although the physical benefits of pacing to and fro in the house may be adequate, the psychological benefits are nonexistent. For variety, Attila and I paced the mall this evening, making a valiant and successful effort to purchase nothing but our health.