Where Fire Ants Get Their Fire

“It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?”
~ Henry David Thoreau

Casual dress: loafers – no socks; cargo pants, and a loose fitting shirt not tucked in.  Errands to run.  Formal attire not required.  Managed to get a few blocks from the house, while the “do it” list scrolled across my mind.  Felt it was a good day, and had plenty of time for my chores, so was in no hurry.  Further, there was not a single thing on the list that was urgent or necessary, or that could not have been postponed, if not ignored altogether.  In other words, it was the kind of day a younger me never knew existed…past the age of ten.

What started with an itch on my ankle soon became more itching on both ankles, then the stinging started.  Felt something crawling on my arm, my ear, and the back of my neck, and soon in a panic mode feeling creepies all over me.  It was time to immediately pull over to the curb, and I did so without hesitation.

Ants!  The cab of my pickup truck was full of ’em!  What?  Where’d they come from, and why are they in here?  Not just any ants, mind you; these were fire ants!  Put it in park, and leaped out of the truck.  Hard to sit still when you have ants in your pants, and I did.  I began a series of gestures and gyrations unbecoming of a sober man of my age in broad daylight unless some ceremony preceding a live sacrifice was in progress.  Felt I was the sacrifice.

The festive dance was a spectacle, I’m sure.  Just glad the police didn’t ride by, as they would’ve hauled me to the looney bin.  I believe my coarse epitaphs scorched some nearby wildflowers, and no doubt would’ve offended anyone in earshot.  But I was alone except for a passing stray cat, who quickly went to the other side of the street.  I didn’t blame him, as I’d have done the same in close proximity to some animal exhibiting bizarre behaviors.  I’d invite you to imagine, but most imaginations might not be that flexible.  Sometimes it’s hard to interpret the incomprehensible.  It was motion of quantity without quality defined.

Went back to the truck.  Observed some ants crawling on the floor and driver’s seat, but noticed the console and ashtray were teeming with them.  A pipe and an old cigar butt gave support to the image of ants chewing tobacco.  I knew grasshoppers did this, but never read any review or critique of ants doing it.  Now, I have seen ants chewing on a grasshopper, so with some stretch, it’s possible to extract the idea that eventually the ant might get around to a chaw, I don’t know.

I’ll admit to some sloppiness, and have often left crumbs about, as my habit of eating on the move has allowed for lots of crumbs.  No doubt, there are bits and pieces of hamburgers, hotdogs, chips, French fries, and other snacks permanently ground into the upholstery and carpet.  Surely sweet nectars have spilled without any serious cleanup other than to wipe at them have occurred.

Looking in the cab, I saw them busy as if trying to locate all such prizes, and also watched as they gave special attention to the heads of some matches lazily resting in the cup holder.  Perhaps they were just fueling up.  Thats when I realized their attention was mainly directed on some other object: a regular tin of breath mints–ants were all over it.  With some bravery, some wiping, huffing and puffing, managed to clear the ants off so I could look inside the tin.  To my surprise, the closure of the package had been no serious deterrent to the ants.

The peppermint Altoids inside the tin were covered with a frothy sea of churning ants.  Each ant in the box had a mouthful of high octane peppermint that seemed to excite them.  If I’d been able to see their ears, I’m fairly certain a mist of steam would be coming out of them, but my bifocals are not that refined.  The pepper-like candy had evidently gotten them electrified, and me opening the container also opened the circuit.  Evidently, it was motive enough for action. If you will, envision a thousand fire ants clumped in an area of a few square inches, and imagine them all spreading out over a few square yards in less time than it takes a firecracker to rupture when the fuse burns down to the quick.

As they charged up my arm to do battle, I dropped the tin of peppermints onto the seat of the truck, and began singing a song in some foreign language I’ve never heard before.  The dance began anew, then the religious ceremony followed–at least in as much as some of the same conjuring words were put into use.  The literary anathema may have started out like a hymn, but transfigured itself into a level of depravity that would’ve offended a congressman.  I’ll not likely live long enough to atone for such coarse and troubled cussedness, but those who know me well realize I crossed that threshold years ago. 

