Ice Cream Truck...

We just couldn't resist that happy little tune moving down the street toward our house. Well, it was actually me who heard it, dropped the dish towel and ran out of the kitchen and through the front door to see the Ice Cream Truck. I'd never heard it before in our neighborhood...or actually seen it at all since we moved back...so this was exciting. Ice cream trucks and carts are a big part of our past from Honduras' central square where there are several men with little carts with jingling bells to remind you that their ice cream is only steps away just in case you didn't see them...to New York City's ice cream truck that ran frequently up and down, back and forth in front of our windows...or so it seemed with its syrupy little jingle that made you want ear plugs more than ice cream...and back to Nicaragua with those same little ice cream men and carts in front of the Cathedral before and after every Mass.
It's sort of funny that we actually bought ice cream from this peddler, since we never did from those above. But I guess I got so excited when I heard that tune and figured out what it meant that I didn't think that it might be awkward if when I ran outside and the truck then stopped right in front of our house, if I just stood there smiling and staring in a dreamy, reminiscing sort of way. So once I realized they were waiting for me and probably looking around for children, I started yelling for the kids who came running when I said "ice cream." And the photos tell the rest of the story.

You can just barely see the ice cream truck on the left side of the photo.