Christmas Amendment

In the spirit of the season, and rejecting the spirit of materialism, I propose the following amendment. Gifts may be exchanged if they fall under the following guidelines.

I will not be offended if I don't receive any gifts. 

Presents can be homemade.

Gifts can be bought second hand, as long as I will not be offended if they get re-donated.

I can purchase gifts that are locally made/grown. For example, items from the farmer's market or craft fair.

Presents can be something that you know the person really needs or wants (for example, socks).

Let's appreciate this Christmas season together! 

Signed

___________________

My sister wrote this up two months ago on a scrap sheet of paper. At first it was just an idea, but each of my immediate family plus my sibling's room mate plus my boyfriend signed it. It's only binding to those who enter the agreement. It might sound a little Scrooge-like, but it makes you re-evaluate the whole Christmas thing. 

What do you hope to get out of celebrating Christmas.

With times a bit tighter, out of  our family of  seven, plus the two extras, only two of my younger siblings are regularly employed. My Dad and brothers are waiting to sell a house. The room mate generally doesn't work and my boyfriend and I are both full-time students.

That's not really why this amendment has made us rethink the season, though. We don't need just more stuff. We don't need to just purchase to fill expectations. There has been some incredibly creativity, and a little bit of socially conscious purchasing going on in this household this season. I still have a few friends I shopped for more traditionally... But this Christmas is going to be a little simpler and, in some ways, a little more meaningful.

I absolutely love this time of year! 

However you celebrate, I hope it's an excellent holiday for you! 

Merry Christmas

Better Late Than Never?

I realize the time for post-Halloween posts is almost a week past. 

Still, I saw a another, but similar, costume post and thought, what the heck. 

I mean, it took enough time to put together, right?

Who am I?

I told my guy that he better appreciate it since 

this is the only year I'll be a geek-themed character.

If you need another hint scroll on down.

Several good nights were had by all. 

Bowling, Barn dance, Karaoke...

I think Halloween is the only good chance we get 

as "adults" to wear a costume (in public).

Oh, and eat candy unabashedly.

What's not to like?

I Don't Shop at Walmart

I'm Loving it...?

It was when I was traveling with my sister that I first really started to notice an inconsistency with myself.  I truly believe in things that I don't necessarily live out.  An example at the time was McDonald's.  I'm not a fan to begin with.  At all, actually.  I'm also not entirely supportive of globalization and I think McDonald's (or, to a greater extent, KFC) is a perfect representation of all that is negative with the concept.  Still, there were a couple unfortunate times where we found ourselves with hours to waste before taking a bus/flight/taxi/ect but no hostel and we would park our over-sized backpacks on a tiled McDonald's floor and eat ninety cent sundaes that usually differentiated a little bit from one you'd buy in Detroit.

That's right. I am guilty of supporting McDonald's (but never KFC's) proliferation in third world countries.  I always felt guilty about it.  I don't even ever eat McDonald's here at home.

About a year ago I was talking to some friends and the subject of Walmart came up.  Yup, as you would imagine I don't think they're all that great either.  Now, I do realize that Walmart is not all that is evil and wrong with the world.  The just happen to be the biggest example.  My sister, who just returned from local clinic midwifery work in the slums of Manila says that shopping, especially in Walmart type institutions just feels gross.

So one of my friends said, "I don't shop there (Walmart), I just don't.  I think they do a lot of harm to small business and ethical practices.  Sometimes it's tempting to run in and scoop up the cheap 'natural' peanut butter but, you know what?  It's not worth it."

I was all, "Yeah, Allie!  Good for you.  I'm really supportive of that.  I should really do that..."  All the while feeling some nagging guilt that, even though I don't believe that supporting Walmart is a good thing I do it wholeheartedly anyway.

Before I turned twenty-five I decided to quit Walmart for at least a year.  There is no Walmart in my hometown so I figured it wouldn't be hard to avoid that six times a year that I would normally shop there.  That was before I knew I was moving to a small city with a central Walmart for my school year.  I went in there once with a friend.  The price drop signs beckoned me, but I'm extremely happy with my abstinence.  At least I don't have to feel guilty with my fifteen dollar jeans or swear at them when the zippers break after a month.

Maybe eventually I'll put even more effort into eating locally.  I'll drive less, pray more, stop procrastinating, go to bed on time...  Until then I'll just blame Walmart.

Worth Having

Come Autumn I need change... and things. 