After some success brushing most of them off, the stragglers that remained let me know unquestionably why the name “Fire” had been sewn on to the label of that species.  Some of my friends educated in the sciences tell me the pain from the venom is caused by formic acid.  That may be true for some ants, but my recent discovery brings me to believe the species that lives in my pickup truck get their potency from match-heads, burnt tobacco, and peppermint Altoids.

As you’d expect, I vacuumed and washed the truck, but never did discover where the queen, her nest, or hatchlings were hiding.  Next day, the ants were back as if I’d done nothing.  I thought about all the fine places a self-respecting ant colony might set up housekeeping, and remain amazed they’d still choose to hang out with my old truck.  The only thing I can think of is that the occasional trip to the grocery store and the cargo I bring back appeals to them.  Additionally, once there, the parking lot around the truck being full of delicious snacks an ant might take delight in having is also brought into the bargain.  This would be a diminished benefit, of course, if human beings ever figure out how to use nearby trashcans.  As it is, candy wrappers, soda cups, sandwich wrappers, and chicken bones tend to drop from hands as soon as they have reached the point of diminishing return.

Since the experience of discovering ants in my truck, I’ve come to approach getting into it with both caution and dread.  But one thing disturbs me: instead of maintaining residence inside the cab of the truck, they seem to now camp on the outside.  I see them outside of the windows, and marching back and forth around the edges of the cargo bed.  The worrisome idea now emerges, that now with enough peppermint to fuel an inferno, they have decided to eat the paint off my truck, as if such as that might be an antidote for any gastric reflux the peppermint might’ve caused.

A few years ago, I took note of the apparent disappearance of Fire ant (Solenopsis invicta) mounds on my property.  A few neighbors had remarked about it, as well.  Some theories were that they were driven out or killed by infestations of other ants that might eventually eat my house as well as take over the lawn.  But now I know where they went.  With the prospects of finding matches and peppermint so readily available, the logical thing for them to do would be to relocate to my vehicle.  Not only would they find plenty to eat, but the opportunity to take off on an excursion was probably more than they could resist.

So, there you have it.  Altoids and matches in my truck are the true source of the fire.  Now if I could just figure out a way to harness it, the next time I’m told the truck is due for new spark plugs, I’ll be able to tell ’em…“never mind.”

You Want to talk to my dawg?!?

Finally happened.  Phone rang.  Caller asked to speak to Lila.

“You want to speak to Lila?  Who is this?”

“Lila may be eligible…”

“I suspect she’s quite ineligible for most offerings that come in by telephone.”

“Excuse me.  Is this Lila Bea’s residence?”

“Yes.  Yes, it is.”

“Then, may I speak to her, please?”

“Well, you can speak to her, but I’m afraid she’ll understand very little of what you might say to her.”

“Sir, I speak several languages.”

“Good.  Do you speak Dawg?


“Dawg.  Lila Bea is a dawg.  She’ll understand a few simple commands: sit, lie down, shake hands, and responds rather well when asked if she’d care for a biscuit, or an ice cube.  But if…”


I looked around.  Lila Bea was grooming herself, completely unaware how close she came to getting a discounted Caribbean cruise; a lower interest rate on her credit card balance, or being allowed to express her opinion of all the members of her breed that are currently seeking to hold public office.  As the day progressed, Sir Benson Zipper Dee Doo Dah received not a single email, text, or telephone call.  By the way he ignores me while running wildly up the street whenever he gets loose, I suspect he’s on the “no call” list.


A Strange Fear of The Open Mind

“Culture encompasses religion, food, what we wear, how we wear it, our language, marriage, music, what we believe is right or wrong, how we sit at the table, how we greet visitors, how we behave with loved ones, and a million other things…”
~  Cristina De Rossi, Anthropologist at Barnet and Southgate College, London

Yes.  Additionally, one of the primary functions of any society is to protect, nurture, and teach its children so they can grow up and take charge without having to repeat all the unnecessary (and often stupid) mistakes made by their predecessors.  We want them to learn how to build “the better mousetrap”, and avoid the return of ignorant superstitions that lead to burning innocent people for witchcraft, or clinging to good luck charms instead of embracing scientific discovery.  However, we’ve been witness to efforts intending to stigmatize scientific discoveries as invalid, and the motive for such positions regularly seems to come from sources that make profits from the ignorance of discovery.  Ever question that, or wonder what specific motives would back up such behavior?  The bait looks delicious, but is there a hook in it?

