Phil,
I remember the old ice truck too.  In fact, when I lost my sight in October
of 1945, my dad wouldn't let me pick ice.  I begged and begged but he said
no because I might pick my fingers.  My mother, a very wise and
compassionate woman and a faithful and true wife, would never let us do
something that my dad had said no to.  What she did was that she would,
after daddy had gone back to the dield after lunch, just get busy in another
part of the house knowing that I would pick ice.  (smile)  She alwasy
believed in me and always allowed me to try my wings so to speak.
I also remember those cold nights and all the big quilts that held me down
in the bed with the weight.
"Thanks for the Memories"

Ned