All Things Bright And Beautiful

Imagine my surprise when I logged on to my blog the other day only to discover that my younger sister had made an entry that carried the same theme that has been in my own heart: getting to this point in our lives. I've been thinking about it alot lately; my flight to Houston was spent reliving my past and recounting the steps it took to be where I am today. A year ago this time, I would've told you that I was extremely frustrated with the direction my life was taking. Truthfully, I was convinced there was no direction in my life. I had just spent Thanksgiving in San Francisco, with my younger sister and came back so impressed with her that it made my heart hurt. I knew I wasn't becoming all I could be, and there were some life experiences I needed to have. I promptly went online and researched schools. I liked the idea of going to school in Texas, but there is no doubt in my mind that I've been placed where the Lord wants me to be, doing what he wants me to do. Looking back, I can see that I've been prepared for this road all along.

Before I left, I had people ask me if I had always wanted this; no, not necessarily. There was one point in my life when I wanted something else very badly. As a child, I did have visions of being a beautiful veterinarian who faced extreme danger in rugged landscapes, saving the lives of exotic creatures and having them show their gratitude by living as my personal pets. I was going to be the Dr. Quinn of the animal world. As a girl, I opted to play with stuffed animals instead of the fluffy dolls my younger sister loved. I drove my family crazy because I would stop whatever I was doing, whether it was cleaning my room, or playing at a friends' house and pick up a book and completely tune everything out. My favorite books were Zoo Books, a children's magazine that spotlighted a specific animal and gave all kinds useful trivia about them. I fell in love with dolphins and became a pint sized activist, insisting that we only eat dolphin-safe tuna. (as if there was anything else available at a store in Utah). I have always had a deep love of animation, and ironically enough, that too contributed to my current career choice. The countless hours of watching Ferngully: The Last Rain Forest and Pocahontas filled me with a sense of reverence, not only for my fellow creatures, but plant life as well. I made a goal at the age of eight years old to single handedly save the Amazon rain forest. My parents will tell you that was a passion that has always been present in my life. One of my Dad's favorite stories about me is the day there was a conflict over the T.V. because I was involved in a special on Sea Lions, but my older siblings wanted to watch Punky Brewster.

Yesterday, a gentleman who I can been kinda dating before I left called me up and shared a sweet memory. He and I had gone to elementary school together, so he is always looking for ways to link up our pasts. Apparently he came across an old yearbook page that had all of our responses to a group of questions. He reminded me that when I was in the fourth grade, I had said that I wanted to be a marine biologist and work with dolphins at Sea World.

Then one day, my world shattered. My mother, who was proud that I wanted to be a scientist and work with animals, told me as an incentive to get good grades that I would need to do well on math in order to succeed. It had the opposite effect. I thought anything that meant that I had to deal with math was not a possibility. I let go of my dreams that day. (What a mediocre kid I was!)

When I was fourteen, I grew bored of my friends at the lunch table and went off the library to find something more entertaining, (yeah, I was a live wire, alright. ) as I perused the aisles, I found something that caught my attention. It was a book titled The Work of Walt Disney: Mickey Mouse through Beauty and the Beast. I checked it out and read it through out the day. My conversion was instant. From that moment on, my heart and soul and any children born to me belonged to Walt. I saw how his company has risen from the ashes of cut throat deception and led to a meteoric rise to create the largest and greatest franchise in the world. I drank in the original story board sketches and pictures of the wizards who sketched them. I saw glamorous movie stars posing with stuffed Mickeys and behaving as if he was in their same rank of stardom. I watched how his work evolved 'til there wasn't a child in this world who didn't know who Mickey, Donald and Goofy were. I could go on and on forever about this, and perhaps someday I will, but that is not the point of his installment. The point is, I became truly obsessed with the Disney company and veered off my original path for a while.

