I put on my socks today.
A small thing, you say? Nein, liebchen. In the Great State of Minnesota, this is known as the Beginning of the End.
Next thing you know, I’ll be looking for my hat.
There’s a nip in the air. Mother Nature, having done her best to steam us into submission over the last few months, has taken another tack.
She will kill us using her favorite northern weapon: Canada.
The winds have shifted, and one’s mind turns to winter-weight oil, shovels and the heavier ales.
And now there’s nothing to do but look for the sweaters, the corduroys, the thick-bottomed shoes.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s all comfortable now, despite the need for socks. The sky is blue, the teenagers still run amok with little else but their hormones to warm them, the odd ant still creeps into my house in search of sustenance.
Nevertheless, I will soon need a hat. And having recently moved, many boxes still unexplored, I can now legitimately use my only other German phrase – aside from the necessary “bier, bitte”.
Ich habe keinen hut.*
Perhaps I should open those last boxes.
* “I don’t have a hat.” Learned this little bit of happiness at a “Crazy Hat” party given by a local German group, the Spielmannszug. Silly Germans.