Lucky Breaks: Blizzard on I 70

It was February 1, 1981—a Sunday. I had been visiting a friend in Columbus, Ohio, and was ready to return to Bloomington for the beginning of my last semester at Indiana University. I anticipated an uneventful trip along Interstate 70 to Indianapolis and State Route 37 to Bloomington. As I passed Springfield, Ohio, the wind picked up, and the first ominous snowflakes struck my windshield. North of Dayton, gusts rocked my Cutlass while the snow fell so fast that my windshield wipers could not keep up. Darkness quickly descended, and the snow was accumulating in such a way that I could no longer see the white line along the edge of the highway.

Blinding Snow and No Good Options

Courtesy goingslowly

When I reached Richmond, Indiana, traffic had slowed to a crawl. My car heater was unable to conquer the chill from the bitterly cold blasts. I wondered how long it would take me to get to Bloomington, and I worried that the snow on 37 would be a problem. The audacity of the impatient truck drivers amazed me, as the semis rumbled past within inches of my car. I knew they could not see any better than I could, and I could barely make out the taillights of the automobile ahead of me. The squalls were increasing to blizzard intensity as I crept along at five or ten miles per hour. I could see nothing but a hypnotizing pattern of snow as if my car were the Enterprise abruptly entering warp speed. Now and then, red lights flashed just ahead of my bumper, and I slammed on my brakes so as not to hit the car in front.

Somewhere near an overpass, the car ahead of mine stopped completely. I followed suit and waited nervously until the car behind me stopped. When I saw the driver emerge from the automobile in front, I released my seatbelt and got out. Drivers were walking forward, their heads down to shield their faces from the driving snow. We found a fender-bender had occurred, and one of the cars was disabled. We pushed the immobile car off to one side, and the driver of the working car kindly gave the other driver a ride. Fortunately, both had the same destination. We returned to our vehicles and slowly restarted our blizzard caravan.

When I came to Indianapolis, my radio announced that the state police had closed Interstate 70 because of the number of accidents, including a jackknifed semi, which was behind me. I had never been on a closed interstate before, and I wondered what the consequences might be. I approached a sign for the road where my brother lived and decided I would stay overnight with him, but, when I saw the condition of the exit ramp, I chickened out. It looked impassable to me. I had visions of becoming so mired in the snow that I would slide off the ramp. As I left the exit behind, I confronted the stark reality that I had no options left.

I knew that I would never make it to Bloomington, but I had no idea where to stop in Indianapolis. I saw a street sign with a name I recognized. I had once visited the home of a friend of mine in the IU Marching Hundred Band, and I remembered that he lived on that street. I wondered if I could find his house.

The exit ramp was level, and cars had bulldozed a lane along it. I took the exit. In the blinding snow, I kept watching for landmarks that might be familiar, even though I had been that way only once before. I could not believe my good fortune! I spotted the house, "a refuge from the storm"! I slid my Cutlass to a stop in the half foot of snow, hopped out, and rang the doorbell.

My friend’s parents were surprised to see me, but they quickly grasped my dilemma. They said it would be no trouble to put me up for the night. The mother brought me a cup of coffee—about the best coffee I ever had, especially because I was still shaking from the cold and from spending several hours in anticipation that my car would be involved in a crash. I joined my friend’s parents for dinner, and we passed the evening in conversation and laughter. As soon as I climbed under the covers of the bed in the guest room, I fell asleep and slept like a baby.

I had breakfast with my friend’s parents and stayed at their home until I felt certain that the streets were clear. To this day, I am grateful to them for sheltering me from the storm, and I consider it a lucky break that I could find my way to their house.    

Why I Plant Cosmos

My first six blog postings were about my friend Mary, and she introduced me to cosmos. I had rented a house, and behind it, the ground sloped down steeply to a creek. “We can plant flowers!” Mary exclaimed with the joy of a gardener who had been forced to spend too many years in apartments. Mary was eager to touch the earth again, and she felt starved for cosmos. “They’re so pretty in a vase,” Mary assured me. So, that spring, Mary brought to my rented house a couple of packets of cosmos seeds.

Judging from the name, I was expecting maybe bright orange flowers like fiery orbs in outer space. I may have been thinking of sunflowers. Little did I know how delicate the stems and petals would be!

A Constellation of Cosmos in My Garden

First, I had to discern the difference between a fledgling cosmos and a weed. I regret to say I probably plucked many of the cosmos seedlings from the soil because I thought they were some other plant that nature had sown and that was not wanted in that location.

