A perfect day never announces itself with a weather report or by peeking through a window or a glass door. It waits until we are out on a sidewalk, a lawn, or a stoop, and then bathes us in sunshine, tantalizes us with sweet breezes, and touches our faces with fluttering fingers that foretell spring.

Sunday was that kind of a day.

It was also an occasion on which Mayor Bamberger expected all who had participated the day before on Chestnut Avenue to be present in Primrose Park for Frosty the Snowman Day. She had conveyed this expectation in person or on the telephone, and said to each of them, “I can’t order you to attend, but if you do, you will add roses to my cheeks, a skip to my step, and sparkle to my eyes.”

Only her nephew Amos had questioned her authority.

“What if they don’t want to come, Aunt Chickie?”

She responded with the jerk of an invisible wand, and in a faultless Wicked Witch of the West voice said, “I will turn them into a keg of roofing nails.”

By 11:45 a.m., everyone from Saturday’s vehicle removal operation was in the Park, even though they were not necessarily within sight of each other.

Chiquita, Amos, and Noah had come together in the mayor’s car.

Lilly Snow and Mouse Meekly had poked their noses out their respective windows, realized that it was a beautiful day, and decided to walk across town to the festivities. Before they left, they called Maid Marion to ask if she wanted to join them. So all three, pulling off scarves and jackets as the weather grew warmer, tromped west and south, their spirits growing lighter with each step, and smiles blossoming like winter crocuses on their lips.

Much to Daisy Dalrymple’s surprise, she also received call.

At 8:00 a.m.

From Jimmy Christmas.

“Hey!” He said.

“Excuse me?” She responded. “Who is this?”

“Jimmy.”

“Jimmy who? Jimmy Cricket?”

“That’s Jimminy Crickey. Not Jimmy. I, myself…he who has called you this morning…am Jimmy Christmas, as in I Wish you a Merry. As in the guy you were glued to like the flap of an envelope on Friday night.”

“How did you get my phone number?”

“Silly girl,” the TV News intern said jocularly. “I’m a reporter.”

Daisy made a harrumphing sound.

He continued, “Do you want to have lunch with me today?”

“Who’s paying?”

“Me. Expense account. You’re a source.”

“What kind of a source?”

“A source of good cheer!” Jimmy chortled. And added, “Aw, come on, Daisy. I need a chaperone to take me to Primrose Park.”

Daisy considered.

“I’m weakening,” she admitted. “Sweeten the pot.”

“Okay,” he said. And his voice lowered an octave, as if about to convey the location of the Holy Grail. “The snow is perfect for making snowballs or snow angels or snowmen. After we warm our tummies over lunch, we can walk to Primrose Park, build a snowman together, and win first prize in the Frosty the Snowman competition.”

So Jimmy Christmas and Daisy Dalrymple, both of whom lived on the West Side, met equidistant from their apartments at the S & S Café, a block from the entrance to Primrose Park, and after they ate, they sauntered under a cornflower blue sky toward the Carousel where the mayor had told them to gather before her event.

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2021. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com