Ice Cream Scheme

The other day, I shared this picture of custom-ordered word stones with my friends.  I got some positive feedback and then one person (one of my oldest friends) said, "Can you buy ice cream with those?" I was instantly transported back to one of my favorite childhood memories.

Brian and I were probably about 5 or 6, and desperate for ice cream (desperate!), but neither of our mothers would give us money to buy some. Getting our hands on the good stuff was going to require some ingenuity. So, we spent some time searching for small, round, flat stones—ones that resembled coins—and when we were satisfied with how many we had, we strolled to the corner store. Nervously, we each picked out our ice creams, and placed them on the counter. When the cashier told us the total, we nonchalantly tossed the coins on the counter, looking in every direction but his face. He paused for what seemed like an hour then said, "OK. All set," with a smile.

We were stunned. Our ice cream scheme had been a success! As soon as we were outside the store we broke into a sprint, dying to recount every detail of our "trick" to our older sisters. They were equal parts incredulous and jealous. We were equal parts boastful and guilty. And full.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to hear the kind clerk's version of that story now.

What about you? Do you have any stories/memories involving stones?

The House You Grew Up In

I stumbled upon this item a few days ago and haven't stopped thinking about it. The La-La Theory, a little "zine factory" in Philadelphia, recently published The House You Grew Up In, an anthology of short essays by 17 different authors.

Katie, the mind behind The La-La Theory, thinks about the house she grew up in often, so she sent out a call for submissions to read what some good writers had to say on the topic of a childhood home. In response, she got "these wonderful, pithy pieces from writers in the US, the UK, and Australia. Sad, quirky, funny, varied, honest--that's what these stories are."

My parents moved from the house I grew up in (top photo) a few years ago. I drive by that house with my children every now and then, wishing they could go in and smell how it used to smell, hear the creaks in the stairs, and know the trick to turning the key in the front door lock. That house belongs to a new family now, and so the cycle continues...