It’s Wednesday night. Some people call that the middle of the week, but these are people that have those pesky things called real jobs, kids that go to real schools, and the lucky folk that actually go out and do things on weekends.
For me, Wednesday night has little to do with being halfway through the week. More importantly, it is Milk Night. The night that the truck pulls up out in front of the house and the man gets out with five half-gallon glass bottles of fresh 2% milk, and other goodies which I might order. Last week I got a loaf of banana bread. Yum.
There is some history here. I don’t know when my mom first starting getting milk delivered. When I was a kid, the milk came from Bailey’s Farm Dairy. I think they delivered twice a week back then. I remember once when there was actually cream at the top of the bottle. It was almost like having a refrigerated pasteurized cow in our back yard.
But through the years, Bailey’s got bought out. Now the milk comes from Oberweis. That’s German for Oberweis. And they aren’t really local anymore. I don’t know where the milk comes from. I do know that Oberweis has a store out on Manchester at Woodlawn in Kirkwood. I haven’t been in there, but my friend Susie and I get together next door occasionally at the Eleven Mile House for lunch. They specialize in a luncheon menu which must be sponsored by the makers of Lipitor. I also know that I pay the Oberweis bill and send it to an address in North Aurora, Illinois on Ice Cream Drive. Cute.
But back to the milk. It’s always been delivered in this household. They used to leave it in a metal box on the porch, with a big block of ice in the summer to keep it cool, and lined with newspaper in the winter to keep it from freezing. One time, years ago, the first time I believe Dan stayed here at Shangri-La, the milkman actually just walked into the house around 8:30 AM and put the bottles in the fridge. Dan remembers he had red hair. He also remembers other things about how he felt, but I try to keep this blog family-friendly.
Now, Oberweis leaves the milk, sans ice, in a customized igloo cooler on the front porch, which for some reason allows rain water to get in and has to be drained on a regular basis.
Since it is summer time, the milk could really use the ice, because they deliver around 2 AM and by morning, in the St. Louis heat, the milk is lukewarm at best. So I stay up on Wednesday nights to bring in the milk. Last week I got to meet the milk man, because he arrived as I went out to the porch to see if it had been delivered yet. He was very kind. As kind as a delivery man can be at 2 AM. Gave me the plastic milk crate. That meant we had a milk crate in the way all week as well. I’m giving it back tonight, along with the empties.
One more milk story. I’ve shared this with others, so it’s nothing particularly private. And it is a great memory.
Last December, Mom went into the hospital by ambulance on a Thursday night. Angela flew out from DC the following morning for the weekend, and had a return flight to BWI Sunday evening. Mom was not yet, at that point, in ICU, although she was connected to a machine to help her breathe. I was at the hospital visiting Mom, and waiting for Angela to arrive for her last visit before she caught her plane. The nurses had removed the breathing machine from Mom to allow them to give her some medication orally. I requested that they leave the machine off until Angela had a chance to visit, so that they could have a conversation without the interference of the apparatus that was a part of the machine.
The nurses were very helpful and understanding, but they also said that one of the medications they had given Mom was a sedative. So Mom was conscious, but very sleepy. Angela arrived, and we had a good visit – the three of us. And as Mom was drifting off to sleep, she said, quietly, “I think I have to make a change.” Now, I can’t speak for my sister, but my mind immediately went to the concept that Mom was finally deciding that after fifty-five years of smoking, she should quit. But I wasn’t sure. So I said, “Whaddya say Mom?” “I have to make a change.” Angela and I exchanged glances. Leaning over her so we could hear, I asked “What do you need to change, Mom?” “I need to change the milk order for Wednesday night.” Her last words to us before she fell asleep. Her last words to us. Period.
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