Abby Schten and I have been trying for a few weeks now to get out for lunch or something, but weather and scheduling have interfered with every plan. Last Friday, I told her that if the rain held off, the winds died down and the temperature stayed mild that I would come back the next day and we would go for a ride and some ice cream.
The weather gods were with us, and I arrived around 1pm with my chariot ready. Sarah was there, helped us get everything together and Abby “ready to ride.”
Abby and I picked up our conversation where we had left off the day before. She had read my Irving Stone novel about John and Abigail Adams and had some additional thoughts.
I took a route that she didn’t recognize, but I assured her that we were going someplace she knew well. I had spent some time thinking out the route and a place for good ice cream with lots to see along the way.
When we went through Decatur, she still hadn’t guessed until we were on it – The Hayloft! Abby told me that this was her mother’s favorite spot.
I should have known something was amiss when no lights or cars were visible. One pick-up truck towards the back with a gentleman walking across the lot caught my eye.
He looked like the owner, and I asked him when they opened. Not until Friday, May 6, and only weekends after that for a while. I assured him that we would be back, and then considered my Plan B.
Though quite a distance away, I took back roads to Lawton toward Oshtemo’s Culver’s. Ab said that this was a good choice because it is Sarah’s favorite. We talked about ice cream choices, and she asked me my Culver’s favorite.
I described the Butterfinger Concrete Mixer. This sounded good to her, so I ordered two minis. After a friendly squabble about “where is my purse” versus “No worries, I have mine right here,” she acquiesced to paying the next time.
A nice attendant agreed to take our picture before we headed for the parking lot to eat our sweets and watch people. Abby loved her treat, but was surprised to learn that the mini was the smallest size. I assured her that she didn’t have to finish it – “I’m going to finish it” was her hasty and definite reply.
As she got to the end, the ice cream was melting a bit in the dish. She disappointedly said that she was dripping. We wiped her up, and again I told her she didn’t have to finish the melting dab. As I reached for her dish, she gently tapped my hand and said, “No! I’m not done yet.”
More laughing. We had such a good time, but the magic hour was quickly approaching to get her back. Sprinkles were beginning to appear on my windshield. I feared that I had pressed my luck.
It was a good afternoon with lots of friendship and some ice cream. Life hardly gets better than that.
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