Dear Milk

Dear Milk,

It's past my bedtime. Long past, by some standards. And yet, I'm still awake. Even more than that, I don't feel all that tired. But I know that I ought to get myself to sleep relatively soon, so that I can bring my all to the kids tomorrow. It's all about the kids, right?

Right.

So what am I doing about it? How am I preparing myself for some shut-eye? For my forty winks? To saw the old log? To travel in the Land of Dreams? To thank the Sandman for his good work? To wrap myself in lullaby goodness and nod off like a fatigued gelada baboon finding a good hole in a cliff to safely spend the night?

I'm drinking a glass of you. Actually, a MUG of you. A nice, cold mug of you.

Those who know me may be a little bit shocked. Not by the fact that I'm drinking you (I've been known to order glasses of you at many a coffee shop in this town to go with my cookies). But by the fact that I'm drinking cold you for my sleeping comfort. I know, I know - I ought to be drinking warm you if I REALLY want to do the trick. But the fact of the matter is that even cold you seems to take care of me like no amount of tryptophan-laced turkey could ever do. Tonight will be night two of my special you experiment - but I drank you last night before I went to bed (a good two hours past my bedtime), and I slept so well that I didn't even feel the need to nap this evening when I got home from work (although I did, anyway).

But that's certainly not your only goodness. Everybody knows your importance to the development of growing infants (whether human or otherwise), of course. And MOST people (at least most American people) are well aware of your wonderfulness when companioned with some cookies. But there is so much more to you.

For example, yesterday I found myself spending almost an entire class period talking to my students about the glories of cereal-you. Cereal-you being - of course - the you left over after eating all the cereal out of the bowl. It's got that semi-sweet taste and a slightly different consistency that makes it so very special. We even talked about marketing cereal-you as a separate product (and I think it could be a hit).

Then there's your many uses in the world of cooking. Most quality baked goods use you. Anything cheesy of worth does, too. Cream sauces. Omelettes. Youshakes. Ice cream. Smoothies. So many wonderful goodies. You chocolate.

Then there's the medicinal uses for you. I'm not sure of any, but I bet there are some. I seem to remember something about putting you on the skin for some reason. I bet it works. Because you is so great.

One of my only positive memories from my days at the VA Hospital involved me buying a tuxedo cookie (chocolate chocolate-chip half-dipped in white frosting) and a pint of you at the cafeteria every afternoon and enjoying both as I walked back to the lab. It took exactly the duration of the walk to lovingly finish my cookie and you as I walked through the lab door.

When I couldn't sleep as a child, my mom would make warm you for me to drink. She would heat you up and put some sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon in you and serve you up in a warm mug. Whether or not it actually helped me get to sleep, it certainly comforted me.

When I was living in Tanzania, I had a friend who would bring me a thermos full of fresh you straight from his cow every morning, and I would boil it up and just drink it like I would a morning cup of coffee. I didn't need to add anything to it because fresh, real you is naturally a little bit sweeter - and it was the greatest pick-me-up to start my day. I also started ending my day by boiling up a large mugful of you and sipping it while I sat in my candlelit room, contemplating life. It was especially cool when it was raining outside, and I could hear it pounding on the tin roof while I was comfortably dry inside.

I have so many you-related nostalgic memories, it's ridiculous. This could end up being one of my longest and most positive letters ever if you weren't starting to kick in right now, getting me ready for bed.

I should say, though, that I'm just not down with soy "milk." The reason I'm putting it in quotes and not referring to it as "you" is because it's such a pale, crappy imitation that I don't want to insult real you by connecting you to soy "milk" in that way. I understand that some people are lactose intolerant. I even understand that some people are hippies. But I still don't accept soy "milk."

That said - that's my only complaint about anything you-related. Which is saying a lot, considering my general nature. No - I'm in love with you, Milk, and I thank you so much for all the memories. Check "Dear the Little Things" for another you-related memory reference. I could write a book all about your impact in my life, and I may just do that. I would call it, "You: From Teat to Tat and Everything in Between." Or possibly something else.

Thanks, Milk, and don't you ever change a thing. Even if I become lactose-intolerant, I will never let you go.

Getting Tuckered Out,
CVT