Milk Toast

When I was growing up my dad made me milk toast when I was sick. This consisted of two slices of toasted Mrs. Baird’s bread torn up and placed in a big bowl, then covered with warm milk sweetened with sugar. One pat of butter went on top to add a little extra richness. Milk toast was my dad’s way of acknowledging my illness and bringing a little comfort. I would sit up in bed with a tv tray across my lap and he would place the bowl on the tray. Then he’d sit and talk to me until I was finished eating.

Pure love – simple and true.

Tonight I toasted two Hawaiian rolls leftover from Thanksgiving, tore them into pieces, tossed them into a big bowl, then added heated milk with honey. No butter for me, but still very satisfying.

It was as though my daddy was sitting right there while I ate.

Pure love – timeless and true.

Love spans decades, perhaps even eons.

What a great comfort that is to know.

Sleep well, my friends. I am headed upstairs to bed at this late hour of 7:15.

Until tomorrow…

milk toast

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