When I was in high school, I knew I wanted to be an animator. I took a course that would allow me to take an internship. Originally, I was signed up to work at a company that was developing animation software in CGI, (Computer Generated Imaging. It's all you see today. Not always all that impressive, in my opinion. ) but this company decided they didn't have room for me. My advisor asked me to look into something else. I sighed and said reluctantly that I had always liked animals, so why not try a Vet clinic? She had a much easier time setting me up with a local animal hospital, and it wasn't long before I realized that I was enjoying myself. Dr. DeGering was a wonderful trainer, and he allowed me to actually learn by doing hands-on procedures. Nothing amazing, but I'm convinced I was one of the few members of my graduating class that used needles and drugs not for my own personal use, but for vaccinations and blood draws. I learned how to prep for surgery and dress wounds and experienced for the first time the sobering feeling of watching an animal die in my arms after being euthanized. It was surprising to me how seeing blood and guts didn't faze me, it fascinated me. I loved wearing scrubs and being a healer.

My mother introduced me to a series by James Herriot based on his veterinary work in northern England during the 1930's. I could feel his love as I read his stories, and was so impressed by how he could see the humor in an undoubtedly yucky situation. He was living proof that happiness comes from serving those around you. He was never rich, but he was a fulfilled man.

However, I still worshipped at the Alter of Walter and when I was accepted at BYU, I was certain that attending the college with the best animation program in the world meant that I was on my way. My classes were a lot of fun and I really enjoyed them, but the more I learned, the more I felt like animation was headed in a direction I didn't want to take. CGI had taken over everywhere, and I was and still am a stalwart fan of classic 2D animation. I wanted to do what Walt did, not sit in front of a computer screen all day. As I sat in the lab one day, painstakingly putting together my application for the program, I began to question myself. I ended up walking away from that lab without finishing and feeling a sense of peace in my heart.

The cartoonist in me did not give up easily, and I switched over to Illustration. I decided that I would like to create a comic strip or two, the main one being based on my family, and centered on my brother, who is the only boy among five sisters. What are the odds of that? Especially outside of Utah! I thought I had a hit on my hands and worked toward getting into the illustration program for the next two years. The first time I got the rejection letter, I remember being surprised at how okay I was. I tried a second time, but when the letter came, I didn't even have the courage to open it for about a week. When I finally did, and I got my damning 'no', I felt sick at heart. What did the Lord want me to do?! Surely someone who watched cartoons religiously belonged in the world of other such nerdy people!

Then I recalled overhearing a conversation my aunt had with someone at a family gathering. She was talking about how her son had recently enrolled into a Vet Tech program and loved it. It was like a light bulb lit up over my head. I thought hey, I could do that!

Then something happened that truly changed my life. I decided on a whim to join my sister and her current room mate for a summer working in Alaska. It turned out to be a hard experience; management was corrupt and we as the housekeepers were treated poorly. Eventually I did get the chance to have a day off, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it. One of the benefits of my job involved free tours with a local sled dog kennel. My only experience with Huskies before this was seeing Balto, so I really didn't know what to expect. The first thing that struck me was happy these animals were. The musher pulled up in his trailer with the dogs in their separate compartments and I could hear them making that loud, beautiful husky bellow. He let them out one by one and hooked them up to an ATV (you don't use sleds in the summertime.) and explained what each part of the team did. The entire time the dogs kept yapping and leaping into the air like NBA all stars, unbelievably excited that they got to run! We followed the team in our shuttle and arrived at the kennel in time to see them pull in. I cannot describe the excitement I felt! I was truly in the presence of greatness. The musher then explained to us about the Iditarod, and the equipment, training and feeding used for the dogs. He gave us each souvenir of a homemade doggie bootie to take home with us, but I took so much more with me that day. I felt God's love pour over me as I suddenly knew undeniably and irrevocably that this was something I needed to be a part of.

I was so glad to come home from Alaska, but I won't pretend that I didn't take part of it with me. My zeal to get involved with the sled dogs led me on a frantic job hunt at all the local vet clinics. I ended up getting hired at two of them. At the end of the first interview, when my boss asked me if I had any questions, I asked her if she knew of any sled dog kennels or shelters locally. She thought a minute and had her secretary give me information for a Maren Gibsen at Arctic Rescue.

