1. connie

    As a child I didn’t need the cherry, or the chocolate syrup. Not even the whipped cream. Just give me a big cone of pure vanilla ice cream. It’s taste was sweet and pure on my young tongue. Each caught drip from the edge of the cone brought a taste of delight.
    My grandfather made a ritual of eating the creamy delicacy. He started at the bottom of the dish and with the slow action of an up hill sled, gathered small spoonfuls on the way to the top he slightly turned the dish and repeated his process until it had become a very tiny pointed mountain which became his last bite.
    I don’t know if it was his process or his patience that intrigued me But, I knew there was a lesson in his action. I think now it would be referred to as “mindfulness.” Is it any wonder, although, I have expanded my taste, vanilla will always be a favorite.

    1. mcullen Post author

      Connie, You described grandfather eating his ice cream so well, with excellent detail, that I can see this tiny pointed mountain. Now, I want to try eating ice cream that way . . . with mindfulness. Thanks for posting.

Comments are closed.