Thanks Kennyz.
I must admit that I was wrong to fire on nr706. I took his/her advice and read his/her previous posts. We are literally on the same page. I sincerely apologize, nr706.
I wrote that little story to illustrate that you can never go home again. We live in the moment. Daily pressures and time constraints skew our perception of what unfolds before us. We all live on a highway. Everything zips past us all at once. What we saw, what we heard, what we felt, smelled and tasted. Blurred.
Memories are singular footpaths we slowly walk. Only when we reflect on our yesterdays do we realize "how good we had it". Nobody can recall an entire day replete with all of the sensory memories. Instead we all say "Do you remember when you... ate ,saw, sang, played..."
Singular and specific (as memories serve).
Food memories cannot compete with real life.
Sure that hand cranked ice cream from Maw's back porch was just perfect. As far as you remember.
At the time, "Maw" was nursing some rather painful gall stones. Paw was there because his one row John Deere broke down again and the farm is at standstill. Horseflies were biting as the barometer fell. The kids happy memories are pretty straight forward. Except for those memories of the spring breezes wafting past the outhouse just as they bite into the ice cream.
So, in essence, REAL ice cream is best. Milk, cream, sugar, vanilla and salt. But old memories make it taste better.