It was a crisp bright Saturday morning one long ago Fourth of July weekend quite a few years ago. I was visiting Uncle Frankie in West Wyoming. As he occasionally does, he was telling me quite a lot of long stories about life before World War II. From out of nowhere, the phone rang. It was my cousin Vinnie, in Hilldale. He explained that he desperately wanted me to take him to Jitty Joe’s, in Moosic, for ice cream. Everyone knows theirs is the best. Since I really wanted to get the ice cream I was getting so overwhelmingly frustrated at Uncle Frankie’s story telling. Conveniently he only lives around two and a half miles away from Hilldale so it would only take me a few minutes to get there to pick up Vinnie. Moosic is about twenty five minutes from there though, and we desperately needed ice cream so once we started to go, we’d really had to fly like crazy. It’s always been quite an addiction for us. Eventually my raconteur uncle ran out of anecdotes about all our long-deceased, and mostly long-forgotten kin. I took advantage of his having run out of steam, and reminded him that Vinnie and I desperately needed ice cream so he let me go. With absolutely no remaining time whatsoever to lose, I ran out his front door, down to my car, and drove as fast as possible to Hilldale to pick up Vinnie. From there, we drove at about eighty miles per hour, on River Road and Route 81, until we finally arrived at our destination. It was worth it.