Harry Fitch
Here's another memory from our pre-NHS years. Undoubtedly true for those who lived elsewhere prior to 1960.
It's summer and you are playing on your porch or yard (or a neighbor's) or in the street. Suddenly you hear a faint jingle-jangle coming closer from up or down the street. It's the ice cream boy! Hopefully, you'll get to your mom or dad quckly and plead for a nickel, or if you're lucky, a dime.
The ice cream boy approaches, his bells still ringing. Money in hand, you see him pedaling his three-wheel bike, the freezer in front, his four-barrel coin changer strapped to his belt. He stops because you have the money and he has what you want. What's your choice today? A popsicle? A creamsicle? A skyrocket? A Dixie Cup? Or maybe a drumstick? Whatever you choose, you know you've made the right decision until shortly after you have finished relishing the treat. Then you say to yourself, "Maybe I should have bought a (fill in the blank) instead."
Or how about this. Either you or a neighbor still does not have a refrigerator. Instead, there's an icebox which needs a replenishing of ice blocks every now and then (depending on how hot it is in the un-air conditioned house). The ice man comes to deliver. And you and your friends approach him with wadded up newspaper pages and ask for ice chips from one of his blocks. He obliges and chops them off and hands the chunks of ice around. You wrap the page around the chunk and proceed to lick, suck, and crunch the cool, refreshing ice. How refreshing on a summer's day!
I hope such days remain as vivid and cherished for you as they do for me. If so, take a page from your paper (or maybe just a napkin), go to your freezer, pull out an ice cube and see if you can replicate those days. Enjoy!
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