Minnesota Prairie Roots

“It’s not 88 degrees.”

No way.

The billboard with the red electronic double eights flashing at me from the side of Interstate 35 south of the Twin Cities was absolutely, undeniably wrong. The outdoor temperature read closer to 70 degrees.

Laughter jumbled inside the car like rough stones tumbling inside a rock polisher.

“That’s not the temperature,” he said, he being my husband. “That’s the room rate.”

“Oh,” I answered.

Now it all made sense. Mystic Lake Casino and Hotel was advertising room rates, not providing a friendly service by flashing the current temperature.

“Why then” I wondered aloud, “do they have a sign like that? Do they raise the rates on weekends, lower them during the week?”

“Maybe,” he said.

Sometimes the rocks inside my head require a bit of polishing. But other times I like them just the way they are—unique, imperfect and rough around the edges.