Poop Watching

I spend a large part of my day looking at poop. No, really. In the veterinary world, poop can tell you an awful lot about a patient that they can't tell you in words: what they've eaten, what isn't quite getting digested, if they have any parasites along for the ride, etc. On average, I think I spend an hour or so each day looking at poop under a microscope. This is very much like my life: you can stare at the small pieces and try to identify what they are, what they mean, how to fix them, but in reality, the big picture tells you that it is nothing but a pile of poop.

Verbs

I had to tell someone at work today that their dog died. There is just no easy way to give that kind of news. I thought about receiving the news about my mom. Words are so feeble. They are so small when speaking something so big. There should be another language for things which are so important. Died. She died. YOU died, Mom. Four letters isn't enough. It is just a verb, a change of state, a “thing” that you do like sleep or eat or jump or laugh. But much, much bigger. It should come with flashing neon lights or a marching band or moving mountains- something to denote how big that verb actually is, how it changes the world, how it puts a ripple in another verb: TO BE. BEING. BEING will never be the same without you.

Must See TV

I get a little bit excited in the Fall. I love buying school supplies: clean, virgin notebooks, unsharpened pencils, backpacks whose pockets are yet to be explored. I love the idea of wearing preppy-style sweater sets and plaid skirts while watching lacrosse practice as the rowing team slips past on the river. I haven't "had my colors done," but I am pretty sure I am an autumn. But mostly (yes I am actually putting this in writing) is that I love the Must-See TV premieres on NBC. I love to watch TV. It is an escape. It is regular and (mostly) dependable. I can look forward to something each week, and it makes Thursdays seem special. I feel like I am seeing old Friends (I couldn't resist). I know them, their personalities, and I can hardly wait to see their crazy antics. And did I mention that John Leguizamo is joining the cast of ER? I welcome him into my Thursday night social circle with open arms.

Clown Dreams

Last night I had another circus dream. Most of my circus dreams are Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder induced, and are part of my post-circus healing process, I believe. Last night's dream was actually rather positive, so it must be working, in a strange way.

In my dream I went to see the circus. One act in the show involved Bello Nock, (America's Clown), rapelling down the outside of the Mississppi State Fairground Colisseum on a rapidly thinning rope. Well, in this dream, I left my mom sitting in the audience (section E, to be exact) and went to join him as an audience volunteer. I was, as a non-rapeller and non-clown, quite nervous about my role in the act. But Bello patiently taught me to be an acrobat and FUNNY at the same time. I was successful. I was good. I was FUNNY. We finally reached the ground and went back inside to take our bow.

Then it was time for the show to move to Salt Lake, so Bello and I, now great friends and co-performers, decided to just walk over. So I packed up my little rolling clown-suitcase and we headed for the Salt Palace. As we were walking, I was joking with Bello, since I suddenly felt confident in my humor, even though I was with America's Clown. I said to him, "well now I want a T-shirt that says 'I did it with Bello!!'". Now THAT'S funny! Then we got to the hotels (he was at the Red Lion and I at the Shiloh Inn), but since it was during the annual Sniagrab sale, we had to wait for the multitudes of teenage snowboard kids to check out of the hotel. We sat outside on a bench and I helped him put sunless tanner on his feet so that he wouldn't have awkward orange lines.

A clown. Worried about orange feet.

That is a true, true dream that I had.

I need serious help.

Fair Food

Tonight we went to the Utah State Fair. I ate until I thought they'd have to roll me out when they packed up the Zipper on closing day. What is it about the fair that makes it okay to: Eat a corndog every time you pass the corndog stall; pay $1 to see the WORLD'S LARGEST STEER; eat another corndog; pet a pig; eat a corndog with your piggy hand; marvel at spraypaint art and KLEENZIT Wonder Serum car polish and face-lift in one; get a corndog; shop for a hot tub; then have a corndog-flavored funnel cake-on-a-stick??? I love the fair. It gives you permission to be thrilled about oversized vegetables. It is okay to buy a 5-pack of bandanas if you are at the fair. And somehow, even goats smell sweeter when their aroma floats into the corndog-scented air.

Brian and Mary

In Primary today, my dear friend Chase from next door said the closing prayer. Chase is a very active four. He and I talk across the fence sometimes and discuss things like bike riding and playing ball with the dogs. Chase sat up front for all of the talks and scriptures. He bounced and hit and fidgeted all the way through. When he caught my eye, he waved frantically. I indicated that he should fold his arms and be quiet. He actually did. I felt a sense of accomplishment. But then it was time for the prayer. He had some help from an adult, who whispered into his ear what he should say. He repeated it word for four-year-old word. He said "we're thankful that we could come to church, thankful for Brian and Mary..." Brian and Mary? Who, I thought, are Brian and Mary? Friends? Family? Am I thankful for them? Then, as he finished, I realized that strangely, "Brian and Mary" sounds an awful lot like "primary." And I am thankful for all three.

Whyblog?

Katie doesn't understand why I have a blog. I don't know why I have a blog. Perhaps because I have been entertained and inspired by the blogs of others (shareblog). Perhaps I just love the sound of my own typing (clickblog). Perhaps I just need to let it all out (purgeblog). Katie, I don't know. But if you logged on to read this, then I guess that's why (communicablog).

Welcome to Hobie's House!

If you are a dreamer,come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!"
-Shel Silverstein

Welcome to my house. Come sit by the fire. There are tales to be spun.