September 22nd, 2002 - 9:37 p.m.

A recipe for a day that could have gone better.

It does not require much to drain all poetry and joy out of a day.

Start with an immature child. Stir in a goodly amount of ennuie. Things compounded upon the other. Atoms fusing.

Then. Add to this mildly piquant mixture, a second immature child. This one much more dear then the last. Throw in a mother's worry, and a misplaced ear. Add stress and utter dissappointment.

Sigh.

N.

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