I have had a poor history with New Years resolutions.  Not so much that I make them and then don't keep them.  If I make them I usually aim low enough that there's a pretty good chance they'll get accomplished.  It's more of a hit and miss thing.  I've made them a handful of times.  But I usually don't make a point of keeping track of them.
Last year I was in Tel Aviv.  I was in the middle of accomplishing one of my life goals anyway.  They don't really celebrate the new year in Israel, so the whole thing was a little anti climatic.  Playing on jungle gyms on the beach we went by Megan's watch before yelling our welcome to the Mediterranean waves. 
Tel Aviv was not the high point of the trip.
I've yelled it from the top of trees and in Qc living rooms surrounded by strangers.  This upcoming year will enter in a much more typical manner.  I will be with friends in my hometown.  I'll attend a family potluck the next day.  I may go snowboarding.  I may or may not end up with resolutions.  This year I'm leaning towards disdaining them.  As always, I'll look back on the year past.  In this case, 2009.  And ahead.  2010.
So, let's get a head start.  This last year held a lot, and nothing.  Years are long like that.  Shortly after that Tel Aviv moment I ended up volunteering in the Israeli desert.  Something about the calm and my bitterness resulted in joy.  The desert promotes crazy reactions like that.  Refreshed, we headed to India and onwards.  The beautiful exoticness.  What heartbreaking poverty.  What fun Asian moments.  My trip became what it was supposed to be.  An adventure packed contact with culture.  Finally I acknowledged I was ready to come home.  The time was right. 
I anticipated a slump.  Non-clinical Depression, of a sort.  A week after the gruelling journey I found myself lying on an ironing board behind a tractor picking asparagus.  So redneck, so stunning, so tedious.  On my family formed crew the half a season I was around for wasn't too long.
Cousins, summer, swimming.  There are posts where this is evidenced.  I was happy.  I was excited for what was next.
Summer can't last forever.  This is where the nothing starts.
The slump came as my plans failed.  As I moved my things into the room with the pool table and the t.v.  As I packed apples, and then wished I was still working at that fruitstand.  Sadly, posts record this too.
Christmas a brief reprieve.  Serving, partially, to remind me I'm still here.  Seven months later.  Is this not reason to feel down?
And ahead...  2010.  I have no idea.  I am pessimistic and negative about it, though.  Perhaps a few resolutions wouldn't hurt.  I am driving south for the upcoming month.  Sped, a friend you haven't heard about for a long time, has agreed that I could come visit.  I love the Pacific coast, and hopefully this will be my route back. 
So, maybe I should resolve to put something in place when I get back.  It's been a decent year, even if I've stalled.  Let's hope to move forward in 2010.

A few quick items of note.
Ess, I know you don't blog anymore.  Let alone look at other people's.  But if you were to come to mine you would note I've changed to one of those boring generic templates.  Sort of.  Not because I outgrew your work, but the computer did.  The graphic was failing to work and my miserable attempts to remedy it only resulted in a complete misalligning of text.  I do, however, miss the uniquness of my own template, my quotes and my comments. 
So, I guess this is just kinda the next step in my blogging.  Upgrade my layout, or whatever the heck it is they got me to do.
Bear with me, all my non-exsistant readers, as I mess around teaching myself to edit this one up.  Like the denim frame?  Me neither.  It's tres nouveau, may well change, and is actually quite an accomplishment.  It was called Jeans and a T-shirt.  How could I resist?
Also, whenever I click on "next blog" it brings up a bookie blog.  Is it because of my post on modernistic female authors?  Anyway, I find it quite amusing. 
Anyway

I think I learned to enjoy walking at night from my aunt. I remember strolling around town with her after dinner at my Grandma's, talking about street lights, family, and things that seem cool when you're talking to an travelled aunt, and you're twelve. She told me she liked looking into peoples' windows. I think she then promptly realized it sounded a bit creepy (although it was over my head) and quickly tried to explain it. I got it right away, though. Simple glimpses into people's lives. A dinner table here, someone watching t.v. there, dinner dishes getting done. Such brief and routine wonder at whole worlds that exist apart from yours.
It's extra nice this time of year. Christmas trees from the tacky to the classy, velvet bows pinned on window curtains. Town on a Friday night. More then five cars on main at once. Occasional teenagers in hoodies smelling of axe and cigerrettes. Dark window shopping and street lights.
Weather so mild it feels like spring and you pull your hood off.
A day inside reading "short prose" is just a little too long. This soggy snow must be of some benefit. The stretch smells of stored apples as I pass the fruit stands. I like walking at night. It's a probably bad habit that followed me around the world. For years I've pounded off frustration, wanderlust, and restlessness by pulling on my touque or sandals and taking off into the fading light, or complete darkness. I usually talk to myself or God. Sometimes I kick telephone posts, sometimes I run, sometimes I jump around like some kind of ballet crossover. I've been known (to myself) to laugh out loud or sit alone in some forgotten corner.
Tonight I got to walk past all the Christmas lights. Actually enjoy them. LED icicles and those white reindeer grazing in front yards. The most over-the-top of all was on my route. I'm pretty sure every town has those few houses that seem to battle it out with an over array of lights. You know, manger scene on the small side of the lawn, santa and his reindeer dominating the other. What I'd never realized before was that some part of the display plays twinkly Christmas carols. I stood a while listening to "silent night."
So, my night on the town. came back after my fill of fresh night air and refocussing.

