I love the snow. Love it. I actually get excited when I hear weather reports predicting it for the coming days. And then when it does start to fall it fills me with a sense of wonder that never diminishes regardless of how old I have become. I could pass hours just watching the flakes swirl and dance from above. Polka-dots from the heavens.So it was with much anticipation I bounded (okay, not bounded perhaps, more of shuffled with unusual pep) out of bed Tuesday morning to look out the window. A giant spatula had iced the world outside with a layer of marshmallow white and was in fact, still spreading it's creamy white icing onto surfaces with no appearance of stopping anytime soon.
Feeling grateful that I was off that day, I quickly bundled up, and headed outside. I love the way the air smells when it is snowing: like sweet wet earth but with a lightness and a feeling of anticipation. The air itself feels different: stiller, quieter, more intimate.
I shoveled the steps and the sidewalks and enjoyed every moment. Job completed but I still wasn't ready to go inside. Not yet. There was still one thing left to do. A snowman. I needed to make a snowman. I have always thoroughly enjoyed making snowmen. It may have something to do with very fond memories of making them with my Dad when I was a little girl. He always made sure they were big and round and well, real. I never wanted them to melt.
It was with these happy memories in mind that I always approached snowman building with my own children in the past. As my sons grew older and away from such carefree past-times as snowman making, I started to have concerns about the 'protocol' of this snowy fun. Is it necessary to have a child involved in this activity to legitimize it, I wondered. What will the neighbors think to see a mature woman making a snowman all by herself? This concern took on a new immediacy as most of my neighbors were currently out in their yards shoveling snow. I was also well aware that our snow can turn to wet dripping slush in mere hours, so I needed to address this dilemma as soon as possible.
I made a snowman. And not a rushed two baller but a full scale snowman with a head, a middle, and a nice round bottom. I made him in front of the family window so I would be able to look out at him easily and frequently. Feeling joyful and grateful to live where we can experience all of the individual seasons' offerings, I headed indoors with a sense of contentment.
Later that day, when Kyle wanted to know why Corey had thrown snowballs at his bedroom window, I confessed it had actually been me. He looked at me in surprise and remarked, "Honestly Mom, sometimes I think you are closer to five than fifty; throwing snowballs at my window and making snowmen!"
To which I replied: "You are never too old to make sandcastles or snowmen."
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My snowman 24 hours after making him. His twig smile had turned into a frown. Maybe he sensed his time was dwindling away...........
You all are familiar with those print ads. Some celebrity promoting milk with a milk mustache and some catchy little caption. I consider them fortunate: at least they have enough milk to make a moustache. It seems in my household we are forever running out of milk. And that apparently no one else feels motivated to buy more.... even though they still reach for their cereal box in the morning before the realization sinks in....that no one (meaning ME) has gotten around to filling that big void front and centre in the refrigerator.
I love days like today. LOVE them. Freezing cold temperatures, bright clear skies, and lots of sunshine. I find them energizing and exhilarating. Somewhat spiritual actually.