   

Eventually, though, I had a good stand of cosmos. Before they bloomed, I was mystified. I could not see what Mary saw in them. Their thin leaves were too thin to be called “leaves,” in my opinion; they looked more like an herb to decorate an entrée. Then pale buttons began to form at the ends of the stems.

One day, I awoke to flowers. Is “gossamer” overused? I hope not, as I want to describe the petals as gossamer. Near the cheerful yellow center, the petals were a hot pink, but the pink cooled toward the petals’ outer ends. Depending on the hour of the day, the angle of the sun, or the presence of clouds, the blooms bore a subtle shade of pale lavender. At other times, they acquired a coral tone.

Mary could not have been more pleased. Out came her scissors, and she began cutting the long stems. I was alarmed. Finally, I said, “Shouldn’t we leave some to enjoy in the garden?” Mary laughed and said, “They’ll keep adding stems all summer.” For the record, I will attest that she cut only enough for a single vase on that first day.

Once Mary had arranged the flowers—which is to say, once she had confined the stems to the vase and had let the flowers arrange themselves—I thought they were ballerinas. They performed with a grand plié and an equally grand jeté! (My cousin Jill, who really was a ballerina, would be proud of my terms!)

Some of the cosmos drooped, others reached up. Some bobbed in the breeze wandering through the kitchen window. Others stood still. They filled their stage with grace. I fully understood why Mary had been so impatient to grow cosmos in my garden. Throughout the season, the plants produced plenty of flowers for Mary’s apartment and my house, too.

Cosmos Like Annual Ballerinas

Ever since Mary helped me appreciate cosmos, I have grown them. Yes, I believe that I have had at least a few cosmos in the flower gardens of every house I have owned. Two years ago, I planted hosts of them within an assortment of flowers forming a border around my vegetable garden, and the elegant blooms danced in vases around my home all summer long. I have come to associate cosmos with the joys of gardening.    

Recipe for Emmajeanette’s Dessert

Among my parents’ closest friends were Emmajeanette and Andy. Emmajeanette, whose delightful name cannot go unremarked, had a smile as lovely as her husband’s sense of humor. Whenever my mother announced that Emmajeanette and Andy were coming for a visit, my brother and I were elated and raised no objection to the days of dusting and vacuuming that preceded the occasion. Andy had a capacity for mischievous jokes and clever quips. As I think about Andy and Emmajeanette now, years after their passing, I wish I could travel back in time like Scrooge savoring Fezziwig’s merry dances once more!

My Mother and Her Good Friend Emmajeanette

Andy loved to tell a story that happened when all of us visited Brookfield Zoo. The event took place before my brother and I were in grade school. I was riding in a wagon that my brother was pulling. He suddenly jerked the wagon forward, and I tumbled over the back. I was uninjured. My brother turned around, saw what had occurred, and said, “Oh, pardon me, Robert.” Andy found my brother’s good manners irresistibly charming.

Emmajeanette and Andy on a Visit in the 1960s

Emmajeanette was known for a toffee dessert that was airy, creamy, and heavenly! My mother always called it “Emmajeanette’s Dessert.” As the dish uses uncooked eggs, you will want to secure farm fresh eggs that you trust, so as not to risk salmonella. When working with older recipes such as this one, it is useful to remember that eggs on farms were large; accordingly, it is best to start by obtaining large eggs. Before melting the chocolate, chop the squares with a knife; beginning with pieces of chocolate, rather than an entire square, produces a better result. Also, melt the chocolate slowly on low heat. You do not want the solids and the cocoa butter to separate. (If this happens, start over with more chocolate.) If you are using a double boiler, make sure that no breeze carries steam from the lower pot into the chocolate. Even a small amount of water causes chocolate to become grainy. (If this happens, add a little more water, which will cause the chocolate to become smooth again.)

Ingredients

½ cup shortening

1 cup powdered sugar

1½ squares melted chocolate

3 eggs separated

1 tsp vanilla

¼ pound vanilla wafers

¼ cup chopped black walnuts

Directions

Blend the shortening and sugar, then add lightly beaten egg yolks. Add chocolate, then fold in stiffly beaten egg whites, as well as the teaspoon of vanilla. Spread half of the crumbs on the bottom of a square dish. Spread the chocolate mixture over the crumbs. Sprinkle the remainder of the crumbs on top of the chocolate mixture. Scatter a few chopped walnuts over the crumb layer. Let mixture stand in refrigerator overnight. Serve with whipped cream.