My favorite old quirky place, Lake Wobegone.
People there are loveable in spite of themselves, awkward, shy, and a few even have unexpected secrets. Lots are nosey and some find high adventures within the city limits. There the snow dictates the rhythm of all life, where the locals and even the local dogs fall in love with a wayward swan who doesn't fly south. Certainly, there you find just about every decent, sometimes complex, emotion a human being is privileged to experience.
There's lots that isn't there. No red hats, no black-masked agents in military gear, no cruel abandonment of seniors, the sick, the poor, and children. And I don't believe they had even one small billionaire among them.
I visited there to recall fondly what Lake Wobegone was like and how it made me feel once upon a time.
How might the fictional town be doing now? Would they still be kind and mostly neighborly, forgiving old hurts, indiscretions, and tools never returned? Wonder if they would welcome their home-grown, the goofy 6ft 3 inch man who invented them, remembered all their names, knew the week's exact weather, and gave each resident or brief visitor the breath of life. Would they welcome that writer and narrator who has had his own serious troubles in the last years? Would he recognize anyone?
Would time in Lake Wobegone have marched on to now be more diverse, more inclusive, even welcoming to outsiders? Would new climate patterns begin to be discussed in earnest by the resident farmers in the back corner at the Chatterbox Cafe?
Or, would all those good, normal, quirky people of the recent past have goose-stepped into 2025 too?