Milk, bread, and eggs

The winter storms are upon us. What's the first thing people do when they know a winter storm is approaching? Run to the supermarket and get milk, bread and eggs. Why? I dunno. Are they going to make French toast? Probably not, but why do people think “milk, bread and eggs” at the first hint of a winter storm? Milk, bread and eggs are staples, yes, but truth be known, they (we) probably had enough of the Big Three to get through a day or so of winter isolation.

With this latest Midwest storm on its way, Ginnie and I did exactly what everyone else does: after church we ran to the supermarket for, guess what, milk, bread and eggs. And it's a good thing we stopped early in the day. The milk cooler was close to empty, as were the eggs and bread sections. The supermarket was packed with people just like us, with that little, we-have-to-get-stocked-up-before-the-storm-hits look in their eye.

At home, Ginnie and I got to talking about why people stocked up on milk, bread and eggs, and wondered if they were going to make French toast. It got me to hankering for French toast. I hadn't eaten French toast since I was a kid and Mom fixed it.

“Okay, in the morning, we're having French toast,” Ginnie said.

And, by golly, we did. Only Ginnie didn't fix it in the traditional individual-slice way, that I thought was the only way to eat French toast. Ginnie found a recipe from “Pioneer Woman” (that she watches religiously) where the French toast is made sort of like a casserole. What? I was a little disappointed. Until I tasted it. Man-oh-man, with fruit on top and decadent maple syrup smothering the whole thing, I had my carboload for the day (and week. LOL).

At breakfast, as the snow swirled and the wind howled outside, Ginnie and I got to talking about snow ice-cream. My mother used to make snow ice-cream, as did Ginnie's. My mother would get a metal pan (it has to be metal) full of snow by opening the window and scooping it in. She poured Carnation Evaporated Milk over the snow, and I don't know what all. (Ginnie found a recipe for snow ice-cream on the internet.) Milk, sugar, vanilla, dash of salt, etc. Voila! Snow ice-cream! It's a fun thing to make and eat during a day of isolation. The tendency is to compare it to homemade ice-cream, which it's not. But in a snowstorm, the mind runs to weather related products and activities: snowmen, snow forts, snowball fights, sledding, stranded motorists, white-outs, etc.

As I write this, and the snow and ice accumulates on the finch feeder hanging in our window, our lights are blinking. Not to worry. We have a backup generator. But my mind flashed back to the winter of '73. I was a student at Iowa State University in Ames and working part time at a service station. There was a blizzard and the roads were so bad, I took the wrecker home that was equipped with chains. On the way, I stopped at Ames Fruit and Grocery and got, what else? Milk, bread and eggs. As I was checking out, the lights were blinking.

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In my apartment on Lincoln Way, above the Pizza House and across the street from ISU's campus, I flipped on the light and watched roaches scramble. Outside on the street I could hear a car with its wheels spinning. It was hopelessly stuck in a foot of ice and slush. There was a young couple in the car trying to get home to Huxley. I offered them my apartment for the night, and they accepted.

In the morning, with no power, and the apartment at 40 degrees, the young woman fixed French toast on the gas stove, the old fashioned kind, with individual slices. We stood close to the stove for heat and ate like thieves. It would be two days before the couple made it home. By then, I was out of milk, bread and eggs.

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Have a good story? Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526, email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com, or visit his website at www.empty-nest-words-photos-and-frames.com