The day after Christmas, it snowed.  A wet, sticky, heavy snow that was just perfect for snowmen and snowballs.  So we made a snowman…a big hearty fellow with a kind face and an orange for a nose.  Being the highly original people that we are, we named him Frosty, and he seemed pleased.   With his jaunty cap and festive scarf, he greeted passers-by on the road for an entire day.  However, sometime on the second day, he fell, face down, as if he was taking a nap.  I felt ridiculously sad about the whole thing, as I had liked this snowman more than a person should, and couldn’t bring myself to go look at him laying there.  (You have to remember, I was the kind of child who cried when my favorite trees were cut down, and my “Chitty-Chitty Putt-Putt” car of my dad’s was sold.)  I thought Frosty’s story was over, but I was very wrong.  I had a wonderful surprise waiting for me that evening.  Please tune into Monday’s installment to read the conclusion of the Snowman’s story.  Slainte, Lisa