Big Mike

Reporting from the road to Whimsy

I got called up this morning. I was on call last night knowing that a large storm was blowing in from the west. Not a Nor’easter, those we almost never get the call for because there’s just too much damn snow whipping into the yards and swirling into drifts. No one wants to go out in a blizzard to make a snowman. Delightful perhaps for some to look at from inside the house with a cup of hot (may that word be cursed for 7 generations) cocoa.
This snow was perfect. The temperature had come up a bit and I would rate this snow just under a Grade A for snowmen if I had to. I don’t do that anymore since my apprentice days. Tedious work and nit picky. Not my jam bone. I’m more a big picture guy and I like the hands on of front line work. Leave that office work for the geezers and youngsters not quite ready to be on their own. There are not many joys for me like the look on a kids face when they see me in my finest right before they take the leap in their mind to Whimsy. That’s the magic right there. I get to see it. Who wouldn’t love my job, right? The best part is that I can leave it at the office if I‘m working with a good seanachie and I know they’ll be in good hands and will carry on the work. I start the (snow) ball rolling and others keep it going. The grandfather in this case is the seanachie who I’ll be working with to give this little darlin’ a gentle nudge along the road to Whimsy. But she’s a natural and I don’t think we’ll have to work too hard. She gets wide eyed at just about everything around her.
But this guy is good. I worked with him years ago when his kids were this age and he’s a natural. I still chuckle at the Great Tootsie Roll Story he told me about after a storm years ago when he built a 6 foot tall version of me. Remember the Tootsie Roll wrappers? Some had a picture of a boy with a bow and arrow and a star. Well he told his kids that if they saved up 10 wrappers and sent them in, then Big Tootsie would send them a prize. Which they did with his help and he did send something to them to complete the story circle. Perfectly whimsical. A sprinkle of truth with layers of fantasy and anticipation added in. The prize was a nice touch. One of the kids even carried that belief into her adulthood. That got him a promotion. Now he’s carrying it forward to the grandkid.
I find working with grandkids is more laid back. Plenty of time and opportunity and no rush. This guy loved to tickle their imaginations and build intricate make believes in their head with the dead pan look that says “Of course this is the way it is. Who would think it wasn’t?” What do they know anyway. You’re the boss of you.”

Last night, they all went to bed, the fields around the house a brown grey in the mid winter dusk. A sliver leftover of the Wolf Moon slipping down to the horizon before the clouds rolled in overnight and brought my snow. In the morning her Dad woke her up and the little girl squealed when she saw the white downy blanket covering everything outside around the new house.

She rushed through breakfast and didn’t even give them a hard time getting her snowsuit on. Once outside, the grandfather started right in on me and followed the natural course of building me, which is more of a taking away to reveal something, than adding on to create something. It’s an important difference and the world’s best sculptors all have said the same thing. I know, I checked.
Carving a block of stone for instance is more about taking away what is not needed to reveal the treasure within. Using a dynamic material such as snow is almost musical in a contrapuntal use and adaptation of this technique. Yes you are packing snow but then taking away snow to reveal me underneath at the same time.

Big Mike
“Hello! Yep I’ve been here all this time!”

I don’t look very whimsical. Broad shoulders with my hands jammed into my pockets like I’m waiting for a train or something. Big round face. Scrunched waxed leather cowboy hat mashed on top of my head. Small stub of a cigar clamped in my teeth off to one side. Jutting chin and plump round cheeks. Oh, that belly! There’s no ignoring it. Just try not to stare because Big Mike has little tolerance for anyone making fun of his girth.
Just kidding. But my Lord. That belly should be the centerfold of The Snow Belly quarterly. Secretly very proud and the kids love it.
I’m a softy, though you’d never guess. I love little kids and put on my gruffest face for them and they all fall for it. You think they’d be afraid. The little girl squealed when she saw me and ran over and threw her arms around me. She then began to bite chunks off of me. If her father didn’t slow her down, soon enough I might have dropped a few pant sizes.
Eating the snow. Always seems like every family has a least one Snow Eater. Gobbling it like it’s a sacrament to them. They take a handful and bury their face in it, loving the smell of the crisp cold and feeling it sting and melt on their face and in their mouth. They can’t get enough.

So we are partners. We work together. Most often it’s a Dad or a granddad. The kind of person who gets more excited for the snow than the little kids, but tries not to show it. He wakes them up and makes them breakfast, maybe letting the Mom sleep in on on a wintery Saturday. Gets them dressed and out the door in a tumble jumble and they flop into the snow banks and roll around while the dog takes turns barking and running after them and laying in the driveway eating the snow that builds up between her paws.
These partners have a calling to carry on the tradition of storytelling, song singing and make believe. The fantastical. It’s serious work and the window of opportunity in a child can shut quickly if we’re not there to help. This grandfather would watch her face as he pretended with her when they played. He would become a dragon or a shark swimming on the floor next to the kitchen when she came to the beach and he would tell her that if she went into the water the shark was out there and she would squeal with laughter as he caught her. Acting out scenes in a make believe grocery store or teaching her some fantastical songs, nonsense some grown-up would call it. Nonsense, ha! May they find their shoes filled with molasses.
That was the exact point. Fill her head with “nonsense “that was out of this world and introduce her to other worlds in her mind. Their beautiful minds

Today it was my turn to make my brief appearance into this little girl’s life. She was ready and her Grandpa, the seanachie, was the kind of guy who loved to help her build pictures of fantastical places in her mind until they became real. Real in a sense that she could visit and move around in there anytime she wanted. Didn’t need a grown-up (may they be made to itch and scratch for places they can’t quite reach) to drive her there or take her. They can go there by themselves. It was a protection to build early on in her life, to give her a different route to take to a magical world of her own creation.

So, I live within a short window of time in a child’s life. My appearance may be brief, the sun comes out to do its work and poof you hardly recognize me. Little girls grow up and go onto big girl things but that moment they see me first appear becomes a moment that opens a door to a path they know they can follow, not quite sure where it will lead this time but hearing that whisper of a world that is good and true and beautiful and is always there for them.
Gosh, I never get tired of this work.