THE ICE HOUSE AND SHORT BREAD

Come walk with me down this road of my meandering mind:

 

The air conditioner that is blowing on me suggests coolness. Suddenly I am carried back to nearly eighty years ago. I walked into  an ice house (a kind of barn) I was led into, owned by my best friend’s father.  He was an ice man in Madison, CT back in the days when new forms of refrigeration  were  beginning to change our way of life. I shivered when I was led inside that building where hundreds of large ice blocks were stored,  covered with layers of straw. It was not long before my friend’s Dad was put out of business and I don’t know what he did after that, but his mother made the best short bread I ever ate.  Today, while shopping at Publix I bought some short bread and nibbled on it this afternoon. Perhaps that is why I was inspired to return to those days which, as yet, I’ve not forgotten.

 

I visited with that ancient friend just a few years ago.  Recently, I heard that he is no longer.  My classmates are slowly disappearing but they still reside with me, occasionally offering pleasant memories.

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