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...........
