The sound of one clap hounding. The overload is deafening and fresh ideas are stinkers. Lately, the evenness of the peaks and the valleys confirms filtering out the noise is working. When you find that 2/3rds of a century surprisingly allows even bombarded neuro-processors to delight in Jane Austen's story-telling, you're getting the right mix. The Horshack ew-ew handwave is the echo to sweating over warm air meant to open pores because getting around is unimpeded and the non-existent to-do list are both indicators of clear mixture. I had a Barbara Peters moment in this morning's dream, origin unknown. Underwater lighthouses can't ascertain where the beam reaches but on a clear day . . . . . . forever.