The town municipal calendar arrived today. Inside were pieces of nostalgia from the good old days, including some images from an old ice cream parlor which has long been out of business. A restaurant and bar has put on its facade and made a few cosmetic changes, but I have never set foot inside. I wouldn’t like what they had done to the place.
Back when it was the hangout for everybody between eight and 80, the owners made everything on site. They had real ice cream, served in abundance in glass dishes, topped with real whipped cream and a huge cherry on top. There was a basket of pretzel sticks at every table, and a jukebox from which many kids were first exposed to popular music or even the hits of their parents’ generation.
They delivered their own milk to local households, and you could actually have food put on your doorstep without worry back then.
Today ice cream contains strangely named concoctions and comes in cardboard containers from massive processing plants. The good old parlor is going away like drive-in movies and even one-screen movie theatres.
Sure I still eat ice cream and have a particular fancy for Blue Bunny, now that Baskin-Robbins is not to be found anywhere nearby (they have the best chocolate chip). Nothing will replace that old joint that is nothing more now than a nostalgia photo in a town calendar.
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