PREFACE: This post was written after a particularly idyllic day last summer, 2019, when so much was different about our world. One huge, obvious difference between this summer and last is the practice of, and I’m so sick of these words, “social distancing”. We didn’t know then how lucky we were. I already felt so fortunate to have had such a day with such a nice group of people, but none of us could have foreseen what was ahead of us. I suppose none of us ever really do know what lies ahead, either good or bad. As I reread this post, written and shared last year, and scheduled about a year in advance to repost this week, I grieve for what and who has been lost since that perfect summer day. At least, in retrospect, I remember it as having been perfect, but perhaps the memory benefits from the passage of time. By sharing this story again, I hope to not only recall better times, but to remind people of what we have to look to forward to. I truly believe that we will have this again, in the near future. Perhaps we will have a strange and distant summer followed by a weird holiday season full of unwelcome compromises; but in the big picture, like many of the worst experiences of my life, this time will appear as a blip on the timeline of our lives, or maybe not so much a “blip” as a big messy blob like someone spilled ink across the timeline of 2020. Either way, we WILL get through this together. I truly believe that. In the meantime, enjoy this lovely memory and dream of better days ahead.
We’re Invited!
Recently, my boyfriend, Craig, received an invitation to a block party from one of his neighbors, with a date and time, and instructions to bring a side dish or dessert. Hotdogs and burgers would be provided. He immediately dusted off his memories of making ice cream in the driveway, only he no longer had the ice cream maker, and couldn’t remember the recipe. I, foreseeing that no one would want to wait that long for a disappointing product, and that it wouldn’t be nearly enough for such a crowd, discouraged the idea, and made a double batch of strawberry shortcake to bring instead. It was the old fashioned kind, a biscuit type cake, fancied up with a buttery crumble topping, and farm fresh strawberries in sugar. I cheated on the whipped cream and brought Cool Whip, but I thought it was a pretty good effort overall. Here is the recipe if you’d like to try it: Amish Shortcake.
Homemade Ice Cream
Craig loves to share stories of living on his street when his two stepsons were little and so were all the other kids on the street. One favorite story of his is of running an extension cord down the driveway, setting up the ice cream maker, and making homemade ice cream. The neighbor kids would watch what he was doing, and when they figured out he was making ice cream would run home and come back with their own bowls and spoons. He said they would attack the ice cream coated beater with abandon, scraping every last bite into their bowls.
When I was growing up, we also had an electric ice cream maker. I remember it as a slow and painful way to get some rather melty and plain ice cream, a let down next to the instant gratification of store-bought Blue Bell Cookies and Cream, the best ice cream ever made, but I digress…
When I arrived at Craig’s house on the cul de sac, strawberry shortcake in tow, the party was already underway. Craig met me at my car and excitedly told me he had a surprise for me. He had gone out that day and bought everything needed for homemade ice cream, including a new ice cream maker. I exclaimed appropriately, but inside I was praying that the effort wouldn’t be the flop I predicted. I imagined the party breaking up, and people going home after dinner, and us still sitting alone in his driveway waiting on the ice cream maker.
Food, Music and Magic
While Craig set up the machine, back at the party, people were eating and chatting. Kids ran around and played. A small dog did scrap patrol, nose to the ground, optimistically zigzagging back and forth for hours like a furry robovac. But all of that was just a backdrop for the magic created by the absence of something else. I looked around the circle of camp chairs and saw people of every generation from toddler to grandparent, and no one, NOT ONE PERSON, was looking down at a cell phone screen. They were looking at each other as they talked, or watching the kids play. Music played over a portable speaker, and a cell phone was used to throw music to that. Occasionally a phone was used to snap photos, but then put away again.
We were treated to an after dinner Celtic dance performance by 3 sisters ranging in age from about 12 down to 4. The four year old took occasional breaks from dancing to run around the circle and give high fives before jumping back into the dance with her sisters.
One of the teenagers saw the ice cream machine going and told me the story I’d already heard, from her own perspective, because she had been one of the children waiting with a bowl and spoon in those days.
As the evening went on, people sang along to the sound track of Grease and other music, a heated debate raged between some of the men over a song that seemed to be in the genre of “country rap”. Was it country? Was it rap? A teenager goaded her mother into dancing with her. When I asked who had planned this wonderful event, several people pointed to one of the women sitting in the chair circle. She looked up and graciously waived off any compliments, saying, “Oh I really didn’t do much.”
As the sun sank, I thought, “Surely now the kids will get bored and want to play games on their phones, or text their friends.” But no, a game was made of catching fireflies! Some practiced “catch and release” using their cupped hands, while some caught several in a jar to show the youngest kids who weren’t good at catching them yet.
And then, a grand finale: The ice cream was ready! The older kids who remembered it from years earlier, and the younger kids who didn’t, crowded around the machine to get a bowl of plain vanilla like it was nectar from the gods. After the kids’ line dwindled, some of the adults lined up to get a bowlful. Some mentioned how it had been “so long” since they’d had “real” ice cream. As we had already been eating for a couple of hours, I’m sure people were full but somehow still made room for the ice cream. Craig explained, “It fills in the spaces.”
Afterwards, families slowly folded their chairs, loaded kids into wagons, and walked in smaller groups of 4 or five back to their homes along the street. We gathered up our things as well, including the new ice cream maker, and talked about making strawberry ice cream next time.