1 AM

It hailed today, in March, in Southern California. Hailed enough so that areas of the foothills in which I live looked snow-covered for a while. Hailed enough so that Baroy let Em and N put on their winter gear (of which we have only a pitiful collection) and go out and collect scoopfulls in a baggie. Hailed enough so that our downstairs bathroom is piled with their wet jackets and scarves and mittens and pants and shoes. Two children. Enough wet articles of clothing to cover a small nation.

It's cold, and we're spoiled. We complained all day about how freezing it was, at a high of only 55. When we curled up tonight to watch a movie together, Em asked me to start a fire. But it’s hard to keep a fire going with the wood we have piled in our backyard. It’s eucalyptus—thick and slow-burning. And so, after a few aborted attempts, I let it go.

That was at 8, 9 this evening. Just a little while ago, as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed that the log was smoldering a lot, so I turned it over. It roared--or, rather, quietly grumbled--to life. And so here I am, laying in front of the fireplace, enjoying this fire while my family sleeps. I’ve put a blanket on the floor, and taken the pillows off the couch, and I’m going to take advantage of the crackling and the warmth and the quiet and the solitude and have myself a little inside camp-out.

Good night, all.