Quite often, I need a reminder that some towns and cities in the beautiful and bountiful USA might, at this moment, have some of these happy fellas standing around.
Which reminds me of my childhood on Grand Island, NY. My brothers (with a little help from me) would spend hours building big beautiful snowmen, monuments of our youthful enthusiasm and tolerance to freezing temperatures; red, frozen noses and red-tipped ears. We would spend hours, or so it seemed, building the biggest, baddest snowman on the street.
One particular snowman comes to mind...he was a beauty! We were quite proud of the gentleman. A snowman standing in one's yard was a status symbol, something to be admired and coveted by all who passed by. After rolling three boulder-sized snowballs for his body and with a few snowball fights between siblings, we trudged into the house, happy and contented children. We had, after all, erected the perfect snowman. Excited about our masterpiece standing dutifully in the front yard, we grudgingly went inside to defrost our ears, noses (one nose per child) and hands.
The following morning was Sunday, which meant getting ready for mass. Four kids and two parents and one guest squeezed into the sedan heading for church. That's when we discovered that overnight, our snowman had morphed into a......snowwoman. You know what that means...in the cover of darkness, to our delight, "someone" (Bob and Jimmy Brown...yes, quite certain it was they) had augmented our masterpiece. Complete with stones strategically placed on the voluptuous white bosoms of our snowman/woman.
Boy, did our visiting southern-grandmother get a kick out of that!