Simple Pleasures

Summer is full of simple pleasures. With hours of unstructured time to fill the girls get creative. They spend endless hours outside and in the water and visiting Manna and Grammy's houses. But one of my favorite things about summer, the quintessential symbol of summer, is announced with the unmistakable tinkling sound of Music Box Dancer, every Friday night.

My girls have come to expect the blue ice cream truck and wait impatiently each week for it to arrive. Some weeks they wait for hours in hopes that it is just late and go in disappointed.

I won't lie to you. I am waiting right there with them. You see, I love the ice cream truck. I don't even have to actually purchase any of the frozen delights the truck has to offer. I just love to hear the cheery tune and see the brightly painted jeep with it's side plastered with images of sticky goodness.

I grew up in the country. Ice cream trucks were rare indeed. In fact, I have only one memory of the ice cream truck ever showing up near my house. I ran to the street and flagged down the driver. I did not even take time to grab my cash. I was an excited young girl, maybe seven or eight, thrilled to finally have my first encounter with the legendary Ice Cream Man.

After assuring the man I would just run inside and grab some money I sprinted away in anticipation, only to return and find he had gone. I was devastated. He never came by again.

So when I hear the distant tinkling notes of Music Box Dancer I run, not walk, to gather my girls--and some cash-- and head for the curb. And I bring my camera. Because I want them to enjoy the simplest pleasure of summer. . . and I want it documented so we can look back later, when the rain commences, or the girls are too old to care, and enjoy it all over again.