It’s remotely possible, perhaps, if you hike to higher terrain. But in sunny L.A., Sacramento or San Diego, or any other sun-drenched, high-temp place in the world, you’re not going to come out to your driveway to run some errands one afternoon and find your front yard transformed into an ice abode:
Leave it to my daughters to figure out a way to make ice furniture. My 8-year-old came inside about an hour before I saw this to tell me she’d made a couch out of snowdrifts, and that she’d been sitting there relaxing (on ice?) when, inside the garage, she heard a “pop!” that startled her from her serenity (on ice?). It was another can of my Coke Zero exploding, but it sounded like someone was shooting at her, from what she could tell. Guess it’s time to bring the Coke Zero inside, but, I have to admit, the garage does make a nice fridge at times, and it’s quite energy-efficient, too.
While in the van today, Nick, 3, asked how many more weeks until his birthday. “Nine,” I said. He brought out his fingers, held them out in front of his face, and began counting: “One, two, three four five…” He reached nine. “Oh, that’s not so much,” he said. I realized then he was probably thinking along the lines of nine days instead of weeks, so I clarified. “It’s still a ways off, but getting closer. But here’s how you’ll know. By the time it’s your birthday, all the snow should be melted.” He liked that idea, along with the fact that he probably won’t have to wear a coat to his birthday party. “You might even be able to wear shorts,” I said. “Cool!” he answered, staring out the window into the white abyss, imagining that far-off day when he, sporting his spring attire, will turn the ripe-old age of 4.
Quite a few years back, when my oldest son was about the same age, he wondered when his birthday would be. It was early November, and I wasn’t sure how to explain “one month” to him, so I said, “When it starts snowing, you’ll know it’s your birthday.” I knew I was taking a chance. Sometimes it snows here on or before Halloween. But that year, the first real snow came late — mid-December. The morning of his birthday, just as I’d ordered it, the snow began to fall heavily. Dodged that bullet. Now, if the snow melts around April 16 this year, my record will be pretty good. We’ll see.
By now, the blankets that made up the ice furniture are inside and drying, but the baby dolls that had been brought out along with them remain, sadly, in the drifts atop a doll blanket. I’d better go rescue them!
Happy President’s Day…