Finding Frosty

We have this silly Frosty windsock thing that we hang on the back porch during the holidays. It's the closest we come to building a snowman here in the deep south. The kids love him and he brings us good cheer blowing around outside our back window and greeting us as we pull into the carport, the jolly happy soul.

A couple of weeks ago, however, a strong north wind blew in overnight and apparently carried Frosty off to parts unknown. But I didn't know this as I was returning home one morning after dropping the kids off at school. I came around the corner, nearing our house, as I saw a familiar looking character hanging on a neighbor's mailbox. Not just any neighbor, but a neighbor whose son had bullied William a little too much about a year ago so we parted ways. As much as you can part ways from three doors down.

As I slowed down to peer at the mailbox, I was thinking to myself, Hmmmm....that's odd....they have a Frosty just like ours but on the mailbox. What a strange place to hang a windsock. Hmmm....I continued thinking as I pulled into my carport, got out of the car, glanced back towards the porch and realized that there wasn't a carrot nose blowing in the wind. I stared at the empty spot on the porch, looked down the street at the Hatfield's mailbox, back at our porch, back to the mailbox and all of a sudden (I'm not too swift these days) realized it was OUR Frosty strung up on THEIR mailbox.

Now, had I really connected the dots, I would have realized that the strong wind probably blew Frosty down the street, he landed in their yard and they just hung him on the mailbox so the rightful owner could claim him. Had it been any other neighbor I might have just run down there, grabbed him, waved at his rescuers, wished them a Merry Christmas and brought him home. But I couldn't. Because...you know. So I formed a plan to sneak out after dark, get in and out real quick, rescue him and bring him home where he belonged. Willing him to hang on and hang out for just a few more hours until sundown, I was ready.

But I got busy and forgot. Until the next morning when I let the dog out and saw Frosty laying out on the adirondack chair. On our patio. What in the world? Did they return him in the middle of the night? What if I'd been dressed in black with night vision goggles, on my way to rescue him and we'd collided in the middle of the street? Can you say awkward situation?

I ran upstairs to relay all of these events to Andy, who was getting his coffee, and as I started my long tale (drove by...mailbox....Frosty....gone....abducted....plan to rescue....chair...safe and sound...blah blah blah), he said "You watch too much Dateline. I found him in the middle of the street on my way home last night and threw him on the patio."

So there you have it. But it still doesn't explain how he got from the patio, to the mailbox, to the street, and back to the patio. And he isn't talking.

Guess if he told us he'd have to kill us. Now that would make Dateline for sure.