As you likely know by now, I ain't from around here.
Being from another part of the country allows me to notice things the natives don't necessarily give a moment's consideration.
The subtle accent.
The taking off of shoes whenever a carpeted surface looms.
Scoffing at people who wind up driving into a ditch during a blizzard.
An abundance of needlepoint and other needlecraft objects.
When you're from elsewhere, you really just want to fit in.
Which is why I've spent the last fifteen years working on the accent.
And remembering to wear "nice socks" so I can confidently remove my shoes in other folks' homes.
And calling the drivers on "Ice Road Truckers" pansies for ever being worried as they haul a load on glare ice in sub-zero temperatures.
Needlecraft, however, continues to stymie me.
I just don't get it.
Other folks do.
Comforting scenes of home and hearth.
I look at needlepoint, and all I can think is, "wouldn't it be funny to have something dirty in needlepoint?"
Which is where my friends come in.
Sticking with the beaver theme, I'm going to expose a little more of myself to you.
Something a friend who knows me well created.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a peak at something extraordinary.
Something that warms my heart.
And makes my chest and stomach hurt from laughing.
Want to see the whole thing?
You've been warned.
It hangs in my office, reminding me of all of the things I love about the Upper Midwest.
It's good to be known.