I Scream, You Scream

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I’ve never considered myself much of a binger. Unless, of course, you’re referring to my addiction to very dark, bittersweet chocolate. Or to Hagan Daz Belgian chocolate or coffee ice cream. I guess you could call me a binger if you put a quart of that in front of me with a spoon.

My ice cream habit started with the Good Humor man. When he came around ringing his bell in his spiffy white uniform and shiny silver coin belt I would run in the house to get a quarter and run back out, waiting for him to climb out of his clean white truck with the dark brown ice cream pop-on-a-stick painted on its side. He’d open one of the little doors in the back, and I’d watch the cold mysterious steam escape. He’d reach his long arm inside and find– what?!– a fudge or coconut or toasted almond pop for one of the many kids who clamored, along with me, for this treat. When he rang his bell, it rang my bell. I can still feel the visceral charge of hearing the Good Humor man’s bell. It was foreplay. Though I was too young to recognize it. God how I looked forward to its arrival. I was Pavlov’s best dog.

On Friday nights Dad used to take us to Carvel where they filled my cone with that yummy soft swirl of vanilla and chocolate cream. I’d run my tongue around the cool, sweet dessert to keep it from dripping. Eventually I’d get down to the bottom of the cone where a tiny bit of ice cream remained in a tiny little cone. Good to the last drip. What a treat!

And then there was the thrill of Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors opening near my house on Long Island. I was a teenager by then. I could go into their store whenever I wanted, eye all the  flavors and inevitably walk out with a cone of Jamoca Almond Fudge. I was in heaven. I guess I’d outgrown the Good Humor man, or I was looking for a something different.

But now I think there’s no Good Humor man driving around in a spiffy white Chevy ringing a bell. You can find something called Good Humor ice cream in some Stop n Shops, maybe. But it doesn’t ring my bell. You may be able to find Carvel somewhere back East, but out here there’s just mediocre Dairy Queen, and I don’t even know if that exists anymore. And as for BRobbins, they closed the store near us a few years back. I don’t know if there are any left. But I know where to find Hagan Daz! RIght in my freezer! I’m gonna binge tonight!

 

Mad Hatter

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As a child, we wouldn’t do anything resembling Christmas decorations, but, for some reason, I always had a nice, new straw hat for spring. You might even call it an Easter bonnet. We didn’t celebrate Easter, of course. I remember one such hat was navy blue with an up-turned brim and a velvet ribbon band which trailed down the back rather like the Madeline character from the French children’s books.

My grandparents would travel from Toledo, OH to Mt. Clemens, MI where there was a Kosher resort. It smelled of sulfur. There, they could keep the dietary requirements for Passover without the need to turn their own home upside down. I remember attending the Seder and chanting the Four Questions for my grandfather when he was quite elderly as he wept; he was so proud of his youngest grandchild. I was always nicely turned out in hat and white gloves.

That is my first memory of a special hat, not just something I wore in the winter for warmth.

Summer is something else entirely. I did the typical sun worship, covered in baby oil when I was younger, but started taking skin care seriously when I turned 30. I also learned that sun beating on my head is a migraine trigger, so I have a series of hats to wear outside, some for beach, some just for walking round town, some straw, some made of stronger material to shield from the strong rays while lounging on the beach, as you see in the photo below.

South Beach, 2015

The hat in the Featured photo was purchased at the Peter Beaton Hat Studio on Nantucket in 2017 in their historic downtown area. No doubt about it, I turn heads when I wear that hat. Strangers compliment me. It is very Audrey Hepburn “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and I adore it! But I never wear it to the beach.

Below is a photo from an Alumni Board meeting up at the Interlochen Center for the Arts in Northern Michigan in November, 1993 with the incomparable Peter Norlin, a leading star from my brother’s era. The hat is pictured in the upper right corner in the group shot, below.

I have a collection of hats for warmth, for sun, for fun, for rain, for “just because”. A few I rarely wear, others I wear all the time, whatever the weather calls for. The red Canada Goose hat is new and warm. It is my current go-to hat this winter.

The beige knit hat on the bottom was my winter hat for years and years. It is special to me. Let me show you why. Can you read the label below? “Made Especially for you by Patti”. Yes, this hat was handmade for me by my dearest friend, Patti, one of Retrospect’s founders, my friend since 10th grade, one of my bridesmaids. I’ve worn it so much that I’ve stretched it out. I’ve tried to have it blocked, but it is still loose now, which is why I bought a new winter hat in December. But this hat will be with me forever.

Here is a link to my tribute to my friendship with Patti: No Friend Like an Old Friend.