I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the seasons are finally changing and how a dying seasons tries to drag itself out. I realize that I’m an immigrant to this part of the country and how I’m not a native Minnesotan. God only knows the strange looks that I get when I tell someone that I don’t care for hockey, I’ve never played hockey and we never had hockey as a organized sport when I was in high school. I get that look like I’m a Martian or some other type of space alien that has been somehow transported to this part of the Earth.
So whenever I start to talk about just how long any given winter lasts here in central Minnesota I get this look like “And that’s different how from the rest of the country?” I find it difficult at times to continually try to adapt to the weather here and I suppose I will never truly be considered to be a true or even reluctantly adopted Minnesotan. It’s a powerful idea to think for a moment that I could attempt to fool into thinking I actually love the 3 and one half seasons that we get here.
OK, I misstated that … 1 long one followed by a real short one followed a somewhat longer one followed by another shot one. Guess which one is that “long one“.
Random Writings on the Bathroom Wall 