I usually write articles related to health care, and to be perfectly clear, this is not that type of article.  This is purely a dedication to my deceased mother who instilled a firm belief in the healing powers of ice cream.  Suggesting ice cream for various occasions and ailments came so naturally that she did so without being fully conscious of her teachings.  Ice cream was to be included in any event, or just because we would be passing by or near a place with milkshakes.  Ice cream was always suggested to cure an upset stomach, which to this day seems to work for me, even if it’s just temporarily – I’ll take temporary over no ice cream.  You name it, sore throat, tonsils out, stitches removed, gravel scrubbed out of the knees, fell off your bike and smashed your forehead into the cement, there was always ice cream.  I pretended to make ice cream by turning my bike up-side-down and “stirring” the pedals as the wheels churned out gobs of ice cream for the neighborhood.  We had a real ice cream maker that I remember using  a lot one summer, then it was slowly ignored.  I’m guessing it wasn’t large enough to keep up with the demand from six children who were taught that ice cream is for all occasions.  As my mother grew older and the children were long moved out and had children of their own, I would find out that she would sometimes have ice cream for dinner while watching her favorite tv shows.  I would protest, stating that we were never allowed to have it for dinner.  She would quickly get me off the phone because the show was starting, and stating that she could do whatever she wants now that there are no kids in the house.

 

And every year we would always (we must) get green milkshakes for St. Patrick’s Day.

And sometimes, when the kids are not home, I’ll have ice cream for dinner too.