The Journey Inward

Out on a walk the other night,
an ice cream truck passed me several times,
its upbeat, repetitive music signaling cool refreshment
to the neighborhood kids and kids at heart.

I found myself giddy with excitement each round,
hoping that children were hearing the sound in their homes,
begging their parents for money,
and running out to the truck for their favorite frozen treat!

My town didn't have an ice cream truck when I was a kid,
but I know I would have loved it.
I would have learned the timing
and been waiting outside, ready!
My parents loved ice cream, too,
so I like to think they would have joined me sometimes.

I have a history with ice cream,
and with it fond memories. 

I spent every summer day at our community pool,
from the time I was a baby
until 10th grade in high school.
The snack bar was my second favorite place
after the pool itself!
I loved getting ice cream there on a hot day,
strawberry shortcake or toasted almond,
racing to eat it before it melted down my arm,
but knowing I would just jump in the pool after
and get cleaned up.

My dad owned an ice cream truck as a young man,
and I loved to hear his stories.
He was an elementary school teacher
and used it to make extra money in the summers.
Even when he became a principal,
he kept it up for a few more summers.

I love imagining my dad as a young man
(he was 55 when I was born),
and picturing kids running up to his truck,
knowing him from school,
and hearing his laughter.
Such contrast to the serious,
professional man I knew,
or today’s world,
that it’s fun to conjure images.

My 8th birthday party was a trip into the next town,
to get ice cream at Baskin Robbins.
We arrived only to discover the street closed off,
police vehicles all around.
My mom rolled down our station wagon window,
asking what had happened.
We were told that Baskin Robbins had just been robbed!
It was the most exciting birthday ever,
and my friends and I made up all kind of stories
about the who, why and how of it all.
I wrote about it that night in my diary,
with lots of !!!!!!!!!! at the end.

After dinner in the summers,
I loved eating vanilla bean ice cream with fresh blueberries.
My dad loved butter pecan.
My first official job at 16 was at Friendly's
and I started or ended every shift
with a bowl of cookies and cream with butterscotch syrup
or a strawberry Fribble milkshake.
Over time, the kid at the counter
let me dream up my own creations
and he would concoct them for me in his blender.
Everyone warned that I would get sick of ice cream,
spending so much time around it,
but that never happened.

Do Me a Flavor opened in the town north of me
when I was in high school,
and it was so exciting to get mix ins made to order.
That was cutting edge back in 1985!

Now I rank my favorite ice cream places,
though I am no snob!
Anytime, anywhere is my philosophy!
My daughter has my favorite
in Columbia Heights, Washington, DC.
My daughter in Miami had a wonderful place
in Coconut Grove that came in second.
Lambertville, NJ has my third favorite.
My own town has my fourth favorite,
and my old town, Frenchtown, has my fifth.

That little ice cream truck,
passing me by several times in my 5 mile loop,
brought such a great trip down memory lane,
and right back to the present,
where I ended my walk with a pint of Talenti gelato from my freezer,
with Girl Scout cookies from my pantry
smashed and mixed in.