It's contrived, of course, an artificial construct, this matter of the change of the date. Rather like standing astride a border, with one foot, for instance, in Arizona and the other in New Mexico, or in Kansas and Nebraska, a border that has been surveyed and negotiated, a mere line on a map, not a natural border like a river or an ocean, which although surmountable, are true barriers. I would like it to feel momentous, but tonight's rollover is no more momentous than watching a car's odometer turn over from 19,999 miles to 20,000.

Goodbye, little number one. See you again in a hundred thou.

I've done that, of course. I've noticed a "significant" rollover is about to occur on the odometer, and I've taken care to attend to its passing as I continue to drive down the road. But I can think of other, more important "bookmarked" moments: births, deaths, the first free afternoon when kindergarten let out for the summer.

So. This day for me is not momentous and I do not think myself, my family or my friends imperiled by the Y2K panic, so I glide blithely past this artificial change, trusting the infrastructure, trusting responsible and competent engineers to have taken care of the problem, just as I traverse bridges, board aircraft, and ingest medicines trusting that all is right with the world.

Or trusting that lightning will strike elsewhere.

And confident that garlic, onions and chives -- all that really matters after your children -- are Y2K compliant.

Yesterday's entry, had there been one, would have included a photo of a house that I admire by the city park. I must qualify my admiration for this house, however. The point of interest in the photo would have been the green, the very green, the nitrogen-glutted green of the front yard. A lawn here at this time of year is tan, the color of the leaves on the oak tree framing the house in the picture. Unless, of course, the lawn is heavily and (in my opinion) irresponsibly fertilized. This lawn probably glows in the dark.

I might also have added a photo of Taylor, who on a break during our walk (his bike ride, my walk) to the city park, decided to climb a tree. There's a difference between kids and adults that deserves longer note, some remarks on the fact that adults on a break, well, they slump, and kids on a break simply change the adventure. Matters of energy as opposed to attention, perhaps.

There was also a photo of a dead 'possum in the middle of a neighborhood street. I speculated that the critter had been hit by a car. Taylor pointed out the fact that a tree limb overhung the street, from which the 'possum might have fallen to his death. I allowed the possibility, because he's good company.

I haven't uploaded the roadkill photo to these pages because I have some taste. Some, not a lot. And I still have the photo on disk.

But I didn't get around to doing an entry yesterday. There was instead a -- um -- breakdown in the infrastructure here, a train derailment nearby on the US 24 bridge over the Blue River. News of the derailment came to me in the way all news of that type comes to fathers of small boys. They told me. Little birds, co-conspirators, who knows where they hear of such things. There must be some special frequency they're attuned to. By whatever means, they learned of the wreck, and they announced it to me, forcing me at nerf-point to drive them to the scene.

Okay, so it didn't take much to persuade me to join this adventure.

When we arrived at the bridge at around 4 PM, the area was cordoned off, so we couldn't get any closer to the site than the opposite bank of the river. According to news reports, no one was injured, but freight cars were accordioned off the tracks for about a quarter mile behind it, unrecognizable in their overturned state as the yellow Union Pacific tractors moved about them, removing the wheels from the undercarriages and preparing to lift the freight cars onto waiting semi-trailers. What more could you ask for from the end of this year -- or any year -- than a train wreck and a river to fill with skipped stones?

Well, I'll end this entry with a photo of me taken this morning in a mirror. Taking a picture of myself in a mirror with a digital camera -- what a vain way to end this year, eh?

The digital camera (my first) has kept me occupied over this past week, and has probably moved me closer to buying some version of PhotoShop in the very near future. Want begets want, after all.

Our big night out will be a trip to Pizza Hut with our neighbor Allie and her two young'uns. When we return, we have fireworks to set off -- one of the advantages or hazards of smalltown life, depending on how sincere parents are about insuring that their children get to adulthood with all fingers, toes, eyes and eardrums intact. Our city's leaders have legalized fireworks for this special night. Although I would prefer not to take these particular risks, another (and apparently prevailing) opinion of the matter exists in this household.

The two younger boys will stay up until midnight tonight to see in the new year. That will probably mean a few videos and a few firecracker breaks. The oldest son is out and about leading his own life with his friends.

My own preference would be to nap through the rollover.

And I probably will.

I watched The Mask of Zorro with the boys last night, and The Matrix this afternoon.

George of the Jungle plays in the background behind me this evening as I finish this up. And Goldeneye is on deck.

Dare I eat some uncooked chocolate chip cookie dough? What an exciting life!