A Warm Greeting in a Cold State

For the readers not in Minnesota, it’s cold outside. I mean, really cold out. I mean, it’s holy shit balls cold outside. The temp is -9°F with a wind chill of -31°F. There are severe wind chill warnings and suggestions in red to limit outdoor exposure.

Look, Canada. We get it. You’re tougher than us. You’re so tough that you had nothing to prove and named your towns things that sound silly in English but mean things like “majestic eagle” and “dancing doe” in other languages. You’re so tough that Wawa, Ontario (Ojibwe: “wild goose”) has the same exact temp and windchill, and historically speaking, today is “a little on the chilly side.”

The town of Wawa, as seen from the other side of Lake Wawa.

The town of Wawa, as seen from the other side of Lake Wawa.

But to the rest of America, Minnesota right now is the frozen wasteland that we imagine Wawa to be. Minnesotans cultivate this “tough as nails” persona because it’s the only way we can justify staying here. While California today is complaining about 33°F, Minnesota is shouting Minnesota nice (there’s seriously a wikipedia article on MN nice) at them, like “do you need us to bring you a sweater?” secretly hoping they say yes so we have an excuse to go to a place where the temperature is above freezing.

Minnesotan’s also have a habit of saying the phrase “cold enough for ya?” It’s like we’re daring each other to give up and go back to nicer climates. And because we’re stubborn bastards, we’re all still here, on a bet that we can’t hack it.

If you can't take the cold, get out of the freezer!

If you can’t take the cold, get out of the freezer!

I used to live in North Minneapolis. It’s known as a “bad neighborhood” which is unfair to the good parts of North, but there are some pretty scary pockets. I was living in one of these scary pockets, possibly the worst (Jordan neighborhood, for those in the know) and one particularly bitter winter day, I needed to go grocery shopping. So I went to my local store, purchased the needed items, and headed towards the exit. On either side of the door were two urban youth. And by that, I mean young men dressed in the kind of clothes you picture when I say “gangsta rappa.”

And only one of them was black. Way to be racist on Martin Luther King Jr day, asshole.

Anyway, I see these two guys, and I’m thinking “well shit. I’m about to get harassed.” Not because they’re men, or even that they’re urban youth. But because they are dudes in that particular neighborhood at that particular store where I had been harassed by dudes 100 times before on exiting. Somehow they always seem to know that I have a sweet ass, even under my 20 layers of winter clothing and knee-length winter coat.

So I brace myself. I walk out the door, and sure enough, I get hailed by one of the urban youth. “Yo,” he says, and as I turn to look him in the eye, he adds “cold enough for ya?”

The Happy Home-Maker’s Guide to Happy Home-Making

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now a home-maker.

My first day is turning out rough.

First of all, with Fest, Bill working a new job for the past couple weeks, me working my old job up until yesterday, no one has been designated to clean. Which means there’s dishes in the sink that need doing, Fest costuming and sewing supplies scattered all over, a huge mound of laundry to be done, boxes of things from my old office (mostly books that I have no place to put right now), and for some reason, prom dresses all over the place.

What I want for my home is the pristine, sparkling, everything in it’s place look you expect from the 50’s Susie home-maker, pearls and housedresses and a feather duster with a little apron.

Well, at least our gas stove looks right…

Instead, it looks like Susie got off the happy pills, had a mid life crisis, sunk into a deep depression, and is curled up on the couch, wearing mis-matched sweats, manically going through her old clothes, trying to remember better days when she was pretty, before 3 children and her pack a day habit.

The gas stove is still there… somewhere.

Also, Jared just got back from vacationing with his father, so he’s now 2 days behind in his school studies. We got all his school supplies after Jared left, so we didn’t get to set up his study area with him yet. He’s online, working through a tutorial, there are text books everywhere, and we can’t find his notebooks. Of course my son sees this as the perfect opportunity to try to put off note-taking. And I’m pushing him through his lessons a s quickly as possible while still retaining knowledge, cause he has an online live class session at noon that he isn’t going to be prepared for.

Yes, I just ended that sentence with a preposition. Piss off. I’m the learning coach, and I’m going to learn my son good.

On top of that, I have a cold. There’s a mound of tissues next to me, my head is swimming, and the energy is non-existent. If I had the energy, I’d go get some cold medication to combat my lack of energy.

In short, not even halfway through my first day, and I’m already giving up. I’m going to eat some bon-bons and watch my stories.

Happy home-making, everyone!!!