Splash was out with the dawn, an event we experienced at The Farm for the first time in the latest Big Storm passage over the Piedmont. This one was so big it got a name. When he was done with a cigarette he came in through the storm door but was unusually silent and part of his face was blocked not with a M-95 mask but a gray shiny rectangle. He took up a station near the group watching the coffee percolator to see if magic would emerge. Our young Attorney seemed to be interpreting his unexpected silence.

She stood with grace and made an announcement a little different than the one we would normally expect from Splash. “The Weather Channel is calling it ‘Landon.’ It was a big deal,” she said. “There are reports of 350,000 consumers losing power.”

“Who names these things? The National Weather Service?” That was from Rocket, who is one of the old-timer “trust but verify” crowd.

Loma helped. “Nope. Apparently the Weather Channel. They have a list of approved non-binary names, and 14 more on the list if the Jet Stream continues to channel freezing Canadian air across the Piedmont.”

“Splash,” said Loma slowly. “What is it like to have a sunrise when you can actually see the solar orb come up over the bare trees?”

He made no direct response, although a faint gurgle could be heard. In frustration, he waved the roll of duct tape the junior Attorney had provided after ripping off a segment long enough to cover his mouth. Loma frowned. “That may not be enough for the morning.” Buck laughed, a response to which the emeritus Economist was increasingly comfortable. Melissa shook her mane of blonde locks looking radiant on a suny morning. “The Legal folks have told us not to talk about what the Bureau of Labor Standards is doing to the past numbers to make the current numbers look good.”

“Did they learn that from the Climate folks?”

“Seems to be a perfectly reasonable approach to doing the best with what they have. We are not supposed to notice, and the memo from HR said that we could perform emergency masking standards up through lunchtime without lasting consequences to those being taped up.”

“I assume that is if the lunch is being held at Belmont Farms. So what is it we can actually talk about? We are supposed to be mildly humorous, slightly ironic and in full conformance with the warning from our old Department on supporting whatever it is the Narrative is claiming on any particular morning.”

“So does that mean we are limited to talking about the Olympics?”

Melissa crossed her arms. “Apparently we can talk only about activities that don’t involve anything beyond changes in style and execution in the individual sporting events. We are not supposed to notice journalists being pushed off camera while broadcasting.”

“I guess we would have to be watching to get into that sort of trouble. The question really is more about what Mr. Putin and Mr. Xi talked about as the ceremonies kicked off. They say there may be an alliance of the former Communist powers to overthrow the West.”

“Were there style points involved?”

“Definitely. We are not supposed to notice if something happens in Ukraine or Taiwan while the doubles figure skating or the curling events have all the headlines.”

“That is a level of Sporting awareness that is sort of unusual. Is it required?”

“No. Well, sort of. The old Soviet state didn’t fool the Russian people, but everyone agreed to pretend. It was important to at least listen to what the Commissars said was going on. Then, they assumed everything was false, and tried to figure it out privately. But the starting point helped to provide guidance on what to really look for. What the Kremlin said probably was intended to direct attention someplace else.”

“Boy, it’s lucky we live in the American Century.”

“Good. You are getting with the program. You didn’t use the past-tense for that. It is important to stay current.”

Melissa waved dismissively. “You guys need to stop acting like Boomers. You need to take a deep breath and accept that things have changed. You aren’t Neil Young and I am not Joni Mitchell.”

“You are doing a lot better than Joni. I heard she was thinking about quitting smoking and then Spotify.” There were some suspicious looks around the circle that had elongated from the warmth of the stove toward the cheerful perking in the kitchenette. Rocket smiled, and said “I remember when they were rebels and didn’t want to pave things to put up new parking lots and actually sang songs about needles and the damage they do.”

“All ancient history of interest only to people who like the old music. The new stuff is kind of catchy if you listen to it.” A general silence followed Loma’s statement.

DeMille came in through the back door and wore a broad smile as he shed his parka and took up a position closer to the fire than the coffee. “It is supposed to be sunny and dry today. Gusty winds could be a problem, so we have put the awning up and are trying to dry some of the firewood.”

“Is that controversial?”

“Nope. We have amended all the rhetoric from yesterday so the weather report today is completely accurate.” The young Attorney was getting used to the crowd, and had adjusted the timing of her interventions to ensure only relatively new old news was corrected and the older stuff could just be ignored. “For example,” she continued, “we have adopted a positive view that some common and usually inanimate objects are responsible for unintentional events. It makes it easier that way. And when some of the inanimate objects cause problems in places they are already tightly controlled, the answer is to place more laws in the places they aren’t causing any trouble.”

Splash tugged the gray tape from the corner of his mouth. “Let me try. How about ‘the sun is shining and a lot of the snow has transformed to water, and evaporated before it could turn to sheet ice. Wind chills could get out of the teens today. Or maybe tomorrow.”

The Attorney smiled, grateful that some of her hard work was finally paying off.

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