Although this morning was campfire-scented, by noon, when I left for my haircut, the air was free of smoke smell. The winds, shown above (a rendition of the area from this morning), have died down. I watered my new flowers and came inside and opened the windows.

Now, this evening, my chest is tight and the inhaler doesn't seem to help much. I go around closing windows, the heat in the house higher than what should it be in October, if you ask me.

But no wind is good for getting a handle on these blazes, the numbers finally moving off their "0% containment" status on the news charts. I've become a news junkie, hearing about Marie Osmond's fall (blamed partly on the air quality, partly on her divorce from her husband of 20 years), Eric Clapton's autobiography, and Halle Berry's car seat for her new baby. I'm impatient with this trivia--I want fire news!

So, here in SoCal, we offer up prayers for tired firefighters. I work in the building that trains these people. They were gone on Tuesday, "doing ventilation over at Norton Air Force Base" said Sue, the fire department secretary. Tomorrow's a day when I should normally see them, these neat-as-a-pin cadets that hold open building doors and say "Mam, yes Mam!" but school's canceled until Monday. We're hoping not to have to reprise the ceremony of last year, the black-booted cadets marching in cadence out to the flagpole, drawing it down to half mast as Sue placed five pots of mums around the base, one for each fallen firefighter in the Esperanza blaze, the sound of these young men's boots like a dirge as they silently retreated.