Just as the world began to thaw and soften a Springy bit, coaxing out my favorite flowers, I finally watched Frozen with my daughters. It’s pretty good, and immensely popular with young girls; you can’t walk out the door without hearing a gaggle of them belting “Let it Go.” I gleaned some life lessons from it, the most useful being: never take child-rearing advice from trolls. So be on the lookout for them at your next family reunion (they’re usually your Grandma’s sisters).
In the kind of culinary coincidence I live for, the very same day we watched Frozen, I stumbled upon mini-cones at Fred Meyer’s. Yes! These are for making miniscule ice cream cones for your dollies (but you eat them yourself because dollies are sometimes watching their figures)! I can’t believe I have come this far in complete ignorance of this whimsical, pleasure-inducing foodstuff. These are a small treat, so even if you give a child three of them, you are still way under the average ice cream cone amount. This may seem stingy, but life, with any luck, is long, and the road is paved (let it be so) with opportunities for frozen treats.
I liked the movie, though I thought it could have been better with just a bit of tinkering. If you haven’t seen it, maybe skip the rest of this. The mother is in a few brief scenes before her shipwreck but without a single word of dialog. So here’s a Disney film with a mother who we at least get to see, who isn’t dead (for a couple minutes) or evil, but she’s mute by choice. I can Let it Go, (cue music, please) after all, I still have Brave to comfort me with it’s mother-daughter struggle and redemption. Sure, Merida had to turn her mother into a bear to get her to come around, but as a mother I admit that we do get stuck sometimes and need a wake-up call. But Frozen also seemed lacking in some backstory. Why does Elsa have the Freeze Touch (gorgeous results, especially compared to the Cheese Touch, but way more deadly)? Was she cursed by a jealous witch who hates children, especially pretty girls? Come to think of it, perhaps it’s best to leave it a mystery.
Anna, the younger, red-haired sister, (her pain is my pain, and my younger daughter’s) experiences the phenomenon of her hair turning white in hauntingly lovely but ominous streaks that portend her death. Again, her pain is mine. Upon close (Closer than that. Closer. Yes! Right there!) examination in my magic mirror, my gray streaks proved to be white streaks! I am skipping late middle age and falling headlong into my crone years where I will place hexes on the nubile and innocent and punctuate each fresh curse with a cackle followed by a smoker’s hack!
But wait, it was her frozen heart – inflicted unwittingly (but as a younger sister, I have my doubts) by Elsa – that was causing the problem with her coiffure (oh, and making her die) and only an act of true love could melt it and bring her fully back to life. Taking note, I lovingly made dolly cones for my sweeties and waited for my Titian tresses to be restored by my loving act of mothering.
Ah well. The movie is based on an old tale, The Snow Queen, and a modern translation of the Danish dictum may be “Only an act of love (some translations read “act of commerce”) paid to a reputable salon will allow you to dye with dignity.”
And I seem to be rehearsing for my role as crusty crone because I managed to select a couple ice cream flavors that my daughters found loathsome. The truth, one that I couldn’t share and that caused my misguided purchase of strawberry cheesecake Ben and Jerry’s, was that I tried to find flavors they would like but that I wouldn’t find tempting, thereby keeping me from spending the week with my head in the freezer.