I was born and raised in the climatically pluralistic Northeast United States. All my life, I have been fighting to have meaningful conversations over and above the banter of, "Hot enough for you?" In January our capillaries freeze and in July our craniums bake.

One of my greatest pleasures is coming in from a snowy afternnon, changing into my long johns, making hot chocolate and sparking a fire in the fireplace. In California, they probably don't even sell hot chocolate mix. Here in central Pennsylvania it is nectar from the heavens.

Furthermore, a roaring fire revitalizes our frozen bodies and links us to the huddled pioneers who forged their way to sunny California, warming themselves with burning wood. On the other hand, in Florida, fireplaces are mere decoration and spiritually bankrupt.

In Arizona, the coming of spring is maked by the turned pages of a calendar. Here, it is marked by returning wildlife or the exhilaration of going outside in a T-shirt. In central Pennsylvania, the passing of a year is much more than the passing 12 months. It is the passing of a complete cycle of the earth. It is exuberance and dormancy, freezing and sweating, life and death, wind and rain, night and day, hot and cold and everything in between. We are the melting pot of nature, and every year we survive and flourish, from the purchase of rock salt in November to the planting of marigolds in May. We live and laugh as people do everywhere else. But we do so while thriving in, not hiding from, mother earth in her most natural, mosiac form.

When I was a child, I needed my parents' protection from the weather. They made me wear a T-shirt swimming and a ski mask when sledding. Now that I am an adult, I buy sunscreen and wrap my head in a scarf. I will survive. I do not expect life and human progress to stop any time the physical world gets a little nasty.

I pay Penn State almost $30 per day of classes. If the roads are passable, I expect to receive my goods. I have an arsenal of jackets, boots and gloves and am willing to use them. I am a Northeasterner, always content if not thrilled with my element. I congratulate Penn State for offering me an education in spite of the shivering fools who still rely on Mommy to buy their wool socks. If you don't like it here, move to Hawaii. If you are a Northeasterner, see you in class.