Last summer when I was spending time with my young granddaughter, the ice cream truck rolled down the street. We could hear the lilting, clearly recognizable music coming from the truck when it was a block or two away. Suddenly, I was a child again. We ran into the house for some money, in a panic the truck would come by before we got back outside. And then we giggled with excitement as that feeling of great relief washed through us when we could hear the music getting closer. Sitting cross-legged on the grass near the curb, we waited and thought about what cold sweet treat we might choose.