So here I am all excited because I`m going to donate blood. The only other person in the group who isn`t scared to is Tom, and he`s off. So I take my coat and head out in the general direction of the sign I saw. Rosie is sitting on the steps in a bad mood, smoking (luckily the bad mood isn`t at me). She decides to come take a picture. She`s a regular little photographer. And we want to win the photo contest.
So we eventually take off. And we walk. And we walk. And we walk. Ends up that hotel Foréster is a long long ways away. After about half an hour Rosie stops to take a picture. This is when she realizes she left her camera battery back home. We`re a little upset about this. I`m starting the laugh anyway tatic.
Finally, numb legs and frozen ears later, we reach the clinic. Fortunently, we`re still in time. I`ve never given blood before. And Rosie is brave and decides to do it as well. We fill out the forms, we read the pamphlets, we check the little boxes, ect. Than we go wait.
I am ushered into the little booth where I`ll sign. The nurse looks over my form. Her pointy jaw and stiff blond head tilt towards me. ''You have been out of Canada or the U.S. in the last three years?''
''Yes, I was in Mexico early this year.''
Finally with my usually basicisized English and her formal accented attempts I find out I can`t give. `Cause you know, I wasn`t in a tourist area and might have dormant malaria in my blood. I was sullen. But should`nt`ve been. It wasn`t exactly her fault.
So I went out and sat by Rosie, who was still overly nervous. When she found out I couldn`t give (after we`d gone for me) she swore at me, fingered me, in the most friendly of ways, and then held my hand well the needle went in. She had to admit that it wasn`t that big a deal.
So, that`s my story. The last tragic part was that Rosie wasn`t allowed to smoke for an hour afterwards. I just laughed. The whole thing seemed humerous. She told me it wasn`t funny, though. But we got a ride home. So there`s my story.
I have yet to do the noble act of giving blood.

Thanks to living in a house with ten people, I have a cold. It`s kinda like a domino effect. My latest pastime has been blowing my nose. Especially at night when I usually like to sleep.
The day is starting. I must go eat some of my stash of Christmas goodies and get ready for work.

Time to update, I think. Problem is, there`s too much to update. Really though. What do you want to hear about? my jobs? My team? The hundreds of new things I do every week, Quebec, anything else?
It`s so hard to believe I`ve only been here a week and a half. they keep you busy enough that it feels like it takes a lot of time. Starting tomorrow things should pretty much be down to `routine` though (forgive the quotation marks. I don`t like this French keyboard). Whatever routine means. I guess it means I`ll be going to work regularily five days a week. It`ll mean housemanagers will be doing the cooking, cleaning, and other assorted chores. It means we`ll have meetings on Sundays, and commitee stuff at least weekly. Plus who only knows what.
Today we have a bread workshop. I`ve made bread before. But that doesn`t mean I`m confident in my abilities. Cor, you should be here. Show them all up. We`ve also had a blitz clean today. This morning was a block of free time. It`s so we can all sleep in after our partying. We get all of four a week. And even that`s not guarenteed.
I`m wearing my Katimavik shirt over a thermal longsleeve right now. It`s so cool. Like, hey, I`m a part of something.

Here is one of the ironies of life. You live in a small town (if you don't really then I'm being hypothetical). Life is good. But eventually that small town gets kinda dull, even though you love it. Or maybe it's the small town job. And a few extended live-in-a-bus deals don't quite cut it. So you find something else.
In this hypothetical case it's a volunteer opportunity. A little crazy maybe. You're giving up a years working potential, or a possible first year schooling to throw yourself into an unknown town with unknown people doing unknown work. On top of that, the unknown town is still going to be in your hometown.
Follow me so far? Yeah. A little crazy maybe. But hopefully good. You get accepted and follow through with occasional news from the front. You get the names of the places your going, and you give your leave at that small town job. A good job, don't get me wrong. It's just that two years is a really long time if you're twenty and the work eventually gets monotonous. Especially if you crave experience, adventure, and a little living.
Time passes. You bemoan the loss of tradition, the year away, and whether you're crazy for doing something a little crazy. But other then that you get a little excited. This small town is such a part of who you are, so you kinda want to see how much exactly, and who you'll be without it.
The wait seems long. Then, suddenly, you realize time has passed. And all of a sudden something goes wrong. There's people to see, things to do. You remember all the back burner plans you formulated that you want to see happen. You think of all the friends you never hung-out with enough. You realize you'll come back to brothers who are taller then you and acquaintances who'll be married. Your farm will go on without you, a few e-mails later people will start to forget you, and you know this, because it's happened to you before.
So even though your still that intense weird combination of nervous excitement you wonder if it's maybe not worth it.
The irony? The minute you realize you're leaving there's way more to stay for. You get closer to people, you see so much left un-done. Even if inside you know it's because you're leaving. You put a little more work into all those relationships and a little more motivation in to making things happen. And, on top of that, if you hate change you contemplate everything it'll mean.
Still, you know if you don't live you'll regret it. And that...that is your biggest fear. So you count the days and cram your time and wish you could be several people at once.

