At the end of the day, the argument between spirituality and about spirituality, is all against the nature of spirituality. In arguing spirituality, we go against its very nature. The important question: “Am I being kind in what I am saying/doing”? And that is all. In all truth, to eat an ice cream cone and to smile with the joy of a child, is about a billion times more spiritual of an activity, than to discuss views about spirituality. The experience of innocence; the experience of joy—this edifies ourselves and others. And that is spirituality. An ice cream cone can be the most spiritual object in the universe, at any given time.
We grew up on the same street,You and me.We went to the same schools,Rode the same bus,Had the same friends,And even shared spaghettiWith each other's families.And though our roots belong toThe same tree,Our branches have grownIn different directions.Our tree,Now resembles a thousandOther treesIn a sea of a trillionOther treesWith parallel destiniesAnd similar dreams.You cannot envy the branchThat grows biggerFrom the same seed,And you cannotBlame it on the sun's direction.But you still compare us,As if we're still those twoKids at the parkSlurping down slushies andEating ice cream.Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)
Moments later as we crossed the road to the 50’s diner, I recited the restaurant rules in my head one more time.Rule one: Keep your hands clean.Rule two: Careful with the food trays.Rule three: Visit the soda fountain as often as you like, but don’t make yourself sick.Rule four: Enjoy the poodle skirt.
Mandy smiled cheerfully at an overweight kid in a gold sweater and pink skirt who was chasing her little brother around along the boardwalk. When she was that age, on sunny days she’d be out on the boardwalk with Jud and Wendy, buying rainbow sorbet from the ice cream shop and placing paper boats into the harbour. She felt like a ghost, drifting past the shell of her own childhood.
The Milked Duck was empty, save for Dahlia’s two part-timehelpers, but they were all rushing around, anticipating the firstguests for her Risqué Flavor Tasting event any moment now.The up front freezers were stocked with Chocolate Orgasm,Peachy Passion, Sexual Favors, Mikey’s favorite Cherry Popperand more. She had a case of Sin on a Stick treats ready to go and atemporary menu up on the board behind her.
I am so not kissing you tonight,” she informed him.He chuckled softly. And if she thought his smile wasdangerous, his chuckle should’ve been classified as a biologicalweapon. Sin in a sound wave.“But now you’re thinking about what it would be like, ain’tyou?” he said.“Only my stupid parts.
He looked up from the paper he was scribbling on and offeredher a lopsided grin. “Hey, sweet pea. You bring me anythingspecial?”The lopsided bit wasn’t odd, but there was something forcedabout it. “Got a fresh bag of cat food outside.” Cat food that she’dbought with the twenty he’d left to pay for his ice cream.He pushed his makeshift drum set aside and rose with astretch. “Words every man dreams of hearing. Make my night ifyou say you got catnip too.”She tried not to giggle. She tried hard.But she couldn’t help herself. “Extra strength,” she said.This time, his grin came out bigger, less forced. “Woman ofmy dreams.”“In your dreams,” she said.
Two years ago, she had inherited The Milked Duck Ice Cream Shoppe in downtown Bliss from Great Aunt Agnes. After gettingher degree in sociology and then bouncing around the country, waffling from job to job and one relative’s couch to another, she’d finally found where she fit: creating and serving happiness to the locals and the destination wedding tourists in Bliss.
She ran her hands under his shirt, over his chest, her cooltouch igniting shivers over his skin. “Is this a ploy to get another song out of me?” she asked.“It’s a ploy to get you out of your pants.”“And what, exactly, are you planning on doing once you getme out of my pants?”Will felt his lips curving up again. “Darlin’, you leave thedetails to me.
Each boat-shaped dish held scoops of vanilla and chocolate ice cream beneath thick blankets of chocolate syrup and creamy marshmallow sauce. Mounds of whipped cream rose on top, with a juicy red maraschino cherry at the very peak. Crunchy cookies poked like wings from each side.
Starla, when you work in a restaurant, it’s not called ‘pie with ice cream on top.’ It’s called pie a la mode. Try saying it one time.”“A-la-mo,” she pronounced.“There’s a good girl,” Darius said, grinning. “The next time you ask a customer if he wants some dessert, you ask him if he wants pie Alamo.
Abby wouldn't want you to suffer because of some jerk that kidnapped her. She would want you to go on your trip so that she would have fun torturing you for not being a puddle on the ground with a box of tissues and an empty gallon of ice cream by your side. Then afterwards to hit you for thinking she was seriously hoping you would be doing that.