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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Entry: August 14, 2012

I’ve been working on Lambeau Leapin’ Through Wisconsin and I feel like I’m working out of order, which I am. I’m working on memories that come to my first instead of going day by day. It’s slow, but I think it’s better to do it that way. I’m going to send you an entry from Tuesday, August 14th from my adventure in Frozen in Time ice cream parlor. Let me know what you think. Also do you think the font Arial is too distracting or less formal than Times New Roman and how does the font size look to you? I want my manuscript to be legible and I like Arial a little better than Calibri and Times New Roman. Anything would be helpful. J

According to the Lambeau Field website, an ice cream parlor by the name of Frozen in Time, offers a wide array of scrumptious Breyers© premium ice cream flavors, direct-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls, gourmet coffee, cappuccino, espresso, cookies and cakes.

I’m parched by the time I make it to the atrium. I wished at that moment that I had a water bottle or that the merchandise trucks sold bottles. The cold air hits me in what I think is my beet-red, sun-kissed face. I knew it was too early to go to Curly’s Pub; I explore the atrium a bit and spot an ice cream parlor—Frozen in Time.

I haven’t been in an ice cream parlor in eons, I think to myself. The wooden doors are wide open and like the sensation I had walking into Lambeau Field, another burst of cold air hits me on my sweaty shoulders. Even with my I YPackers shirt on, I shivered. I’m not sure what I want, the whole room smelled delicious, and anything could be a possibility. I heard the ice cream; like the cheese, is good in Wisconsin and that might have been why the parlor was teeming with excitement—it’s a bit loud with kids running around with their ice cream dripping on the shiny hardwood floor. Standing near the front, I look at the sign and I’m greeted by a young lady. “How may I help you?”

“I’m not from around here; this is my first time here. I need a few moments.”

“Okay, just let me know when you’re ready.”

I would say it took me a good five minutes to decide what I wanted as there were a myriad of delicious possibilities and it wasn’t limited to ice cream. The cookies and coffee smelled heavenly as well, but I knew coffee would be too hot on a hot August day. I settle on a snicker-doodle and mint chocolate chip ice cream—in a cone—with chocolate sprinkles. It was cheap too. For both, it came to $3 or $4 (in Pennsylvania it would have been slightly more expensive).

I search for a clean table, which surprisingly all of them were clean. I smiled; it’s nice to see staff keep up with cleanliness as busy places don’t necessarily keep up. I decided I want to sit away from the source of screaming kids; I pick a seat in front of a mirror.  And to my surprise, my face wasn’t as red as I thought! Two months prior at a friend’s graduation, I had sun poisoning and learned a lesson of carrying sun screen with me at all times. This Neutrogena sun screen had worked in the two hours I was watching Clay and Jordie and Aaron run around on the nicely kept green grass of Nitschke Field.

My ice cream began to drip. That’s why I usually didn’t like eating from a cone, but they looked so delicious that I couldn’t pass it up. I was sitting next to a foreign couple and they began to laugh at my dismay when I carefully tried to suck the ice cream from the bottom of the cone, but risked ice cream falling from the top.

“I normally eat ice cream from a bowel. This is my first time here; I wanted to try something new.”

“We’re not from around here either.”

“Oh, where are you from?”

I don’t remember where they said they were from—somewhere in the U.S. after moving from somewhere in Asia—but they asked me about Green Bay and what I would recommend.

“It’s a nice little town with a lot to do, actually. It might not seem like it at first, but there are several restaurants, an animal sanctuary, a botanical garden, you name it. And it’s relatively cheap here compared to Philadelphia.”

“You came that far? Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. You’re brave.”

We chat for a few more minutes—as the ice cream drip, drip, drips on me, until they get up saying they have to carry on with their travels.

 

I showed Andrew this poem yesterday and he liked #2. What do you think? I might write another poem to go along with this entry, so if I do I’ll send it out later! Also, do you think a poem would look better at the beginning or ending? I’m thinking the end.

I.

Is it a bad thing to be frozen in time?

August sun--the hottest in history,

the ice cream melts upon my hands

as the kids around me scream in joy--

900 miles alone; surrounded by love;

cold air blows upon my shoulders and face.

A meeting place for friends,

from near and far -- the memories not forgotten--

is it a bad thing to be frozen in time?

 

 

II.

Is it a bad thing to be frozen in time?

August sun-- the hottest in Mid-Western history;

faces, a beat red, lips white from smiles.

The ice cream melts upon my hands,

in a form of relief from training camp heat;

as the kids around me scream in joy--

900 miles alone, surrounded by love;

cold air blows upon my shoulder,

green with Packers love, pride and fanaticism.

A meeting place for friends,

from near and far -- the memories not forgotten--

is it a bad thing to be frozen in time?

 

Thanks for your time and help!

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