Goat dissecting on December 24, 2013

My uncle killed two goats for Christmas dinner, so I had the opportunity to do some dissecting. Since their throats were sliced and their blood was drained, their blood vessels shriveled up so that they are almost indistinguishable from its muscles. It's digestive system was incredible. I had not really understood what the Greater Omentum was, (omentum means "fat" in latin). It is this sort of curtain of adipose tissue that envelopes the GI tract to keep it from getting displaced during peristalsis. I could see the food (chime) in its different stages of digestion until becoming feces.
The pancreas was a disappointment; it got destroyed when the guts were removed from the carcass. The spleen was also an underachiever. Compared with the spleen of the very male cat we dissected in lab, this one was half it's size. The gall bladder has to be carefully removed from the liver, without perforating the sack, so that the liver is edible. If the bile fell on any part of the goat it would render it useless. The stomach was sketchy. I think there were at least two sections. I didn't want to open it since it was rather full.
 The lungs were very pink, showing, I think, that he was breathing hard to the last moment.
They are now roasting in a brick oven. It is a completely different experience to see the whole life cycle than just dissecting a dead carcass in a neat lab: to know exactly how the goats body works, what every organ does and how they function together to maintain the goat's homeostasis, what muscles it uses to run away from you, how it raises it's diaphragm to expel air so it can bleat, what course the blood takes in its body until it is rudely interrupted by a knife slicing its jugular veins and its common carotid arteries. It takes a whole new meaning once you have a simmering plate of tasty meat in front of you. That the goat dies so that your own body might be nourished is a reality that we shouldn't be guarded from. The analogy of Jesus being led like a lamb to the slaughter is renewed in my mind. It is easy to forget the raw and bloody portion of the gospel when surrounded by warm Christmas lights and nativity scenes. Don't get me wrong, I love everything beautiful and adorned with Christmas cheer. I think that it is the sacrifice of our Savior that allows us to have all the warmth and goodness that we enjoy this season. But it is that guttural truth that allows us to be more grateful for the blessings we receive, and covering it up or forgetting it through neglect will also reduce the beauty of  salvation from death.

Ramblings

Make everyday the best day of your life. It is an unexchangeable gift from your Creator; don't spoil it. Bless others by giving of yourself instead of taking to satisfy your selfish desires. God will take care of you. Flee to Him in your troubles. Lose yourself in his presence like a child in his father's lap.

It has been too long. Rip van Winkle has finally risen and feels morally obligated to write. Who knows? Maybe someone is starving for my scribblings. (Which would be weird, since I try to keep this blog a secret. To make me feel a little more accomplished than just keeping word documents; and maybe one day some unsuspecting web surfer will stumble upon it and enjoy.) I think that my writing has atrophied. For the last semester in school I haven't had to be creative with words except for a history paper. My issue with history papers is that they make me feel boring. There's a little voice commanding me how to write, "Regurgitate information! Draw connections! Sound interesting! Don't use expletives!" History papers shouldn't be like that, that was just my natural tendency; commanding those little vowels and consonants to march, march, do my bidding, parade in a circle in a way that makes their poor little legs sore. I, their master, have enslaved them for my selfish purposes.
We used to be friends, language and I, and we shall be again. I'll have the joy of trying to  embody an idea and see a word peep out, fulfilling all my dreams and more. All that just for the reader to quickly glaze over it. There are few authors who deserve their readers' eyes to graze over their writings, seeking those clever hidden treasures that make you a little wiser. A hidden secret once discovered. A moment where the author gives a little more of himself for those more faithful companions, this followed by sadness when you realize how many will go without knowing about this literary morsel.
My problem with writing is that I feel compelled to teach something, distort the story so that an obvious moral is taught, (e.g. the passive voice should not be used!) my older self is starting to realize that the experience of journeying through the story brings one farther, teaches more, and is more enjoyable. It is the diffusion of a lush experience filled with growth, to a starved soul yearning for escape. So no more moralizing! Just adventure! No expletives to make a weak point strong