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The weather geek's version of an acid flashback

If this was December, whoa, it would be a lot colder.
We're experiencing record heat this week in Minnesota. Last winter, we set records for snow and cold. Within the boundaries of these extremes, I've noticed a shift in my attitude. I used to experience November through March as if diving into the deep end of a very cold pool, holding my breath until it was over and I could come up for April air. It was even worse a dozen years ago, when I lived in an earth home in the woods, where winter's snow occasionally incapsulated me like a hamster in a Habitrail.

But now, last winter, a bit closer to civilization, I didn't hold my breath. The snow kept piling up, drifting up the tree trunks and the legs of the swingset, leaving everything dwarfed and buried. Darkness descended by 5:00 p.m. And it was okay. Maybe I've reached a point in my life where I don't want to hold my frozen breath five months of the year. Maybe I felt less like a hamster.

Now, in the heat of July, I've noticed that a couple times a day, my mind does this time-space continuum shift. I'm sitting in the kitchen at 7:30 in the evening, talking to Keith while he does the dishes, and I'm thinking, 'If this was January, it would be pitch-black outside. Our whole world would be different.' Or I'm in the backyard thinking, 'Last winter I would have been up to my chin in snow. I wouldn't even be able to stand here. And that would be okay. It's just the seasons.' I know this sounds like some kind of weather-geek version of an acid flashback. But think about it (dude). Perhaps it partly explains why Keith doesn't let me do the dishes; plates would drop to the floor as these epiphanies come to me.
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