This time last year I was in Albania. Probably the capital of. It's crazy to think about now. On the brink of finishing our Euro leg of the trip. In fact, Albania doesn't even fit in my idea of that. I believe it was the only European country we visited that isn't actually in the EU. And, not only that, a long ways from it. I felt like I'd discovered the Eastern Europe I'd been expecting. And it was awesome.
The entire time we were in the country we ran into only one other traveler. An incredible distinction that I don't think I can claim from any other country. He was a little British ex-office guy who'd suffered some sort of mental stress breakdown and decided just to travel. His route was interesting, if not altogether efficient. He was just on our bus on the way out and got left at a road that was supposed to lead to Macedonia. I hope he held onto the freedom he must have discovered en route.
Originally on the ferry over we started talked to another Brit who was settled in Corfu (a beyond beautiful island with creepy empty hostels in November). An older lady. She noticed Megan reading her bible, and immediately got excited. "Greetings in the Lord!" And all that. Somehow we invited ourselves to the church service she was on her way over for. Amazing hospitality. We met (and attended the service of) a pair of missionaries who were very interesting to talk to regarding the state of Albania. Most cool, we ended up staying in the house of an Albanian pastor. His daughter spoke passable English. Still, there was much we couldn't say or understand. We struggled with the typical culture where this educated girl sat around home all day in her pajamas doing the dishes and waiting to get married. Despite freezing in the unheated guest suite (we never did figure it out) we enjoyed our stay.
This would prove to be the hardest part of Albania. I guess they think they're far enough south that they don't need heat.
Writing this post is making me remember culture. Or, rather, the lack of understanding that goes with traveling in a new one. Everywhere we went there would be things I didn't get, ways I didn't know to act, stuff I just couldn't follow. And I know that even if I integrated with any other society there are just indelible tattoos of my own culture that I could never back out of in order to comprehend the route of thinking many others take. It, quite simply, doesn't make sense to me and my western mindset.
We walked around everywhere we went and, overall, felt extremely welcomed! Going for dinner was often difficult since every cafe seemed packed with men. But it's a man's world. Especially once you leave our modern western life. But bakeries made for amazing, cheap eats.
Once we entered a restaurant and ended up eating at a wooden table with two random guys. They spoke a spattering of English. I'm convinced one of them was more then a touch tipsy. Entertaining and awkward. My favourite was the chef, a regular village men putting his best effort over the open grill directly behind the counter.
I can't even explain. No one will understand my experiences. And this frustrates me.
Discovering back streets you could imagine you were the first pushing into this little curtained off world. We had learned to say "thank-you" and "how much". Two extremally useful phrases. I bought a hand-knit, hand spun sweater vest for about five bucks. The lady from the little stall was so excited that I actually bought it.
Tirana was like stepping into any capital. It doesn't quite function like the rest of the country. But was still a very very long ways from NYC, TO, or London. It was personal. Meg and I would walked most of the city at night with our little LP map. Not once did we feel threatened, or like we ought to turn around. Not bad for a capital at 10:00.
We didn't have enough time, as always. Still, I have a taste for a country that I don't remember knowing existed before Megan said, casually, on an Italian train, "Let's go to Albania." An absurd idea until we made it happen.
It's true, there are little mushroomed shaped bunkers everywhere. It has a deep feeling of ex-communism and an East Europe village. A simple complex life.

Ok, so what? Am I supposed to learn not to run away.? Face things? Deal with relationships?
Seriously, is that so worth it? Or is it something else?
Why is it so much easier to just leave? Why is that so wrong? What's wrong with saying, you know what? There's about five people in this town in my age group. Nobody gets along with me all that great. I'm in some stupid little box, and maybe I'm judging everyone else. But there's nobody that calls me up and says, "Hey Kris. Let's get coffee and talk for a bit!" Two good friend who seems to enjoy hanging out with me. One's leaving town again.
So there you go. I'm frustrated.
I went to a dance party. And it was fun. But it was a dance party. For, like, a seventeen year old. My littlest brother was there, and he was about as close to the average age as I was!
And it was fun. I had fun. But partway through I was like, Dude! These guys are my younger friends little siblings little siblings. Sometimes four times little siblings!
There are places I want to go. Jobs I want to try. People I would love to see again. Friends I'd love to make.
Ok, so I'm whining. I'm being passive. And I'm leaning on the crutch of saying I tried and it didn't work. So, am I supposed to decide that I'm supposed to be here? And if I am, is it wrong to want to leave?
I have a car. I have a course. I have a family, and I love them lots. I have people who aren't mean to me, despite the impression I may give on here.
But it's just so frustrating. Especially when you didn't plan to be here, and don't want to be.

