Wednesday, December 30, 2009

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.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

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. 

Sunday, December 20, 2009

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.