I saw someone eating ice cream over the weekend. In fact, I saw a lot of someones eating cones. And that alone made my heart soar. Ice cream makes me happy, even if I’m not the one eating it.
Ice cream holds a special place in my life because no matter how crazy life got when I was a little kid, our oldest brother used to take us out for an ice cream treat. It was welcome sanity to the sometimes nutty house I grew up in. When he’d go pick up my grandmother, he would stop at the local Friendly’s for an ice cream treat for both of them. The tradition continued when I and then my other siblings were given the task of driving to get Grandma. In fact, we’d all go together because it meant stopping for ice cream and Grandma would always pay. Of course, she never diverged from her order of a single scoop vanilla cone, even with all our pestering. The world of frozen food treats was just on the brink of bursting into thousands of flavors, but she stayed the course with the bland and predictable.
Ice cream, even my worst flavor, rum raisin, is like eating joy. Not many foods are universally loved. Thanks to people’s dietary restrictions, either by choice or chance, it’s tough to find one thing that everyone I now agrees on. Even if you’re lactose intolerant or a vegan, you can find an ice cream that you can eat–whether it be soy, rice or lactose free. I normally don’t eat sweets, but ice cream is an exception. And I’m more than willing to make it, especially right now, because above and beyond the automatic joy it brings me, ice cream also signals the coming and staying of warm weather.