The Ice Age, and other bits of this and that

Had enough?

Ordinarily, this would be the time to make jokes about global warming. But it's darn near impossible to laugh when your tongue is frozen to your teeth. Have you noticed?

And it could have been worse.

The National Weather Service provided 24 hours of forecasting yoga before The Storm was scheduled to arrive Sunday. My favorite: Expect snow accumulations of 1 to 12 inches. Turns out the NWS was correct. We got the 1 inch. And the Arctic vortex.

"Arctic vortex" is new to most of our vocabularies. Most of us didn't know such a thing existed, much less was capable of shifting around enough to bring North Pole air to Burfordville. So this is what Santa Claus puts up with.

My wife and I were headed for our favorite supermarket Saturday afternoon before we connected the dots: Major winter storm equals supermarket panic. Sure enough, the parking lot was jammed all the way out to Kingshighway. I had never seen that before.

We plowed ahead -- not because we needed storm supplies, mind you -- because we were there and because a parking spot providentially opened up right in front of us.

You, too, have probably noticed the behavior of the panic-stricken pre-storm grocery shoppers. Indeed, they load up on milk, bread, eggs and bottled water. And some other things as well.

"Carob? Where's the carob?" one man, apparently commissioned by his wife to make the emergency supermarket run, was shouting into the face of a patient store employee.

Carob? What's carob? The store employee not only knew, he graciously took the panicky customer straight to the proper aisle and shelf. Alas, there was none. Apparently, in some circles, carob is a storm necessity, and others had beat this hapless fellow to the last possible lode in town.

Me? I take a different approach to shopping for emergency supplies. I figure we have running water until the pipes freeze. We eat a dozen eggs about every three months. We have a deep freeze full of tail-ends of loaves of bread that we save for just such emergencies -- and to put into meatloaf.

Me? I head straight for the aisle that I know will provide items that will make the worst storm bearable. I go straight for the Little Debbie snacks display.

Fortunately for me and other connoisseurs of survival grub, the Little Debbie shelf stockers keep a close eye on storm forecasts. While milk, bread, eggs and bottled water were quickly disappearing, the Little Debbie aisle was overflowing with nutritious, warming, soothing, satisfying, delicious fudge brownies with English walnuts, which just happen to be a favorite of mine. How did they know?

I am pleased to report that my wife and I stayed in during Sunday's sleet and snow, but I got up Monday morning and put on layers and layers of clothing to head out to our driveway, which is on an incline and has to be cleared before any vehicle rolls over it, lest we have slick permafrost until May.

Yes, I did the driveway clearing in shifts while Missy Kitty poked her head through the family-room blinds to watch, wondering why humans are smart enough to let cats indoors where it's warm but aren't smart enough to stay inside themselves.

But, folks, I have to tell you that I attribute my survival under such extreme conditions to one fact and one fact alone: Waiting for me inside that cozy, warm house was a fresh Little Debbie snack. Every time it felt like my nose had fallen off I just remembered the combination of chocolate and walnuts melting on my tongue.

Quite frankly, I think the fellow on a search for carob was misguided and mentally ajar, possible due to the panic of seeing the supermarket lot with no parking spaces.

Next time, I'll do a good deed and lead him to the Little Debbie aisle, where we can discuss the relative merits of chocolate versus pure powdered-sugar icing -- another surefire staple for once-in-a-century winter storms.

Speaking of which: Remember several years ago when we had one of those 500-year floods? And we've had four of them?

It's never too early to stock up on essentials. Honey buns. Have you tried them?

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.