"I think you're a jean and t-shirt kinda girl." And so my fashionable, Europe travelling aunt observed to me in the card she sent me for my ninth birthday that accompanied my present. A t-shirt she probably picked up at a Scottish thrift shop.
And, guess what. She was right. I love my blue jeans. I always have. At ten I already had definite favourites. At twelve I was already admiring my denim collection. By fifteen I'd decided jeans should be acceptable for formal wear, interviews, and first dates.
And t-shirts. I have ones I wouldn't part with. The ones I usually reach for first. A collection I've built up with patient scaning of many second hand stacks. They change. As do my favouites. But, as when I was eight, my favourites are always at the top of my drawer (or on my floor and ready to wear).
To me nothing sounds so sexy for a girl as wearing worn in bluejeans with her hair loose (or quickly put up) and a favourite jersey, sweater, or...t-shirt. What could be better then being comfortable, casual, and ready for life?
Which is why this is a great time of year. Not that I don't revel fresh summer air on bare-legs when my shorts come out each June. Not that I don't love unearthing a favourite hoodie. Not that I don't enojoy hanging out in boxers and, putting on my suede jacket, or wearing scarfs and one of my collection of hats.
But When I can get up in the morning and scan my favourite, worn in tees. And then wear them with my favourite, worn in jeans. When a tank-top and good baggy jeans are what you pull on before walking to town, well... really... How can that be beat?
It's indian summer. And that's exactly where we're at. Today in my jeans and grungy ripped camo tee (coincidentely one of my favourites, which my Mother and sister conveniently hate) I walked about. Library, thrift store, post office. Recieving what will probably be my last comments of the year on my barefeet. "Lost your shoes?".
It's like a lucky extension of summer. Except I get to wear jeans.

It must take incredible strength to grow through and accept trials. To be able to look at something and say, "God intends this for me". I used to be in awe of that verse where it says that they glorified God that they could suffer for his name. And I still am. I get sick, I lose a friend, I have a crummy day at work, and it's, "How could you do this to me?" And then I start trying to outsmart him. I try to figure out ways to fool him into giving him what I want. I analize things to convince him that I've learned what he's teaching. And then mutter through my teeth that he's not helping. If that doesn't work, I beseech on the edge of sobbing, then I try "giving it to him". Which I'm very good at...if it means things go my way. Meanwhile, feeling doubt if he doesn't get on my agenda straight away.
Helps to look at things in perspective, of course. But in my little self absorbed world I find it hard not to feel as if the whole world is falling apart because, with my twenty years experiance, I think my world is.
Real prayer helps. Sometimes the bible helps. But isn't that half the problem? I cry to God to pick me up once I've fallen. then when he stands me up I think "cool," and yell my thanks over my shoulder as I walk away. I'm good now. Let me get busy with life until it throws me another punch in the face.
Punch in the face used loosely here. When he chooses to let me fall down it's pretty light stuff. I just like to look at what I think I should have and whine. I usually don't look at others. My hardknocks look like satin pajamas compared to what some have to go through. And I cringe to think of what a baby I can be about myself.
But, in the end he helps me pull myself up. He takes my hand and gets me there. I can't help but learn things after all. It's just a long slow process.

The blogging world has been incredibly slow these days. And I'm, clearly, just as guilty. Is it because everyone is preparing for and gettng back to fall schedules. Or trying to cram in the last of summer?
Whatever it is, I know I've had lots of random ideas come to me. Only to sit down and not want to launch into any of them. You'd think after a month of not posting I'd have something to say.
Well, I'm milking a lot of cows, as opposed to just a normal amount of cows. This, of course, shouldn't excite you much. I'm milking with a Mexican lady, who sings well cleaning up, laughs at the cows, and speaks to me in Spanglish. An experiance that I don't get enough of.
Megan has come home from Asia. And it is so nice have her back. But too quickly things settle back into how they have been. And I watch her growing into life.
It does make me wish I had a trip like that for my own. I long for adventure. There is far to much world for me to ever see all that I want to. But my time is coming.
I don't want to settle down. But something about winter coming does make me want to hibernate, of sorts. It makes me think of wood heat, hot chocolate after coming in from the cold, family, crisp air, and a harvest safetly stored away. it makes me wish I could just be a kid. Where as summer makes me want to just be a teenager. Either way, neither makes me want to hold a job. A job that I'm so accustomed to that as much as it has little variations, it remains rather boring. So to speak. Although, comfort can have plenty said for it. If that's what you thrive on. But, I must admit that man was made to work. Or do something.
So what has changed? Not much, either on the outside or the inside. Oh, sure, things are never the same when you get right down to it. At least not at twenty. Maybe that comes. We'll have to wait and see.
But, really, who would want it anyway?

