You know the story about the farmer's wife who was happy that Daylight Saving Time was on again because the cows needed the extra sunshine. Two things to note there: I don't think that Saskatchewan, which is where the cows are (?), honours DST. And two, why is it always a woman who makes these charming, egregious errors? I don't really like DST, at least not until later in the season. I am an early riser and swim at 6 a.m. The sky was getting a little brighter until this morning; now, it's pitch black again, very depressing. But here's the good news: for the next week, perhaps, I will be waking earlier and can use the extra time to write. That's nice. SOW, it's Sunday. I get the Sunday New York Times. (Happiness is the Sunday New York Times). Talk about blogs1 My inner dialogue is running full throttle as I read the Review section. There's a man who has reduced his living space to 400 and some square feet, with a pull-out bed and ten shallow bowls to eat from. Years ago I wrote a book called ENOUGH when I divested myself of most of my goods and moved into a winterized (read: cold) cottage on a lake in Muskoka (Canada). I kept my books, though, and they were good insulation but I needed a jack under the floor to support their weight. I should write more about that. Tomorrow, when I wake earlier.

Twice in one day, making up for lost days? I had a review in The Globe and Mail last weekend and published my domain (bettyjanewylie.com) in the hope that a few people will check in and read my cobweblogs. Of course, that means I have to keep writing them. Stephen Leacock said that there was nothing to writing, you just jotted down what occurred to you. The jotting was easy, he said, the occurring was hard. It's like that with blogs. Time, too, taking it, and having the presumption to take it, yours and mine. At any given time, there must be at least three other things you could be usefully occupied doing. Who gave you permission to goof off and write a blog? It should be food for thought, not chewing gum, not masticating. Oh, for some real talk! One of the first lessons a freelance journalist learns is how to tapdance. I guess, when you come right down to it, a blog is a small tapdance. Mustn't step on anyone's toes. Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams