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

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.

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.

I Like Boys Who Wear Bandannas

It seems as though I think it's hot every time I see a guy rocking a bandanna.  At least in real life.  But I didn't just say that.  

Well researching this topic I discovered that online I can't like boys in bandannas.  First of all, "research" means, of course, that I was lurking Google images and Deviant Art looking for good looking males wearing bandannas.  Imagine my chagrin when I realized there were so many bad pictures of said topic, and virtually none worth showing my readers.

The idea started when I was watching this music video on Youtube.

Of course I soon remembered that I can't possibly admit to watching this band even if it's because it has this guy and I'm checking out this wrist bandanna.  I then started to think about how I could list off all the super cool ways of wearing them.  It wasn't long before I realized that I can't really do it without sounding like a douche.

I can't do it without sounding like some degree of hippi, redneck, punk or emo (whether or not I am has yet to be seen...).  I'll sound like I like smelly old bikers, highly image-conscious jerks, wanksters or illegal skater kids (whether or not I do is quite well established.  Negative, thank-you very much).

(colinhill)

(loudxmusic)

So, on Because or Why Not I formally find guys in bandannas a very large turn-off.  I also would never consider wearing one myself.  Nope.  Bandannas are not hot.  Bandannas are, in fact, unattractive.

I won't let on that I have checked out young guys wearing bandannas the right way (no do-rags please!).  I also, without a doubt, believe that good looking young women should consider it a serious strike against their self esteem if they've even considered wearing one of these trashy accessories.

Unless I actually meet you.  Then, maybe, we can talk about bandannas another time...

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.

The Notebook Chronicles

The little bald one with the glasses is the regular.  I know him only as the milk truck man.  He actually wears a blue collar.  I like to think I belong in that class, despite my ripped t-shirt.  We make our living off the same industry.  His job occasionally overlapping mine.  But that is all.

The milk truck man.

We exchange pleasantries before most of the world has even woken.  "Good morning," and, "How are you today?"

This morning as I finished clean-up I felt like we shared a bond.  Both of us the working class.  Earning our keep at jobs we do well.  Keeping our hours and making sure you get milk on your morning cheerios.

I grinned at him.  As though, somehow, we knew a common secret.  It not occurring to me that it was a connection noted only in my mind that particular AM.  He probably only thought I was strangely cheerful at a time when usually I look forward to is going back to bed.

I leave our farm as the sun rises.  My part of the process complete for now.  He finishes loading the fruit of my labour and continues on, his day just beginning.

The milk truck man pulls up to another parlour as I crawl beneath the covers.

---

The feature where I let you read the ramblings of my past.

I Done Got My Schoolin' at Home

(JoySuke)

I was home schooled.

A lot of you already know that, on some level or another, but I want you to tell me your reaction.  What biased did your mind jump to when you read that sentence?  What are your preconceived ideas and judgements?

See, I still don't really seem to get it.  Over the years I've bragged about being a home schooler.  Now it's less relevant to my life (hello adulthood.  You and I are old friends now) and I prefer to think of it as advocating. 

I'm also starting to realize what home schooled actually means.  Or, rather, what people think it means.  And, yes.  I am personally aquainted with some of these stereotypes.  The ten kids, denim jumpers, headcoverings.  Classical piano, Rod and Staff (err, that's a curriculum), and repressed social development. 

But... But, that's not what home schooling was for me.  There were a lot of "normal" experiences that I didn't have.  A good chunk of my sex ed came from magazines and late night talks with my friends.  I never shoplifted gummy candies on my lunch break or smoked cigarrettes under the stairs.  Personally, I don't think missing this out did me much harm.  Most of my "home schooled" friends have grown into functional, responsible, intelligent adults.  The ones with the most trouble are the families I've known that have been extreme (see above paragraph).  Honestly, those kids often go crazy, but do you blame them?

Those of us with a better balance may question our social roles a little earlier and learn to make out in the backseat or a car a little later.  But, in the end, we usually seem to work things out just fine.

Education at home is a concept that has continued to capture my attention.  I have no interest in working in education, but the idea of alternative education fascinates me.  I have little tolerance for anyone closed minded enough to override home school as even a possible beneficial option without any previous experience or reason.

Do I think everyone should be schooled at home?  No.  Not every parent is anywhere near capable of that commitment.  Do I think home school is ideal in every way?  Not even a little bit.  I do, however, think the public system only serves a certain portion of the population very well.  Obviously, it's a one size fits all, and has to be that way.  And that, essentially, is why I continue to support home education.

The potential for a personally tailored education is endless.  So much so that I can see how mistakes could be made, and parents could easily feel overwhelmed.  There is much to take into consideration.  This is also why I'm bothered by such a sweeping generalization of home schoolers.  There is no norm.  I have some of the typical traits, but not many.  Where I'm from almost has a separate culture just for us.  We always walked the line.

I, personally, am thankful for my home tailored education.  There is much I would do different if I went back.  Would hope to do different if I were ever to have children of my own.  And high school should be (and was for me) a personal option.  Proof of academic achievement and a social structure are two aspects of home schooling that must be thought out where there is rarely need in a public school.

Just, please, tell me this.  What do you think when I tell you I'm a home schooler?  Is all this defense necessary?

Autumn Beats Me Up

(Source)

I know it's still the end of summer.  A season for freedom and carelessness and passion.  I know I was jumping from cliffs into beautifully fresh water this weekend.  Around this time we're usually melding into a beautiful Indian summer.  However, this year I've already tasted the crisp tang of fall.

The first emotion autumn brings me is an extreme urge to move on.  Summer's dying and I need to travel, quit my job... leave.  I need to learn, wander, wonder.  Time to work and move on and join autumn sports.  September is a learned habit to pack up, start school, travel, move.

Change.

And then, or at the same time, I start to want to settle down.  Cooling air makes me want fuzzy blankets and someone to share them with.  I want fall colours and cable stitch sweaters to wear with my bluejeans.  I want to make jam from our harvest, collect firewood, hunt and knit burnt orange touques to keep me warm through the winter cold.  I want an acreage and an orchard.  Some dark cool dirt to dig in and a fireplace to come inside to.

Settling in.

Here we can climb wooden ladders with laden canvas totes.  Gala, Honeycrisp, Delicious, Macintosh.  You better believe I can bake a mean pie.  I can milk a cow, make yogurt, cut meat to stock the freezer.  I've pressed juice, made pickles and dug potatoes.  This is where I'm from.

But I have a backpack by my bed.  And a tendency to search airline tickets when I'm supposed to be paying bills.  I have mind-stretching universities in my bookmarks and a tank full of gas that begs me to use it every time I drive to the edge of town.  Rusty Spanish that begs to be stretched out.  Energy to wear out on the ice, the judo mats, the ski hill.

Fall brings out both sides of my excess energy.  Estrogen and testosterone in a mad and endless clash. This fall neither will be much of an option.  I'll need my silly little side projects.  No month long road trips or beer in hostel basements.  No international markets, or no running my own local booth.  I'll be wearing out my fight in a dojo and wondering why I'm settling for middle ground.