Some will remember The Waxman Hearings that took place before congress on April 14, 1994.  The CEO’s of several major tobacco companies testified under oath that they believed nicotine and cigarette smoking were not addictive.  Well, weren’t the tobacco executives making money selling nicotine and cigarettes?  Big money?  Yes, they were.  Today we continue to hear the coal, natural gas, and petroleum industries (and all the politicians they own) take the same position–that the modern practice of using their products is not harmful to the environment, nor is it in any significant way causing changes or global warming (see http://climate.nasa.gov/evidence/).  If you follow the money, you might at least suspect a bit of wool is being pulled over some eyes.  Please be aware that ignorance was not the reason for the false testimony of the tobacco industry, but their hoped for success depended to a large degree on keeping the general public ignorant, and hopefully continuing to buy their products because of such ignorance, or at least in spite of scientifically verified arguments for not doing so.

I think we’ll agree all good parents want their children to have a chance to “do better”.  So it is reasonable to appreciate mothers and fathers wanting their offspring to not only know what the parents know how to do, but to help the children to rise to even higher plateaus–of craft and skill, art, and understanding.  That’s justification to have a tradition of reading books to them, and sending them to mentors and teachers.  Unfortunately, as you well know, some parents are afraid of change.  And because of fears, are often reluctant for their offspring to take steps beyond “the way we’ve always done it”, or singing “Give Me That OldTime Religion”, as if “old” would always mean “best”, which you and I know is not always true.  Additionally there are some who seem to either not care or feel incapable of doing anything proactive about their children’s education.

Some of you remember a time when there was a  long-standing practice (tradition) of using lead in paints, food containers, water pipes, and as additives to other widely used consumer products such as gasoline.  The challenge to stop doing it when science helped us understand the harm we were doing to ourselves and our children still met with huge resistance.  And not just from capitalists and manufacturers heavily invested in lead, but from consumers as well.  There were many people figuring out ways to bypass catalytic converters during the time when some petrol was still available that contained lead.  Though it was not a wise practice, it was widely used–almost as if leaded gasoline was a tradition.

Because irrational fears about changes that could be connected to unknown or uncertain outcomes do exist, often born of ignorance, perplexing issues can surface when misunderstood risks are tossed into categories of impulse, rather than recognized as calculated.  We want discipline and accountability, which often mandates adherences to rules.  This is particularly powerful whenever individuals controlled by the rules do not understand how they could possibly do otherwise, or paralyzed by the fear of attempting to do so.  While it was a practice for a long time in warfare to march in straight lines and columns on the battlefield in bright and highly visible uniforms, the technological advances of cannons and firearms made the continuance of such to be disadvantageous.  In spite of the futility of it overall, it continued far beyond what sanity called for.  After all, wouldn’t you agree it was “tradition”?

One of the reasons was the image of power of the powerful was maintained as unquestionable, and many soldiers marched to their death as ordered.  It was what they were taught to believe, and any discrepancy of the rules faced severe consequences.  For many, it seemed better to die “bravely and dutifully” than to be hanged or shot for “stepping out of line”.  Thus, keeping an open mind when faced with “duty” is seldom allowed to be an option for consideration.

What would happen if people just decided on their own to not participate in wars anymore?  Would kings, dictators, presidents, and generals still go at it if they were not convincing or exploitive enough to raise an army to do their fighting for them?  Hmmm.  Should we consider changing the tradition?  Would changing it be disrespectful of those who fought and died in wars before us?  Perhaps one reasonably sane way to show respect for those killed in war would be for us to strive to make certain their children and grandchildren will not have to die that way.  Yet many people will never be able to see that as a viable option, because it seems to be a bit out of their control.

Even today, the concept of following command and direct orders without question is firmly instilled in the minds of military personnel world-over.  I understand it.  But outside the horrible circumstance of war, foot soldiers, pawns, and slaves might be better off than their overlords would have them be, if the dominated learned how to think for themselves.  Truth is, most would be afraid to attempt do so, because they fear the loss of the guidance they believe sustains them.  And that is exactly what they are taught to believe.  Dominators want the dominated to be compliant, so managing the phobic is often just a simple matter of managing their perceptions, and keeping them at a distance from ideas and thoughts that could lead to independence.

