...May 30. He was born in 1920. I remember in that last year, he said he was hoping to live to be 80. And also hoping to see the turn of the century. He did both.
I think about him every day. And especially today.
He was a devotee of ice cream. Good or bad, but especially home-made with lots of cream, and fresh fruit. Making it from scratch, cooking the custard all day long with eggs, milk, sugar till it got thick. Straining all the lumps out, then putting in the fridge to chill overnight, adding either peaches in season or fresh strawberries that had been put in the blender to liquefy. Mixing the fruit into the thickened custard, and the process of starting up the churn with ice and salt in the sink by the back door. I can almost hear the sound of that electric motor on the churn as it stirs and thickens, freezing his ice cream into the perfect consistency, perfectly delicious taste of summer.
So I will have some ice cream today and think of my dad.
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