One Friday evening, we heard some music in the distance. It kept getting louder and louder and finally I realized it was associated to an ice cream truck. Of course we had to stop him and get a frozen treat, and find out how often he comes to town. Every Friday since, around 6:30, we would hear the tunes from the truck and Fletcher's famous words, 'it's the ice cream truck.' I would hurry and get my money and run out and wait, or flag him down so we could have a treat. It became our Friday evening excitement. Last week was the last night for the season. I guess it's back to boring vanilla from a carton until late May when we will hear the ice cream truck back in the neighborhood. 
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