As I sit hear in my home office, windows open, I hear the ice cream truck approaching for the third time today.  The gimmicky version of “Do Your Ears Hang Low” gets louder and louder, until it’s just below my window and I hear a girl yelling  the prices of bomb pops to a friend, who has dashed inside to get cash from her mom.

If you had asked me while I was working in an office, far away from residential neighborhoods (and kids with cash, home from school) if the ice cream man still existed, I would have hesitated.

For the daytime, summer, sounds of my neighborhood, to which I am now privvy, I am grateful.