It's been a summer full of fun, confusion and living like I was free.  It was rope swings and barbeques.  Rock climbing and iced coffee.  It was boys and camping and a star spread sky.  To much rain and not enough lightening.  Best friends and family, the two of those combined.  Long talks, happiness and the world beneath my motorbike.  It was mistakes for all of us, decisions among us and more good relationships than I could possibly have hoped.

It was a summer worth having.

And now I'm here.  In a big empty beige house with no furniture.  And in classrooms discussing Philosophy, Psychology and knowing I'll be struggling through homework.  Learning how to write creatively.  Because I've never dabbled in that before.  Thinking about taking on more freelance journalism through this all.  With a blue-eyed boy I care for.  In a city I've always thought was unattractive discovering hidden places where beauty exists.

Feeling seventeen sitting on the back step drinking lemonade out of mugs because we don't have chairs or glasses.  Holding hands, smiling lots.  Opening crisp new school supplies and learning my way around.

It's more change than I could possibly hope for.  It should be a fall worth having.

Exciting Stuff. Unexciting Presentation.

I've seen a few of these around these days.  These brief and simple updates to let you know what's going on in everyone's lives.  Let's blame summer, shall we?

It's the depressing irony of blogging:  when things actually happen you don't write.  Anyway, I'm going to  list.  I am sorry.

1. I am 25.  I know that's a big number but I'm completely unfazed.  Weird, I know.  23-24 seemed a much bigger jump to me.  I'm not particularly accomplished for a 25 year old but I'm exactly alright with where I'm at.  It's been a while since I was this fine with getting older.

2. I'm going back to school!  I know, about time, right?  Quitting my job and getting heading to university...  Probably.  Stay tuned.

3.  I just got back from a road trip to Alberta.  It's was awesome.  I'm always excited to spend a little bonding time with my brothers.  I'm also learning to rock climb.  'Cause I'm hardcore like that.  And also I have to much money to throw away on gear...  Apparently.  Yeah right.

4.  I'm going to camp!  To counsel.  14-17 year olds.  The easy age group, don't you think?  Out trips and all.  Yup.  101, you are going down!

That's all for now.  In short I am ridiculously excited about life!  I have to go camping now and I will be away sailing next weekend.  I will update you in the future, though.  I might even write properly once in a while.  Cheers!

In My Blood

I'd like to start by saying that I grew up on motorbikes.  I'd like to, but I can't.  Still, I think it's somehow in my genes.  My parents fell in love on a motorcycle.  Riding out to band practice.  Taking of their helmets to kiss on that first date when they were younger than my now-youngest sibling.

By time I came along motorcycles were traded for a brown Toyota with car seats in the back and an ancient pick-up to go with a budding construction business.  Five kids later these eventually turned into a stubborn minivan and "Big Red," (hint: not a bike.)

I always knew, regardless, that my parents both held class 6 driver's licenses.  At ten I had my first ride when my Dad's oldest friend brought around his cruiser.  I don't remember what it was but I remember the thrill and the wind on my arms.  I clung tight as we accelerated.  I didn't know about counter-steering and had it explained to me after trying consistently to upright on corners.

Once a biker always in your blood, so I've been told.  Once you start you'll never really stop.  When I was fourteen my parents bought a little orange Yamaha Enduro 100 from roughly the stone-age, aka the 1970s.  That's what I learned to drive up and down our lane.  With a throttle in your fist and no license in your pocket 100ccs feels like a lot of power.  20MPH feels like a lot of speed.  An old gold helmet from your parent's dating days feels pretty cool.  And it starts to get in your blood.

At sixteen I drove it on Mexican highways to neighboring villages for an internet fix.  The smell of tortillas and the muggy wind on my face was nothing but pure independence.  I wanted more.  My little brother drives it around mountain roads with his friends now.

I moved out and my parent's young family grew up enough to justify getting rid of the minivan.  They bought a Honda 400.  This time only from the Dark Ages.  AKA, the early 1980s.  It looked like this only until my oldest brother turned his mad airbrushing skills its way.  I made it past the first two steps of licensing and then life got in the way.  I still hoped for the wind on my face and a ride down the lake but my lifetime commitment of achieving my own class 6 was still out of reach.

My middle brother fixed up a Honda 400 dual sport from the same era and would take me burning around mountain trails and rock outcroppings.  I learned to manage the kick start and I'd take it out on my own.  My cousin let me take a   less-than-legal spin on his 600 crotch rocket.  It was only a matter of time.  My license requirements finally fit themselves in last year.

