I scream, You scream

or how to make ice cream soup

Growing up we didn’t have a lot of fancy things. My parents, although hard working, never owned a home until they were empty nesters and in their 60’s. One thing you could count on though was ice cream. Be it Isly’s or Lawson’s, you could always find one or more half gallons in the freezer. My sister, Pam and I used to mix our scoops up until we had either soft serve or ice cream soup as we called it. There was almost always Neapolitan. The chocolate part would be the first to disappear, followed by vanilla and that left poor strawberry to become frostbitten, and eventually tossed. Dad liked butter pecan so there was usually a quart of that too. I remember one time he found watermelon ice cream and just had to buy it. Suffice it to say that flavor was never repeated in our house and went down in history with his attempts at baked eggs.

The ice cream went hand in hand with glass bottles of Tahitian Treat soda, along with other Cotton Club favorites, 50/50, a grapefruit/lime flavor and Vernor’s a strong ginger ale. If Aunt Erma was coming from Pennsylvania, we’d have to buy Pepsi but that was the only time we bought it. It was either Coke or RC Cola. Traditionally these were purchased along with a loaf of Wonder Bread, and a pound of ChipChopped ham to become lunches for the week. We’d stop on Sunday’s after church at our local IGA or go up to the Lawson’s on the corner later. We’d look at those glass bottles of soda all day, knowing that they couldn’t be opened until the evening. Mother would pop a huge bowl of popcorn, pour us a glass of soda and we’d all settle in for the Wonderful World of Disney and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

It’s easy, fun and nostalgic to look back at these little moments that made up or childhood. Easier still to paint them with a rose colored tint and think “these were simpler times” when, in fact, they were anything but. Our cousins would come over almost every Sunday or we would go to their house. We’d make our parents suffer thorough endless talent/variety shows. Summertime meant whiffle ball, spud, kick the can and hide and seek. The most special times were when the Pennsylvania cousins came into town. That meant sleep overs and slide shows in Uncle Smoke’s basement.

As endless as those days seemed to be they passed swiftly. All of our parents have passed away as well as the oldest cousin, Pat and most recently, our middle cousin, Terry. I’m heading out here shortly to celebrate the life of a long time friend, Rick, who passed suddenly. I suppose that’s what has me feeling so nostalgic and melancholy. It doesn’t help that it’s pouring the rain.

Our granddaughter is coming with her parents for ten days at the end of June, beginning of July. She’s not old enough yet for popcorn and soda but those days are coming and, good Lord willing, I’ll be around to make memories with her for some time to come.

I find that since my chemo ended I live my life in three month increments. I just got the all clear a week or so ago from my oncologist so I will go about my business and try not to jolt at every ache and pain, try not to think how Terry had a few good years of remission before his cancer reappeared. Once July arrives I’ll worry until that next C125 test comes back clean. Until then there is joy to be had and memories to be cherished. I guess that’s why I couldn’t resist stirring my butter pecan into a soft serve consistency yesterday.