When I was a small child, my mother used to read to me every night. We’d go to the library every week and come home with arm loads of books, like Arthur, Curious George, The Snowman, and more. One of my favorites was The Snowman, and when I was four years old, my mother gave me a tiny stuffed Snowman, a replica of the character from the book. I cherished it, and unbeknownst to me, she held onto it for all these years. When she visited me in China just over a year ago, she brought the snowman with her and I still have him. One of these days I’m going to fix his carrot nose, which has fallen off. Twenty-seven year old snowmen require some upkeep, you know.