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Connoisseurs of fine milk often ask, "Why is Tuscan Whole Milk so expensive? Is it the velvety texture, the lightly sweet lactose, the softened hue?" I just smile, amused by the idea that Tuscan's value is defined by its physical components. The truth is something greater, more ethereal, and immeasurable. More than just letting our cows traipse freely across the grassy meadows. More than just their fibrous organic diet.
Tuscan Whole Milk is all about relationships. Specifically, the relationship with the cow.
We don't treat our cows as mere objects. We're not the type to hang out in barns after hours, filling our emotional voids with the first over-lipsticked heifer who winks at us. We don't confuse our passion with vulgar hunger. We're not dairy lizards on the prowl, looking for vacuous, weathered Bessies to swap cud and play hide-the-udder with.
We take our time. We want to get to know the cow. Its passions, its dreams. Our commonalities.
Maybe we'll start with dinner. A candle is lit, Mantovani strings play softly. I enter the stable in Versace overalls and masculine confidence. I have bruschetta with kalamata and roasted red pepper tapenade; she has a clump of orchard grass.
We don't need each other's life story. We are two beings who just happened to intersect at the same time - we care about who we are now. There will be a lifetime for us to ask questions of each other. But for now, we consume ourselves in each other's gazes and swim in the light of our connection.
We laugh. Oh, how we laugh.
After we dissolve in the pleasure of each other's company, after we've talked and mooed about our dreams, our loves, the scars of our past heartbreaks, dark moments when we were tipped over by college pranksters - only then do I level my stare, gather my longing and courage, and ask the question that has hovered over the entire morning. A question that must be asked with grace and poise, cognizant of desire, yet protective of the vulnerability of the secret that passes between us:
"Forgive me if this is too forward, but the stirrings of my heart beat in time to the cocking of the rooster, my pulse quickens with the movement of the tractor, and my intent is well-meant. My gentle bovine, my cherished, hooved friend... may I milk you?"
And then, the moment. I place my stool beside her udder, as if I am laying a ceremonial carpet `neath a queen. I pat her side. It's all right, I'm saying. I'm beside you. Close your eyes, my pet, and dream of Kentucky bluegrass.
I start gently, with a mild tug, a touch that says all that words cannot. But it can't be rushed, or forced into speed. I'm not some teenage jackhammer, and she's no automatic fountain. Gentle rolls, knowing caresses, speed and velocity only ramping up as it feels natural. My pace hastens, my heart sets it charges, my voice rises to sing with the celestial chorale.
At long last, our forbidden dance reaches its pinnacle, its emotional summit! "We're almost there!" I exclaim! "Love me!" she... well, I'm pretty sure she's saying "Love me" in cowspeak, whatever that is. Then at last, long last, I hear the first drops in the bottom of the bucket. Then a quicker series of drops, then... oh, then! Streams of lactic gold, filling our coffers, gushing towards ecstasy until it nearly spills over the sides!
It ends all too quickly, yet it feels complete. I roll over and chew on a hayseed. She stands there. Oh, the volumes of words she says by the stillest of movements. She doesn't have to be outlandish in her actions. She doesn't have to acknowledge anything. She knows. We know.
So when people ask me, "Why is Tuscan Whole Milk so expensive?", I respond with a shaking head, a raised eyebrow, and return the question to them -
"Have you ever really loved a cow?"
"What Color Is Your Parachute" is the first book you need if finding a job is your goal. If you've not bought this yet, you haven't started looking. It is that good.
Richard Bolles is the expert. His books sell because they are fresh each year with insight, purpose and ideas for determining what job you should do, and how to get it.
I used "Parachute" to get my first job. It continues to influence me today, as I keep my eyes open for a possible career change. As I have trandsitioned from nonprofits to corporate work, to freelance/consulting to looking again at nonprofits, I take what Bolles' teaches into each situation. He helps balance out reality. No smoke and mirrors, but encouraging and candid exhortation.
Thoroughly practical, Bolles asks you questions about your mission in life. His belief is that just getting a job (any job) -- even ones you are good at -- won't be a wise decision in the long haul. He helps you see your passions mixed with skills and experience, and guides you to getting there. Though it is hardly a self-help book, it is far more useful than the ones clogging up the Top 10 list.
He keeps you accountable. Finding a job is your job if that's what you say you want. And if you aren't working, he won't let you make excuses -- you've got the time. Either you are looking or you aren't. Dr. Phil could take a note from Bolles' direct yet congenial style.
Bolles has kept current, with a significant look at the internet, starting your own business, dealing with the tempestuous employment marketplace, working in an unpleasant situation, and more.
Don't bother with the hardcover. You need the paperback. This is not a sit-on-the-shelf book, but a get-down-to-business book, and you'll appreciate the flexibility while at work or on the train.
I fully recommend, "What Color Is Your Parachute" by Richard Nelson Bolles.