Nothing special. I got up and walked the dog. Hershey loves walks, so it doesn’t hurt to start your day making a small, affectionate mammal happy. I dragged in the newspaper from the driveway and adjusted the sprinkler to cover as much of the front yard in one sweep as possible. I read yesterday and today’s paper while watering the yard (from the comfort of my bedroom — the sprinkler needed very little supervision). I fired up the hot water for tea and toasted some bagels for breakfast while booting the PC. I spoke to hubby while observing an interesting bird on my backyard fence — bright red head, white chest with a little black on the back and wings. It looks like a woodpecker. A quick search reveals I do, indeed, have a woodpecker lounging on my back fence — more specifically, I have a Red-Headed Woodpecker, and we speculate about whether he’s hunting for fresh dachshund or not.

I managed to gum up my shredder a few weeks ago. My pile of things needing shredding is growing. I spent about half an hour cleaning the teeth of sticky plastic envelope adhesive. (NOTE to SELF and OTHERS: Just open the drawer, take out the scissors, and cut the address part out next time; don’t stuff the entire envelope into the shredder — the glue on those things is industrial strength and even my mid-grade office quality shredder can’t process that stuff without help.) I’m pleased to report the shredder is as good as new now and merrily shredding documents again.

(I had one reader last summer mightily offended by the lack of plot and action in at least one of my posts. He was so incensed he blogged eight months later about what a horrible post it was. I’m not linking to him, because I experienced reciprocol thoughts about his site when I stopped in to visit after his initial post, and again when he ranted about my horrible blog. Dude, if you’re still stopping in to visit this terrible blog, this post’s for you, ’cause this post is in a similar vein. The common denominator? The definitive action for both posts took place in my kitchen. The point? My kitchen is a mighty boring place to be.)

I think I’ll start to write around noon.