I've spent much of the day cleaning. It's actually noticeable. And there is that zen sort of thing in mopping floors, wiping tables, washing dishes. I can be doing these things and thinking of other things. Or not thinking.

In the morning I attempted a new design for one of my web sites and it came out rather well. I will now have to translate this concept to the other pages, which will take time, but so far I am pleased. I think that each time I head in one particular direction I learn a lot and it takes a lot of time, but then the next time it really is easier. I am also working out a new design for another site, gathering the parts. I am going to sketch it on paper, then try to translate it.

Writing. I made a collage of photos. So many they are on top of each other. They are not glued or attached, just lying down on a large foamcore board. I had hoped they would trigger something in me. The most they've done so far is to remind me that I've been through many different things, have been to different places, have been a different person.

I have thought about this when listening to Glenn Gould's two versions of the Goldberg Variations. It is the same man playing them both, but 26 years apart, and the older man disparages the younger. To me there is a funny sense of science fiction in imagining this conversion from younger man to older. How much stayed, where did the rest go? What happened, how did he change? I like to imagine the two existing simultaneously. And so with my pictures. I see me with my daughter Mary when she was six years old, nineteen years ago. That person in there is me and yet it isn't, and I wonder about the person inside Mary as well, flowering, evolving. I think we do keep ourselves, all parts of ourselves, as we grow older, so what happens to it all?