Here's what I'm driving these days.  Yamaha Seca 550.  Check off item 24.  Apparently we have a thing for old-school bikes.  Yes, it's also from the dark ages.  But it's still a whole lotta fun.

I Try

She was from Stats Canada ("Or elections B.C.   Or something like that...").  My sister was pretty much her choice demographic.

"Did you vote in the last election?"
"Errr.  I was out of the country."
"So you didn't vote?"
"Uh...  No."
"You weren't aware of alternative voting options?
"There are alternative voting options?"
"Alright, thank-you.  How did you hear about last election?"
"Facebook."
"And your primary source of information?"
"Ummm, Facebook."
"Did you receive your Elections Canada voter's card?"
"...My parents might have..."
"How did you know you're registered to vote?"
"I'm registered to vote?"
"So, have you ever voted in a national or regional election?"
"Umm...  I don't know.  I don't remember.  I don't think so?"

They say change should start at home.  I try.  Really, I do.

As Open as the Road Can Get

And a good time was had by all.

Here

This post will not be long. It will not have photos, it will not rhyme, and my wording will not be impeccable. I will not be telling you to vote (my ballot was cast advance) or commenting on certain political developments. This is the first full blog post I am composing via iPad, but my reasons are good.

I am in Prince George, en route in a two week back-country hard-camping road trip to the Yukon. Last night we slept under Jasper stars and watched a hint of northern lights streaking the sky.

I recently turned down a job promotion, met a boy I share a lot of mutual like with, found a room mate with a thirst for adventure and a long history of learning to appreciate each other (we're succeeding). Pre-wrote half a month of paid posts and put my car on the road after biking for a month.

It's nice to have an open road, a full tank of gas and two of the coolest brothers you can imagine to share this with. This is here.

Shades of Gray

Why so complicated?

Painting, of course, by Norman Rockwell

Getting in Hot Water

"Can you girls just hand me that beer?"

Let me back up a little.

After taking the wrong back road we managed to arrive just at dusk (this is Canada in January so, like, 5:30).  My Civic braved the mining road like the gem she is.  We'd parked on the far end of the pull off and set up our tent on top of two feet of snow and three tarps.  After unrolling our sub-temperature sleeping bags (that means "You will survive."  Not, "You will be comfortable.) We finally shivered our way into bathing suits, hoodies and snow boots.

Cue: Classic natural hot springs.  A beautiful set of pools surrounded by snowy overhangs.  large flat rocks, river within fifteen feet, the toking crowd and snowflakes that melt in your hair.  A star spread sky.

What makes it all worth it, as inclusion to the joy of getting in hot water, is the chance to spend hours with people you care about.  The rare opportunity to do so without cell phones.  Without texting, social etiquette concerns or pressing engagements.

Finally as our single water proof time-piece neared one AM the girls in our group climbed back onto the path.  By now the only people left in the pool were the guys from our group and a few others we came to dub "The Canadians."  Strange, yes, seeing that the rest of us excepting one fit that definition ourselves.

Rather then braving the outhouses at the top of the trail we opted to change on the path.  Four of us took turns holding up towels and dropping our wet suits into a frozen heap on the ground.  I stood holding the towel for a very naked friend.  The other two of us were also engaged in providing and using these make shift change rooms.  That's when The Canadians piped up.

"Uh, girls.  Is there, like another beer up there?  Just, yeah, do you see a Molson?"

I glanced down.  three feet to my right I could spy the top of a can.

"Yeah.  There's one right here."

"Oh, yeah, cool.  Do you, like, think you could just hand it to us?"

I glanced down.  My friend was looking for a bra in our snowy pile.  I was balancing a flashlight and a the two corners of the towel.  Since we'd been at this ten minutes already I would've thought that The Canadians could have figured out the inappropriateness of the request.

"Seriously?  Hand you your beer?  Umm, yeah.  Just let me drop my towel on my friend here and hand you your beer."

No, I didn't say that.  I mumbled something about in a minute.  Canadian dude started scrambling up the bank.

"Oh, there it is.  Just out of reach."

Luckily girl number five managed to reach us in time to hand him his Molson and they faded off to the bottom pool.

Why did we call them the The Canadians?  They were proof as to where our stereotypes actually come from.  And very much thanks to this quote.

"I f***in' drink beer all the time.  F***in' Christmas shopping, I drink beer.  In the f***in' shower I drink beer.  Driving to these hot springs I drink beer.  F***in' love beer, man!"

