That, believe it or not, is me and as you can see, I'm reading a Little Golden Book of Frosty the Snowman. I don't know when the book was issued but I was issued in 1952.
I have a vague recollection of this book and of being mystified by the whole concept of snow. We lived in Los Angeles and I did not see snow in person until I was around eleven. One Winter afternoon, feeling I should experience it, my parents dressed me in my warmest clothing and my father drove us up to the mountains, a few hours from L.A.
I was not particularly impressed with the stuff. What was around had fallen a few days earlier and it was more like crushed ice by then…and for the most part, not all that clean. I remember trying to make a small snowman and realizing within seconds that all those Christmas specials had deceived me as to how simple that was. I'd somehow expected something more like cold, firm mashed potatoes. My folks assured me it was easier right after the snow had fallen but I still felt misled. On TV, it always looked like white Play-Doh.
We planned to spend the whole afternoon in this mountain area and a friend had loaned me a sled which we brought along in the trunk. My father hauled it out and placed it atop a small incline so I could lie down on it and sled my way down the incline. I did, found it unremarkable and then turned to my parents and asked, "Can we go home now?" We ate lunch and then did.
Maybe if I'd had some friends along to lob snowballs at or something, I'd have enjoyed the snow more but I decided I could live without it. Matter of fact, on the drive back, I thanked my parents for moving to Southern California before I was born.
Yes, yes…I understand snow can create beautiful, picture postcard scenery around you. So can a clear, sunny day and no one has to shovel it.
Years later in traveling, I occasionally found myself surrounded by snow for a few days at a time. There was one year in New York when a major, airport-closing blizzard hit the day I was scheduled to leave so I had to stay. Fortunately, I had the right clothes along and was at the Sherry-Netherland Hotel with someone else paying. It was fascinating to watch how New Yorkers and their city employees handled it but that was the only upside of the whole experience.
Over that weekend alone, I had enough of snow to last anyone a lifetime. I also experienced snow once when I was in Detroit, once while I was attending my grandmother's funeral in Hartford, a couple of times in Muncie and even once — for about twenty minutes — in Las Vegas.
Snow in Vegas was interesting because there were tourists in Hawaiian shirts, sandals and shorts who treated it like, "Oh, look what the hotels here arranged for our amusement!" As a phenomenon of nature, it seemed about as credible as the volcano that used to go off hourly outside The Mirage. And what it mainly did was to force people off The Strip and into the nearest buildings, which were almost all casinos. So the brief snowstorm probably boosted profits at the craps tables and I think I saw one hooker in a parka. (It's getting harder to identify the hookers in Vegas not because they don't look like hookers but because everyone else does.)
I'm not knocking where you live because it snows there…and I'm sure you can come up with reasons aplenty why you'd rather live there than where I do. Fine. I'll even admit I might have more affection for it if it had been part of my childhood. I just don't like snow…not as much as I don't like cole slaw but I don't like snow. If you want to change my mind, arrange for it to be more like white Play-Doh. That might make it fun.