We raised sons, and also kept pets.  We wanted the boys to grow up to be men who could take care of themselves, solve problems, and know how to deal with adversities.  It worked.  They are all extraordinary men in those respects.  On the other hand, the dogs and cats were never expected to be educated to a level of self sufficiency.  We liked them, but there were limits of what was expected of their growth and development.

The human children, on the other hand, were expected to challenge their thresholds of self expectations.  There was real joy in seeing apparent light bulbs turn on in their heads.  That is not uncommon in healthy cultures, and is a part of…traditions.

Sometimes traditions clash, even within a culture.  When that happens there are those who have ideas for change facing off with those in fear of it.  Whichever side a person is on is not determined by rational thought as much as it is in accordance with their indoctrination.  Both sides might “feel” they are upholding a tradition.  Some reference to why I said that can be found in a book,”on_being_certain” by Robert A. Burton, Neurologist.

Beyond that, when conflict and controversy surfaces between practices that seem to oppose each other, some have to decide which traditional behavior will bring about the best result.  Unfortunately, more often the position most strongly supported by “authority” wins out.

We’ve seen this in universities that face funding issues that result in cutting programs and teachers’ salaries, while at the same time figuring out a way to give a popular coach a big raise and a budget increase in order to prevent his being recruited to a competitive institution.  The cuts are explained as efficiencies, and the off-sided boost to the coach justified as necessary and essential.  The maintenance of one program that was almost never the purpose for the institutions existence in the first place takes precedence over programs that were.

We’ve all seen this happen, and it is happening now.  Traditional curriculums of physics, chemistry, music, art, literature, and philosophy often become secondary to a recreational activity that has become tradition…and also big business for administrators.  We also see it in governance where fund-raising improves the lifestyles of politicians, but does little to advance the circumstances, long-term and short, for the constituency they are supposed to (but don’t) represent.  But after all, it is a tradition.

Some want to see that change, but such change faces the challenge of being called “progressive” as if such a term was in and of itself an indictment.  Ironically, most of the money available to finance what the public is likely to hear or read more or less subtly goes to support protecting the status quo (of bribery) than risk losing the coveted benefits of those who put up the money to pay for the game.

How do you address something if you believe it undermines-our-cultural-traditions, or in some way causes the next generation to forget or misunderstand how they got to where they are?  I’m not talking about a strict adherence to just dogmatic opinions, as they often overlook the facts required to understand growth and development.  Instead, let’s consider the current popularity, and even apparent love of reductions for the sake of efficiency that often seem to be “cost effective”, yet undermine integrity.  A simple example would be to side-step prerequisites such as not putting on a primer coat on a piece of raw wood before applying the top, or color coat.  It can be done, and it is initially cheaper.  But in the long run, the outcome is often less than desirable.

Lot’s of folks have trouble with the word liberal, and seem to have forgotten (if they even knew it in the first place) it comes from a Latin reference to that which is “worthy of a free person”.  In essence, the liberal arts do refer to an education that leads to being able to function with understanding in society, and be able to be a part of the processes of debating ideas and concepts with some background on how those ideas are constructed.

The trend of political disrespect felt by the liberal arts is an indication of a much greater problem: the abandonment of disciplines of reason. When the purpose is reduced to simply institutionalizing a system for a compliant work force that does not and cannot think for itself, there will be no real commitment to finding real solutions to difficult problems that require examination of empirical evidence. Instead, the business will be to find ways to blame problems on things or persons other than ourselves. It doesn’t take a genius mind to recognize how such as that leads to social dysfunction.

Anti-intellectualism raises its ugly head in almost every generation, and is a tool of those (shamans, witchdoctors, and charlatans) who cannot rise to, or maintain power without the aid of fear held in place with superstition.  It is the flagship of extremist reactionaries throughout history.  We saw it happening during The Crusades, The Spanish Inquisition, the rise of Fascism, the evil tactics of Joseph Stalin to take control of The Soviet Union, “McCarthyism” in our own country, ISES, and many other bigoted religious extremist groups that thrive on hatred and colossal misunderstandings.

