Thankful for the chilly childhood callback that is self serve frozen yogurt.

Strolling down the boardwalk, buffeted by a 60° sea breeze, I scoop tiny spoonfuls of raspberry fro yo into my face punctuated by the occasional frozen mini gummi bear and all is right with the world.

Joggers jog past, cyclists cycle around us; some giving the WTF face, one lady offered us her car keys as a trade. Sorry lady, I don’t want your Jetta, I have a cup of frozen mood elevation.

I guess it’s a callback to childhood. Playing outside all day. . .well outside. . .and through the house, to the tune of “You’re either in or you’re out!!! And don’t slam the door!”. We all know that song don’t we? Freeze tag was hard work. So when we’d hear that magical Siren song (some call it the Virginia Reel. . .whatever) we’d absolutely lose it. Ice cream time was time out. Parents, kids, neighbors, aunts uncles, cousins; we all took a seat on our adjoining stoops (yes, they are stoops, not steps. it was discussed and decided) and ate ice cream and wound down the evening before saying our goodnights. Thinking about it now, that’s the only time I remember feeling part of a “community”.

So now, a zillion years later my brain must have some psychosomatic reset code in response to frozen deliciousness.

If its a great day, and we are looking to end on a high note, if it’s a crappy day and I need to eat my feelings a l’il bit?

Ice cream.

If we’re at a music festival and they have a soft serve fruit truck or italian ices?

Frozen treats in the pit.

When we are traveling and I miss home?


For delicious frozen treats, and the inexplicable bliss I get from them, regardless of weather, location, or time of day,

I am thankful.