My Beloved Minnesota,
Oh! How I miss you. I have been living in a state of perpetual hot and dusty winter. It is forever March in this country, you know, the month when everyone is angry inside, depressed, thinking spring my never come to their home or their hearts. The time of year when people are unnecessarily rude to strangers, when your coworkers seem on edge because the winter has been so long and hard and it seems like it will never break. It is a hot and dusty March for the whole calendar in Saudi Arabia.
Sometimes, I bring the computer in the bedroom and put on frog and cricket noises. I turn off the air conditioner and let the hot, thick dessert meets sea air into the blackened room. It is so still, and the frogs and crickets make me believe I am in a tent after a long day of hiking. Other times I will go to the mall and get frozen yogurt with raspberries on top. I taste one and close my eyes, dreaming of the day summers ago when I went raspberry picking with my friends in Duluth. I didn't have time to can them all so I carried a huge bucket around with me up the north shore to a luxury cabin and spent the evening eating as many as I could as I sat on the lake with Scott, Kathleen and their friends. That night I slept alone on the beach of Superior, cradled in the tiny rocks as I watched a meteor shower. I try so hard to remember what it feels like to lay in a lush green lawn and read the newspaper. How the grass smells, and how if you stay long enough the moisture from the plants and dirt make your clothes damp. I swirl my hands in the full laundry tub and remember your lakes, rivers, and streams.
Your people are quiet and forgiving. They form lines at shops, drive in a courteous manner, and say hello as you walk past them on your sidewalks. They keep to themselves and treat each other fairly. Your people value education, new ideas, quality, cleanliness, and systems that work. Last summer when I came for a visit, I got to the airport terminal to board my Minnesota flight. I could feel you in the room, Minnesota. I could see you in the old man who read the paper and made snarky comments about republicans that sat by us in the airplane. He offered us half his pizza and half his kit kat. I had a cup of caribou coffee on my affordable and modest Minnesota flight. I can not wait to be on that same airplane, my head glued to the window looking for signs of Wisconsin big woods, muddy streams, and baseball fields in parks. When I see the Mall of America right before we land I will probably choke up a bit.
I can not wait to go to the State Fair and run my hands through the different breeds of corn in the agriculture building. I can't wait to smell that hot oil in the food building, and to drink honey lemonade in a grove of Christmas trees brought in from all around the state. I want so badly to get stuck in a crowd watching a cow give birth on Seniors and Kids day. My heart just aches when I think of how great it will be to watch live music with a 9 o'clock fair breeze blowing through my hair. This year I want to take Mariam on Ye Old Mill and make animal sounds from the bench behind her as we float and bump around in the dark.
I cut out a paper version of you, and taped it to the wall in my living room. The colored paper is already faded from the constant sun. Thirty days till I am in-route to you again, my beloved Minnesota. Even if just about everything goes wrong or nothing fun happens at all, as long as I am in you this summer, I will have the best time of my life.
Oh! How I miss you. I have been living in a state of perpetual hot and dusty winter. It is forever March in this country, you know, the month when everyone is angry inside, depressed, thinking spring my never come to their home or their hearts. The time of year when people are unnecessarily rude to strangers, when your coworkers seem on edge because the winter has been so long and hard and it seems like it will never break. It is a hot and dusty March for the whole calendar in Saudi Arabia.
Sometimes, I bring the computer in the bedroom and put on frog and cricket noises. I turn off the air conditioner and let the hot, thick dessert meets sea air into the blackened room. It is so still, and the frogs and crickets make me believe I am in a tent after a long day of hiking. Other times I will go to the mall and get frozen yogurt with raspberries on top. I taste one and close my eyes, dreaming of the day summers ago when I went raspberry picking with my friends in Duluth. I didn't have time to can them all so I carried a huge bucket around with me up the north shore to a luxury cabin and spent the evening eating as many as I could as I sat on the lake with Scott, Kathleen and their friends. That night I slept alone on the beach of Superior, cradled in the tiny rocks as I watched a meteor shower. I try so hard to remember what it feels like to lay in a lush green lawn and read the newspaper. How the grass smells, and how if you stay long enough the moisture from the plants and dirt make your clothes damp. I swirl my hands in the full laundry tub and remember your lakes, rivers, and streams.
Your people are quiet and forgiving. They form lines at shops, drive in a courteous manner, and say hello as you walk past them on your sidewalks. They keep to themselves and treat each other fairly. Your people value education, new ideas, quality, cleanliness, and systems that work. Last summer when I came for a visit, I got to the airport terminal to board my Minnesota flight. I could feel you in the room, Minnesota. I could see you in the old man who read the paper and made snarky comments about republicans that sat by us in the airplane. He offered us half his pizza and half his kit kat. I had a cup of caribou coffee on my affordable and modest Minnesota flight. I can not wait to be on that same airplane, my head glued to the window looking for signs of Wisconsin big woods, muddy streams, and baseball fields in parks. When I see the Mall of America right before we land I will probably choke up a bit.
I can not wait to go to the State Fair and run my hands through the different breeds of corn in the agriculture building. I can't wait to smell that hot oil in the food building, and to drink honey lemonade in a grove of Christmas trees brought in from all around the state. I want so badly to get stuck in a crowd watching a cow give birth on Seniors and Kids day. My heart just aches when I think of how great it will be to watch live music with a 9 o'clock fair breeze blowing through my hair. This year I want to take Mariam on Ye Old Mill and make animal sounds from the bench behind her as we float and bump around in the dark.
I cut out a paper version of you, and taped it to the wall in my living room. The colored paper is already faded from the constant sun. Thirty days till I am in-route to you again, my beloved Minnesota. Even if just about everything goes wrong or nothing fun happens at all, as long as I am in you this summer, I will have the best time of my life.
