Bread & Milk, Bread & Milk, Bread & Milk

Snow’s coming, lots of it. Four to eight inches of fairly heavy stuff is what the weather people are telling us. That’s enough to cripple the city for, let’s see, maybe a day. Schools closed, some stores closed, businesses either closed or closing early. Nothing’s going to be moving around here except for people going to the ski slopes the Poconos are famous for.

Supermarkets, of course, have the traditional “Bread and Milk” day, which is just before the storm hits. This is one tradition all those immigrants from down south can’t stop: when you hear of snow, run to the store and get lots of bread and milk. Enough to last for the better part of a week; you just never know. People die in eight inches of snow, not to be found until the spring thaw.

Doesn’t matter that most (all?) white bread is crap, nutritionally worthless and actually bad for us. Doesn’t matter that our body’s ability to digest milk lessens radically at age two, when Mother Nature figures it’s time to stop nursing. It’s an American custom to stock up on empty Wonder Bread and milk made for calves.

But that’s part of the ritual, and fun, of an approaching snow storm. We have our rituals for everything, if we examine them closely, and this is just one. We still like some fairly tall guy with a deep voice to tell us what has happened in the world that day, and for him to tell us right after supper. Supper, news, Jeopardy, Wheel of Fortune.

Actually, I do have to get some milk, but it’s only a few steps away and it’s for my tea.