This morning I went to the drug store to pick up a prescription that is out of stock a couple more days. From the drive through I went and parked in front and got myself to the ice cream case, hoping to locate chocolate peanut butter, to assuage my disappointment. Nothing! I settled for somebody's butter pecan.
Mom first found chocolate peanut butter ice cream in the seventies, on the other side of the state at Sauder Village, the furniture manufacturer that maintains a replica village way west, almost in Indiana. In a few days she loaded me and most of the grands in her car and we were off on a day trip for ice cream.
In the nineties, driving from art show to art show, I discovered Hershey chocolate peanut butter, at the first rest stop east bound on the Pennsylvania turnpike. But don't stop; the area has been totally remodeled to Any Toll Road USA rest area, and Hershey has no store.
Sometimes I find it. Hershey maintained a fountain in a local restaurant and sometimes Laura and I ate supper there, and sometimes just stopped for ice cream. That could have been a relationship made in heaven, until the chef put his hand too far into the till...
Today, after the prescription disappointment, I drove across town to have my glasses adjusted. I came home via Richfield to Peninsula, and on the exit ramp realized I only needed to go toward Richfield to get to Country Maid.
How strange to find them in full Covid mode. The door was now exit only, the entrance the former emergency exit in the small seating area. I happily donned my mask and stood in line for the next server in the once noisy and bustling shop. I bought a half gallon of the real deal.
I got home from all the adventures around two in the afternoon. I looked over the flowers and decided they could survive until tomorrow. But only until then. We're well into the nineties.
My white mandevilla has bloomed. I'm so pleased. There is another blossom way at the top. Several, in fact.