They tell me smell is the strongest sense linked with memory. This is sometimes hard for me to believe. At least until I happen across a soap that smells like a Mexican laundromat or a scent that reminds me of my childhood friend's house. But the times when I'm eating hummus on pita or listening to a rooster crow, having my hair played with or when I catch a glimpse of a stranger's eyes shockingly close to an old crush's, it seems as though though senses are at least strong competition.
Music is such a amazingly easy link to times in my life. Some will evoke specific feelings. For years a particular RS James c.d. reminded me exactly of laying on my top bunk reading Trixie Beldens. A first song on a Audio Adrenaline cd still can make me feel like I'm sixteen, waking up at 5:00 to hop on my bike and head down to an orchard.
More often the feelings are less specific. Arab music brings about an emotion in me I can only rationalize belongs in the Middle East. Whereas a call to prayer would transport me directly back to a Turkish hostel and all that time bore. Doubtlessly hearing hindi pop will remind me of the colour and life of India that defies description. music Quebecois managed to lodge an appreciation in me through Katimavik. Several songs will draw back direct feelings of walking the house, the fun, the discovery of Quebec... But mostly when I type Les Cowboys Frigants or Mes Aieux into YouTube I quite simply get subtle indicators that I was somewhere that taught me to do so. Country music is the soundtrack to this smalltown, whether I've bought into it or not.
So many feelings. Such a vast vast array having passed through my life. And so many millions I've never even discovered. How to fit as many as possible in? One life? How can it possibly be enough? Can anyone else know the exact feeling of climbing to the top of a maple tree on a clear morning and shivering in cold loneliness? The rush of losing control at the top of a stunt bike jump in the middle of a cow pasture? The warm glow of pulling off cold boots and moving towards the fireplace after a frustrating milking? And what about what I haven't experienced. Sex, piercings, skydiving, academia, intoxication, hunting, China... Even the ones I avoid. The ones I don't want...
I suppose there must be a cap on it somewhere. Maybe they're all just simple variations of ten base emotions. But I'm not even aware of the intensity of what I'm feeling until I'm reminded of it.
What will it be? The feelings of being a lost 23 year old blogger listening to flyleaf?

I need to get out of here. Or do something. I am going moderately crazy. I knew it would happen. A sad combination of not wanting to be here and not having any point or productivity.
Yesterday I grew restless. Left behind on a Saturday night. I got in my car and started to drive with no point whatsoever.
I sobbed my way into town. I'm not lying. Because as anyone would know who knows me, I wouldn't lie. Well, in general, but particularly about that. I don't fully understand why I was sobbing. It helped.
My car took me down the lake. That window's down, picnic and camping gear stowed road. Rain dripping down my windows and the countless corner signs looking more menacing giving the slick wet black of the roads.
The civic handled beautifully.
I ended up at our favourite summer beach. The waves sounding through the window.
Somehow, it was a good decision.

I'm in the middle of Who do You Think You Are? by Alice Munro. I have read quite a few affluent Canadian authoresses over that last year or so. Excluding the apparently immortal Margaret Atwood. A purposeful omission.
But now I have strayed from my point. And maybe my point can spread quite broadly throughout all modern female writing. But it seems to me we've swung towards a trend of dismal "realist" female based novels that do anything but inspire and, indeed, seem to strive towards another outcome. Love affairs that neither excite nor have you cheering for the couple. Career pursuit that seem far from fulfilling. A life span of dreary, striving and anti-climatic failure of endings.
Every novel seems a study in depressed feminism. After slogging through 500 pages of overweight heroines and dull colours I'm anything but enlivened.
I'm actually not quite sure what they're trying to do. Create characters I might associate with? Prove that they're anything but silly romantic women? Cause sufficient scandal to get published and reviewed?
I have also discovered Ayn Rand this last year. What and excellent, intelligent, enlightening middle ground. Depressing in type, but absolutely non-pointless.
Why can't we have more of this? Why the swap from heroines wearing flimsy white muslin and torn between charming lovers to ones in wearing clumpy mascara and stuck in droomy marriages?
I'm tired of it, myself. I'm sure publishing houses get in funny, thought provoking, or uplifting material. And maybe some of it is more then that paperback fluff they publish once in a while. I know we, as women, are capable of writing better. Why do we esteem the heavy extreme? If we want to bring women to the forefront we would be wise to leave our malfunctioning liberated types behind, and embrace a woman with actual struggles, joys, and accomplishments. And, you know, maybe she could be happy once in a while.

I should change this blog's name to "lost in the middle," or some such thing. It seems as though that's been where it's sat since I started up again. The true adage, we blog when we've no life to blog about.
So the new mini twist on the girl who had a life and lost it. (because a full twist would denote something exciting. Something turning this story around. Therefore, we may not call this a twist, but I will take the liberty of throwing it in there with a preceding "mini")
jobless 23 year old living with her parent's buys car. Actually, I could try to put my usual negative spin on this. It would be quite easy, actually. But I won't be bothered. Because I love having a car! I have missed having a car! And it's been a good three years. Time doesn't ease off!
So I'm again driving a civic hatchback. A little newer this time. A lot newer, actually, then I am. It's drives nice. It looks nice. And it should be as reliable and cheap as any other civic we have ever owned (there are currently three in the family!).
Anyway, on the down side, I don't have a job. Do I want one? My old restaurant is hiring. But it's for evenings and weekends. I specifically didn't want to give up my evenings and weekends this year. I missed my last winter at home.
I actually don't even want to be here. I really don't. I'm still stuck in the middle. Now what?

