If I Could Go Back...

...for one more ice cream cone.

{My apologies if you were expecting something a bit deeper than that.}

I don't know how many of you who read this are from my original stomping grounds, but if you are, then you remember the Comet Cone. If you aren't...then I'm so sorry you never got to experience the Comet Cone.

It was this unassuming little ice cream and sandwich shop on the edge of Greentown - named for the school mascot....the Comets. It had less than a dozen booths and a long table in the middle that normally had a congregation of retired men gathered for coffee. The menu for the drive through was hand painted on a giant board that hung on the side of the building.

{Photo from the listing...cause it's for sale. Sigh...}

People loved that little place. I loved that little place. Chocolate Diet Cokes {back in the era when I drank Diet Coke} with puddles of chocolate syrup buried underneath the most perfect pellets of crushed ice. Twist soft-serve cones held under the little wheel that dropped the crunch coating over it - sprinkles and nuts and sugared goodness that made twist cones that much better. Hamburgers with pickles and a side of fries...my mouth is watering just thinking about the treats that made my childhood.

But it's not just the food. I love the memories of that place. Mom always stopped there on her way home from school when I had strep {which was every winter of my childhood} to get a chocolate shake that felt so good on my throat. She took me there on my way to my very first ever babysitting job {I was twelve and my niece was my tiny charge} to get my favorite chocolate Diet Coke as a pre-first-job-calming agent.

And who can forget the night Mom, Dad, and I sat in there  eating dinner, when we got the news that a tornado was headed our way. The faithful ladies in the green aprons behind the counter were planning their quick exit into the freezer to wait out the storm and hope for the best, and I was trying to convince my parents to go home. They contemplated dessert. I begged them to leave. To go home. {And anytime this girl turned down dessert, that really was something to consider with seriousness.} To hide in the basement so I wouldn't have to die in the freezer with the tiny pieces of ice and the future twist ice cream.

{We did make it home. And the tornado did come. But it spared both the Comet Cone and our house.}

I don't remember when it closed. It was after I moved out of town. But I will tell you what - every time I drive by there, I remember how much I loved that place, and how much I wish it was still open. If I were independently wealthy and had any sort of business brain about me, I'd start it right back up. Complete with the chocolate Cokes {forget the diet now, thankyouverymuch} and the crunch cones. Create a new menu of memories for a new generation.

A couple of weeks ago, Ryan and I drove past, and I made a comment about how much I missed it, so he drove right in and pulled up under the drive-thru awning. I stared through the dusty windows at the empty dining room - and I remembered that whole piece of my childhood that for reasons I don't fully understand - I miss. Seriously. How do crushed ice and sprinkles on cones fit in so unmistakably to the formative years?

I hope you had a Comet-Cone-esque place in your own childhood. The place where you knew you could count on the middle table of retired men drinking coffee...the chocolate shakes for strep throat...and the best crushed ice in the county. And you know what? I hope you have that place now, too. A menu of new memories.