I got back late from my weekend, and I'm still gathering my thoughts about my 30th high school reunion. So I'm running a post today I already had prepared. I promise I'll have a couple of posts about my weekend later this week. But since I was in New Jersey these past few days, this post seems pretty appropriate.
That Sweet Sound
I've mentioned before that one thing I really miss, living on an island, are trains. But something I know my kids felt the lack of right away after we moved here years ago, was the ice cream truck.
They were born and bred suburban kids from New Jersey. The sound of the ice cream truck was a quintessential part of their summer, as it had been part of my childhood summers years before.
When First-Born Son or Daughter #1 heard the organ-grinding, jack-in-the-box-like music somewhere in the neighborhood, their eyes would light up and lock with mine.
"Please? Can we?"
If I said yes, they would take off at top speed, racing toward the sound to catch the truck before it left the neighborhood (I say F-B Son and D#1 only because D#2 was too young when we lived in NJ, and therefore not allowed to cross the street).
I'd grab my purse, take D#2 by the hand, and meet them out on the street, where hopefully, they or some other opportunistic kid from the block, had managed to flag down the "ice-cream-man (or woman, as the case might be)."
At the NJ pool we belonged to, the ice cream truck came by every hour on the hour, blasting his music and taking one lap through the parking lot so we'd all know he was there. The ices had to be eaten outside the fence, and everyone who was going to indulge grabbed their towel and slipped on their flip-flops, or else paid for it by burning the soles of their feet as they picked their way across the searing parking lot black-top to reach the truck.
Throughout the many years my son played baseball for the town youth league, the only way to entice my daughters to sit through those long games, was the promise that, sooner or later, the ice cream truck would arrive. And we'd huddle in the bleachers, bundled in sweatshirts, spooning Italian ices past our shivering lips as we cheered.
There are some amazing ice cream parlors here on the Vineyard, but alas, no ice cream trucks. So, if you hear one pass through your neighborhood today, flag it down, buy an ice cream, and think of us as you enjoy it.
Sure, we can get in the car and go out for ice cream, or we can buy it and keep it in the freezer. But I'm sure you know exactly what I mean when I say, somehow, it's just not the same.
They were born and bred suburban kids from New Jersey. The sound of the ice cream truck was a quintessential part of their summer, as it had been part of my childhood summers years before.
When First-Born Son or Daughter #1 heard the organ-grinding, jack-in-the-box-like music somewhere in the neighborhood, their eyes would light up and lock with mine.
"Please? Can we?"
If I said yes, they would take off at top speed, racing toward the sound to catch the truck before it left the neighborhood (I say F-B Son and D#1 only because D#2 was too young when we lived in NJ, and therefore not allowed to cross the street).
I'd grab my purse, take D#2 by the hand, and meet them out on the street, where hopefully, they or some other opportunistic kid from the block, had managed to flag down the "ice-cream-man (or woman, as the case might be)."
At the NJ pool we belonged to, the ice cream truck came by every hour on the hour, blasting his music and taking one lap through the parking lot so we'd all know he was there. The ices had to be eaten outside the fence, and everyone who was going to indulge grabbed their towel and slipped on their flip-flops, or else paid for it by burning the soles of their feet as they picked their way across the searing parking lot black-top to reach the truck.
Throughout the many years my son played baseball for the town youth league, the only way to entice my daughters to sit through those long games, was the promise that, sooner or later, the ice cream truck would arrive. And we'd huddle in the bleachers, bundled in sweatshirts, spooning Italian ices past our shivering lips as we cheered.
There are some amazing ice cream parlors here on the Vineyard, but alas, no ice cream trucks. So, if you hear one pass through your neighborhood today, flag it down, buy an ice cream, and think of us as you enjoy it.
Sure, we can get in the car and go out for ice cream, or we can buy it and keep it in the freezer. But I'm sure you know exactly what I mean when I say, somehow, it's just not the same.
We don't have an ice cream truck on our island either. I loved the ice cream truck when I was a kid.
Posted by: Pseudo | July 21, 2009 at 10:57 AM
Dresses like that are like ice cream off a truck for grownups.
Posted by: LPC | July 21, 2009 at 12:51 PM
I was driving through North Philly this week, either taking John to the hospital or driving him home from the hospital and I heard and saw several Mr. Softee trucks. I haven't seen one of those in years!
Posted by: Joanie M | July 21, 2009 at 06:18 PM
Your pool sounds suspiciously like my Jersey pool. . . where was it????
BTW: keep your eye out for Ponzi. . .ice cream truck or not, she's on your island until Thursday!
Posted by: lizspin | July 21, 2009 at 08:57 PM
You know, it's really odd, but I think I've seen an ice cream truck in our neighborhood once in the four years we've been here in Ohio.
These days, I'm all about making the ice cream myself. Yum.
We would like to see the Perfect Dress on you, please! Pretty please?
Posted by: Jan | July 22, 2009 at 07:23 AM
What you just described to me is the perfect definition of summer.
Love it! And the dress? Must see pictures!!!!
Posted by: Sprite's Keeper | July 22, 2009 at 08:51 AM
Nice dress. Yup, we need some pictures.
As a kid we didn't have an ice cream truck (rural NY, too far between houses). My Uncle was a Good Humor man in the city, though, and he'd always make sure to run the truck by his house when we'd visit! Good memories.
It's only Wednesday, so no ice cream for us tonight. Tomorrow, however, LG and I will toast you with our frozen treats (we only get ice cream off the truck on Tues and Thurs, otherwise we go poor while we sent the ice cream man's kid to college).
What were your and the kids favorite treats? LG gets these new fangled-slow melting ice pops in grape and I get the chocolate banana bomb pop! When PB partakes, he likes to try whatever is new!
Posted by: Mama Badger | July 22, 2009 at 02:22 PM