We figured out a better process the next morning.  Arrive at the pools when there is nobody around.  Toss a frozen chunk of suits and towel into the hottest pool.  Proceed to change.  It's really too bad that the colder it is in open air the better the hot spring experience.

Judo is a Like

This is not judo,
but you probably don't know that

When I was  seventeen I loved judo.  Basically lived and breathed judo.  I found no better high then a perfect throw or a gold medal and a small town tournament.  I'd get nervous, pumped, determined.  I got in the best shape of my life.

Now I like judo.  I think.  What do I love?  I guess adult life means I don't get passionate about athletic pursuits like I used to.  I almost love dancing.  I know.  From a fighter to a lover.  Tomboy to girl.  I almost love snowboarding.  At least with that you have speed, adrenaline, challenge and a effin' cool image.  I almost love hockey and volleyball.

I'll keep doing judo.  Nothing kicks my butt like a martial arts class.  It's productive, and I like that in a workout.  Best of all, sometimes, I still get the thrill of a perfect throw.

I've learned, for myself, I need commitment.  I learned this through the times I was a complete hypocrite and got badly out of shape (I was mostly out of the country).  I also learned, though, that I'm much happier when I have a physical way to channel my energy.

What I'm saying is this.  Find something to love.  I don't know what it will be.  Maybe you're one of those freaks who gets runner's high.  Maybe you love pilates, rock climbing (this is one I want to do more of), swimming.  Basketball, biking (I do this, but only because it's practical), hiking.  Whoever you are, I'm pretty sure you can find a workout that even you can convince yourself is worth your time.  Parking on the other side of the lot and taking the stairs are good things.  But they shouldn't do more then supplement.

Trust me.  It's worth it to find something you love.

PS, I don't care how good your sex life is.  First off, It probably isn't that great if you're not into any other physical activity.  And it's not gonna make your active lifestyle requirements anyway.  Quit trying to be a smart ass.

Bitter New Year To You

(dinudey1985)

New Years isn't something that was ever tradition when I was growing up.  I remember bitterly spending it with my family.  Or, even more bitterly yelling it in with our lamps defiantly on and my sister's wrist watch reminding us the rest of the world was partying.  Once we avoided a party because the adults were going to have one upstairs, and us kids were going to party in the basement.  Family first.  I was bitter about that, too.

As I got older we spent New Years eve playing pool in our church basement or watching the ball drop in New York through my Grandma's television.  One of the more memorable was being at the top of a pine tree.  My sister and cousins perched on branches below me.  Driving around town and trying to set off car alarms.  I was bitter then, as well.  My friend group had intentionally uninvited me.  Or fighting on an Israeli beach at midnight in a country that doesn't really acknowledge the holiday.  Or getting slurpees on a volunteer program that required us back by midnight.

I've kicked off too many of my years bitter and lost.  My toughest break-up happened on a New Years day.  Despite all this I still anticipate the holiday with a sort of respectful admiration.  Maybe I have a little glimmer of optimism that insists on the possibility of fresh starts, dynamic celebration and successful resolutions.

Or maybe I'm just a fool.

The Middle of Nowhere in the Middle of the Night

Dec. 31st, 2009, 11:30 PM.  I needed change.

11:30 PM and someone said we should climb the lookout.  In the middle of a wildlife reserve.  In the dark.  We were in the middle of this nowhere anyway.  We were tired of flying down an icy hill on over-sized tubes and throwing gasoline on the fire.  I was tired of chocolate Christmas baking and being the oldest in the group.  I was tired of doing doughnuts in empty parking lots and hours spent running in a mild winter out of pure frustration.

twenty five of us piled into four cars and sped down to the empty reserve and a clear starry sky.  We ran down clapboard paths over dead winter marshes and up the four flights of steps to the open top.  We made it, breathless, by midnight.

I screamed at the emptiness and my small town's lights in the distance.  I grabbed my blonde friend and we looked at each other, jaws set.

"Get lost, 2009.  We're so done with you!"

She was going to Calgary.  I was going to Arizona.  I haven't seen her since.  I miss her, but I know her life has gone the way she wanted.

And myself.  I just didn't know.   I'm not my brothers that were hugging me, lifting me, threatening to throw me over the rail.  I'd given up construction long ago.  I was twenty three.  I'd seen the world.

