11:24 a.m. So, here is the -- yard -- all nice and cleaned up. It actually looks a little bigger, and yes, that is a duck. It's actually a duck planter, and I hope Shelley will let me live when I note that: a. there is no ribbon round its little neck and b. I got it out of the garbage.

Well, the idea to work in the daytime was there. It's just that the phone rings, people stop by, there are things to do that must be done right now, and one thing leads to another.

I got outside to take the daytime shots, however, and I do think my bench looks inviting. I do think I ought to try to sit on it every once in a while. What you can't see from this photo is what goes on right behind the bench. Crazed dog.

A dog whose only function is to race over to the fence and bark as if her heart will burst. A dog who seems capable of chawing off my entire arm, except for the very fragile chain-link between our two houses. I've tried to listen for her name to be called so I can try to calm her down, but so far she literally flings herself at the fence in fury.

We went out to the health food store this evening, and true to form, I never see so many sickly and ailing-looking people gathered in one place, except when I cruise the aisles of my local purveyor of all things good and whole.

Desperate furtiveness. Ropy muscles and gray beards. And neurotic, and antisocial. People who don't seem to understand the idea of personal space or pushing ahead in line. Or hygiene. Assertive, but in a weak, mucousy way.

And now I don't feel so good myself. I've got to stop trying the weird teas. They seem to bubble after I drink them. They offer so much on the box: a good night's sleep, to be your dieting friend, to ease you through that special time of the month. But instead -- bubblicious. Not good.

But I did get some of my favorite yogurt -- Brown Cow -- very special. It's made with whole milk and there's a layer of heavy cream on top to break through, just like in the old days when the milkman left milk in bottles outside your back door and when it got nice and cold, the cream would freeze and push right past the cardboard cap and out the top.

The old neighborhood. Where physical punishment was a sign of love.

We got back in time for this week's Sopranos. I'm really going to miss this show when it's over next week. Makes me all nostalgic for home ... although in Pennsylvania, where my neighborhood is, a goomah is your godmother.

And yeah -- suddenly vegetarianism is looking much, much better.