The game is sweet. A little crowded, but that can't be dealt with. One lame goal off my stick. Chillin' on the bench waiting for our next shift. We know the forwards to defend, and the defense to get past.
Then the teams get a shift.
A girl drops in after jumping her highschool class. All of a sudden the teams are a long ways from even anymore. She comes regularly. A friend of ours in this small town. Most of these two friendly teams are.
But we know she's good.
So the adrenaline kicks up. The game gets a little more seriously. Amazingly, we score two on our next shift. There goes our uneven argument. At least until we hit the ice again, and they score twice in those three minutes.
Competition.
Some of us wear it like a badge of honour. "I play to win". It separates us from the indifferent. It makes us competitors. If we're bent on winning we can't be losers... can we? The competitors are the ones who come out on top. You can't be the best at anything if you don't care whether you are or not. There's just too much competition. That job, that medal, that award or the scholarship. You have to want it badly enough to beat the others.
So, we're athletes. We can out skate you. We can learn to snowboard in a day. We can throw past first base, run a mile a minute. Whatever. You wanna take us on? Bring it!
And others don't seem to really care. So what if they're not better then anyone? Does it really matter if they don't want go out and overexert themselves? Or are some of these people competitive too? So scared if losing, of looking bad, of failing, that they're not even willing to get out there and try.
Who doesn't like to be admired for whatever they're forte may be? And yeah, maybe Tommy couldn't make the captain of the football team. Or maybe Jane will never win Most Popular. Ok, so maybe they don't even try. But they might get the strongest grades in class. Or Program computers at a rate most of us can't even imagine.
I actually admire people who are willing to try something new. Even if they know they might look foolish. Might not actually love it. Might not stand a chance of being the best.
Still, it's a enigma. Competition. I haven't come to any conclusions as to why we feel it. I suppose it's an useful emotion when it drives us to our fullest. But, take it from me. It's not necessarily a positive feeling. That doesn't make me avoid it. To feel anything is something I love to do. To feel the elation of winning... C'mon. I used the word elation! And to take losing. Oh, I can definitely do it. I'm not that bad. But if it's a situation where I've truly felt competitive, I'm not gonna like it.
So... We regrouped. Got our strongest defense on their strongest players. Started planning how we were going to play. Sitting on the bench talking about how they interfere with our goalie. How their strongest player has such clear advantages such as a longer stick, extra height, whatever it is that is the reason they're catching up. Then just playing.
Don't worry. If you don't understand a little good clean competition, you just might be. Nobody got hurt. We could still all stand around and laugh together after the game. In this case, with this crowd, we didn't actually get overly worked up. Maybe that's why this week makes for a good safe example.
besides, this game ended with a nice clean 3 all.

Thanksgiving comes at such a great time of year. You're a little depressed about losing summer, and gearing up for winter. Plus, you've been working pretty hard to get harvest all harvested. It's a holiday about nothing but food. Seriously. We cook all day... or two... and it all accumulates to one huge meal and a couple days of leftovers. Plus, you usually stop once or twice to really consider what you have to be Thankful for. And it's always a lot.

I like hockey. And I'm going to like snowboarding. I guess I need some sort of compensation for the fact that I'm still here.
I've moved into the house. It's warmer. But I'm getting kinda tired of it. I hate to admit this, but I would really love to just be able to move back into my house. Just unpack my stuff, look through my jeans, restock my fridge. I dunno. Just live, you know.
I don't even know if I want to be here. The problem is I don't even know where I do want to be. And it's driving me crazy. I'm taking English. Why? It's almost overwhelming. Why would I be starting something on that small of a scale at 23. I'm kidding myself, and I know it. Go back to school? Not happening! I won't commit, I won't decide, I won't pay for it, I won't bother. And I can't stand it. 'Cause I'm gonna be forty, single, and working at a fruit stand. Seriously. And that's depressing.
And now I'm ranting. And I'm gonna rant. I don't even care. Mom is reading us her old journals. All sorts of crazy stories from when we were kids. It's weird.
Next year I'll be 24. And 24 is old. It's older then 23 by quite a bit. I'm not sure why. It's a bigger difference then 22-23, or even 24-25.
I want to go to south America. I would like south America. They speak Spanish. I like Spanish. Spanish is sexy. Simple, amazing sexy language. I don't care if French is romantic. I don't like it. It's too hard. It sounds funny. And it doesn't make sense. And also, Latinos are more fun then French, I think. Although I did meet some pretty awesome southern French types on my trip.
And I like Quebecers. I don't know why. I'm from small town BC. Seriously, like Les Quebecois? Crazy. See, 'cause being from small town BC I'm not supposed to like Quebecers. And if I spoke French, well, there's never anything wrong with learning another language. And, especially in Canada, French would come in extremely useful.
So I'm 23. And going a bit mad. I really wanted to move to Quebec. But I'm guessing it wouldn't have been a good thing right now in the end. And I'm also living with too many people. I'm not just teasing them anymore. It's basically fighting 25% of the time. I think I'll get tired of sleeping on the couch in a sleeping bag. And going out to the bus any time I want to change my clothes. Plus, there's nothing to do here in the winter. Except, you know, English. Which is just dumb. Oh, and hockey and snowboarding.

