The ice cream truck, slowly moving down the side of the street, could be heard all up and down the cul-de-sac, and every kid on the neighborhood ran after it, their hands grasping crippled tens and a few twenties --and Fiorella was clutching a couple of dollars. A an ice-cream cook sounded a lot better to her than eating the last of yesterday's boiled beef. Besides, your girl was tired of being cooped up all day.
Ice cream wagons are pretty much the same as when she was a child, but, at least in her old neighborhood, the vehicles, usually a wagon with a canvas over the top, were operated by old men or high school boys, one of which she dated for a while. Whenever he drove down Fio's street in Waco, her mother invited him up onto the front porch to get out of the heat and sun for a while.
The modern wagons are sleek, air-conditioned, and, at least in Fiorella's neighborhood, driven by sweet-voiced young women, probably on summer break, who are admirably patient not only with the children who swarm them, but with Fio, who always waits till the kids get what they want before she puts in her own order.
Son L and his wife will be coming home from their cruise either tonight or tomorrow and Fiorella hopes they have enjoyed themselves. In the meantime. your girl has been washing her mountain of clothes, visiting doctor after doctor, and hanging up on at least a million telephone solicitors. She also reread an old romance by one of her favorite authors and realized, sadly, that it didn't stand the test of time.
Regarding Fio's long hair, her offspring don't like it, but your girl is going to keep it that way as long as she can. As you will remember, the length of her hair has been under a lifetime siege that started with her mother saying it looked "foreign."
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment