It’s only 7:30 a.m., and I’m up and dressed. Sometimes I just wake up and have to get out of bed. I feel congested, I think because of the smoky air. Yesterday I swept a bit of ash off of our front patio furniture. We can’t see the fires in the valley, but we sure know they’re there.

Steve got up, too. He came downstairs and we met up in the kitchen, where he pulled me onto his back for a piggy-back ride across the room. Whee! Then he knelt down on all fours, me still on his back. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Mechanical bull,” he replied.

“I don’t want a mechanical bull,” I said, “I want a husband.”

“I don’t think you realize how similar those two are,” he said. “Always trying to get you off my back.”