Maybe I like that no one reads this any more. Maybe I like that I can just allude to what I'm really thinking, or feeling, without having to defend it to anyone. Maybe it's just nice that, even though I laugh and work and tease my brothers, I can sit down and type out a little bit of what's eating at me. And nobody will be affected.
I woke up feeling almost sick this morning after a pretty sleepless night. The crap some people have to go through is beyond terrible. And shouldn't ever have to happen to people. You know, that configuration of cells, that somehow is endowed with emotion, feelings, minds. I know it helps you grow. And I know God can work through it. Pain still sucks.
Not me. Just caring to much about other people and what they're going through. And hating that I can't make it better. Can't really do anything.
Indirectly affected. Indirectly involved.
I want to make specific comments. But I think I better not, 'cause even though nobody bothers with Barefoot in Summer, this is still the internet.
Let's just say I'm glad to have prayer. So many times it's been the only thing I have that feels at all effective.

My Mom is walking around the house in new dark wash skinny jeans. I'm not even kidding. I could hardly believe it when I saw her this morning. Meanwhile, I'm wearing my zig-zag patched, deep cuffed faded bootcuts that got left at my house five years ago. I'm not sure who this is more embarrassing for. My Mom is catching trends that I haven't bought into. A sure sign that they're not new or cutting-edge stylish. It's now time for flare jeans to be so last decade.

So, my Ex just broke up with the girl that was after me. Bringing it back to mind. She's talking to me about it. That guy get's in your head. And he had to work really hard to get to mine. I don't know why he made it in the end. A player, for sure. Though, thankfully it was I that left him. Anyway, none of that belongs to 2009. I can laugh about it now. Although I still care about him as a person in the end. Just nothing to do with me.

I'm a weird combination of emotions right now. I can't even place them. I could just call it PSL, post-summer-letdown. I seem to get that more often then PMS.
Mind you, it almost feels like it's still summer out there. It's that beautiful indian summer we get almost every year. Only you don't need to hang at the river to survive. We have had that first fall day, though. The tang in the air and the smell of bonfires...
I don't know what it is. Not doing anything too meaningful. Stuck in this small-town when I tried to escape. Sleeping in a bus as it threatens to get too cold. Packing and picking apples. The fact that eleven people in this house is finally starting to get to me...
Joel took me out on his Dual sport the other day. You forget how beautiful our community is when you only ever bike between my road and town. Absolutely gorgeous. And the mild adrenaline from hopping minor logs or skidding around corners was the top-off.
What am I going to do? Get my English 12. It will be good to be able to focus on that once it arrives. What am I doing just starting simple courses when I'm 23? It was easier to claim I didn't do academics. Do the short-term Commitment-phobe thing.
Why don't I just focus on travel? Rake up the experiences I seem to crave. Why is leaving town so difficult to pull off? Am I running away from investing in relationships?
Renn says he talked with the rest of my siblings about how I have a lot of wounds that only ever scarred over.
What do I really want? And easy pass, maybe. Or essentially to be an adventuring hippy the rest of my life. who knows? Not me.

Summer is over. And I'm still here. That's ok, I guess.
also, often this computer won't let me sign in. That's part of the reason my posts are so sporadic.

I can't get back in the groove. I come on here once in a while, and type what I'm kinda thinking that applies directly to what I'm doing, with absolutely no artistic bent in the least. Things are being rather stressful, because it's not letting me have anything to stress about. I've started a job that was dropped in my lap, and had all my travel plans go rather awry.
Today was my first day as a fruit stand... attendant? Employee? Anyway, I'm working packing apples, stocking peppers, and helping a lot of Albertans. Good place to work. Great boss. Temporary position. At least sort of.
But aren't you supposed to progress with you life as you get older? I could probably have gotten this job if I was 15. That sounds so snotty, and I'm sorry. I love varying my work. And I am greatful for this job. But why? It's not what I meant to do. I'm stuck I think. And I don't just mean on this blog.

