
I've discovered that it is almost impossible to eat ice cream while you are mad. Well, you can't stay mad when you eat ice cream. Something about that gentle coolness, the creamy texture, maybe a chocolate chip or two, that just deflates that anger in moments! We become children again, on a hot summer day, perhaps with a cone of our favorite flavor. Lapping up the drizzle as it melts before it hits our hand. Savoring the delicious taste, sometimes with just a hint of a different flavor from the previous scoop....
Ice cream was a big treat for us when I was growing up. It was an after dinner/before bedtime treat at home. Once or twice a month in the summer, we would all pile into the back of my grandfathers pick-up truck and take the ride to Four Seas Ice Cream shop. (No, we never fell out, nor got hurt by riding back there. Of course he didn't drive much over 25mph) Back in those days, my favorite was Butter Crunch, my mothers was Peppermint, my grandmothers was Pistacchio. My brother always got something different, and you never knew if he was going to like it or not. We would have ice cream licking contests and contests to see who could make their cone the smallest without destroying it. It was a time for stories, laughter, and a time for connecting with family. For a few years, my mother made ice cream in an old churn style maker, it was the sweetest vanilla ice cream I've ever eaten. Now I'm partial to Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia. Whenever the stresses of the day weigh too heavily or perhaps I'm a bit bent out of shape over some minor upset; you can be sure to find me with my bowl and spoon, peering into the depths of my freezer, in search of a scoop of medicine for the soul!



