I've been trying to call my Aunt Allie to share a memory with her. No answer for two days. This could mean she is up at Charlie's, spending some time with them and her only grandchild. I hope that is what it means.
The memory is of the Good Humor Man who drove through the neighborhoods every evening, or nearly so. You could hear him in his little vehicle--neither van nor truck; it had sliding doors on either side which he left open as he drove--because of its loud music box sound. It played Turkey in the Straw.
I loved Good Humor ice cream, especially from that little truck, which was the only place you could get it, as far as I knew.
You would hear it coming, run to ask for money--and pray you got it--then dash out, hoping he hadn't gone down the hill already. Sometimes you didn't get any money, or sometimes you were too late and you missed him.
Sad.
But when everything worked out right and you got there on time you could get that favorite vanilla ice cream bar with chocolate coating.
The part that concerns Allie is this: She and Callie, her fiance, came to visit often. This one time, when I opened the front door, they handed me a Good Humor sundae. They said they found it on the sidewalk by our retaining wall.
I knew it wasn't true; I had heard the Good Humor Man go by. But it was fun.
I'm sure they brought a sundae for Lucile, too. I'll ask her.
And. I'll call Allie again today.
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