Have currently given up on my plans. Not given up on plans all together, but quit trying to make them happen for the moment. It just wasn't working, and I'm still having fun here. I do have one pending request, and that is rooming for a few months with a girl a met in Romania. I contacted her then-boyfriend whom we hung out with a fair bit when we ran into him again in Turkey. There are three of them in the apartment right now, and Sam comes home now and then. I'm oddly, considering the effort it took to try secure the spot, hoping it doesn't go through. Just too much bother. I may end up going to Quebec on a whim at some time anyway. But I really very much don't want to inconvenience anyone.
I remember, at the beginning of the summer, saying that the only thing that I wouldn't be all to readily willing to do was if God wanted me to stay in town. I may be overcoming even that point.
I still don't have any job I want to do. And that's a big one for me. Challenging and possibly meaningful work is important to me. I feel so much better in general when I'm working. Plus, it helps fund all these other escapades I keep embarking on.
I ran into an old co-worker who wants me to housesit in November, so that's one thing to keep in mind. I do have a job opportunity packing apples just for a few weeks. It may not sound challenging and meaningful to you, but it would keep me busy, get me in shape, and be shorterm enough that I wouldn't get bored of it. Also, as much as I say I just want plans and just want to be able to leave, Creston in fall in beautiful, and being part of harvest is meaningful.
So, I don't know right now. I've done some crazy things, like call random Montrealers I barely know. And everything is still up in the air despite my best efforts.

Well, I chose my day. However, two attempts later my order still isn't going through and, as I've called and e-mailed several times, I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm going to have to come up with a different plan. Which is altogether very frustrating. Partly because I already told everybody I was going to leave on the sixteenth. It would really be nice just to have a plan right about now.

I have to choose a date. Date, as in specific day on the calendar. For this date I will purchase a bus pass to travel Canada. This is as far as my "fall plans" go.
I don't know why I'm so calm about this. I'm not supposed to traipse about without functional plans. Especially not in the middle of an "economic crisis".

Just got back from camping trip. No, it wasn't all thirty of us this year, but it was still a good time. I've tottered my crutches through sand and gravel to lay on the the beach. And swim. Swim kilometers, in fact. At least two. While socializing at the same time.
On the down side, I did come home a day early. Just 'cause the beach was going to get a teeny bit old. There was no hiking, volley-ball, or basket-ball for me. However, today is the first day I'm really noticing a big positive with my foot, and am doing a great deal of rambling around with just a limp.
So, camping. Check. several times now, actually. This summer is playing out about as well as I could've hoped. I wanted it so bad. A healthy summer at home with a decent hit of the season's valley fun I love so much.
Sometimes I feel like since I've returned to posting my life looks like a party. A huge dose of all-great, maybe looking a little fake. I guess that's 'cause it has been a good summer. I'm not used to this laid back thing. I have done a lot of full-time miss-out stuff in the past. What have I been doing since Katimavik, though? It's so great to be here. But don't get me wrong... I've been through a lot.
Katimavik started off a lot for me. I've said before that I went into it as an adult. Very true, I was not the freshly graduated kid that many of the participants are. I was independant, and that made it very hard fitting into the program lifestyle. When the two other girls I considered to be at "point B", my mature counterparts quit in the beginning of the second rotation, it got even harder. I let slip for a while. Forgetting to care too much amidst the cabin fever and house drama. Caring about the kids too much, and letting everything get tangled up.
In third rotation I pulled back. Proving, I suppose, to myself that I could be the best I can.
Some of it was so painfully hard. My lifetime friend from home cut off contact, saying that she didn't care if I understood or not. I thought she was a sister, a million memories, and a million to come. I don't understand, and I doubt I ever will. I sobbed in the hall and Jess gave me skittles so I'd feel better. The next night emerged, black eye, bruised jaw, scratched back. Abused before fighting back. The climax of the most spiritually oppressed involvment I'd experienced to that point. Hours of prayer and complications in the extreme. My group knew, and I had to prove I was a worthwhile human, and stick by the other girl involved. Through that, lost another group-mate. The only other one I had thought to be a Christian. Thankfully, the one that hated me had left two days prior. I was strong enough to follow through my committments, leaving work at lunch break to lay in the small town backwoods and cry. Broken.
And then there were five.
I billetted, I rocked my group work, committees, and protocols. I visited with my sister. Ultimitely, one of my biggest Katima-accomplishments was that I emerged a leader. Strong enough to overcome. When I think about the tomboy farm girl I so definitely was before it's pretty incredible. I did manage to grow after all. A lot. Although there's still tough farmer at heart sometimes. But I found the freedom to be who I was outside of preconceptions.
I hadn't known if I was going home. But I did. I needed to work. One of my Katima-friends became my roomate, along with a cousin I love with all my heart. I got a job and learned to waitress. It was exciting, in a way. As much as becoming a small-town waitress can be. It was weird finding a short-term niche at home. And a literally crazy "friend" threw a lot.
I dated a boy. I'd known him a while, it was a complicated past. I was so happy that Christmas, for a week and a half. Realizing I was ready to sacrafice some things for others. Until I found out he was cheating, and lying, and breaking my heart. It wouldn't have lasted anyway, I hope, so it's good it came to a head so soon. But they say the first cut is the deepest. Especially when you trusted someone to that. So it took a while to heal.
That was supposed to be a good summer. I guess I wasn't ready. I quit the diner job which had pushed me, burnt me out, and taught me how to be an excellent waitress, leaving behind some great co-workers, the usual drama, and a tough boss. I held on to my cafe position. It was good, if not always smooth. I still had to fight through that summer, and try convince myself I was doing ok.
All of this was a work-up. If you can believe it. This post, the two jobs, the time at home, learning through relationships. 'Cause the world was my goal.
I just wanted to write a little bit of the past two years. I'll reminice on being a backpacker another time.

