Al Batt: Fighting over a thermostat should be an Olympics event
Published 8:45 pm Tuesday, January 30, 2024
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Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt
Iowa is a tropical paradise.
I don’t know why Minnesotans winter in Florida, Texas or Arizona when they could experience pleasing weather in Nevada, Iowa. Iowa is a tropical state by any Minnesotan’s expert estimation.
Most of my extended family is from Iowa. If you cup an ear, you’ll be able to hear all those relatives yelling, “Why did you have to reveal that?”
Many of them will be entering a witness protection program.
I met a pleasant man from Lake City, Iowa, a city without a lake, at a basketball game. He asked me what Minnesotans do in the winter to keep from freezing in place.
A fair question. Our weather is based on the first two bowls of porridge sampled by Goldilocks after she broke into the home of the Three Bears. It’s too hot or too cold, but we’re used to the vicissitudes of weather and happily play the “guess the weather” game for nothing more than bragging rights.
We try to stay safe and warm despite Old Man Winter’s disapproval of folks sitting on the sidelines. Hygge refers to the pleasure, contentment and coziness found in simplicity. The word comes from the Old Norwegian word for ”well-being,” but all those old Norwegians have shuffled off this mortal coil and the word is now associated with Danish culture.
There are many things we do to stay busy. Some examples follow.
Do something weather-related. Run for your life.
Build an ice castle and watch the snowman builders look on in envy.
Look at a frozen waterfall and rejoice that it’s not your plumbing.
Gather with friends and family around a cup of hot soup.
Take a hike with a snowball. That’ll give you that edgy look.
Duct tape bubble wrap to your body in case you fall.
Tell yourself the good things about winter: no ticks or mosquitoes, and no lawn mowing.
Make a winter emergency kit for your car: blankets, shovel, jumper cables, extra clothing, phone charger and fireplace. Then drive the car to Arizona or Nevada, Iowa.
Sing “The Heat is On” and “Heat Wave.”
Go ice fishing while eating ice cream.
Go to a state park and do state parkish things. Dress for the weather, which leaves you an hour of daylight to do something else.
Be thankful for wool socks.
Argue over whose turn it is to adjust the thermostat.
Dress in layers, not in the lairs of bears.
Use a porta-potty so you’ll have a story to frighten others while sitting around a fire one day.
Get a pitted windshield from sanding trucks.
Enter a shivering marathon.
Eat something that will give you heartburn and help you stay warm.
Learn to recognize your car when it becomes a snow-covered, unidentifiable lump or you’ll shovel for days only to discover it wasn’t your car you’d freed from the life of an igloo.
One winter morning at breakfast, a couple of social climbers, who had fled Florida and moved to a large city in Minnesota, were listening to the radio. They heard the announcer say, “We are going to get a foot of snow today. You must park your car on the even-numbered side of the street so the snowplow can get through. If you don’t, your vehicle will be towed.”
The husband went outside and moved their car.
A week later, while they were eating breakfast, the radio announcer said, “We expect another foot of snow today. You’ll need to move your car to the odd-numbered side of the street so the snowplow can get through. Move it or have it towed.”
The man went outside and moved their car again.
The following week, while they ate breakfast, the radio announcer said, “We anticipate blizzard conditions today and you must park…” Then the power went off.
The worried husband said, “I don’t know what to do. Which side of the street am I supposed to park on?”
With love and understanding, his wife said, “Why don’t you just leave it in the garage this time?”
UFOs visit Minnesota each Monday unless it’s a holiday and every extraterrestrial says the same thing, “Whithagot lotergis thothagel nithugaddrothogessing. Gothagy dothangro binothargotin knerthagowt.”
Translated, it means, “We should have worn wool socks.”
Al Batt’s columns appear in the Tribune every Wednesday.