February 20, 2012 we became residents of
Two years I waited in anticipation of a
wet snow. Not this light fluffy
stuff that doesn't ball up or stick to anything. February 20, 2014, I was granted my wish.
The 10 p.m. weather man predicted 3-6 inches of wet snow the following day. I was ecstatic. How could I think of sleeping?
I needed to be prepared. I positioned my warmest parka and snow pants by the garage door. A snow shovel, water proof gloves and hand warmers were ready by the outside garage door. Oh yeah! How could I forget the virgin snowball gun. I was going to break that baby in. Doug was home to be my target!
My eyes popped open at 7:00 a.m. I hopped out of bed and danced over to the window. Danced, not because I was excited. The floor was freezing. I yanked open the shades to reveal glistening wet snow. It was calling my name. "Angie! Angie! Come out and play."
I scurried to find Doug. "I'm going to make us a warm bowl of cereal. You have snow to scoop." Doug hasn't been around much for snow scooping. He is still in the newbie stage where it's fun. He doesn't realize that snow scooping is code for "I am going to throw snowballs at you."
Doug whistled while he shoveled snow. I snuck out the back door and prepared my arsenal. Twenty-one round balls of snow were ready to be launched. Peering around the garage Doug was still happily scooping. I rammed the first ball into the gun and pulled the trigger. Thud! It propelled two inches. Not what I had in mind. Another ball. I stretched the trigger as far back as my short arm would allow. That yielded me three feet of flying distance. Doug looked up to the sky to see what was landing a full six feet from him. Another ball and another ball. I couldn't make them go any farther than three feet if chocolate was dependent on it.
I could always use my arm. I played enough catch with Robby. I was sure I would ace this. By this time Doug was on to me. He stood on the driveway while snowball after snowball went right and left of him. He was a lousy target. Maybe I need to fatten him up. Then I remembered why Robby was such a good outfielder diving for balls. He played catch with me and I couldn't throw straight any day of the week.
Abandoning my target practice, I decided to make a snowman. I had not made a snowman in over forty years. I bunched up some snow and began to roll. My mistake was rolling uphill. Wet snow is heavy! Seventeen minutes and screaming muscles later I had a true to life snowman.
Now I needed accessories. There were still walnuts on the ground under the walnut tree. I went rooting through the snow to dig up a handful. They made a beautiful mouth and eyes. Hat! Every snowman needs a hat. I dug around in our donation box for a ball cap or stocking hat, something to keep this snowman's head warm. Nothing. Then out of the corner of my eye I spied a lampshade. Perfect.
A three foot, lamp shaded snow man. Something was wrong. It didn't look like a snowman. It looked like a snow woman. Lola. I will name her Lola.
Ten days later and Lola is still standing guard. Her lamp shade ran off to the corn field. Her teeth fell out. She has been wind blown into a slumped wrinkled old lady. But she is still proof that I have made a snow lady. And very proud of it!
Then Robby who lives in
Virginia and grew up in warm climates, made
a snow man of his own. He sent me a text of the picture just to let me know he showed me up.
I have only one thing to say. His
snow man has been reduced to a puddle.
Long live Lola!