My corner of the blogging world seems pretty dead. Was the entire thing a trend we all caught onto and all moved on from? Did we all get lives, as we'd predicted? When we quit reading, did that discourage everyone else from writing? Sad, really. I'd always enjoyed the random prattlings and observations on the lives of people I'd, often, never meet.
It gave us a place to showcase our amateur writing. Somewhere to run out our frustrations, joys (small and large), fights, opinions... Whatever caught our fancy, really. Recording it all so we could look back on it in future years.
I don't know why I'm back. I could use a notebook. I know no one is reading this. I don't know how long it will last. Maybe knowing it will be posted on the internet makes me put a little more thought into my entries. I like a keyboard, where entire paragraphs... posts... can be obliterated with the push of a button. Plus, I like clicking on my archives, and seeing what I thought when I was twenty-three. That is, I like seeing what I thought when I was seventeen, I assume the same with apply.
However, I am out of practice. I remember thinking of things throughout the day to come home and record. Lame, maybe. I guess that was the lack of life (?) Now I can stare at a blank screen and have absolutely nothing that mildly resembles a reasonable idea. I guess that's where the benefit of having nobody reading this comes.

Getting ridiculously bored around here. I sprained my ankle two days ago at volleyball. Worst sprain of my life, which is saying quite a bit. Lucky, I guess, it didn't happen a week ago. This way I miss only a few days of my family being here, and only a few days of cherry picking. It's just getting fatter and worse, which is a little depressing. Then again, I lost patience on it pretty quick. I'm actually learning how to hobble around on my crutches.
People are huckleberrying. I am playing clue with Mike and Pigweed, reading, and wasting time on this here computer.
It's raining part of the time, though. I suppose that's in my favour.
It's been a good summer. Except that it's not nearly long enough, as usual
I have done a fairly decent job fitting in the things I wanted to do. I hope this foot heals within a reasonable time span (ie, end of the week), 'cause I'm pretty sure I could fit more ine. At least if this rain stops.

It's time for the, "I'm too busy and my cousins are here" post. This year it has a special twist. It's also the, "I get to be a super cool cherry picker" post as well.
No camping this round. Sad, but true. Their visit was pretty last minute. They laugh at those of us who get out of bed at quarter after four and go hang with the hippies. I'm pretty sure they go to bed right after us and then brag about the late night parties.
It's pretty usual. Lot's of laughing and wrestling. Tons of volleyball and river time. The biggest difference is I'm working and the lack of camping. Things don't really change all that much.
The cherry picking, it's good to be back. It's working to have my sister as crew boss, and my cousins as swampers. In fact, it's pretty much awesome. I'm faster then I remember, and all is well.
A quote from Abby. "How often do we get a chance to have a cousin summer like this."
Jan and Brian are living here. Jan in the bus with Meg and I, Brian in the basement. One big happy family. It's awesome to have them, and all of us back here. I need to appreciate it well I can!

It's hard to put down roots when you never stay anywhere. I guess it's a good thing, for the most part, that I had them pretty deep to start.
It's the worst part about moving around and experiencing different things. I am missing something, somebody, and somewhere no matter where I am. I'm at home now with all the people I love most. But I miss my Katima-kids, India, and not knowing a broken heart. I miss hostels, La Rivera, Jewish hippis, and driving tractor. If I stayed on the farm, I wouldn't miss any of that. You can't miss something you don't know. Can you?
I make friends fairly easily. I can meet someone else with a backpack and carry on a conversation. People like me. I love getting to know someone with no preconceived opinions. Without a set idea of how I'm supposed to be. I enjoy keeping in touch with the people I've lived with. But, essentially, the only close relationships I have left are the ones I'm related too. And as strong and healthy as those are, I also miss having a best friend. Not the cool random kids who come by our house and joke with us. Not the past acquaintances I sometimes hang-out with when I'm around, or the people I still write to on facebook. Someone who calls me up on their days off. Who doesn't always agree with me, but knows what I think, and respects it. Who loves my letters, and takes the time to stay in touch. I miss staying up way too late because neither of us wants to go to sleep. Or dreaming of road trips, camp fires, and forming a band. (although I still have this with my amazing cousins and sibs).
I've had friends like that. Good friends. Friends I've loved with my whole heart. I don't know why I always lose them. It frustrates me to no end. But they stab me in the back, walk away, or move on. Because I don't want to? Do I try too hard, hold on to tight? Because God is trying to teach me something? Maybe I just need to learn to realize when it's time to let a good thing go. At least, if I get the chance to need to, again.

