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.