We also see it in the power-mongering processes of the self serving who insist they get to sit in the lap of luxury no matter what the cost is to the rest of the world and its inhabitants.  And without an educated populace, working together to move ever closer to understanding: thus real freedom and peacefulness, the cultural tradition of helping the children of each generation progress towards a better and more sustainable lifestyle is in great danger of diminishing further as it goes out of style.

“When a person believes all wrongs are the fault of others, the only filter left that postpones desires for instant gratification, is fear…Teachers are not the cause of poverty and underfunded schools any more than doctors are the cause of disease and underfunded clinics…There’s no wealth in a society that cannot educate it’s children.  If you can afford it but won’t, then you’re an enemy of the children.”

 ~  things-ive-said-before

“I Never Promised You a Beer Garden…”

Once upon a time, it became obvious to me that having fun is fun…only as long as I never allow someone else to require it of me.  The simplicity of it is connected to wanting the freedom to have fun, and understanding how to make that happen.  The problem for most people that keeps them from allowing it to become a way of life, is that they feel obligated to pursuing activities driven by concepts that move them further and further away from understanding.  The motivations for people to plant gardens and work in them will vary.

Those who believe the effort is just about not having to buy their veggies at the store need to consider the economics of their time spent.  For most of us, the simple math will suggest we’d be better off pursuing other performance activity.  The same is true for those of us whose hobbies include making bread, cheese, beer, and wine.  If fun is left out of the equation, you could be pursuing a false economy.  There is work involved, not the least of which is washing and sanitizing containers and utensils, that needs to be considered if you place any value on your time at all.

An avid sportsman told me the cost of fishing and hunting, besides dues to hunt clubs, included boat, trailer, camping gear, fire arms and munitions, an extensive apparel wardrobe, licenses and fees, the expense of trained dogs, and that doesn’t account for his investment of time.  He said altogether, his cost of meat and fish last year averaged about seven hundred dollars a pound.

But if you want to hunt, fish, or garden (or make bread, cheese, beer, wine, etc.) and enjoy doing it, all the other reasons to justify the behavior, including the concept of having control over the contents of your food and beverage supply, are secondary.  In fact, if you don’t enjoy it but do it anyway, how is that different from all the other compliance regimens that require us to be aboard some agenda other than our own?

Hobbies and avocations should be fun, and not allowed to become donkey-work.  And that also goes for many other projects, even home maintenance.  If the rent for allocated storage space for ladders and tools, the cost of getting those tools, and if the value of your time is not a consideration, the only cost of repainting your house is just the price of the paint…plus spackling paste, caulking, thinners, cleaners, masking tape, drop-cloths, rags, antibiotic ointments, bandages, splints and crutches (which you will need when you fall off the ladder), along with other supplies including liquid refreshments for the painter.  You might consider these last few items to be essential if your other hobbies include making beer and wine, with a possible exception for refreshments already paid for.

For the pure fun of it, try this:

Pick out a small patch of ground (or a patio box if you have an apartment with a balcony or patio), and plant caps from beer bottles.  Then, show it to people from time to time, and act as if you genuinely expect it to grow a beer garden.  Be enthusiastic about it.  The more excited you seem, the more fun you’ll have with their reaction. One visitor was so taken by such lunacy that he left immediately to go to the store, returning with a case of beer and placed it in my garden.  I left it there.  The next visitor was invited to go with me to my garden to pick beer.   If this doesn’t happen for you, I’ll beg your pardon.

There’s just no end to the fun you can have with this sort of thing.  Next year, I’m planting the corks from bottles of expensive wines.  If a case of Chateau Latour, Chateau Margaux, Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, Dom Perignon, Giacomo Borgogno Barolo, Ghost Horse Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon, or any Riesling Trockenbeerenauslese shows up, I’ll call you.  Then, we’ll plant Scotch bottles!

In the meantime, I’m going smile hunting.  Game warden says it’s always open season, no license needed, and there’s no bag limit.  Additionally, the more you catch and release, the more you harvest.  If you want, you can throw in a few handshakes and hugs if targeted recipients of them find it acceptable, and rock on chilluns, rock on!

