Today, I almost made peach ice cream at home.
Ice cream always makes me think of you and your infectious Facebook posts about Antney’s Ice Cream store. Antney’s would undoubtedly peaches with Bisquick and Maraschino cherries and other delights. I’m not that ambitious – it is only my second batch – but I realized the peaches we bought at the Farmer’s Market last week need another day to ripen. So ice cream has been postponed.
What did you have at Antney’s?
It would be nice to meet up one afternoon and talk politics over ice cream. My suspicion has always been that the political affinities of any ice cream crowd are varied, based on their buttons, bumper stickers, and behavior.
Antney’s is located in the inner South Hills suburbs, after all, where LGBTQ protections run a bit thinner than in the City. The houses along the sidestreet remind me of my childhood neighbors, houses that were buttoned up and tidy and rarely what you might call lively. Neat rows of flowers, careful parking in sloped driveways, central air humming along. Who lives there? Why don’t they ever sit on their porches? Do they have strong negative feelings about people queuing up for ice cream or are they simply immune to our perceived charms?
I like driving around Crafton and Greentree well enough, but I’m always acutely aware of the privilege that keeps me safe & welcome (being white, cisgender, & middle class) in contrast with the vulnerabilities that make me feel unsafe & unwelcomed (being queer, female, disabled, & mouthy.)
Do you ever think about that unconsciously? Does it surprise you that I think about it all of the time?
Remind me to tell you about the time we saw Marty G. at Antney’s. It wasn’t very exciting, just interesting.
Very truly yours,
PS: should I put the peach skin into the ice cream?
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