Another Vanilla Post

I'm easily suggestible. A cousin needed some help on an English project. The assignment wasn't straightforward, which is great. Torture kids with arcane projects whenever possible. That's my motto. Her topic: Write about a food that brings back memories.

Cousin chose to wrote about our Grandpa's daily ice cream sundaes. To help her out, I wrote a few sentences about Grandpa's habit and thought I'd throw them out there for you to devour. Journalists never tire of puns. This isn't to be confused with a memorial posted last week. This is just a writing project. I'm not constantly mourning. Promise. Here goes:

Grandpa was a man of habit. Almost every morning, there would be waffles. Sometimes he would mix in a fresh Florida grapefruit. But the waffles were a given. Lunch was a fudge sundae. There were no fancy caramel toppings, candy nor fruit added to the ice cream. Just ice cream and Hershey's syrup. If dinner was at a restaurant, it had to be a burger and fries, preferably light on the fries. "They give you too many," he would complain while staring at his plate.

Lunch was the dependable domain of those fudge sundaes. The same olive fabric on the seat. The same, dark-stained oak bar stool legs. The Palm Beach Post sports section spread out on the counter in front of him. His hair was ice-cream colored, bright white since my birth in 1977. The half gallon of Brut aftershave. Maybe he put it on that thick so his little dog, Gilbert, a dumb-as-a-rock pug, could always find him in the house.

The dog died a year ago. Grandma died a year and a half ago. Grandpa was the first to go, two and a half years ago at the age of 92. Our family, his daughters and my mother, talk about him often. Last spring, my aunt cried for weeks leading up to one of my cousin's graduation day. She was thinking about her parents. She wanted them to be there. She wanted to think they were still present, watching their grandson graduate from high school and go to college. Those are the family gatherings when we talk about Grandma and Grandpa. Remember when Grandma slammed the door on uncle Kevin? Remember when Grandpa had to let the basset hounds out every morning? I smile softly when I think of them now. I don't eat Breyer's ice cream regularly and it would be an exaggeration to say it has a massive emotional effect on me. But glimpses come now and then.

When I'm in Minnesota, especially in St. Paul, I think of Grandma constantly. She took me to this museum or that public library or the restaurant over there. It's too much, really, and for the best in some ways that I'm 1,500 miles away from Minnesota. But now and then there are still memories, brought back by Breyer's ice cream, of all things.