Liberty, Equality…

A question often comes up about which is more important, as if the comparison was altogether fair, which it isn’t.  Do we assign freedom (liberty), or equality (impartiality–fairness) with the highest value?  No quick answer is sufficient without a good bit of thought behind it.  The same is true if you’re asked would you rather give up a hand, or an eye?  How about both hands or both eyes?  Not enough to just consider what you keep, but also what you give up.  It is complicated further if it becomes a question of the dominant hand or the dominant eye, doesn’t it?

The concept of equality as far as governance is concerned, is that we are all equal, or should be equal under the law.  In life, there are many inequities by the very nature of things that cannot become level by legislation or litigation.  In matters of thought, equality is not going to be realistic.  That would require we all have the same intellect, which of course is not the way things are.  I’m often made aware of my poverty in that department when faced with the superior thinking of quite a few others.

But without the freedom of thought, the benefits of fair and reasonable, which should be some motive for certain equalities, may not become easily realized.  Freedom of mind should allow for the opportunity to move closer to understanding, without which the pursuit of happiness will be hampered.  Laws that are not impartial or fair to all governed by them suggest some freedoms are being restricted, modified, or withheld from some, according to station determined by some prejudicial method.

Without understanding, people tend to find themselves in constant turmoil, conflict, and controversy, wrapped up in unresolvable ideological entanglements often not based on or verifiable by evidence, or from any rational thinking, for that matter.  For many situations in life, understanding and the pursuit of happiness are cotangents of the kinds of behavior supporting fairness–with all participating having some right to fair treatment as well as the responsibility to extend the same in kind.

The rights of people to be free even in their thinking is something that should be available to everyone–equal in that right with each other.  For example, we cannot have a freedom OF religion unless everyone is at the same time allowed to have a freedom FROM religion.  And so it is the freedom itself that is to be extended equally.

Some living things require oxygen and water to survive.  Those two things, quite different from each other are both important.  The one that might seem most important at any given time is whichever one is being made hardest to get.  Too much air can dehydrate an organism, and too much water could drown it.  So with that, when either liberty or equality is pushed to some extreme measure, they can become quite the opposite of each other.  The drowning man is probably not thirsty.

Hunting Golf

Looking for another player to round out your four-some?  Occasionally such an invitation comes my way, but I do my dead-level best to discourage it.  It’s not that an outing or a walk on a nice day is not enjoyable.  Not that at all.  It’s just that if I wish to subject myself to that kind of language, I’d go to church.

My favorite place at the club is the 19th hole.  I have no trouble keeping my head down in there, due to the chance of seeing someone who thinks I owe them money.  Can play the 19th straight up, and never have a bad shot.  On the other 18, I’d need too many chasers.

People ask me about my handicap, which I think is too personal.  I have many.  One is lower back and hip pain my doctor referred to as “sciatica”.   That’s not a facility in upstate New York for the criminally insane as some of you might think.  No, it’s an inflammation of what my mother calls my “psychotic nerve”.  If it weren’t for malaprops, Mama might have no props at all.  Asked what she was watching on television, and she said it was a documentary on polio bears living on the ice burgers.

Back discomfort is not the only thing that hampers me.  I’m also far-sighted, but that’s okay, as I never get very close to the pin, anyway.  I can triple-bogey a driving range.  My clubs don’t need new grips because I have Dupuytren’s contracture–well defined in my left hand and developing in my right.  No problem gripping the shaft firmly, but letting go often requires WD-40. The most comfortable golf glove for me would look like a catcher’s mitt.

Pro said my average game has more slices than a truckload of watermelons.  He criticized my clubs, saying they were intended for a younger player.  But I just think he has some prejudice against the “Nerf” brand.  Well, not all my clubs.  My driver is a Louisville Slugger.  Asked me if I’d considered a caddy. Told him I’d considered it, but for budgetary reasons, we’d settled on a Buick.

Always carry 18 balls to the course, because that’s how many I intend to hit. As for scoring, I always mark down “18”.  All I do is tee off–not just the ball, but all the other players with me.  Once I’ve hit the golf ball, there isn’t much point in looking for it, as it has sure to have gone…somewhere.  Besides, most golf carts don’t have four-wheel drive. For me to attempt a retrieval does require a current valid hunting license.  So, I just move on to the next tee box, and whack another one into oblivion.

