A Love Affair with Ice Cream

 I do not know when this love affair began but I know when the realization that it existed hit me right between the eyes.

We had been working an entire day in the woods surrounding our house.  Moving logs.  Hauling brush.  Splitting and stacking wood. Battling yellow jackets. Braving giant brown fuzzy spiders.  It was harrowing work, not for the faint of heart.  Ok, it was normal work following the clearing of many large trees that I had never experienced in my life and it was HOT.  The smell of myself offended me.

This was not our first day out back working, but it was a day where I persevered over pain and allergic reactions to stings.  I was determined to prove that I could hang with the hubs.

And then he said those magic words!

"I think after this we should go to Jimmie Cone (best local ice cream ever). We have earned it."

I jumped and squealed with delight.  Clapping my hands in approval.  Smile as wide as my best Christmas morning. I felt five and it was delightful.

I love me some ice cream!

Not all ice cream.  But most of it.

When I was little there was the fresh snow ice cream I would make with my dad.  He would share stories of making this childhood delacy when they oftentimes could not afford such luxuries.  But then God would provide the perfect base.  You just had to wait for winter to enjoy it.  And it was perfection- the making, the listening, the slurping of icy sweet milk.

All we needed was a little milk, some sugar, vanilla, salt,  and the stories of his childhood winters.  In five minutes, delish.  I guess the magic could easily have been recreated  at any time with my Snoopy Snow Cone Machine, but then where is the fun in that?

My next favorite ice cream memory layers in Jimmie Cone once again.  I joined the rec softball league as a kid.  I totally sucked.  Couldn't hit or catch or, as you may have read, even run really well.  I was not the girl who would make the winning run or catch.  I oftentimes rode the bench, which for our girls league meant sitting in the grass, and I am sure that I caused Coach H some serious stress.  But I got to play and I was part of the team with my friends.  But the best part was after a win, and the team was really good so there were many wins. We even won lots of trophies back when not everyone could just have one.

After our wins we would load up into the back of a pickup truck- yes we rode in the bed of a pickup with no seat belts at all.  We would sing and laugh and have a blast all the way to the celebratory treat of creamy deliciousness at the local Jimmie Cone.  And it was then that I was really part of the team.  My strikeouts and missed pop flies no longer mattered, well to me they didn't.  I was part of the team.  The winning team.  And I felt like I had a place where I fit when normally I felt completely out of my element in the world.

Chocolate/Vanilla swirl cone in a cake cone with rainbow sprinkles and the great debate with the team between chocolate or rainbow sprinkles.  Great memories!

There would be many amazing ice cream memories.  Like the mint chip in a cup I had the weekend I first met my now step-daughters. Or the homemade chocolate chip I made in an old fashioned (ish- it was electric) maker with my oldest trying to continue the tradition of ice cream making with my kids.  And there are even super fond memories of the froyo with my youngest when he would load up more toppings than froyo and couldn't be happier with his absolutely disgusting creations.

Mickey Mouse ear ice cream bars on the hottest days in the parks. Homemade gelato in Italy that I only got to hear about and see pictures of from the oldest child's travels.  Fresh ice cream on 7-mile beach sold from a ice cream bike. And even the first good Keto ice cream bar I found at the grocery.

I guess it really isn't about the ice cream, although that is really freaking good, a benefit of the truth behind the love affair.  It is the euphoria I feel when I taste the perfect bite, prepare a new recipe of silky frozen yumminess, and the flood of memories disguised as a calming warm loving glow that gets me.  Like Pavlov's dog who would drool because of a ringing bell, I too have emotional reactions, amazingly delightful emotional reactions, to ice cream. A love greater than most.  A love between a daughter and her daddy.  The love between friends and winning teammates.  A love between mother and child or soon to be children in the case of my girls. An ever growing love and respect of my man. And even the love of that Keto ice cream because that little discovery helped fuel a more guilt-free relationship, love affair, with one of my oldest confidants.

This sound completely ridiculous to you?  A tad addictive or even crazy?  Sorry.  Too bad.  It is my love affair and it does not need to be yours.  It is a relationship built solidly on a foundationship of loving, heartfelt moments in time.  A relationship free from pain, deceit, and anger.  A relationship that has stood the test of time.

It is a relationship that brings me back to the very best of me that I have had to offer those that I love most.  The captive, loving child.  The eager, friendly, and accepting team player/friend. The unconditionally loving momma. The fun and supportive partner. The somewhat healthconciuos woman and spouse- kinda.

And it is a relationship where one tiny bite can bring me back to some of the people and places that I have loved the most.  It is my time machine.

And I will happily take an ice cream time machine.