I love living in a place where I can open up the windows and sleep under two blankets in mid-June. That part I totally get. Where I come from in the swamps, one pretty much gives up on anything except a half-on half-off sheet by this time of the year. One stops wearing socks and long pants and any sleeves in early or mid-May. By early July you’re wearing as little as legally possible, depending on your state of fitness. Having dealt with that all my life, I still cannot manage to appropriately dress for Minnesota weather.

Last May, when I came up for a colloquium and stayed with one of my advisors, she was amused at my choice of clothing. I brought very light shirts and a warm-weather dress. At her house one night, I put on a t-shirt and jeans and came downstairs barefoot. She was wearing a sweatshirt, warm pajama pants, and socks. She took one look at me and said, “You’ll freeze.” Being relatively warm natured and also full of bravado, I didn’t. (Also, she loaned me some socks. She had a point.)

All last August, I went to the grocery store at midnight in a t-shirt, and marvelled at all the people in their cardigans. It just never occurred to me to go out of the house with anything else on in August. I still have the same problem all this time later — the mentality that one cannot possibly need warmish clothing in summer. Anything beyond the essentials must be asking for heat postration.

But I try. When I got dressed this morning to go to lunch with my other advisor, I was very proud of myself for selecting a shirt with sleeves. Sleeves! In June! Definitely acclimating! Practically a native! So at lunch we sat on the patio among people in jackets and sweaters, and I ended up huddling over the warmth of my french fries. Of course.

Possibly one day I’ll learn. And then it will be time to move somewhere else.