The hazards of traveling: a slight sore throat this morning. How many germs floating around in N.Y., at LaGuardia, on the plane? An invisible, insidious, enemy. The mind reels.

I'm not down for the count, instead, I feel bright and shiny this morning. A good, dreamless, sleep. It's so good to be back home. Yesterday, I conducted my business from home base. It's the best; my own comfortable hermitage.

One must 'break a routine' to re-fire the brain, and then return to the daily routine renewed. Like in that famous country song, 'How can I miss you, if you won't go away?'

Before my head hit the pillow last night, I came across Merton's concept of 'the book of life.' This is the book that we are all writing. We decide what kind of book it will be. We interpret events: meaningless, random, disconnected; or seamless, continuous, full of meaning and mystery?