Twenty four of us yelling in the new year.  Crammed in an open look-out tower blindly hugging and looking forward to 2010.  And me.

Foreign Flavour

(Jahblessme)

I think I think I like you
'Cause I really think you're cute
You're sweet but you are edgy
Like you're trying to improve

You smile, hold the door,
but in every conversation
I'm really very certain
you swear without realization

You're genuinely thoughtful,
even when I know you're wasted
Like a new and foreign flavour
that I've never really tasted.

You wear death metal t-shirts.
Yeah, you seem a little shady,
but you really are exceptional
at helping out old ladies.

I think I think I like you,
and I know you think I'm hot.
So this may seem a little crazy...
I won't give us a shot.

Well, now. Buenos Dias.

(noahlee)

Left to my own schedule I stay up later and get up later until I'm frightfully near nocturnal. Fortunately life requires me to stay on a slightly more realistic time frame. I'm really not a morning person, and I never will be.  Maybe this is partly because I've always refused to embrace caffeine.

I have learned to detest the sound of an alarm clock more then almost anything else. Bed suddenly seems the best place in the world. I will gladly hate morning song birds.  And don't get me started on those cheerful people happily belting out their "good morning"s. 

Once I'm up and about, though, freshly showered and munching on toast and homemade jam it begins to seem as though anything else would be just a waste of time. 

Morning is the most productive part of just about any day. At least if I manage to rub the sand out of my eyes.  It's a great time for thoughts, and also the best in which to spot a sunrise.  Funny how that works.  I like watching the world coming alive.  I'll never actually manage to regularly get out of bed early for a morning run or even a cup of tea on the back deck. I'll just have to take the moments between the snooze button and my true day's beginning to gather my wits and warm up to the day.

I also might want to work on heading to bed a bit earlier.  Something that is easy to avoid until the alarm goes off and I consider the benefits all over again.


Of course, the fact that I'm posting this at 1:00 AM might be an indicator to how that would actually go.

---

I have to thank Riley for causing me to post this.  She's written out a highly effective blog review for me which has resulted in the subscribe button and About page now on my blog.  I will be working on implementing a few other changes over the next little while.


I've been known to recommend her blog before, which is a really good read.  But now I'm also going to recommend her reviews.  Well worth it if you're actually serious about improving your blog. 

Randori, Newaza and Other Japanese Words I Don't Remember

All of me hurts.  Well, when I try to move.  This is specific to, but not limited to thighs, upper stomach, neck and upper arms.  Not to mention the bruises running pretty solid up my left arm.  Does that sound bad?  I think it's because that's the arm I usually break fall with.

Yeah, I'm back at judo. Item 46.

I might not be coming back with the obsession I had at 17.  I always wished I had a chance to start younger and train harder.  But, I've missed it.  Practicing this year will whip me back into some much needed shape.  I build muscle easily for a girl.  I miss my chiseled shoulders, and my masculine forearms.  Wait... what?

Maybe I'll fall in love with the sport all over again.  And if not I'll be able to leave some energy on the mat.  My Mom was never a big fan of her teenage daughter rolling around with sweaty guys, or the part where we try to choke each other unconscious.  But she once said it was good because it was an outlet for some of my fight.

if nothing else I'll leave healthier (unless I tear something in my knee).  Right now that's hard to remember when sitting down necessitates a five inch uncontrolled fall.  In a good way.

 

Maybe you'll see why I find judo beautiful.  This is the international competition scene, no choreography here.  I can understand why a match would be dull for someone who isn't a judoka, so feel free to check out these highlights.  Bobby says to warn you to turn on the mute.

Things To Love About Road Trips

~ The opportunity to actually get tired of driving.

~ Taking photos (see left).

~ Ice tea and ice cream from greasy gas stations.

~ Flea markets, roadside stalls and garage sales.

~ Young international hostel crowds.

~ Feeling like a rebel spending nights in the car.

~ Adventure.

~ Couchsurfing.

~ City streets and checking off a list.

~ Coast line, mountains, plains, rock formations and sunsets.

~ Hiking, swimming, stretching after sitting too long.

~ Fresh visits with old friends.

~Never feeling restless.

To Apply or Not to Apply?

Some of you know I have a job I'm not terribly excited about.  Don't get me wrong.  The people and the company are great.  There's just simply nothing challenging about the job that I'm doing and now that I've been there a bit the learning curve is closer to a straight line.

