This morning I ruined a whole bowl of my favorite cereal. The wonderful anticipation of the first bite while sitting out on the deck this morning was ruined by BMS. That’s Blinky Milk Surprise. I had forgotten to check the expiration date. Hank was just totally confused when I bolted out of my chair to spit out the offending bite into the grass. He ran over to sniff, and then turned up his nose at it. I don’t think even the worms would find it palatable.
This whole short ordeal instantly reminded me of my childhood once again. We’d get these huge cans of milk that Munnie would bring to us from the farm. Usually they would last a day or so, but on occasion, there would be milk that lingered. After a couple of days, no one was interested in that milk, with the exception of Dear Ol’ Dad. The conversation that ensued at breakfast went sort of like this:
Dad - “M’liss, fix your self a bowl of Cheerios.”
Me - “I’ll just have toast, Dad. The milk is sour.”
Dad - “Nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with that milk!”
Me - “No! It’s sour, Dad! You taste it!”
By this time, a bunch of my sibs have started crowding into the kitchen, not necessarily to grab a bowl of cereal, but to watch Dad prove the milk wasn’t sour. We all knew it was, and we knew he knew.
At my insistence, Dad picked up a very small orange juice glass and poured a sip of milk into it. It would have been a jigger if there had been one handy. He knew the milk was sour, but didn’t want us to waste it.
Upon tasting it, eyes watering, and trying to keep a perfectly straight face while he gagged:
“It’s just a little blinky is all (choke, sputter, gaaaaaaggggg).” This was usually met with protests by anyone standing around.
“Aw, come on, Dad! It’s sour!”
Dad – “No it’s not! It’s just a little blinky! Why…..there are kids that have to drink milk that’s much worse than this!”
“Oh, Geeeeeeezzzzze! He’s going into the Kids in Korea thing again.” At this, everyone skittered out, leaving Dad to finish off the blinky milk. We all knew he wouldn’t finish it off, but he’d feel really inclined to sneak it to us in some other form. We also knew it wouldn’t be in the form of sour milk pancakes or anything that might be palatable to any of us.
This brings to mind his homemade cottage cheese he tried to pass off as Fromage Blanc. No one bought this, as the mere preparation of this nocuous blob stunk up the whole house for the entire time it took to make it; Since it entailed pouring the sour milk in a cheese cloth lined, yellow Pyrex bowl, letting it clabber, and tying it up to hang over the bowl to drain for a couple of days. Not one of us ever even tried it, and I’m pretty sure Dad didn’t eat much of it. Bless his heart. He really hated waste. He was right, but he just couldn’t pull it off with a bunch of kids. It just ain’t right, Dad!
The paper towel thing was a little embarrassing when we had friends over. Dad would appear in the kitchen while we were hanging out eating whatever we could find.
“Dammit! Who threw out this perfectly good paper towel?” At which time, he would retrieve it from the waste basket and spread it out on the counter to dry. Try explaining that to a new friend.
The Kleenex thing was almost as mortifying. I’d snatch a Kleenex from the box to wipe someone’s runny nose, and Dad would catch me just in time to …….
“Wait! That little nosey doesn’t need a whole Kleenex!” …and he’d tear it in half and hand me the other half to wipe the snotty nose before me. Of course I’d always require the other half and then some to finish the job at hand. There were always a few poor little noses under the age of 5 that had not yet reached the age where their immunities canceled out the constant runny nose.
Dad did have the right idea about trying to stop waste, but mostly, we did learn how to conserve. Some of it actually stuck. Didn’t it?
