I can be cranky when it comes to apparently mundane comments on the weather. People who whine too much about winter get no sympathy from me. It is Minnesota, after all. If you hate it that much, why not move south? I spent my first 18 years in northern California, and while I have no complaints, I do actually prefer the four seasons we get here.
Yesterday gave me a little window, however, into the wistfulness some people feel at summer's end. Me, I'm usually bounding out the door with renewed energy and singing "O Canada!" when it's finally jacket weather again. And if it's 80 in October, you will NOT find me going on about how lovely it is. 80 in October in Minnesota is just wrong.
But yesterday it was officially fall, and it was in the 80's, and I was OK with it. Really. We went for a family bike ride on our train -- the tandem, followed by the trail-a-bike, followed by the Burley. The kids were perfectly cheerful, singing the whole 20 miles to Izzy's Ice Cream, the establishment in St. Paul that got me through my first pregnancy. On the way home we began to run out of steam and stopped on Lake Calhoun for fish and chips at The Tin Fish. Three guys were playing some sort of experimental minimalist jazz, the tables were full of kids, there were ducks and dogs everywhere, and the sun was going down at its appointed equinox hour. It was a perfect evening, and I felt that combination of wistfulness and contentment that watching small children brings when they are well-behaved. I didn't want it to end, and I knew it would. We wouldn't have done that in 50 degrees. . . OK, I get it.
