It was beautiful on Tuesday, the weather was really great and we strolled through Central Park. It's funny sometimes when you're in a place that you've heard so much about and seen so much about, sometimes you're in awe and sometimes you have no reaction, sometimes you feel as if you were supposed to be there or atleast are accepted by that place, like it's some secret society that you are a part of.
As we sat on the Met steps, with my kooky knee and his stubborn stomach, we discussed Ice Cream and how the Ice Cream from the Ice cream trucks are perhaps what Ice Cream is really about and really reminds me of summer. I admit I've been spoiled in the Ice cream department, my grandmother, whom I'd usually go to after school each day for a snack, upgraded from the still acceptable Neopolitan brown, white and pink variety to other kinds. I've also been spoiled with my Sicilian heritage and it's amazing ices...yet somehow, the generic Ice Cream truck chocolate or vanilla, or twist, dipped or not, will always be close to my heart and remind me of good memories. I was happy that afternoon, al beit in pain, eating the cones with Paul on the steps of the Met and maybe next time I hear the jingle and run down the street to get my cone, I'll remember the happiness I found in that perfect moment.
I love you. xx
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