I made my semi-annual drive to Bishop Airport, Flint, late this afternoon to collect elderly parents from Florida. As they stepped out into the misting 50 degree afternoon, clouds hanging like bruised udders, they wondered, again, why they have the homing instinct for Michigan. It is a puzzlement. One which I doubt I'll ever have to ponder. They did so much better at managing their money than I have. It earned them a winter home in a (mostly) friendly climate. I was the grasshopper, fiddling while the industrious ants gathered in for the long nights. I'm not complaining. I love the change of seasons, But after five days of rain, winds groaning around the windows we thought we could finally unseal, I'm ready for a little paradise. And not the sarcastic kind.