Today is August 6, marking an anniversary of death. Specifically, the first use of the electric chair in 1890 and the atomic bomb on Hiroshima in 1946. I didn't intend to get rid of today's Times, but for the life of me I can't find it now I'm home from my exercise class.

There's an article on Alan Sherman and I wanted to forward it to a Jewish friend. The article does not appear on today's web site, a search doesn't bring him up and thus I need the exact title.

Last week I watched the tenants in apartment one throwing out possessions en masse, which means they would be leaving. And while the preparation crew will have its hands full with that unit I reflexively do a straightening up. My living room is dog-eared but not quite a disgrace. Yet, where is the paper?

Okay, I went through about three piles of other papers and it was nowhere to be found. One starts pondering: I don't believe in such things, but I wonder about "spirits"----hello . . . .Dad???---hiding keys and things to tell me to get to neglected areas. Guilt, a major source of "spirituality" and spinoffs.

Back to the paper, I found it while writing the end of the paragraph before last. Sitting in arms' reach atop an old television I plan to replace with a digital one. Which I swear I'll get around to. Which is not one of the main issues. Digital televisions do not make convenient roosts for quick stashing, though.

Why didn't I notice today's papers before? On my scanner I keep a frequency, occasionally talked on but every four hours if it's not being used gives the temperature in Fahrenheit to the tenths. Kind of fun for number games, obsessive compulsive style. Noon temperature just now? 66.6. The devil's in the details.

I might inquire concerning the perceived execution of today's blog. And on this August 6 I'm hoping for any answer but, "It would be a good idea."