Circle this day on the calendar for it's the first of the season that I've donned the red parka I wear in cold weather. (Coat clean? Check. Gloves in pockets? Check.) Stepping outside at 5:50 a.m. it felt good to be looking out at the cold, dark world from a warm space.

The fact that I slept well, catching up from the weekend, no doubt enhanced my sense of well being.

Weather shmeather. People here, and perhaps everywhere in countries at peace, are forever rating the weather as if their happiness depended on it. ("It's been a lousy week, but we did have a beautiful summer, didn't we?")

Granted, thirty consecutive cloudy days in Vancouver or wherever would not promote good cheer. But the fact remains that by and large we make too much of the weather. Way too much.

Perhaps the root of the problem is that we genuinely lack much else to say to each other.

Anyhow I'm not singing the blues about the weather this year, at least. Not after I dodged the "Big C" bullet last year.

After that, every day is a beautiful, lovely, and perfect day. Which "the Lord has made."