Why Vacations rock.

I almost did it. I almost turned twenty without talking about it here as well. Because it's an event better ignored. If I ignore it then it can't change anything. How can it change anything anyway? I've been working full time since I was seventeen, living on my own since I was eighteen, paying taxes, being independant, driving a car, and living in the adult world for two years. So changing the numbers that are my age will change any of that. And it won't change anything else.
It won't change the fact that the car has flames and no back window. I'll still spend my weekends reading on the couch, or hanging out with friends. I'll still listen to the same music, laugh at the same things, and twenty is no need to grow up.
So, face it folks. The girl insists on being nineteen for a little longer.

I had the most amazing week. I really really did. No work, lots of play. Volleyball on the beach, late nights around the fire, kayaking on the lake, wrestling in the sand. Cousins I don't see a whole lot of. It was family reunion 2006, and so far, so good.
And then, on the way home, I sideswiped a lady's new explorer. Partly my fault, partly hers. My flames are now all bashed up, but that's about it. Her bumper is scratched but not that bad, but if she insists on getting it replaced it will cost a lot. Three kids in my car, two in hers. And nobody with a scratch. So thanks God for that! But my insurance had run out about a week before. So an incredibly stressful end.
Pray for it, please.

Strapping on the old gold helmet. Remnant of my days when my parents rode on their dates on his Honda. Hopping on the back of our Yamaha 100. "Betsy Sue". I think I went along just for the ride. It'd been too long. wind rushing by and curious looks.
I really need to get my bike license. Oh, and a bike.

I've got both my favourite DC talk c.d.s by my bed right now. A couple times I've wanted late-night-through-my-earphones music, and those made the cut. I don't know what it is about DC Talk that keeps my coming back. Maybe it's because when I first started listening to a lot of music for myself they were some of the originals. But I don't pull out RS James a whole lot anymore. And she was definitely on the list too.
Sometimes I want to bob my head to a little R.B.D. And other times I get contemplative to the Jars. Sometimes Linkin Park hits the spot and still other times I feel like reading to a little Creed. Toby Mac is my hyper music well Jennifer Knapp is a good anytime that makes me sing along. Occasionally I'll reach for my Evenesence and it's Eagles that get a lot of playing time in the car.
But I still come back to DC Talk in the end. And usually there's a song that's just right. It's just good music.

I am solo in this world of water
Only the tip of a sunrise visible
Like the morning light in a little girl's eyes
I crave this freedom...
And bitter is my temperament
I close the door to sentiment
And I relish all my youth
I realize that I am doomed
Fear of love and fear of You
But You give me the keys to paradise
It is You who sympathize
You and Your perfection grow
I am cradled in Your oceans throw
I crave Your freedom in this little ship
For You alone can chart my trip
And like these waves I lose my grip
And I sink into Your arms

Mmm, it's so nice to feel tired. If you can go to bed. Your own bed. You know the one. Perfect firmess and the lumps molded to your body. So nice to crawl into that bed, curl up beneath the blanket, pillow punched just right. 'Cause your head is really heavy.
And then your sore limbs relax, and you can't even raise your head to check the time, let alone change your position.
Not that I feel that way now mind you... *wink*
But everybody has at some point...
Right?

Summer hits with a vengence. I love summer. I love swimming, ice cream, and barefeet. But most of you already know that.
Meg just took off for Malaysia/Asia. She'll have fun. At least she'd better. How I wish I was going too.
I can't believe it's five months 'till I quit my job. Quit this life for a while. It seems close. But more often far away.
Do you have any idea how weird it'll be to sleep through nights, not to milk cows? No, I don't suppose you'd be able to imagine that.
And then my life is a blank again. But that's over a year away. So let's live in the moment. 'Cause life was meant to live.