As it turned out, my jobs at both clinics was a dark experience. Both clinics had vets who displayed bad tempers and were constantly upset at me. It's a stressful environment as it is, but to have your boss undermining your intelligence at the same time makes it unbearable. As was inevitable, the strain of traveling from both clinics on bus and balancing school work became too much for me both physically and emotionally and my employment ended with a big BOOM. Feeling lost once again, I opened my heart out into prayer and asked the Lord what he wanted me to do next. I felt the impression to fish out the phone number for Maren Gibsen and call her. She was delighted to have a volunteer and I was delighted to discover that headquarters were two blocks from my apartment. Coincidence? I think not.

So there it is. Like a cheesy Rascal Flatts song, God blessed the broken road that led me straight to ... Houston. But to be honest, I shouldn't be surprised. In a blessing that shall remain unnamed, I was told that I had been born into a family that would prepare me for my life's work. I don't know if working with animals is the Lord's idea of my life's work, but my family has always been ultra supportive. My parents never complained when I'd bring home sick and injured animals from the pet store I worked at, including the memorable One-Eyed Willie, a parakeet with a leg injury so severe she looked like she was perpetually performing ballet. And who could forget Dickie, the bullied mouse with testicles the size of half his body? My mother instilled the idea of respect for all living things when we were young and she refused to kill a spider that was scuttling across the room. She'd tell us stories about the home that spider had to go home to, and how he would tell his wife and kids about seeing us. Knowing more about spiders today, I'm fully aware that any spider coming home to his wife is more likely to be served with a side dish of fries then have his family listen to what his day was like, but it still keeps me from smashing most insects I see. Cockroaches are an exception.

My siblings have been nothing but supportive of me as I've made this decision, and I hope I can make them proud. One of the major driving forces in my life is making my loved ones proud of me. I know I'm happy doing what I'm doing, and now that I've left home, I can see that there is truth in that old hymn James Herriot borrowed for the titles of his books:

All things bright and beautiful

All creatures great and small

All things wise and wonderful

The Lord God made them all.

On a lighter note, because it seems my sister and I are on the same conscious plane (you'd think we're related or something...) I wondered about what would happen if our careers collided. The results are not pretty. I'll start off easy at first, and put a new picture up for every entry, but be prepared it gets pretty gruesome:

DUCKS IN TUX

Here we have our latest in waterfowl evening wear. The brazen colors of the plump bow tie are meant to accent the debonair mallard as he sets out to romance his mate. These cool and sophisticated ducks have not a care in the world as they are herded along the slick floor at the sheep dog trials, because they know that no matter what happens, they are wearing Armani. (What the H?)

I Gotta Get Out More.

School is great, and my ward is fun, but I have yet to establish a true social life out here. I felt lonely and neglected before I even came out here, and as a result, I've become involved with some habit-forming activities and now I am a addict. Yes, folks, I am here to admit that I, Danielle McKinlay, have a Netflix fixation. It started out innocently enough... I was reading a book that took place in Arizona and it made reference to John Wayne movies. Knowing that he is one of Cinematography's greatest historical icons, I wanted to see if I could understand what the big deal was. I tried to find some Westerns at Hollywood Video, but the slovenly franchise had a grand total of two whole John Wayne movies, one of which takes place in war-torn Vietnam. I have no time for franchises that do not appreciate the classics. So I started up a subscription with Netflix. A whole new world unfolded before me. Soon I was getting a different John Wayne movie every other night. I fell in love with 'The Duke', and became further obsessed with Western culture. After I discovered that I could watch movies instantly on my laptop, there was no going back. Netflix unfolded to me a wealth of cinematic treasures; jewels from my childhood long lost were suddenly available with the click of my fingerpad, as well as exciting new viewing experiences.

Now that I was hooked, the sky was the limit. I was grateful to find a distraction from the hurt I felt when my friends stopped contacting me and spending time with me. One night, when I feeling particularly low, I stumbled across an old memory. A few years back, when I was lot less driven in my career choice, I took an anthropology class, just for fun. (The vast majority of my college experience entailed taking classes that had nothing whatsoever to do with animation; I simply took them 'just for fun'. I'm curious about just about everything, and I wanna know it all!)

