The holidays are getting to me. While putting the lights on the
Christmas tree the other day, I found myself getting most
impatient. Too many unlit bulbs, too many twisted wires refusing to
hide properly amongst the boughs, clumpy globs of lights festooning
the front of the tree while the back and sides sorely lacked in
Christmas glow.
The holidays are getting to me. While putting the lights on the Christmas tree the other day, I found myself getting most impatient. Too many unlit bulbs, too many twisted wires refusing to hide properly amongst the boughs, clumpy globs of lights festooning the front of the tree while the back and sides sorely lacked in Christmas glow.
And why was I so impatient? Maybe because I was itching to open the large plastic storage box containing my friends, the snowmen. Yep. You read that right.
Now I should tell you that I am a seriously disturbed Christmas Character Collector. “Triple C” for short. That’s right. If it pertains to Christmas, I love it. Santas? Check. Angels? Check. Snowmen? Double check. Don’t ask me what the deal is, but I do have a thing about those snowmen. Go figure.
Perhaps it’s because I was lucky enough to grow up in snow country. At the first hint of flurries, neighborhood moms bundled up their little cherubs, forming us into solid blocks of wool jackets, mittens and mufflers teetering down our respective front steps. After hustling us outside, they disappeared back inside our warm houses to do those “Mom” things that were forever a mystery to us kids. My whole world revolved around playing outside with neighborhood kids come those first snowy, blustery days of winter.
Up and down the block multitudes of kids bounded about, blowing frosty breath, joining forces to begin the work of making a snowman for every front yard on the street. Piles of fresh snow aided our labor, and we were creative at conferring our snow people with distinct personalities by scoring precious found items from home: old hats, pipes, neck scarves and galoshes.
So blame this snowman fetish on my roots because every Christmas season I’m thrilled to see my collection of happy little souls. All year long they’ve laid in storage, piled together in their red and green plastic home. But come December, it’s their time to shine.
My snow folks spend the holidays on top of the bookcase. Spreading out a Christmas blanket, I add a little “snow,” sprigs of pine, a miniature tree or two and – Voila! It’s party time in snow city. My snowmen have big, cushiony round bottoms, and they aren’t picky about how they’re grouped. As long as there’s standing room, they’re good.
I’ll warn you that things get a little, well … weird here because, like the snowmen I shaped when I was young, I’m convinced these snow people have their own unique, humanoid personalities. And yeah, I should probably get out more. But every December I look forward to greeting my fluffy friends.
Take, for example, Big Huey. The giant of the group, he sports a Christmassy sweater and floppy green hat. He used to carry a stick with a sparkly birdhouse on the end. Sadly, the birdhouse snapped off one year so I replaced it with a sassy be-ribboned baton with a jester’s head on top. Which actually sounds sort of creepy, the head on the stake and all, but trust me, it’s a good look and I think Big Huey is happy with his new accessory.
Or the snow couple I’ve designated as the 1930s Russian immigrants, Zoya and Sergey. Now I know they’re old-time Russian immigrants because the babushka Zoya has tied over her head is so Depression-era dreary. Plus they came to me wearing long, rather shabby-looking winter coats. I stand Zoya and Sergey together every year because, well, I’m not sure they’ve ever given up their native Russian, and it must be lonely for them contending with all those bantering, bubbly snowmen.
And you would like Sully, my round, purposely soiled snowman. He’s symbolic of the big snowman that’s stood around the neighborhood awhile and taken on the patina of dirt, smoke, car fumes, and other grubbiness lurking in the outdoor air. The good thing about Sully is he doesn’t know he’s lost his freshness. His wide-open grin is as happy as if he was still brand new.
Snowmen make me feel good. In fact, the first year he was dating my daughter, son-in-law No. 1 brought me one to add to my collection: a cute candle snowman with a green hat and bright red scarf. “Jimmy” joined the others on the shelf until that summer when our temperatures soared to 114 degrees and Jimmy melted into a sad little blob at the bottom of the storage box. But it was OK; my future son-in-law had already secured a spot in my heart.
So, all right, I admit I get a little “mental” about my imaginary snow friends, but sometimes it’s good to shed the holiday stresses and play like a kid again. It’s Christmas. And as the saying goes, if not now, when?