When I’m playing conservatively, I just hit the tee.  Saves money, and doesn’t endanger as many innocent bystanders.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to use an ultra-light rod with open faced reel and four pound test line to play the water hazards.  Hope I passed the test, and look forward to hearing from you soon.

Weather Boosts Sales of Bread and Milk

Got colder.  Some places folks were warned it might snow.  In some regions of the country, it snowed a lot.  But here in the deep South, the few places that saw any snow at all was a scarce dusting that a mouse could walk through without boots.

Not saying it didn’t get a bit frigid.  It did.  The other morning, I saw two dawgs out in the front yard with jumper cables trying to get a rabbit started so they’d have sump’m to chase.  Today, it never got above freezing.  In fact, if the thermometer dropped any more degrees, I reckon I’d have to turn in my diploma.

When it gets like this, Somebody on the television makes comment about it and throws out the possibility that any precipitation that might occur could form ice crystals–in other words, snow.  Then, folks panic.  They rush to the store to buy milk, and bread, and little else if anything at all.  Did see a few folks buying candles and flashlight batteries.  But that makes sense, so it isn’t a widespread custom.

Under such circumstances, stores have trouble keeping milk and bread in stock, which is a happy time for the bread and milk venders.  On the other hand, the BBQ sauce salesman can take the rest of the week off.

I asked a man rushing into a grocers what he was in such a hurry to buy.  He said bread and milk.  When I asked why, he looked at me as if I was an idiot, and blurted out:

“Haven’t you been listening to the news?  It could snow!”

I didn’t bother him to suggest he might get some eggs, and maybe a bag of potato chips.  Chances are those suggestions could’ve overwhelmed the man.  After all, anybody over the age of five knows quite well the rules say you’re supposed to buy milk and bread if there’s any chance of snow flurries.  I guess if there is a threat of a volcano, you’re supposed to buy marshmallows?  I don’t know.

Everybody buys milk and bread, and none of them show any embarrassment about it.  When you consider the consequences of not stocking up on milk and bread, knowing such irresponsibility will eventually be found out, it’s best to go ahead and gather up all the bread and milk you can pay for.  Over time, even your on mother could find out if you didn’t, and hearing of a negligence of that order could break her heart.  After all, she raised you better’n that, didn’t she?

Nobody ever screams:

“Toilet paper!  Oh, my God, it’s gonna snow, so we’d better stock up on toilet paper!  And Books!  When does the library close?”

Equally true is that there’s no run on bananas, yogurt, canned vegetables, luncheon meats, aluminum foil, or fabric softener during this time, either.  Salt sales perk up, but not enough to effect the stock market.

I’ve studied on this.  Seems when it snows, or even might snow, folks develop a craving for milk sammiches.  So as to be of good service to the community, I offer the following recipe:

*  Get two slices of bread.  Doesn’t matter if you use king thin, whole wheat, rye, or pumpernickel, you’re about to eat a soggy sammich.

*  Scoop out a tablespoon of milk for each slice, and spread it evenly all over the surface of the bread.  If you’re really hungry, use heaping tablespoons of milk, or add an additional slice of bread, and call it a club sammich.

*  For dessert, add a little chocolate to the milk, if you have any.  But if you don’t, let it go.  Don’t go back to the store in this weather, unless you think theres a possibility they could’ve restocked bread and milk since you were there.  In that case you are obliged to go for it.

*  For variety, toast the bread.  It will still be a soggy sammich, but crisper.  Milktoast is not considered a macho food, but you don’t have to tell anybody if you don’t want to.  Your reputation is preserved just by everyone knowing you had sense enough to buy the bread and milk.

Wondering what to drink with your soggy milk sammich?  Well, considering your supply of beverages hoarded away during this emergency, pour yourself a tall glass of milk.  Not only is it all you have, it’s a tradishum.  Best I can tell, during this season that is what is to be expected.

Do not question these things.  Just go to the store, and buy your bread and milk.  If you’re successful and get there before the crowds, go home and feel smug about your accomplishment.  Later, as a reward to yourself and a nice gesture to the rest of the family, fix up a nice plateful of soggy, soaky, drippy, slurpy milk sammiches.  Then look for the signs of gratitude gushing forth from everyone else in the house who realizes if it weren’t for your forethought, they might be reduced to eating steak, potatoes, pretzels, beer, or even pie.


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