Winter

The winter season means snow, cold, cheery fires, and Christmas to me. When we were growing up, either we had lots more snow then, or we were short, and it seemed like we had a great deal of snow. We had snow suits which included pants and coat, hats, gloves, and galoshes. When we were really little, Mom had to help us get all this stuff on, and when finished, I usually had to go to the bathroom which meant taking it all off and starting all over. Sounds like a real pain to me now. Then we were allowed outside, usually to ride our sleds down a nearby hill, dig snow caves, make snow angels, throw snowballs, and generally freeze our buns off. Finally when made to come in, off with all the winter weather clothes and get all tingly while we tried to warm up.

As Christmas neared, we started to look and dream about the toys illustrated in the Sears catalogue. Maybe a train or basketball or books to read, or even (lowest priority) clothes. Grandmother Roe gave us silverware for quite awhile, although we never understood why. Grandmother S. knitted us new mittens each year, which proved useful when making snowballs. Christmas day found us home in the morning and usually off to Grandma Roe's for a family dinner in the afternoon. We got to see all of the relatives and also probably get some cologne. Boys do not generally smell very good, as they resist taking too many baths, and so the cologne was a hint from some relative that we could do better in the hygiene department. It seldom got used enough so that by the next Christmas we still did not need another bottle but received another anyway.

One winter we made a very large snowman that turned out to be Martha Washington. We knew it was Martha because she had very large breasts and so couldn't be a snowman. Martha was about 7-8 feet tall and lasted for some weeks until a spring thaw put an end to her. She really was spectacular, and I was quite proud of her and took her picture which is in some scrapbook in storage these days, or I would add her to this blog. So I am sorry that you will miss seeing her in all her statuesque beauty.

One last memory. We lived in Ithaca at the time and got a tremendous winter storm which I remember to be at least four feet of snow. Two things stick in my mind. The snowplow got stuck trying to plow out our hill and was there until spring (This might be an exaggeration), and I fell off the back porch into the snow, all four feet and disappeared (I thought forever). Maurice probably wished it was so. Everyone laughed as I tried to climb out of all the snow, and Dad saved me from a cold certain death. We really did not play much in that snow because it was too deep. Today I think that we really lived in a Courier and Ives print each winter and feel sorry for all the people who live in hot climates and do not get to experience snow and winter.