Century’s Dawn.

Tuesday, January 25th, 2000

I watched the sun set over the Portuguese coast and the sun rise on the South Island of New Zealand. I watched Peter Jennings change outfits and now here we are.

Happy new year. Let’s keep it at that.

I received e-mail from friends far away, little electron-drawn portraits of their life thus far. A silent but warm hello, delivered in packets—a wonderful thing, this Internet. There were the wonderful cards and xeroxed here’s-where-our-life-is letters as well, but the e-mails, as unpersonal as they may seem on one surface, hold a real, okay, tenderness for me.

Here at home the Christmas tree is still up, but showing signs it would like to be chipped and spread as mulch around some landscaper’s master plan. We would then, of course, carefully de-string the lights and re-box the ornaments—some as old as Sammy’s mother’s youth, some as modern as our niece’s handiwork.

And here—no I mean here, on this platter of sectors spinning inside a Macintosh about 4 miles away from where I actually sit to type these words, sits, unscathed by the year-crossing, my virtual home, the place I share with you, summoned by your computer in a cascade of http requests, pushed down a sluggish connection and formed into a picture of bits on your screen.

It’s a home in need of refurbishment, much like our real home. A coat of fresh paint, clearing out the cobwebs of dead links and so on, but there (no surprise) hasn’t been time. or has there? That’s what I’m saying, anyway.

But for now, the days are cooling in respect of January, and I’ve got a few other projects to tackle. Some I’m even paid for. So, soon.

And so, enjoy your January.