Tomorrow Is The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life

Not a real dragon

The dragons have been banished. We are not sick anymore. But we are still repairing the damage to our huts. There was, however, a Christmas Miracle. Doc found almost a whole box of Immodium in the desk drawer when we thought we were out. I'll tell you this folks, if you live with more than one person, go ahead and splurge on the 24 pack, if you don't need it now, you will soon.

Tonight, the girls and I walked to the ice cream stand. This is the last week, you know. Next week is October and that means cool weather, windbreakers and hot cider. Well, that's what it means traditionally. It's been 80 degrees all week. I found myself wondering while I read their sign and waited for the girls' cones, that maybe they should stay open indefinately. Nah. It's time to close the ice cream stands.

Not in Florida, though. I hear tell those ice cream stands are open all year round down there. Big Orange was taunting me with that fact just today. "Well," I said, "That's fine and all, but how can you miss ice cream if it never goes away?"

It was a typical midwestern response and I nailed him with it. Part of the wonder of living in the midwest is brought about by all the suffering and deprivation. The cool breezes of October (Mother Nature, I'm talking to you), immediately lift all the oppressive humidity that hijacks our souls all summer. There's a snap in the air...that then leads to dry skin and sniffles. But December comes and there's snow! Some mosture to soothe the skin. And eveyone is so friendly in the spirit of the season.

And then, in January, those people who were so friendly in December use up the rest of your hand cream and you just want to pound them on the head with your snow shovel. You've blown your hand cream budget with the latest outrageous, nay fantastic gas bill and know you're going to have to deal with cracking and chafing for at least two more months, probably three.

But just as you're ready to lay a roundhouse with your ergonomically correct snow shovel to the head of this lotion hog, you remember: Hey, at least it's not humid. And you return to your work, satisfied that there are thankfully no mosquitos at the moment. So you can coast the rest of the season out with a self-satisfied smugness, but not enough to quench the need to see daffodils.

And there they are! Lovely. The rain and the mud and the tornado warnings...tornado warnings. Well, at least I'm not paying for gas this month! You stroll through the grocery and see the cook-out gear on display. Oh, you can't wait to taste something grilled. Is there any propane in the tank? Yeah...oooh! Corn on the cob. And you rush headlong into summer thinking, hey, it doesn't get humid for another two months, right? By then, you'll be acclimated.

Sure.

But that's a year away. For now we are in the honeymoon of winter. Drag out those halloween decorations and dust off those pregnant nun costumes (I know one of you has one...Dale?) and live it up. Afterall, in the midwest, things are always changing; you've got to be ready for it.