Finally--a Minnesota winter day. The temp is stuck well below zero, the weather guys on the radio are orgasmic about having something interesting to report, and that wonderful sense of Minnesota virtue is present everywhere. I got Joe High School to wear his puffy down jacket--otherwise an indicator of total suburban geekdom, and not cool. I can have meaningful conversations with neighbors: "Your heating bill was HOW much?" I can think idly about plugging up the draft under the doors with a throw rug. Even the old tom cat doesn't want to venture out except for his most immediate needs.
I grew up in a place that wasn't terribly cold, but did have lots of snow. While the words are different, the song remains the same. My conversations with my elderly parents in that far-away place usually begin with the weather report. "You got HOW much snow? 15 inches? Wow!" I member the snows of my youth--Six foot piles at the end of the driveways, perfect for constructing dug-out snow forts. On very cold days--15 or 20 degrees (nothing to a Minnesotan) girls would be allowed to wear pants under their dresses, receiving extra time before school actually started to take them off.
I can tell I'm approaching geezerdom. Why does everyone love to talk about the weather? Is it because we can't control it? Or are we genetically wired to be concerned about it?
Minnesota motto: It's too cold to snow.
