"You're eating Spelunker"

NOTE: I realize the above image only slightly pertains to this post, but is funny nonetheless so enjoy.

Some of you may have noticed Sarah's blog post named "Sacrificial Calf." I would like to make it clear that she stole the idea from me. She did a pretty good job of describing the situation, however, so I can't be too irritated with her.

As Sarah mentioned, our parents used to lie to us about the fates of our bum calves, telling us they would be taken care of by people who loved them and would end their days in green pastures, eating grass and clover, under the sun...and numerous other fanciful yet untruthful aspects of the last days of our beloved pets. I don't remember the specific time that Dad informed us we were eating our pet because I am sure I psychologically blocked the occurrence out.

I do remember, however, being particularly close to one steer, which we named Spelunker. There is photographic evidence of me petting and kissing this steer on the nose. Spelunker was not a bum calf but was a "fat," which is the name we assign bovine that we decide we are going to fatten up to eat. I was not lied to about what was going to happen to these animals, but I grew quite attached to Spelunker in particular and was devastated when Mom and Dad decided the day had come for him to be butchered. I even considered becoming a vegetarian when this happened to avoid eating my pet. In realizing I could not handle being a vegetarian, I requested that the packages holding the steer be marked specially so I could be sure not to partake. Mom and Dad did not oblige, not because they did not want to, but because they forgot. One night, quite possibly during my birthday dinner, I asked what animal they thought we were eating. Telling glances were exchanged between my parents, at which time I am pretty sure I burst into tears.

I would consider it a mythological experience for a child to find out she is eating her friend, even if it is just an animal. I guess I could thank Mom and Dad for helping me learn to deal with death, but feeding me the remains of my pet seems a little over the top. I guess it is all part of the rancher lifestyle.

The spoon ran away with my dignity

It is nearly impossible to realize one's own first memory. The most interesting aspect of old memories is remembering how one was thinking at the time. The childish way of thinking that I can recall can be closely likened to the thinking of one who is inebriated. Anyone who has ever imbibed spirits to the point of drunkenness has made some sort of less-than-calculated decision. The same holds true for being a child.

I can remember when I was three years old or so, I was playing by myself in the room Sarah and I shared. I had two items that I can recall- a golf ball and a spoon. I put the golf ball in the most logical place I could see, which was the golf-ball sized bowl of the spoon. I then decided I wanted the golf ball to fly in the air. The most logical move at that point would have been to hit the handle of the spoon- which I did. After that I can only remember a sharp pain in my eye. I couldn't have hit myself in the eye so perfectly had I been attempting to and I was quite embarrassed about the incident so I'm pretty sure I lied about it. I had a black eye to show for it, however, and at some point I would imagine my parents got the truth out of me. Embarrassment of that magnitude is a complex emotion for a child of such a young age, so I am assuming that is why I remember it.

There is one of my first memories. Now the question is, how is that mythological? It was a learning experience that I am sure it had happened before that time and has happened since. I guess I am still unsure as to what mythological really means. Good thing it is early in the semester!

Sally Knox

I hoped to receive my copy of "The Golden Bough" in the mail by now, but no such luck. Thus, I will be composing my first blog post without a prefacing quote from said work. I'm pretty sure Sarah (my sister) got her book, unfairly, having ordered it a day after I did, but such as life. In addition to my lack of assigned material for this post, I will also have it known that I have not read any other blogs, as I would rather not feel intimidated before my first post and thus be disposed to attempt to make it sound more intellectual than is in my ability at this time of morning. Thank you for your patience.

Yesterday in class, we were told to go have a dream. I managed to do so last night, but not without consequence. I have been having vivid dreams lately and apparently have been talking in my sleep quite often. This oftentimes unfavorable phenomenon could be attributed to change of environment, routine,living situation, or what have you. Last night, I woke up from a dream about my late kitty (who I had to have put down on Sunday, but that's a different story) with my boyfriend angrily rolling away from me, intentionally absconding with the covers and telling me I was being a "crazy bitch." Apparently, I had been exchanging angry words with him while still asleep and woke up in a daze at three in the morning utterly confused by why he was so irritated with me. I then attempted to make up with him, fruitlessly, as no one enjoys being woke up by an abrasive-albeit still asleep-significant other. Upon realizing I was not going to get back on his good side, I went to sleep again, only to have the same thing happen...two more times. In summary-I had vivid dreams about my dead cat still being alive all night, woke up fighting with my boyfriend three times (I wonder why he is still mad at me today), and was not very well-rested overall.

In light of my less-than-enjoyable night and morning, I hope to be forgiven for this post as it is undoubtedly wrought with grammatical errors and not entirely intellectually sound. I will now read others' blog posts and bask in my own inferiority to the exceptionally intelligent people in this class. That was a compliment...I feel that it is necessary to verify that as that comment could easily be taken as sarcasm. Well, it's not!