slightlyoverdone.com

Snow’s an altogether too rare thing in Philadelphia. Veterans of past Philadelphia winters–as distinct from veterans of Valley Forge winters, who were evidently hip deep in snow and revolutionary politics, and are now, according to reliable sources, dead–Veterans of past Philadelphia winters, as I say, talk of snow as if it were a rare astronomical event, as infrequent and as fleeting as the return of Haley’s comet.

This paucity of snowfall in the City of Brotherly Shove is lamentable, especially because Emma loves snow so much. We were lucky then to get a wet couple inches on New Year’s Eve, while Grandma was visiting. Before relaxing with Grandma at one of the seedier Clark Park playground bars (pictured below), Emma helped me throw snowballs at plane trees, trash cans and sign posts. Her technique is unique: a slow careful scoop, a quick crush in her mittened hands, and a wild fling of snow into the faces of any daddies stupid enough to squat nearby.