Three factors. Day off to be had for all, parents away, power outage.
At least I suppose that's what fueled our night. When the power first goes off you think there's nothing to do. No computer, reading, music. So you end up sitting around by candle light talking to people.
Somehow this degenerated. Megan was the first to mention our participation in a new cult. We sat gathered around a cluster of candles banging the table in time chanting, "Pigweed, Pigweed, Pigweed!" Someone laid out a fudgicle in the middle of the candles for us to focus on.
We tried playing "monster billy bally". I had almost forgotten this glorious game. As children it was our replacement for being deprived of horror movies. Every time Mom went out Dad would become the evil Billy Bally. We would huddle on my parent's bed until we worked up the courage to venture into the dark unknown. My little sibs would follow closely behind me. At least, until Joel became the cocky little blond he would prove to be and would boldly lead well shouting that Billy Bally was dumb.
When Billy Bally came roaring out of the darkness we turned an fled. Sometimes making it to the bed, sometimes being fully tickled en route.
We went crusing to check out the source of outage (power pole down on the lower road). As we left the power came back, but we still cranked Brian's techno in Michael's very jammed beater sportster. Renn and Jan followed on the bike. We hit all greens as we burned down main. For Saturday night it was very empty. Summer air coming through the window.
We stayed up too late sharing family stories, gossip, and memories. Oh, the glory of being able to sleep in.

I am so busy. There is so much worth doing. So many jobs to have, people to see, trips to take, books to read. Although those books have taken back seat these days.

It's so cool having to have a summer at home. So much at home. To know those I haven't known for too long. Work in orchards, which I haven't for too long. Ride my bike, which I haven't for too long.
I do love the mountains. I tell everyone I actually came back for the lake. And I suppose that's partially true. I want my seasonal work. But it's the people that are keeping me here, and that will be hard to leave.
How come I know so many awesome people? I don't take the time to invest in my friendships and relationships anymore. I don't know if I know how, really. Especially with the childhood friends I don't really talk to anymore. It's effort, time, and a certain amount of skill.
I remember thinking that as I traveled the world. You meet people everywhere. Awesome people you want to know well enough to stay up late and talk to. I guess maybe it's an optimism you don't see in me very often... But I think that for this planet to run as well as it does, the majority of people have to be pretty decent. And a large percentage of those are really worth knowing. It's almost mind blowing to think of all the people I would get along with. All the stories I'll never know. The amount there is to learn from others.
However, I guess it's worth remembering that there's plenty of people worth knowing in my own little hometown. Plenty of conversations worth having. Maybe if I put the work into it... And we were all just a little less busy.

You know what I like to do? I like to go sit on you tube and play home karaoke. I run around the board from phantom of the opera, to Christina aguliera. Evanesence, Leona Lewis, and anything else that sounds like fun.
I guess I like challenges.

Last pick today. We hope. 260 pounds of saskatoons sitting in the cooler, ready for market. A few totes of cherries tonight, and we'll be ready to go.
My fingers are stained blue.
This has been my first stint being on the manager end of farming. It's been on the low risk end of things. A few hours and zip-lock bags. What would it be like if I'd invested my year, and hundreds of thousands of dollars?
Reason #1 I would find farming-for-real hard. The gamble. I just can't do it.
Reason #2. The commitment. Period.
Reason #3. I'm a hard worker. But I like my paycheck. And I like being able to camp in season.
I love farmers. They're great. And they keep hiring me. It would just be hard to do that every year for the rest of my life. To stress about harvest. To pour on the hours in hopes of a high pay-off.
Although, everyone says if you say that you end up married to one.... So maybe I take it back.

This is all crazy. Sometimes I think about the fact that there are nine people officially living here. And others that come and go. Was there really one year that I lived in my own house with just myself?
Ever since Katimavik I have no desire to go back to living on my own. Hostel dorms never bother me. I had four girls in my two bedroom house at one time, and now it's back to my families, plus. It's somehow right. I think we're supposed to live as with others.
My parents always talked about community. I don't think this is what they had in mind. I think they imagined a functioning little neighborhood where everyone shared the work of running the self-sustainable lifestyle.
Still. This is it right here. A group of people. Working together. Playing together. Fighting together. Living together.
Community. No?

So. Barefoot in summer. What a sweet time of year to come back. I think back to the years when barefoot in summer meant running through the backyard, driving a civic with my shoes off, stalking the aisles and feeling the cool tiles beneath my toes.
Then there was the year it meant kicking my sandals off on the way to my job at the hospital. Walking a small town path to a pretty big lake. Climbing onto the top of my metal bunk and praying for the girls beneath me.
Last year it was peeling my efficient runners off after a shift at the cafe. Volleyball sand between my toes. Running outside to drench myself under my hose.
This year I've gone in reverse. There's not even a little hatchback. No shopping for my own groceries. I'm climbing around in orchards hoping to make minimum, and coming home to my Mom's cooking. It's joking with my brothers, and giggling with my cousins. Nights climbing through the back door of our bus, and listening to Taylor Swift as I fall asleep.
It's my summer to be home. Oh, and to catch rides or my bike to the lake, river, and volleyball courts.

Over a year.
Well over a year.
After trying quite possibly 72 different combinations, and accidentally setting up a new account, I have remembered how to sign into my once beloved blog.
Twitter set me off. Reading old posts made me want to write new ones. It's unfortunate, really, that I gave it up for so long.
I know nobody reads it anymore. I know I don't have the time to dedicate that I did when I was seventeen. I know facebook likes to dominate my online time. But I'll see what I can do.