Hot, Windy.

Something's coming, but man, it's warm out there, even now, even late. The bathroom reno rolls on. Where have I heard that before? Ah, yes: In June, when I swore off wet rooms for life. It's my friend JBW who warns against the wet rooms, goes face-dark at any mention of plumbing, of water damage. A half-teardown of the outside bathroom: Shower stayed put, but everything else came out. There were some anxious moments trying to figure how to raise the toilet flange -- called, quaintly, a closet flange in the biz -- to the level of the new floor, but that problem's all but solved, and we may again have indoor plumbing outside by tomorrow night.

Mid-September means today's ninety degrees could well be our last ninety degrees until next May or June or, if the last few winters tell us anything, March. We keep picking up these ninety degree March days, getting all the daffodils scorched, pushing the fruit trees to bloom just in time for the corollary March freeze. We can fret that out in six months, though. For now, let's look at the seventies and fifties forecast for the end of the week. Hat weather coming. Even in the ninety degrees, you could sniff that out.

Each picture out of Texas looks worse than the last. The one that's sticking with me tonight is the one of the man in Galveston standing on his porch, flood halfway up his steps -- he's got his hands on his head and he's watching the house next to him burn. Watching a fire in a flood would bust my head wide open. Galveston's half rubble. Houston's got glass in the streets. The pictures out of Crystal Coast suggest that there is no Crystal Coast. Nobody can get to anybody to help with much of anything. Does every coastal town figure it'll get wiped clean every hundred years or so?

It's too hot. We've got wind. Here, that means we're toggling between seasons. Here, we're lucky that's what it means.