In the merry month of June
We celebrated Father's Day at Schoolhouse Ice Cream & Yogurt of Cape Cod, which is in Burlington. They remind me very much of Brigham's in my childhood, where I would always get a griddle-cooked grilled cheese and a kiddie cone of pistachio ice cream and sometimes a raspberry lime rickey; they make very fine soft-serve ice cream in two flavors (and they will cherry-dip a cone of it for you, which I don't think I'd had since elementary school) and grilled cheeses and BLTs and a totally cromulent turkey terrific, which they just call a hot turkey sandwich. The weather was seaside-sunny and the ice cream melted at competitive speed as soon as we took it outside. There was a high-finned, two-toned, chrome-bumpered car parked out front that turned out to be a 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air heavily modified to resemble a Cadillac of the same vintage. I don't know how a company thinks of printing a Father's Day card depicting Teddy Roosevelt riding a T. rex, but ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and I gave one to my father because it provided a perfect excuse for an Arsenic and Old Lace-esque "CHAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" My mother gave him Simon Winchester's latest book, about precision engineering. Then we moved a comprehensively dead refrigerator out of the summer kitchen.
Rob and I drove around the neighborhood for a bit. This was a big deal, since it was his first time behind the wheel in fifteen years. I have not driven regularly in fifteen years, but have at least driven much more recently than that: just mostly at night, hence wanting to take advantage of a slow, sun-flooded, empty afternoon. We did not hit anything or even come close. Our eventual goal is a road trip, aiming for western Massachusetts and/or the sea.
On the bus home I wished I had a better ear for regional accents, because the four college-aged kids sitting ahead of me and talking back and forth had between them at least three different Irish accents. One of them started singing "The Rocky Road to Dublin" and his friends made him stop. Consequently, I have had "The Rocky Road to Dublin" stuck in my head for the last two hours. It reminded me that I totally missed Bloomsday this year. Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe there. Been to the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion musn't forget. Fever near your mouth. Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair?
If you are still looking for ways of helping families separated by the current administration's cruelty, I found this article comprehensive. I got it from the drift of similar articles going around social media in honor of the day. I like the intent of this tradition; I hope it comes to something. Open the door to the stranger.
spatch and I gave one to my father because it provided a perfect excuse for an Arsenic and Old Lace-esque "CHAAAAAAAAAAARGE!" My mother gave him Simon Winchester's latest book, about precision engineering. Then we moved a comprehensively dead refrigerator out of the summer kitchen.Rob and I drove around the neighborhood for a bit. This was a big deal, since it was his first time behind the wheel in fifteen years. I have not driven regularly in fifteen years, but have at least driven much more recently than that: just mostly at night, hence wanting to take advantage of a slow, sun-flooded, empty afternoon. We did not hit anything or even come close. Our eventual goal is a road trip, aiming for western Massachusetts and/or the sea.
On the bus home I wished I had a better ear for regional accents, because the four college-aged kids sitting ahead of me and talking back and forth had between them at least three different Irish accents. One of them started singing "The Rocky Road to Dublin" and his friends made him stop. Consequently, I have had "The Rocky Road to Dublin" stuck in my head for the last two hours. It reminded me that I totally missed Bloomsday this year. Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe there. Been to the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion musn't forget. Fever near your mouth. Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair?
If you are still looking for ways of helping families separated by the current administration's cruelty, I found this article comprehensive. I got it from the drift of similar articles going around social media in honor of the day. I like the intent of this tradition; I hope it comes to something. Open the door to the stranger.
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I wonder if they're regional. I think of them as a normal part of the fountain soda landscape, which of course doesn't so much exist anymore—I almost ordered one this afternoon at Schoolhouse Ice Cream just because I was so happy to see it on the menu.
[edit] It's regional! Originally the Prohibition-era virgin form of a nineteenth-century cocktail that became a popular drink in its own right. The raspberry variant is uniquely New England. I'm delighted.
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I hope with the resurgence of cocktail and mocktail culture, you can find one closer!
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