The Wife teaches piano to a grade-school combination of aspiring pianists and "I-can't-believe-my-mom-is-makin'-me-do-this" delinquents. And all of them are distracted easily. Soooooo, no big guy making Elixir and stomping delicately through the house.
Be gone, oh ye of thunderous foot.
Anyway, I got home last night from being a homeless guy in a minivan. I walked the fifteen feet from driveway to front door (yeah, still no garage) and noticed something.
It's cold.
I head for the Elixir as soon as I cross the threshold. Passing the kitchen window, I glance at the suction cup thermometer on the windowpane.
Eight below.
Huh.
Fall be gone. Winter is come.
This morning I sit here with a steaming cup of the Elixir of Knowledge. I checked the windowpane walking over here.
Three below.
Still Winter.
Reality sets in. No more strolling downtown in a sweater. Give an extra ten minutes to let the car deice and warm up. Find the boxful of mittens and gloves. Try to match up pairs in the boxful of the mittens and gloves. Wear a hat.
Another cup of the Elixir causes a pensive look out the window. The white landscape is slightly orange in the glow of the street light.
The Elixir gently pushes something into focus.
Huh.
Reality.
The reality of Winter is pretty easy to grasp. It's times like this where the reality of Spring seems as dubious as flying reindeer or not overspending for Christmas.
But I believe in Spring.
Been there. Seen it happen.
But what if I hadn't? What if I've never been through a Winter? Never seen a Spring?
I'd have to rely on others. Trust something other than myself. Like expiration dates on food or the guy driving in the other lane.
I believe in New Zealand.
Never seen it, but talked to a guy from there once.
I believed him.
So if people have a conversation about New Zealand, yeah, I'm in.
I'm a believer.
(Anybody else hear the singing Donkey in "Shrek" right now?)
Huh.
Winter to Spring to Summer to Fall to Winter.
Been there. Done that.
Life to Death to Life.
Nahhhhh. Can't say that I've done that.
("So, have you lived your whole life here in the Northwoods?")
("Not yet.")
I guess I'll believe the One who's been there and back.
He makes sense out of Life. And Death. And back.
Like what Spring does to Winter.