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So Minnesota finds itself in the national spotlight lately and, unbelievably for this time of year, it's not for weather or lousy football. The Northland's own Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature a couple weeks back and he seems to care as much about the honor as he does about the Northland, which is not at all.
So, as you know, America is a country that doesn't know the meaning of the word "quarkzenflufferburppit." To be fair, there aren't many countries that do know that word because I just made it up. Canada might claim to know it, but they're notorious fibbers. That's why Keanu Reeves is listed on IMDb under "actor."
So temperatures are plummeting faster than Tic Tac stock, which can only mean one thing: Halloween is right around the corner. Or Donald Trump is on the bus. Either way ... scary times!
So, verily I say unto thee, perchance thou hast forsaken thy papered news, forsooth? If thy answer doth lie in the negative, the day doth lie in the positive. Translation: Hope you got your Budgeteer today! Sorry for all the fancy-pants verbiage, but Shakespeare's in town, so it's time to freshen up my thees and thous. Not the man himself, of course. The Bard has been dead for hundreds of years. If he shuffled back onto this mortal coil, that would be a combination of super silly, yet astonishingly creepy. Like Donald Trump's campaign. But not as silly.
So that familiar chill is in the air and that can only mean one thing: You forgot your wedding anniversary again. But for the rest of us survivors, it also means the annual turning-of-the-earth-away-from-the-life-sustaining-sun-and-plunging-us-into-an-abyss-of-eternal-darkness-and-soul-numbing-cold. You know, October.
So several important topics were discussed in last week's column — wedding anniversaries, world peace, how Top-the-Tater successfully figures into both — but this week, I'd like to expand on one of the more personal subjects raised: the empty nest.
So depending on when you read this, I may have been married for 29 years. I say "depending" because the actual date of our anniversary is Sept. 19 and for all I know, you might see this a day before that, or you might hoard it away to read later in the week while sitting in your personal "library" after Big Burrito Thursday. Either way, 29 years is a lot of anniversaries. Nearly 30!
So, wait ... summer's over? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?! I had so much I wanted to accomplish this summer and never got a chance. I guess that's what happens in Duluth, the land of the 48-Hour Summer Window. We only have a handful of perfect days that manage to sneak in between the blinding rainstorms, rolling mountains of fog and lake winds howling like contestants in a "What Does Barbara Reyelts Sound Like When the Hairspray Nozzle Clogs?" Contest.
So the human body is a miraculous piece of art, or so we've been told over the centuries by poets, philosophers and the owners of Pure Pleasure in Hermantown. Every piece of our anatomy works in skilled precision with the other and through this graceful interaction, we are able to accomplish a myriad of physical activities each and every day. Unless, of course, you have a back like mine. Then you're lucky if you can stand up without drooling.
So how are wild animals like teenagers? Neither group does what you want them to do. In fact, wild animals are worse because, without your help every once in awhile, they would probably die. (To be fair, that probably happens with teenagers, too.) I bring this comparison up because my epic Backyard Battle rages on.