It's now been thirteen years since the Stanley cup was home in Canada. I don't care as much as I could. But I'm gonna miss our hockey and nacho nights.
I'm still a little sore from our hike up the mountain (no my Saskatchewan friends. It was higher then your idea of a mountain). It was the best bad camping trip I've been on in a while. Ever slept at thirty degrees on a sharp rocky surface? But it was kinda fun.
I'm going on Katimavik. At least if my medical and criminal records pass the test. They should unless being perfect in disallowed. Nine months with a random bunch of people doing random work in random places. God, I'm hoping you'll take care of that for me.
But I still have a lot of months of this life to go. It's a good life. I like it. I'm just about ready to do something else though.

Why is it that people like to push themselves to the breaking point? What is it about seeing how far you can go? Why do we climb mountains, run marathons, have to see what's out there?
I have a fascination with how far the human body can be pushed. I like watching gymnastics just because it amazes me every time to see a human spring themselves into a triple flip.
I love free falling. Flying through the air. I throw myself around on the trampoline for the rush. I love jumping. Clearing a certain obstacle is a high. I was the little kid that fell off of chairs and laughed. I remember wishing I could fall and know I wouldn't get hurt.
I have a big map of the world hanging on my living room wall. I like maps I think they look cool. They're inspirational. Like a big window to adventure, that's stuck shut, but still lets you dream. But at the same time they're discouraging. How do so many things manage to be both? To look at it, the world is so big. Yes, o.k. It does seem small sometimes. But I'll never be able to fit as much of it in as I want. Or maybe life is too short.
Why do we always want to go farther? What do we hate so much about failure? Do we want to prove to ourselves that we can conquer?
How come we like the feeling of adrenaline? We arrange for artificial hits. Rollar coasters and such. And if our brushes near the edge are still contained we go out looking for more.
Or is it just me?
Do the mellowest of us have deep streaks that want to see more? That are beaten down by their common sense? Do the armchair athletes keep watching because it's the closest they can get to the glory and the thrill of a win? Is there no such thing as not being competitive? Or does everyone have a hidden side that wants to win. That longs to be the best?
Do we all daydream? Does everyone have some that are based on the human quest for glory, greatness, thrill? The unknown, the edge, the adventure? Pushing themselves to where they've never gone before?
It takes all kinds to make a world. It's the Mother's that raise the daredevils, the scientists, the athletes. It's the faithful labourers that make life possible for us by living their lives for themselves. The farmers that live the simple, good, and fulfilling life. And I say, good for them.
But, I only ask this. Do we all want to push out somewhere, somehow?

I love it when I can list good things about my life.
1. I spent all day shopping and buying stuff. And not in my hometown.
2. Meg is home for four days.
3. Summer is beginning.
4. I have a four day weekend coming up.
5. There are two cool things I can do tomorrow evening.
6. I have two new cool tapes that I got for 25 cents each.
7. I spent yesterday hanging out and talking with friends I don't see enough off.
8. My future is undecided. And I'm liking it.
9. I'm going to get flames on my car.
10. And my bro is going to help me clean it out.
11. I'm going garage saleing.
That's good things. To even things out a bit my bad list goes as so.
1. I'm sunburnt.
2. I have to work again tomorrow.
3. I can't do both things tomorrow evening.
4. Judo is just about over.
5. I'm going to turn 20 this summer.
6. I'm working this summer well Meg goes to Malaysia.
7. I spent a lot of money today.
8. My future is undecided. And I don't know what I want.
So, before I get myself off my high, I'm going to quit with this list and sign out.

I have thrice had people tell me they don't recognize me when I'm not wearing my gi. Should I take this as a compliment?

