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Blog No. 140: Bird Watching in Nosara, Costa Rica, Ice-Cream Truck Short Story, Schumann's Kinderszenen

August 25, 2023

Bird Watching, Cosa Rica

I kept track of all the birds I saw in Costa Rica with the help of my eyes, a pair of opera glasses (not that great for bird-watching but better than nothing) and a kayaking guide named Gabriela Brendle of NaturTours Gabriela who was excellent at spotting these often shy creatures and being able to identify every species we saw. She also pointed out four crocodiles that I would have preferred not to see...

Orange-Chinned Parakeet. My favorites and by far the noisiest

Ice-Cream Truck Short Story

I always loved when the ice cream truck came around. My favorites were Chocolate Candy Crunch with the chocolate bar inside…I liked the creamsicle, the strawberry shortcake and the chocolate eclair too.

I have had a subscription to the New Yorker Magazine for years but these days I seem to fall further and further behind on my reading of them. That's when plane rides and trips come in handy. I bring a big stack of them and try and make my way through...

This Canadian writer Souvankham Thammavongsa's short story called The Ice-Cream Truck touched my heart and I share it with you here (I hope I haven't violated every existing copyright law in the process). Ice-cream trucks definitely fall into my category of "things I love." The ice cream, of course, but also just the sound of the approaching bells that never fail to get my heart fluttering with excitement, even today!

The Ice Cream Truck by Souvankham Thammavongsa

Not a lot of good sounds could be heard on our street. Police sirens and ambulances. Next door, a man often yelled, his shouts sometimes quickly followed by a soft thump. On our television, a movie played: a building being blown up, gunfire, and flames. We weren't supposed to watch things like that, but my brother and I were home alone. I was ten years old and he was eight.

Our parents had told us to keep the television loud so that it would sound as if there were an adult with us. They'd shown us the places we could hide together, if we felt scared. In the bathtub with the shower curtain drawn. In the closet beneath a pile of clothes. When they were not home, we weren't allowed to go outside. We couldn't ride our bikes or look for pretty marbles on the ground.

It was summer. There was no school to go to, and it cost too much to hire a babysitter to cover the time my parents worked, even just a teen-ager saving up for a prom dress. We didn't live near grandparents. There were no cousins next door, no aunts or uncles in the neighborhood to go to. So it was just the two of us.

"You hear that?" my brother asked me.
"What?" I said.
"The ice-cream truck."
I listened. And there it was. That tinny little sound twinkling somewhere nearby.

When you hear an ice-cream truck on your street, it means that someone has thought of you. It means that someone thinks you deserve something good in the world, and you don't have to imagine that for yourself all by yourself.
That day, the ice-cream truck came to our street.
I slid the chain off the door and unlocked it. I grabbed my brother and we ran outside to the curb. The sound of the ice-cream truck was so loud, so close. My brother and I waved it down.

The ice-cream truck stopped for us.
We were frantic in our joy, screaming out what we wanted to eat, and for some reason the man in the truck made it for us. We got what we asked for and ate quickly, trying not to let the summer heat take it away from us. We licked our fingers, hands, wrists. And we laughed for no reason other than that we could.

We hadn't noticed the ice-cream truck leaving. We hadn't noticed its loud music pulling away, growing distant.
My brother looked over at me with sudden sorrow, and said, "I forgot to pay. Did you?"
I forgot, too.
I understood then why ice-cream trucks maybe didn't come to our street. Why, when we'd heard the ice-cream truck before, it was always a street over, where there were brick houses with front lawns and sprinklers and bright flowers.

We promised each other that we wouldn't tell out parents. We wouldn't tell them that we'd gone outside. That we'd eaten ice cream. That we hadn't paid. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching cartoons about small blue people who lived inside mushrooms.

I am forty-four years old now. I will be forty-five this summer. I hadn't heard an ice-cream truck in my neighborhood in years, but a few weeks ago there it was. Faint, twinkling. There was no one to ask, "You hear that?" I could go outside now without having to tell someone. I grabbed some cash and ran.

I didn't know exactly where the ice-ream truck was, but I moved to where its music felt loudest. I closed my eyes and followed what I felt.

When I opened my eyes, I saw someone who looked like my brother. A little boy, running. I knew he wasn't my brother. I reminded myself that my brother had grown up and that he had died just last year. Whoever this little boy was, he knew where he was going. So I ran in the same direction.

And there it was, the ice-cream truck, in a parking lot. I got in line like everyone else. When it was my turn to pay, I gave the man in the ice-cream truck everything I had, a twenty-dollar bill, and I told him to keep the change. The man gave me a standing ovation.

I took my ice cream with me and ate it in the sunshine. I deserve this joy, I said. I deserve it all."

Schumann's Kinderszenen

What can I say...I just love this piece of music: Schumann's Escenes d'infants op. 15 (Kinderszenen, Scenes from Childhood) played by Argentinian pianist Martha Argerich. And here's another version of it by Vladimir Horowitz. At one point I could play it on the piano and I hope I can get there again--it's probably been thirty years since I last sat down at the piano I had in my studio at the time and tried...

Products of the Week

Our new **Tea Towels** are in with some BRAND NEW COLORS! Based on botanical images from an antique book from the 1850’s, I then collaged on top, transforming the staid prints into a more contemporary and jazzy look…a great and affordable option for a housewarming gift. $25 each. https://www.pamelasmilow.com/tabletop-kitchen

Charity of the Week:
Maui Food Bank

About The Author

New York City based contemporary artist, Pam Smilow, began writing the creative lifestyle blog “things we love” in an effort to foster a sense of community during times of isolation and reflection. To read more about her and her art, visit her website and check out the essay written by the Hammond Museum's Frank Matheis entitled The Sophisticated Innocence of Pam Smilow.