Ah, summer in Pomona. The day was hot, but now, in early evening, a nice breeze has sprung up. What a lovely evening for sitting on my porch in an Adirondack chair and listening to the ice cream truck play, "Silent Night".
Other ice cream trucks tinkle out, "Turkey in the Straw", "Little Brown Jug" or the theme from "The Sting". But Goga Ice Cream of somewhere in Ontario, according to the sign on the side of the truck, plays a series of Christmas songs, so out of keeping with the season that every time I hear it, it sends me into a reverie of wondering.
Is its driver such a great fan of Christmas that he wants to be reminded of it every day? Is he from a different culture, and did some wise guy give him this tape and assure him that it was just what he needed to sell ice cream in July? Or is he smarter than all of us, and knows that when we hear, "Jingle Bells" in 101 degree weather, it attracts our attention and lets us know that a cool treat is right down the block?
This past Easter Sunday, I was walking my dog--the handsome pooch pictured in the entry below--and the out-of-season ice cream truck went by happily cranking out, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". I couldn't take it. "It isn't Christmas!", I yelled after him, "It's Easter!" But he didn't care. In fact he didn't even seem to care if I was yelling because I wanted ice cream. He just went on his way, playing his Christmas songs. One of life's mysteries, I guess.