Well it’s time to buck up. Garrison Keillor famously says he loves Minnesotan winters because “it keeps out the riff-raff”. That Nov. 3rd, 77-degree day at the lake looms large now, carrying as it does the weight of the coming four months. Facing a Jansenist winter, its grim embrace momentarily escaped, makes that day the sweeter.
The well-timed vacation day is a thing of beauty – part art, part science and subject to the elements like an old shed. This year, the weekend after the draconian knife slips – the end of daylight savings time – I gave myself a little momentum goin’ in. That day the grass waved green as Irish Republican flags. The sun percolated in an empty sky. Paul Theroux wrote of disreputable goings-ons in Hawaii and I cleansed the palate with a little Flannery O’Connor, the closest thing to a writer-saint as was ever invented. The radio played all the right songs, geese droppings were dodged, and the rhythmic lake ripples went on and on, even when you looked away. Like love.
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