I'm sitting around in those fifteen minutes before work. You know how it is, watching the minutes tick by, waiting to see if you can hit the end of the chapter. Knowing one more shift and you're done for a couple days. And it's not even that work's that bad. It's just that you really like you're free time. Although a lot more so when you have less of it. Which is sort of the case lately. Although not all that bad.
So, you're housesitting. So you sit down at the laptop (I love laptops. I really kinda want a laptop) and just see what you can get out in those fifteen minutes. Because there's really nothing on t.v. And you don't feel like doing anything better with you're free time.
I'm really glad I don't have animals. Too much responsibility. Like, you can't spontaneously spend the the night. Because there's dogs to be fed. And I'm really not into indoor animals. At all. Unless they're fish and they stay in the tank. In which case they just look kind of cool.
And I'm sore. Which is my good excuse not to be moving around. Because, you know. I can't move around when I can't even touch my toes. Thanks to God for hard-core judo sessions. And I'm serious. Otherwise I probably wouldn't be motivated to get off the couch.
So tomorrow I'm going to the dojo to watch a kendo demonstration with some lady from Japan. Swords are cool. I don't think they're all that practical in today's world. But they're still really cool.
And then I've got biblestudy, which I need to find out if I need to plan something for.
Then there's my doctor appointment. Which is really just a physical. Which better be kept pretty basic. Hello, I'm healthy (and in the basement, again) and a virgin (no stds here) and you delivered me (so you kind of know my medical history). Now just check off the dang boxes.
And then I really hope my criminal record check gets finished in time. Because I don't want to pay for a stupid physical for nothing. But I'd decided to follow through in this whole applying to Katimavik thing. And let God deal with the rest. But do I really want to quit my job on the farm? Man, who thought I would get attatched to it. Com'on. It's a good life. And I kinda got it made. And I'm good at it.
Time is ticking. Do I really want to attack this?
And then my sister is leaving. My kid sister. My current confidant, if anyone deserves the title. She know's me better then anyone. And she's fun. If you can just ignore her when she's in a bad mood. And if you understand her. Which I do both. So I guess I'm missing her already. Which sucks. I mean, it's not like I live with them or anything. I just like knowing that she's there.
But the whole point is that she's my kid sister. She's not supposed to be moving on. Even if it's just for a five week practicum. What's next? I'm the only one that's supposed to move on. She's supposed to be there For when I need someone to dance with or to motivate me to eat more vegetables.
Shoot. There goes my alarm. Which means I have five more minutes, then work. And then, begin my weekend, baby!
Peace ya'll. And sorry about the wacked out blog post.

I just found out yc is sold out for this year. That really sucks. Because I really wanted to do the concert thing. And I hear yc is the best. And I've only got a precious four months of teenage years to go. And Audio Adrenaline is going to be there. And we were just going to fill up my car and go. And I've never been to Edmonton. And it was going to be fun.
Now I'll probably end up running off to an eminem or slipknot concert, or something, to make up for it.
Kidding.

How can it be snowing? How can I be sitting here in a friends warm sweater? How can I be missing poker to go out for supper? How can I be sitting using free internet? How can I be working in my area of expertise? How can my sister be in the next room? How did I have cream cheese and nutella on toast for lunch?
Ah, it's good to be home.

Joey has, by example, been teaching Mexican kids how to jersey each other. The first time they laughed their heads of. And Joe walked off grinning and saying , "I play hockey." I was our turn to get a kick out of the whole thing when the first victim walked up to him, pointed at another kid, and said, "Hey, you play hockey with him!"
There are also a few more kids who just simply know what hockey is. And that Alaska isn´t a part of Canada. And that NY caps are certainly not cool.
The take over of the Canucks.

What a guy, eh? Racing down Mexican alleys yelling, "Con permisso! Con permisso!".
-Dad


Kris,if the bus catches fire run to the neighbors and call 911. Here, I´ll write it down for you.
-Joe


Ha! I just said, "you can´t". At least, I think I said, "you can´t." Kris, did I just say, "you can´t"?
-Ty


Man! We´re like a bunch of stinkin gringos.
-Mom

Everything is starting to sound, look, and taste like Mexico. And soon enough I'll be there. And it's exciting. But, as usual, a touch intimidating. I'm not used to it anymore. I'll feel awkward trying to speak Spanish. And like I stand out in the Ley (grocery store). And like it would've been easier to stay home. But I'll ride bikes with Mexican kids. And dance to mariachi music. And Order Empenadas with ease. Because it's all tantilizingly familiar in a long-gone sort of a way.
And maybe I'll be back out of place when I get back to Canada. But nope. It's only two months. And I'll keep in touch. Maybe this time I can have the best of both. Well, except the parties I'm not there for.

It's another all-nighter. But this one is different. 'Cause Cor actually does it too and then comes to work the next morning. It's a good shift. As far as that goes. And I won't be back for a bit.
It's a long morning nap. Nothing new about that. Then many errends around town. Most of them twice. Then some reading in a lame attempt to finish my library book. No such luck.
It's getting a call. "We're leaving tonight".
"Right," I reply, "that's just great".
So I pack in half an hour, then go up to a friends for supper. Pancakes with sourcream and syrup. And I feel weird the whole time.
I wonder what I forgot.
It's a first poker night. I have no idea what I'm doing, play conservative, and lose. But it's fun anyway, even if I'm in a weird frame of mind and hardly even laugh at the jokes. After months of saying I want to learn, it'd better be.
My stuff's in my car. And it's straight to my parent's. Because we're off. And my sister stands in the driveway watching us go. This is weird.
It's a big envelope. Full of letters from friends. Plus a parcel from my sis. All dated. And I can't even start opening them 'till the twelvth. It is cruel. I am loved.
It's driving too late. And falling asleep to the rocking of the bus. It's back to Mexico baby!
I want the best of both.