Most people think the shortest day of the year is the one where there is the least daylight. However, the one that contains only 23 hours is truly the shortest.

My phone tells the current "official" time. I guess in three weeks the computer will too.

I've reset three clocks in the house. I'm not sure I ever changed the living room clock last fall. (The den is the primary living spot.) I've changed a couple of watches. The car clock is now correct, instead of being an hour ahead.

Otherwise, it was a "normal" Sunday. WalMart, then gasoline, in the morning, albeit a bit later than usual. I read the Sunday paper, fell asleep, then went to PJ's for coffee, human company, and reading. I'm almost done with the book I was reading yesterday.

Did I ever mention that Fabian snores? He does, and currently is.

Tomorrow I'll stay home and really work at the yard. All of a sudden the miscellaneous stick-like branches of shrubs, bushes, and trees have sprouted green tips. And there are a lot of little white flowers along the ground. Those are the dewberries, and they need to get pulled out. They hug the ground and I really don't like have thorny vines where I might be walking.

And tomorrow will be a standard-length day.