Snowboy

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Temple University had been founded a century earlier, but never once had enough snow fallen in Philadelphia to result in its canceling classes. After all, snow does not interfere with protected underground the operation of the subway line that runs from the southern end of the city to the northern reaches of Broad Street, one of its North Philadelphia stops right on the university campus. Not until that cold January in the late 1970s when the snowfall broke records one night. The next morning, for the first time in the history of the university, they announced a snow day. I was a full-time graduate student and grad teaching assistant at the time, my husband a full-time city employee and part-time grad student. We had bought (with the help of generous builder and generous bank mortgage terms) a one-bedroom condo 17 floors above downtown Philadelphia. Our living room had a south wall entirely of glass with a sliding door leading to a balcony. Next door to us another young couple, both recent law school grads, also from Temple University and working in the DA's office, had a similar condo. We had become friends with Larry and Mary Theresa during the preceding year of good neighborliness. The snow had begun to fall during the afternoon while I was still on campus, working at my carrel on my thesis, but eventually I had taken the subway home in order to welcome my husband from work and prepare our dinner. While we ate, snow piled higher and deeper on the balcony, even on the metal railing. We sat on our sofa for a while watching the snow deepen high above the ground even while we watched. I turned to my husband laughing. "I think there's enough on the balcony to build a snowman!" He laughed, too. "You might be right!" We slid open the balcony door and observed that the snow was the packing kind, ideal for rolling into the kind of balls that make good snowmen. "Larry and Mary Theresa might enjoy a snowman-making party!" They donned thick sweaters and joined us. The four of us twenty-somethings scooped up snow and formed a large ball then arranged it for optimal viewing from the sofa. The snow continued to fall steadily and heavily; nonetheless, we were using up the snow on our balcony. "Wait. We'll be back shortly." They returned some minutes later with a plastic garbage bag full of snow they had scooped up off their balcony. It was enough to make a second, slightly smaller ball. We put it on the first one and looked at the snow available to us on our two balaconies. "Not enough for a third ball. He has to stay a two-ball snowman." My DH had acquired some pretty gaudy neckties before I became a firm part of his life with "rights" over how he dressed. I got one out of the closet, one he knew I didn't want him to wear in public. He was willing to sacrifice it to our 17th-storey balcony snowman. I got a carrot nose and some radishes for a red mouth out of the refrigerator. What about eyes? Mary Theresa had some jumbo black olives in the refrigerator that did the job, and we finally settled on a large outer leaf from a head of cabbage for a hat. "He's so cute!" "He's too small to be a proper snowman." "He's really a snow boy, isn't he?" "There! That's his name! Snowboy!" We closed the balcony door and rubbed our hands warm, and I made us mugs of hot chocolate. We took pictures and enjoyed a winter's evening's fun. I love winter. Do you? What do you enjoy doing in winter?