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Today it's snowing pretty hard here, and a cry has gone up from my friendslist. Which is all part of the spring ritual: it snows in late March or early April, and everybody's had it with the snow. (Everybody except me. Sorry. I am never tired of snow.) And it's just immensely comforting to me, the snow and the whining both. It is whining that knows its place in the world. It is the right whining.
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markgritter is out in California for his last trip with Sun, and my mom's taken the dogbeast for most of the week so that I don't have to haul her vertiginously through the snow, bend over nearly on my head to wipe off muddy paws, etc. etc. et-dogly-c. Much appreciated. So it's just me and timprov and the baseball noises coming from the TV. The baseball noises, too, are in their proper place.
When I was listening to the Minneapolis-St. Paul Magic panel at Minicon, I got to wondering whether the Cities have more of a rhythm of the year than other places, or whether I know more of the tune that goes with it, or maybe some of both. I know when to expect dragon boat races on Lake Phalen and when the average last frost comes; I watch for the first snow of the fall and for the last ice on the big lakes in the spring, for Aquatennial to give way to the State Fair, for the Holidazzle parade to precede the Winter Carnival. I know that the festivals of this calendar are my festivals, but what I don't know is whether there are more of them or whether I just know them better.
Be comforted, fellow Minnesotans and Minnesota-dwellers. The high school boys' basketball tournament is over, so we are now engaged in the spring ritual of Lots Of Snow That Goes Away Quickly.
I don't think I'd like Josh Ritter nearly so much if I didn't believe that he meant it when he sang, "Long time comin' but now the snow is gone." But Idaho, you see, is far enough north that I have some faith that he didn't mean, "Half an hour comin' but now the snow is gone," or, "we had a tiny bit in early February but now the snow is gone." The glee in his voice knows what it means to have the snow gone after a long time. To breathe in the air without a gasp of shock at the cold. And we will, too, someday, and someday is probably by Friday at the latest.
But today there is hot chocolate, and there are library books, and there are easy things for two shaky folks to have for dinner, and I am giving in to my darker urges and printing out the bits of Aesir noir novel to see where they go. Just in case.
markgritter is out in California for his last trip with Sun, and my mom's taken the dogbeast for most of the week so that I don't have to haul her vertiginously through the snow, bend over nearly on my head to wipe off muddy paws, etc. etc. et-dogly-c. Much appreciated. So it's just me and timprov and the baseball noises coming from the TV. The baseball noises, too, are in their proper place.When I was listening to the Minneapolis-St. Paul Magic panel at Minicon, I got to wondering whether the Cities have more of a rhythm of the year than other places, or whether I know more of the tune that goes with it, or maybe some of both. I know when to expect dragon boat races on Lake Phalen and when the average last frost comes; I watch for the first snow of the fall and for the last ice on the big lakes in the spring, for Aquatennial to give way to the State Fair, for the Holidazzle parade to precede the Winter Carnival. I know that the festivals of this calendar are my festivals, but what I don't know is whether there are more of them or whether I just know them better.
Be comforted, fellow Minnesotans and Minnesota-dwellers. The high school boys' basketball tournament is over, so we are now engaged in the spring ritual of Lots Of Snow That Goes Away Quickly.
I don't think I'd like Josh Ritter nearly so much if I didn't believe that he meant it when he sang, "Long time comin' but now the snow is gone." But Idaho, you see, is far enough north that I have some faith that he didn't mean, "Half an hour comin' but now the snow is gone," or, "we had a tiny bit in early February but now the snow is gone." The glee in his voice knows what it means to have the snow gone after a long time. To breathe in the air without a gasp of shock at the cold. And we will, too, someday, and someday is probably by Friday at the latest.
But today there is hot chocolate, and there are library books, and there are easy things for two shaky folks to have for dinner, and I am giving in to my darker urges and printing out the bits of Aesir noir novel to see where they go. Just in case.
