A hotdish is not a hot dish

Buenos dias, amigos.

I love my neighborhood and all the people from different places that live here.

My kids have teachers and coaches from Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Brazil. They spend time with others from Japan, Israel, Germany, Hungary, Ecuador. The other night we met neighbors for dinner at an El Salvadorian restaurant, but one of our other favorite local joints is an Irish pub with real live Irishmen and their funny accents and stories.

The different groups don't necessarily blend together, but we all live together, and I like that.

But what I'm grateful for today, Day 2 of my gratitude blog project, is a little oasis in my neighborhood of Midwesterners.

My church, located on a diverse street in a diverse neighborhood, has a small congregation with a big representation of people from the American Midwest. And among the people from the Midwest, there are a handful of people from my state, Minnesota.

I don't pine for my home state or want to move back, but I admit I like spending time with people who are from where I'm from. I guess people from other places feel the same way.

For one thing, I like being among people who appreciate self-deprecating humor. If I tell a story making fun of myself, New Yorkers tend to respond by giving me a pep talk and telling me I should think more highly of myself. A Minnesotan will laugh. I like that.

And I like being around people who party with a potluck, show up with a small hostess gift, and know what it means if I say, "I'll bring a hotdish."