MILKING THE EM COW

Right now
I' m a cow
Ow!
Got two mighty milkers, two farmers working on my udders ( my utters) -- squeeze/pull -- grip/yank.

I learned to milk a cow on a farm near Madison, Wisconsin when I was six. My sisters and I spent a summer there doing great things -- pitch-forking piles of hay, climbing trees and picking cherries, shaking branches and picking up the apples when they fell, collecting eggs in the hen house, pulling carrots from the vegetable garden, sometimes cucumbers, squash or red ripe tomatoes.

My cow was Bess. She was old and easier to milk than younger cows. I'd pull in the stool, sit below her, position the bucket and reach -- squeeze and pull, grip and yank. Bess knew I was an inexperienced kid and sometimes kicked with her hind legs, and knocked over the stool, and sometimes the bucket.

The two farmers who want my milk -- my words, my papers, my important private memories -- both of them are eager tightwads. They want to get it from me and give me nothing. I think, they think -- that I think I'm being honored by their milking.

Farmer Mr. Hugh knew my partner Mark Ryder and me when we are starting out. The "produce" is a book sort of based on my life with "invented" characters -- a dance team survival story. Thanks for the compliment, farmer Hugh -- you already milked me twice in two phone calls and three emails -- enough is enough.

Farmer Mrs. Moira knew Todd Bolender who made a name for himself as a choreographer by selling the NYC Ballet a ballet he created for me, "Still Point." It was my fully detailed libretto, my choice of music, my title and my dancing that inspired Bolender to create movement other than classical ballet steps. He went on to head the ballet company in Cologne, and create a ballet company in Kansas City.

Moira's produce that she'll take to the market place (various publishers), will be a book on Bolender and perhaps a mention of me based on questions and answers in our half dozen emails exchange -- lots of milking, squeezing, trying to fill the milk pail with more stuff, like copies of the libretto and my correspondence with Bolender.

Hey, enough! I need my memories, my adventures, my milk for my blog.

Moo! Moo -- now you know, and these two farmers know, that the Em cow is milked out. I'm kicking over the bucket.