leavesI raked up the leaves in the front yard this morning for what I hope is the last time this season.  It was sixteen degrees, less whatever windchill factor there was.  And it really wasn’t that bad.

Last week, I left work to go for a jog in the park.  It was forty-three degrees, and I remember thinking to myself that it was actually rather pleasant outside.  This is from a man who, when living in Houston, considered forty-five degrees to be pretty much the limit of human endurance.

I’m not sure if I’m getting tougher or softer.

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