On August 15, 2015, I wrote that we should take advantage of opportunities to relive childhood pleasures before it’s too late.

In that post I mentioned the prolonged absence of the ice cream van in our street. It seems the man changed his route this year.

Late in the afternoon of Friday, September 4, an odd thing happened. Jaunty Italian music suddenly started blaring and was getting louder. I rushed to the window.

Could it be? Had the ice cream man changed his tune from the barely audible tinkly one?


What’s more, the van pulled in across the street from our house, some distance from the usual stop. SpouseMouse and I looked at each other. I grabbed some loose change and flew out the front door.

As two teenage girls discussed what they should have, I poled up to the window. A friendly, well presented Italian twenty-something was running the operation. I asked him where he had been all year. ‘I’m not the usual ice cream man, just a friend,’ he said.

A few minutes later, my better half and I were eating our cones with gusto.

Soft-serve never tasted so good, even when I was a kid.

Whether it was an odd coincidence or heaven-sent, we don’t know, but we’re both grateful for that last chance ice cream.