Like an ice cream cone sitting out in the hot sun, the old place is melting away. Is it sad, or is it dignified in its decrepit state, its death knell?

"There was a time …" we say … a summer’s day when sweet frozen cream tickled our tongue; when love and care were dispensed one scoop at a time. A time when Ben and Jerry were just two guys and a hand crank.

"Alas, that time is gone." All that remain are the weathered memories, the distant echoes, the dim reflections.

It’s cold comfort — the ice cream, the memories. Yet, we hold tight, like a child clutching a favorite stuffed animal. Too precious to let slip away.