The first time

As much as I fought the onset of Spring, as much as I wanted one REAL snowfall, one last storm...I am glad that spring is here. I am sitting here, working at the computer. The day is quiet. Nora Jones is quietly singing to me as I work. And I hear it. For the first time this year. It sounds far away. Maybe over by the water. But the sound is so distinctive, that you only need to catch a few notes to recognize it.

That summer melody that Bloomberg banned in Manhattan. We still hear it in other boroughs. The ice cream truck jingle. Now, overpriced, freezer-burned SpongeBob shaped ice cream is not really my thing. And the song can be quite annoying. It is one of those that sticks in your head and you hum it while you are doing the dishes. But I love what the song represents. Fun. City. Summer.

One of those little bits of life that you don't notice when it is gone. You don't wonder when you'll hear it again. But, when you do hear it again, it carries a lot of meaning. It reminds me of our first summer in the city. The new-ness of the ice cream truck concept. We would hear it late at night. 11. Look out the window and the remaining kids of the day would be running out their doors, coins jingling, catching the truck. It seemed so small town. This truck that would bring people together. Everyone knew what it was. Everyone knew what it offered. It is something that every Brooklyn-ite has in common. And you don't need to purchase from it to enjoy what it means.

Fun. City. Summer.