Circumnavigating the Block: A Late Winter Expedition

In my continuing efforts to be helpful to my pregnant daughter and daughter in law,  I insist on taking the midgets (14 and 20 months) outside.  Bundled in polar gear and (with a nod to the Myth of Coming Spring) new rubber boots, we begin our expedition to Circumnavigate the Block.

Two waddling penguins follow me down the sidewalk, one announcing “slippery!” on each patch of glare ice, the other confirming the observation by landing on her bum.  Shocked by the appearance of a forest of wire-wildlife on the lawn of a neighbor, they freeze and stare, knowing instinctively the results of sudden movement.  When none of the animals respond, they lose interest - yet another Unexplained Phenomenon. 

Out of simple curiousity or perhaps an attempt to seek help and thus put an end to the expedition, they make the long traverse of driveways, climbing the front steps of complete strangers. Trading animated gibberish on the existence of a thoughtfully placed front bench or shrieks of delight at the appearance of a bronze bunny planted in the snow, they stop and smell artificial flowers artfully placed in frozen flower boxes.  The elder navigates the crusty snow in front yards to reach a display of birdhouses, once surprising the hell out of an elderly gentleman as he reversed out of his garage to find a little snowman examining birdseed in his rockery. 

Categorizing what we see is difficult.  Truck, car, or SUV? Grey, silver, or white? These are serious distinctions I often feel unequipped to respond to. Crossing the street requires inordinate coordination.  Look left, look right, look left again.  With up to a two second delay between word and action an observer would have assumed we were a group of Tourette victims passing by.  The disappointing yet realistic decision to abandon our quest was determined by cries of Hum! Hum! (Eat! Eat!) and little arms reaching Up! Up!  

As is often the case, adventure brings us closer to local culture, occasionally with unexpected results. On the return trip home, the elder stops in his tracks, mesmerized.  There on the front porch of a neighbor is a life-sized blow-up snowman, who, in a cruel joke, is shivering with his arms wrapped around himself in an effort to keep warm.  “Noman zhoozhi!” Snowman is cold!  I melt with the dearness of it all.  In an effort to determine whether the statement is strictly observational or is accompanied by empathy, I ask him what the snowman needs.  ‘Jacket! Boots! Hat!’ I point out the snowman has a hat.  The look I receive makes it clear I am an idiot and unaware that the black hat of a snowman is decorative and not functional.  Hating to leave while he is distressed about the snowman’s fate I suggest we go home and get a jacket for the snowman.  The little one, observing the interaction, shakes her head in dismay as if to say “It’s not real you nincompoops – it’s plugged in!”. 

Tired and hungry we arrive home to the warmth of the hearth.  With high pitched gibberish and wildly gesticulating arms they recount the highlights of their escapades, sharing the camaraderie that only explorers can.  Truly they are adventurers.