Every time I look at this painting I remember the lovely time we had in Switzerland when my daughter, her husband and their kids spent some time with us during Christmas. A few years have passed but thanks to my painting of the snowman my son-in-law made with my oldest granddaughter en the story I wrote with it, I will never forget it. I remember how incredibly cold it was (I’m not much of a cold-weather person) but the warm memories we made helped.

My son-in-law is going to make a snowman together with my granddaughter. I can see them work on it from my studio. Well, actually, I can see my son-in-law work on the snowman. He patiently rolls large snowballs for the snowman’s body. My oldest granddaughter keeps a critical eye on things but observes with her hands firmly (and warmly) in her pockets. Now the head is lifted on top. The eyes and mouth are made of pebbles found in the creek that runs through the backyard. Ears of bent twigs, fir tree branches as hair, buttons made of sticks – a real beauty. My granddaughter smiles.

Later that night I watch the snowman from my window. There is light snow and the snowman is illuminated by the light coming from the house. Suddenly I remember the book my mother used to read to me about the snowman. Is he really alive? It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.

We bought a sled for the grandchildren. But help! What a struggle to get those two in their boots, pullovers and jackets, winter hats on, mittens on, scarves on – I had forgotton how much work it was! Cover on the sled so the girls stay warm. And then we’re off to the bakery in the village to get fresh rolls.

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