h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I have a "myers buullet mixer" the commercail model made of crome and ceramic {with a aluminium mixing container}. This is an origanel one you would see in a 1950 ice cream bar. It was made in 1950. I found it in a house I was cleaning out but unfortunently it was broke. I found a appliance repair shop run by a 77 year old Italian man who had been in buisness fo over 50 years who fixed it for me. This was about 1990 real old school he showed me the switch he replace and apoligized that he had to charge me $17.50 because he had to take it completly apart. A real gentlemen.
This machine has made hundreds of shakes for my family since. For some reason though these shakes just taste better from this machine. Knowing it had made milk shakes for thousands of people in the forty years before it came into my hands makes every shake special. Because when you drink one you can close your eyes and remember a time when the world was a much more inocent place. At least for a few minutes.

Starbirth, a splendid story. Drinking your milkshakes directly from the aluminium container definitely enhances the experience

I am going to make a chocolate shake. Would you like one LOOn? I have Ben and Jerrys.

Make mine strawberry.

Have you got access to a cow? If not, I can send over some milk from clean, green New Zealand.

Yes I live in Ct. USA and we actually have a couple of farms in the town I live in. Also I just happen to have some fresh {as close as possable vacumed sealed from when I picked them in late june}strawberrys. Coming right up! Best if drinken while by the fireside with two straws and someone special. I will make it a double enjoy.

Thanks.

I will have to drink it sitting outside under a tree. It's spring time here in Godzone (NZ). The birds are shining and the sun is singing.

Glug

In a few hours here it will be fall. Pumkins and apples, hay rides in horse drawn carts. Cool nights to sleep by , a nip in the air with the early morning. Hot coffee and cinnimon buns fresh from the oven. Long nights and hot baths. Trees leaves the color of rainbows. Flying V's of canadian geese who's honking calls in Autum. Nature preparing for a winters nights nap. While half way around the world morning has broken.

Good Morning LOOn

Starbirth

The herd down in the milking shed, steam rising off their backs, electric light, motors, corrugated iron, the amazing sight of so much milk, white and thick, being sucked through the hoses to the tank. It should smell to low hell of s**t and lagoons of piddle, but actually the stink is refreshing, and there is also the sweet, raw tang of milk as drops from the hose spot the concrete.

First things first, though, because the day begins back in bed, where sleep clings like a huge beard to your shocked face as you rise and make your way to the kitchen to put on the kettle and warm your hands on whatever heat remains from last night's stove fire. It's only early spring, but still bloody cold in the mornings, and rain falls from the darkness. Raincoat, a thick pair of pants, gumboots. The panting dog on the back of your farm bike, you drive to the paddock and urge the herd into action, torchlight blazing holes in the black hills. There's always the same few cows who know the score and wait to set off down the race. Close the gate. For a moment, turn off the torch. Look behind you, and you can't see a thing - the darkness of New Zealand countryside before dawn is the blackest thing you might ever experience. But you can hear the shambling, clicking hooves, and maybe the stream.

Most of the herd should have calved by now. They are up to their ears in milk. The motor is turning over back at the shed, and it's nice to have something playing on the radio; cows deserve to listen to Concert FM until the birds clear their throats.

Any funny business from a kicking, ill-tempered cow and there is soft twine to tie up a back leg. You have to watch for bloat, and mastitis, and infections, and any humping may mean a sudden outbreak of lesbian fever but is more likely a sign of heat and for you to make a note of the eartag and ask the vet to get their arm stuck right in.

Otherwise - gently place the chain over your client's back, get the cups on, click the suction clamp and you're in business. The milk must go through; the world of good, decent citizens who like their coffee white depends on it. Wait till the last drop. Show some mercy and common sense, for heaven's sake, and click the clamp off before you remove the cups. Open the gate - but first, slip off the chain and bar it against the next client or she will barrel on past, right in front of your astonished snoot, and bad language has no place on a farm.

Afterwards, with the cows led to a new pasture, you must observe cleanliness and rip the s**t and p**s off the concrete with a high-pressure hose. Good work. It's now past dawn, and you have seen the black sky smudge to grey, the world become visible, the dripping trees, the cat with its tongue out, and taken a look in the milk tank.

I see a person who like myself appreciates the ability of words to transport the reader into the world {either real or imaginary} of the author.

I'll drink to that

Glug

can I get you another? Strawberry if I remember right.