When I returned from my walk-through-the-frozen-tundra on Saturday afternoon, the Gort told me he’d stuffed snow. Into an empty whole-tomatoes-with-juice can. I can’t recall exactly what had been his intention. Perhaps to make a snow-mold? An ice-mold?
‘We can do better than that,’ the insane part of my brain whispered. My mental rolodex spun around until it landed on an old issue of Martha Stewart. The one in which she’d made some sort of frozen-bowl-luminary things. (The one I couldn’t actually find on her website. I guess these vodka cozies will have to serve as a pseudo-example. Except they’re probably not called vodka cozies.)
‘We have those yogurt containers,’ the professor reminded me. As though he could read my mind. Maybe he can. Or maybe I’d voiced my ambitions. Who can recall!
I dispatched the Gort to retrieve the STASH of clean, empty yogurt containers I’ve collected over the last year or so. The ones that serve little purpose other than to occupy precious cabinet space. ‘They’re in the cupboard by the fridge [in the basement] I clued him in.’ He returned seconds later. With two yogurt containers. Neither particularly clean. ‘Why’d you just bring two?’ I asked irritably, ‘go get the whole stack.’
He ran downstairs again and returned two seconds later with three more yogurt containers. What on earth? ‘I dumped out all the markers to get these,’ he informed me, triumphantly. Of course! Instead of adhering to mom’s boring set of detailed instructions, I’ll just grab these currently-occupied yogurt containers. And dump the contents all over the basement. Super! This is what it’s like to live with three boys. (Four really, if you count the professor. Which I do.) ‘I told you the yogurt containers were in the cupboard. Right by the refrigerator,’ I reminded-chastised.
‘Oh!!!’ the Gort exclaimed. As though this would have been a useful nugget of information to have at the onset of his quest. (Which he did. Have. At the beginning.) He muttered his usual ‘I must have gotten mixed up’ or ‘I didn’t hear you’ excuse. He alternates between the two, I’ve learned.
At long last, he brought the containers upstairs. We went outside and began the ‘pleasant’ task of filling them with snow. My slightly less enthusiastic helper abandoned me five minutes later. I was left alone, on the deck, stuffing snow into yogurt containers. Diligently pouring water over the snow so as to……make ice? Make a better mold? I don’t really know. ‘It’s not going to work,’ the professor naysayed. From (inside) the kitchen.
Several hours later, the containers littered my kitchen floor, sturdy with ice; unwilling to relinquish their contents. I spent several minutes running warm water over the containers. And then I decided a minimal investment of time would be best given the likely outcome of this particular craft. So I let them languish on the floor while we ate dinner.
Once unmolded, I determined my ice-candle-sculptures had been a colossal waste of time; being neither attractive nor particularly useful in the windy outdoors. Maybe I will make a vodka cozy after all.