That frisky fall feeling

IT'S RAINING T'S RAINING steadily -- in the key of B flat -- the drops pinging against the windows and burping down the downspouts. Honestly, I don't know how much more of this winter weather I can take.

"What's that sound?" the little guy asks.

"A nor'easter," I say.

"Dad, we live in L.A.," says the little girl.

"We do?"

Love the rain. Without fail, the first real rain of the year comes just after I clean the skylight or wash both cars. For dads with a God complex -- and that's more than a few -- washing the skylight is a surefire way to take complete control of the nation's weather systems.

"I think," says Posh, with a shiver, "that I'll put a fire in the fireplace."

Spreads heat everywhere she goes, that woman. Bad enough she's started wearing sweaters again, in broad daylight, with children around.

She's my Bond girl. My muse. My very best pal. When she puts on a sweater and starts a fire in the fireplace, it's almost more romance than I can accommodate.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asks.

Yarn. That sweater. You.

"How 'bout hamburgers?" Posh purrs.

"I was going to say that," I say.

Or, we could go down to the local Oktoberfest, if this crummy weather ever lets up. I swear, I've been stuck in the house now for almost two hours.

Naturally, I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy. I have Miss October romping around in her Gap sweater, lighting fires she can't put out. And I've got the little guy draped over my shoulders like a human scarf, begging me -- puleeeeeease? -- to roughhouse.

You might not realize this -- or maybe you do -- but about half the time I write, I either have a kid on my lap or another kid with his hand in my pocket, frisking me for cash. Does it show up in the writing? I'm sure you had the vague sense that something was a little off. Well, that's just part of it.

The other day, I starting thinking I might have this West Nile virus. Or, in my case, Midwest Nile virus, a high fever and deep lethargy that comes from following the Cubs for almost half a century.

Every five years, along comes another malady that has to do with Americans being fatigued. For a while, everyone had Epstein-Barr, which was similar but not the same as Lyme disease (yeah, right, a deer tick turned you into Sleeping Beauty).

Now it's West Nile we're supposed to worry about, and, frankly, I suspect that the drug companies are all behind this somehow, creating "diseases" for what is really just a chronic and common condition: getting older.

It doesn't help that every year, our days start earlier and last longer. Or that the family home -- our refuge, our Ft. Apache -- seems more vulnerable than ever before.