Winter Holiday.

We were above 50 this morning, but haven't been since: cold rain, cold breeze, cold gray day. The JEP chili on the stovetop, though, raises all boats, and we're battened down for this brief winter here at 709. The heater's on. The hats are on. The long sleeves are in full effect. This is Fall Break the way the founders intended. This ought also to do the tomatoes that last death blow, which makes things easier, finally—no more having to hope for one last harvest. We wheel towards Eastern Standard Time, towards November, towards bleakness in all its glory.

My poor kids out at the puppet show looked like they'd had something taken from them, and maybe they had: maybe youth deserves tank top weather. Too bad, youth. Suck it up. Put on a jacket before you catch your death of cold. Have some more chili. Put some meat on those bones.

Cold tomorrow, too, but we'll bounce back. This is not how it is. Don't get so worried. This is just for me and my kind. Youth or no, your weather will be back soon enough.