…we all scream for ice cream!
Even though it’s a nippy 47 degrees out, the ice cream truck has already started making its rounds. I heard the song echoing around the houses several streets away, calling out to me to scrounge up the money and run to the curb…but not today.
I love that we live in a neighborhood that an ice cream truck visits. It’s such a thrill to see the kids and grownups alike scrambling outside, dollar bills in hand to get a frozen confection. It’s like a blast of good cheer to hear the blare of the repetitive song, and it’s a delight to enjoy an ice cream sandwich on the porch when the weather gets warmer.
When I was a child, I didn’t live in a neighborhood that was served by an ice cream truck. My paternal grandmother lived in an area served by Biltmore Dairy, so the milkman sometimes had orange creamsicles and Biltmore’s super yummy Winky Bars on his truck. My maternal grandmother’s street was visited by an ice cream truck on the hottest of summer days, but by the time he made it to her street, all that was left were those red, white and blue Rocket Pop popsicles…and while that wasn’t my favorite, you just HAD to buy something from the ice cream truck, you HAD to!
I equate the ice cream truck with long summer days with ample time to goof off, to build a fort, to nap in the hammock with a sunkissed red nose, to ride bikes. The ice cream truck, like so many things these days, is coming too early, rushing the magic of summer…like retailers who put on Christmas decorations in September, we’re overwhelmed by too much too soon, the wonder is lost in the quest to make a buck.
I’m looking forward to summer, and I’m looking forward to sprinting for the curb when the time is right for my ice cream sandwich…but not today. Some things are just worth the wait.
I must have been one of those kids taking all the fudgesicles and brown cows before it made it up the hill to your grandmother’s house. I profusely aplogize!
T