How to handle a Minnesota winter: Like it, lump it, or leave it!

Our theater of seasons
And: It takes all kinds!

Rusty of St. Paul (seasonally) writes: “I have lived in Minnesota most of my life and have always marveled at our seasons. I would dearly miss how they change if I lived in an area with homogeneous temperatures. Plus, my wife and I don’t tolerate heat. We live on Lake Superior for half the year — and if it gets too hot, we jump in the lake. We winter in St. Paul.

Continue reading “How to handle a Minnesota winter: Like it, lump it, or leave it!”

What can possibly take the place of Midway baseball on St. Paul’s “perpetual play ground”?

In memoriam

The Divine Mum of Crocus Hill has sent us her husband’s ‘Little League Coach’s Diary, Vol. X, Ch. 1′: “’And they’ll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon . . . . And they’ll watch the game, and it’ll be as if they’d dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they’ll have to brush them away from their faces.’ — Terence Mann to Ray Kinsella, in ‘Field of Dreams’

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How hard can it be to lift your hand for a friendly little thank-you wave?

What is wrong with people?
And: What is right with people (Juvenile Division)

Rusty of St. Paul writes: “We are up to our yin-yangs in snow, making travel down some of our St. Paul streets into one-lane affairs.

“Whenever somebody pulls over to let me pass, I give them a thank-you wave as I pass by. Whenever I pull over to let someone pass, my guesstimate is that fewer than half of the people give me a thank-you wave (fewer still among the pickup drivers). This has been going on for a number of years, actually.

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Why did a picture of a simple soup make this woman “grovel in shame”?


Now & Then

DebK of Rosemount writes: “Euterpe just texted me the photo of a stunning soup she concocted from an assortment of leftovers from the Christmas dinner she served to Hesiod and guests. It’s never easy to compete in Euterpe’s league, but the photo of this glorious soup — created at almost no cost — made me grovel in shame. It arrived, you see, just as I was discarding our own holiday leftovers. I find some comfort in knowing that my throw-aways go to the hens and not into the Rice County landfill. Still, I cringe, knowing that I’ve let down the side, failed to rise to the standard set by my remarkable women friends who dedicate themselves to the art (and it IS an art) of homemaking.

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“Suddenly a green flash of light blinded Santa . . .”

’Tis the season!
Including: The highfalutin amusements

The Astronomer of Nininger reports: “Santa had filed his flight plan with the Air Traffic Control Center and was heading down toward the Twin Cities with a load of toys for good little girls and boys. He and his team of reindeer had just begun their descent into the holding pattern above the Capitol in St. Paul when suddenly a green flash of light blinded Santa, and he couldn’t see where they were going.

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