Our lesson that day was about rituals and my teacher showed a clip about voodooism from an old, but memorably popular t.v. show. It was the X-Files. The episode intrigued me and I'd often thought about it since. But it was at that moment, when I found it on Netflix, that fate intervened and I found myself adding the first season to my queue. Later on, when I was looking forward to a night of simply relaxing, I gave it a try. At first, I giggled at Mulder and his straight- faced accounts of his experiences with the paranormal. But he and Scully soon won me over, and by the third episode, I was an avid fan!

At this point, I would like to point out that I am not a fan of sci-fi. In the past, I have held it in deep contempt because of all my nerdy high school friends who allowed it to make them socially awkward. But, like I said, there was intrigue. I read Harry Potter and became a fan because of J. K. Rowling's marvelous craftsmanship, not because I'm a fan of the genre. Such is the case with the X-Files. I found myself cheering for the heroes, booing and hissing at the villains, laughing at the clowns and feeling heartbroken at every tragedy. It amazed how incredibly well written it all was. Characters that seemed to have no consequence before were coming back and thickening the plot. And the tension...! I must've been living under a rock when this show was in it's hey-day, because I had no idea that there to be a romance between Scully and Mulder. But the show built it up beautifully- he would occasionally touch the small of her back gently, or she would reach out and touch his hand for split second-AUGH! It became too much! I had to keep watching! They didn't just throw each other against the wall and embark in the overpowering throes of passion in the first five episodes like they would a smutty t.v. show of today. It took years before Mulder finally kissed her, and it never showed anything further then that.

That is not to say that this show was all purity; Little House on the Prairie it ain't. The sceenplay writer used ample amounts of gore and squirmy creepy crawlies to keep the audience thoroughly grossed out. Between yelling my unheeded counseling at my computer screen ("No! Mulder! Don't let her go!...Love her, Mulder! You must love her!... The liver-eating mutant is going to grab her! AUGH!... listen to him, Scully! The Cigarette -Smoking man is lying to you! AUGH!") I'd find myself disgusted at the wounds and offenders of the supernatural. But it was fun, and I was impressed that it could invoke such a strong emotional response from me.

I watched the X-Files faithfully for about three months. But when it hit the end of the ninth season, I found myself not wanting to finish. I had become friends with Scully and Mulder. It was like the Never Ending Story: I went through everything they went through. By day I was online looking at X-File paraphernalia, and by night my dreams were filled with conspiracies that centered around huskies. I was officially a nerd.

Soon, I finally built up the courage to watch the last episode and decided that no matter how disappointing it might be, I would still love them anyway. It turned out to be harder then that; the ending wasn't disappointing per se, it was just wishy-washy, Gone with the Wind-esque. But, in the same way we all have to tell ourselves that Scarlett will in fact get Rhett back and save her marriage, we have to believe that Scully and Mulder will find a way to save the earth from alien colonization. That's just how it has to be. (sigh.)

I'm sure it has become apparent that my feelings toward a t.v. show are not quite healthy. I've never felt this way before... I decided I needed to cool down and watch something a little more low-key. That's when I found All Creatures Great and Small. It was a British sitcom made in the 70's based on the books by James Herriot. I couldn't have been more pleased! James Herriot is undoubtedly one the largest figures of impact in my life. His books brought me where I am today, and the show isn't all that far off. They did an amazing job getting the characterization just right, and because I've read the books and remembered every story, watching an episode is like greeting old friends.

It's a little dull by today's standards; no laugh track or steamy love scenes or gratuitous situations, but that's why I like it. I make it very clear that I don't like watching modern t.v. I don't trust it. If someone tells me I need to see something, I'll give it a try, I just wait 10 years. In the mean time, John Wayne is still coming to my house several times a week, and All Creatures Great and Small continues to entertain me. That is, when I'm not going back through the X-Files.