We all scream for ice cream. Or, we don't, at least not anymore.Before moving to this sleepy suburb as kids, we lived in the city. We'd walk to the corner store for an italian ice. I barely kindergarten age when we moved south of Boston, but I remember the cool lemony goodness on a wooden stick like it was yesterday.When we moved to the 'burbs, we didn't have to go to the store anymore for a treat. The ice-cream truck would come to us, (though I seem to remember calling it the slush truck?) Of c.