Going Out for Ice Cream

Eating ice cream and going barefoot are two wonderful summer pastimes. We used to live near a Baskin-Robbins ice cream place, a sweet temptation in summertime when our daughter was little. At least once I stopped by without my shoes on. The floor felt refreshingly chilly beneath my feet and toes as I ordered my chocolate fix at the display freezer.

This was the same store where, during a family stop, I noticed a group of folks who had arrived together in a van. One of the women, who was barefoot and otherwise nicely dressed, sat at a table as she ate her bowl of ice cream and rocked a stroller with her toes to soothe the fussy baby.

On a road trip several years ago, I wasn’t ready to settle in for the evening. So I decided to drive into the small Indiana town for ice cream. I decided to leave my sandals at the motel room. At the ice cream place, a decent crowd had gathered, two lines at the two windows, and I joined them. I realized that the concrete in front of the place was still hot from the day. But I had my heart set on a sundae and just toughed it out. As I waited my turn, I moved my feet around, like a dancer practicing steps, to find a cool spot on the ground.