As I've mentioned before, I am not a Chicago native. And while I've gotten used to this thing they call "snow," there are still many wintry rituals I've not partaken of.
Exhibit A: the snowman.
I've heard tell of such critters, even seen them live in the flesh. But before today, I'd not put hand to flake in an effort of snowy creation.
So you can well imagine that when neighbor Ann suggested making a snowman, I was a bit hesitant to join in. Surely, there is some trick. Some technique you learn only through dint of hard labor over years in a bitter climate. But I didn't want to seem like, oh, a freak, so I voiced none of this, and tentatively began packing snow on the nice pile she'd amassed.
The more I did so, the more satisfying it became. Jack, who claimed to be "helping," seemed more intent on trying to tempt us away to other acts of creation ("No! Let's build a fort! A space alien..." and so forth) or launching wry critiques of our work. We paid him no mind.
Finally, it was completed, and we were stepped back to admire the fruit of our labors.
And proud we were, until the Brenners came by to visit. "Nice snowman," Erik Brenner ventured. "Did you see our snow pile?"
We had. It loomed from half a block away on their front lawn. We'd marveled at the energy it would take to amass such a pile, and secretly wondered ... why?
Would we like to come see it? Yes, we would.
Upon approaching, it seemed nothing but a pile, but then, one of the Brenner twins alluded to a "secret" on the back side. We investigated, and were thunderstruck to discover a perfectly servicable igloo! One capable of holding small children, adults, and even a dog!
Show-offs.
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