During one of the earlier stretches of time when my granddaughter Stasia lived with us, she fell in love, as did most young girls, with the Disney movie Frozen. So did I, and while she, at nearly nine, is no longer singing "Let It Go" incessantly, she remains, as she says about lots of things, "good with it"—which is good for me, since I don't have to hide the sheer joy I feel whenever I think about the classic retelling of The Snow Queen. I especially loved young Queen Elsa's wrestling with her icy abilities, and when the sharp cold returned and transformed the sodden landscape, it almost looked as if the conflicted Queen had passed through our area in a definite fit of pique. No sooner had the absolutely saturated mosses given up their moisture than the water froze into icicles, some of them more than a foot long. Stasia, who was snoozing at the time, would have enjoyed the show.