When In Doubt, Make Ice Cream

I just watched a documentary about Garrison Keillor, and one of the things he said was this: “I was afraid of living an ordinary life and I realized that’s what we all get. We get an ordinary life and it's good enough. It’s good enough.”

Ordinary, in fact, seems miraculous sometimes. Case in point: On Saturday, we had some rain. A small statement, but oh, the sweetness of it. It was lazy rain. Summer rain. The quiet kind. Big slow raindrops, but enough to revive fragrance and refresh spirit. All day it softened the light like a veil of prisms.

I'm not proud of this, but just a few days ago, I got so discouraged and depleted that I felt as if there was probably just a blank space left where I used to be. The details don't matter. It was just one of those last straw kinds of things that momentarily put me out of the game. Thankfully, it didn’t last. And I think sometimes you have to go there just to remember how resilient you are.

Truth is, as much as the ordinary is miraculous, it can also get downright unpleasant, and there’s nothing unique or unusual about that. I suppose you just have to ride it out. Or let it wash over you. Fight back. Give up. Whatever works.

But I learned something important: Ice cream helps. I am so serious. Here’s the recipe: First, put on some music. (I chose Django Reinhardt. There are plenty of other contenders.)  Then make a custard base of fresh egg yolks and milk. Cool and keep stirring as you fold in heavy cream and real vanilla or whatever ingredients you desire. (Be creative. Mistakes are impossible. Jeanne taught me this.) Pour the mixture into one of those ice cream makers with the canister insert that gets intensely cold. Crank it slowly. Taste it often.  Invite your neighbors to share.

The neighbors will arrive at 4:30, one of them wearing hiking boots and a long blue dress with a tropical print. Her husband, having spent the day surfing, will have the sleepy and satisfied demeanor of an old lion with his needs met and no fight left in him. If you are lucky enough to live near a Jeanne, she will come, too, and with flavors of her own to complement the strawberry and the sesame-honey-almond-vanilla that you made.

Maybe you’ll also happen to have a friend from out of town visiting for the weekend, and maybe he’ll be a little too concerned about fat and sugar content and mention it more than once, but he’ll find his comfort zone, and you will not let his personal caveats diminish your experience because if you have learned anything this week it is that you should enjoy your ice cream while you can.

Line up little dessert dishes. The green Depression glass is especially pretty, but the clear ones have a certain elegance too.  Be patient. Let the ice cream soften on its own. Use an old-fashioned scoop to serve it up. Savor each flavor separately. Choose a favorite if you can. Wash it down with champagne, but only if that suits your fancy.

This small pleasure, this ordinary day, it is good enough. Good enough.

Observe how the light is blushing, how everything almost glows. Hug your friends before they head back home.