Nevin's Dairy and other goodies . . .

finding food the 9TS can eat is a chore.  His mouth is minus, excuse me . . . saliva.  It went for a walk  somewhere between Yervoy 2 and 3, and forgot to come home.  So now he has dry mouth plus tongue sores . . .  sorry.  I guess I should have posted a warning, but the truth is, if you have been following my blog for any length of time, you really should have expected this earlier.  I certainly did.

And, like a fatted calf, we bulked him up 30 pounds before starting chemo.  Good thing too . . . he's already lost 18+ pounds.  Lately, all he can tolerate is cold slippery food.  Think watermelon, cantaloupe, soft boiled eggs.

But after his last incarceration at Moffitt, they gave him a script for Magic Mouth.  It's a wonder drug.  Part numbing agent, part refreshant . . . which apparently is not a dictionary sanctioned word but darn well should be . . . and part healant, another word Webster should have acknowledged.   It works!!!!

Tonight we braved new territory and tried eggs over easy, corned beef hash and whole wheat bread.   The eggs were good.  The corned beef alas wasn't.  Instead of whole wheat, next time, we are going to try Wonder Bread; that is if it is still being made.  It is a throw back to both of our childhoods.   Mine was richly slathered with peanut butter and Welch's grape jelly, the sloth's, with more ethnic stuffing.  Wonder Bread builds strong bodies 12 ways, according to the slogan which is ingrained in the brains of those of us of a certain age.  Today I fear it is either obsolete or so politically incorrect that most stores stay clear.  Tomorrow I am going on the hunt.

Of course talk of Wonder Bread somehow segued to dairy delivery and while the 9TS's milk was delivered to the door by Abbot's, ours came from Nevin's Dairy.  If we were really lucky, we could hitch a ride on the truck half way around the lake and hoof it home again.  Grand fun when you are eight or so.  And the winter . . .  what a splendid day when we were allowed to hook our mittened hands under the back bumper of the milk truck, tip our toes back, heels down and 'ski' down the road.  Life just couldn't get any better.

Of course like almost anything, there was a downside to home delivery.  If you weren't home in the summer shortly after Ned's arrival, the cream already sitting on top, coagulated in the heat and pushed the cardboard lid up and out of the bottle in a preformed spew of rancid milk.  Not something anyone looked forward to but none the less, a fact of life. 

I don't remember when home delivery stopped.  I'm thinking I was in college, but I'm fond of the memories and it makes much better dinner conversation than Mel and his cousin Anoma.

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