Cool treat warms your insides

Ice cream, for me, has always been an essential part of life. I still can taste my grandmother's apple and peach pies, warm from the oven and topped with a huge scoop of vanilla.

I still remember the tinkle of the bells on the door of the local ice-cream shop, where my older sister first introduced me to a tin-roof sundae, served in a shiny silver parfait glass, its tall spoon nearly too long for my grasp.

Sitting on the orange stools in the shop, we bonded over hot fudge and peanuts. Early on, I learned that ice cream was something truly special — a sweet gift to be shared with those we love.

Tall chocolate shakes always remind me of Martin's, a frozen-custard stand that was my childhood reward for successful piano and violin lessons. "Let's just stop by the Tastee-Freez," Mom would say. "I think we deserve a shake."

It was Dad who upped the ante a bit, developing my discerning taste for chocolate malts.

"You should try a malt," he advised. "When I was a kid they cost five cents extra."

That summer, Dad and I frequented a local diner where thick, homemade malts complemented our cheeseburgers and fries. After lunch, I always felt full of good food and family.

Ice cream, such a cool confection, has always left me feeling strangely warm inside.

As a teenager, ice cream meant date nights when I shocked more than one boyfriend by ordering a peanut-butter-cup-supreme sundae and then eating every last decadent spoonful.

My cousin and I toured New England colleges, discovering that Ben & Jerry's made an excellent dinner choice. Why eat meat and vegetables when we could have Rocky Road? Dubbing our trip "The Dairy Tour," we ate ice-cream dinners for a week, scooping up Cherry Garcia and Chunky Monkey between Ivy League visits.

Proudly, I now watch as my children are becoming ice-cream connoisseurs in their own right. Our annual Florida vacation comprises two important elements: swimming and ice-cream eating.

"Let's go get dirt-cup sundaes tonight," my girls plead, planning their next dessert conquest during an afternoon dip in the pool. After dinner, we sit on a wooden bench outside the local ice-cream shop, giggling at the chewy, green gummy-worm candies peeking out of the girls' Oreo "dirt" cups.

"Let's try the coffee shop tomorrow night," I suggest. "I hear their ice cream is homemade."

By week's end, we sample every flavor of this lazy beach town. Our photos reveal sticky chocolate grins.

Back at home, the ice-cream indulgence continues. We live in a city that hosts an old-fashioned ice-cream social each summer. It seems so perfect — taking my children to the town green on a warm June evening where neighbors meet under the gazebo to chat, listen to the community band, and enjoy a scoop of summertime refreshment.

I cherish the photos of my eldest daughter's first social, creamy vanilla dripping down her toothless grin onto the stroller tray.

Chocolate-chip cookies, lemonade, and iced tea always round out the menu, but for me, the heart of the social lies in the ice cream — vanilla and chocolate soft serve, with rainbow sprinkles and gooey chocolate and caramel sauces.

My children, enticed by the ringtoss and cakewalk, hastily eat their desserts. I prefer to linger, savoring summer's sweetness before it melts away.

Thornton Wilder said it best: "My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy the ice cream while it's on your plate."

I will continue this delicious journey, from chocolate chip to Heath-bar crunch. A scoop of happiness shared with family: Could anything be sweeter?