So, I have the opportunity to apply up.  It would be moving into the office side of things.  Balancing numbers, accounts, that sort of thing.  Traditionally, I'm not an office type... at all.  (I was 18 when I wrote that, though).  Last night I promised myself I'd write a list of pros and cons in the morning.  The morning is here (and gone), so in the interest of being a little more personal on my blog (and really hoping for a little feedback) I'll post it here.



Pros:
Full time hours.
Variation in work (would mix with my current position).
Benefits.
New experience.


Cons:
Not very experienced.
Commitment (I like the fact that I can justifiably give notice anytime).
Would probably end up hating office work.

Those are far less exhaustive lists then I thought they'd be.  Bear in mind that just because I choose to apply does not mean I'll get the job.  Another reason to just give it a shot?  The two last cons are the biggest ones, for me.

My sister says I too often do things because I think I should.  Rather then because I'm interested.  Or because I have a drive to book up my time.  I'm an odd sort of workaholic.  It has been refreshing to work fewer and better hours then I used to.  And for non-stressful management.  Although, the hours would still be good.


I'm just rambling now.  Your thoughts, please?

When Skater Boys Strip

(Source: Afireoutsideme on Deviant Art)

Pretend it's June in North Ontario.  The sun is weak, the town is tiny and the area is stunningly beautiful.  It's also St. Jean Baptiste which means the Quebecers in my little group want to get wasted* and declare their sovereignty.

Now, I'm not all Vivre Quebec, but I enjoyed hanging out with the biggest Libre believer of them all.  Thom was a guitarist of the tenth degree.  A ponderer with a French-guy afro.  Funny, deep, and a little bit lost.  Being as it was Quebec's national holiday he got all introspective and wanted to wander off to the beach with his guitar.  I was bored on our free block and decided to go along.  Mostly, I confess, I wanted to sit looking over Lake Superior and listening to Thom's acoustic guitar.

As we got closer to the beach a cop car pulled up and informed us that a bear had just been reported on the beach.  There's another thing about this town.  It wasn't unusual to see black bears crossing the street in the middle of town.  With a dejected Thom I turned and meandered down towards main, stopping at their little skate park.

Laying on the curved concrete Thom played and I listened.

Groups of fourteen year-old boys can be a little obnoxious.  Especially when it's a birthday party and they're on the way to the corner store to try scam cigarettes.  They spotted us like prey on a field mouse.

"Dude, you're amazing.  Man, play us something."
"What do you want?"
"Play us some Slipknot!  Know any Metallica?  Dude, Slash!  Who's she?"
"Kris.  She sings."  I shot Thom my "way to try switch the heat" look.
"Dude!  Play us something and she can sing."

Kids don't shut-up easily.  Thom cued the opening bars of Hotel California, about the only song that we both knew he could play and I could sing through.  Amid just-breaking voices and experimental swearing he glanced at me.  Kind of a "just do it, I dare you."

As I started on dark desert highways and cool wind in my hair the miraculous happened.  The group shut-up.  They stood against the graffiti and stared.  When the guitar died they were all, "Man, that was amazing.  Amazing!  Beautiful!  Really."  That's right.  We got a fourteen year old male to use "beautiful" as description.

Then the birthday kid dropped twenty bucks in Thom's case.  Twenty-bucks!  We were on a youth volunteer program, so that was a night out at the Legion (yes, the Legion was the happening night life).  It was his birthday money, but he wouldn't take it back.

They headed off to the convenience store.  We returned to our non-heavy metal under the night sky, but it wasn't too long before they were back.

"Dude!  You were amazing!  But we're out of money, Man.  Here.  Have a rock."
"No way, Man.  They're too good for a rock!  Here, have my shirt.  No, seriously, take it!"
I was laughing.  Thom was like, "C'mon guys!  You can't go home without a shirt.  No, it's cool."
"No really.  Take my shirt.  Take my shoes."

"Here!  I'll give you my pants!"

To our chagrin a barely teen dropped his pants.  Right there on the skate park of a little northern town.

"Want my boxers, too?  I'll give 'em to you!"

Thom was freaking out a little.  I couldn't stop laughing.  We managed to get the kids to (mostly) keep their boxers on.  Eventually it was us who had to leave them running around the ramps partially dressed.

"I was scared," Thom confessed.  "Man, like, maybe we get in trouble for little kids strip in front of us!"

It was perfect.  My first and only St. Jean Baptist.  But regardless it'd probably be my favourite.

*Yes, I see the irony as the holiday is (apparently) named after a saint.