I've taken a brief break from my comfortable southern California climate to visit some family in the bitter Midwest (oddly enough, they were experiencing a much warmer-than-average winter, that is, until I showed up!). Last night, I took a walk in the sub-freezing weather and realized something: no matter what geographic locale I settle upon in later years, I will always be a part of the great Midwestern Diaspora. Home is where the lakes freeze solid, the trees shudder under the burdensome weight of snow, and shockingly large icicles dangle precariously from every ledge, just waiting to fall and stab some unsuspecting victim (no doubt an out-of-stater) in the eye. Simply put, nothing reminds that I'm alive quite so well as the sensation of my boogers freezing inside my nose.
Now, if only they had more snails. . .