I happen to be Grandmasitting at the moment.  I am always surprised at how much I enjoy the company of seniors.  Short term, that is.  Seeing as I have to adopt different mannerisms and sense of humour, I do end up craving younger interaction after a while.
And I'm not permanently drawn to this work at all, although I spent three months as recreation facilitator at a home.  It is monotonous in many ways.  But depressing, in that you realize most of these people will never improve.  I originally took the job to face the challenges of interacting with the older generation.  And it had it's positive sides as well.
First of all, seniors really are funny.  They simply do and say funny things.  As they age their characters get more and more pronounced.  And for the most part you can laugh at them, and they don't mind!  They'll probably laugh with you.  Not that you don't occasionally get the grumpy old person who can never cheer up, but in my experience they are actually the minority.  This also surprises me, because I'm pretty sure if I had care givers constantly feeding me healthy little sandwiches I didn't like, or being stuck in a chair and considered a nuisance and not being able to read because of my eyesight I doubt I would be even tempered about it.
One of the most amusing old ladies I ever worked with was a British girl with advanced dementia.  The best way to calm her down was to give her a cup of tea.  She was always up for this, being English and all, and considering the fact that she never remembered if she'd just had one.
One day I was going around getting lists of nail varnish colours for all the ladies so I could have a spa day.  Upon being asked, and having the process explained, this British lady looked at her hands for a minute or so considering the question.  She then turned to me and stated, "I think green would be nice."
I looked at my list, comprised of shades of red and pink, burst into laughter.
The greatest part, though, is the stories, and what you can get them to share.  I loved going into their rooms at looking at old black and white photos.  They were almost always captured in a wedding picture, looking young, radiant and full of hope.  Sometimes you would see a military shot, a beach or holiday scene, or, in one case, a young fellow sitting behind a drum set. 
We have no one left in this country from the first world war.  In ten years those with memories of the second or the great depression will be fading away.  There are personal stories that rival any fiction, and with a little work they will almost always be shared.
So, although the days are long, I love my Grandma.  And this week is probably one of the closest times I'll spend with her (she has almost 30 grandkids) .  I'll laugh with her at her crazy quirks (eating planter dirt in the middle of the night, mistaking it for the next days lunch), and I'll learn some of her story.  After all, if it's hers then it's also a little bit mine.

Not that I've been shying away from it, but I'll admit it here.  I like skinny jeans.

In fact, I always have.  Even in the nineties when my friends were wearing those ugly black bell bottoms.  Even when everyone would sit and say how they hated tight leg jeans.  I never wore them, simply because it wasn't socially acceptable.  Although I would admit a secret crush on them, and people would act like I was something of a freak.

I think it goes back to the fact that I remember when they were standard wear in the early nineties.  I remember dreaming up my ideal outfit which comprised of a particular t-shirt of mine with a pair of leggings.  I was about eight.  Needless to say, I was also happy when tights were acceptable again.

And, I think they look pretty good on me.  And I'm not a wispy slender build, btw.  I'm not fat but I am what I would describe as athletic and probably quite hourglass.  Read: I've got hips. I know girls who are probably more petite then I am who swear that tapered jeans look terrible on them.  I get enough compliments on mine, though.  maybe it's because my legs are a little too long for my body.

having said all that, I keep it age a little age appropriate.  This is a town viciously short of twenty-somethings, where the oldest skinny jeans walking down mainstreet are on a highschooler.  So I don't wear any with prints.  And I also think leggins with denim pattern and fake stitching are terrible and can only be attempted by gangly fourteen year olds.

I also hate them on guys.  Unless they're stunt bikers who can't wear wide legs, or really young skaters with very cool sneakers.

In short, and maybe I should have said this first so you could skip the rest of the post, I like the way they layer.  I love the way they look good with flats, converse, hikers or heels.  And I like the way they slide into my boots.  They look good cuffed, and even better scrunched.

I still like boot cuts.  I love the "boyfriend jean".  But I hope skinny jeans are here to stay.  at least for a decade, or so.

So lately I've been dipping my cyber-toe into a bigger wider world of blogging.  I'm pretty much a veteran if you count only time span.  However, the fact that most of those posts were read mainly by two sisters in Saskatchewan, a life long friend I no longer talk to, an ex who was trying to impress me at the time, and a missionary kid, I'm not to sure how much cred that actually gets me.  My domain name was cherrytomboy.  Need I say more?
Online blogger sites are my new hobby.  it's not even about blogging, any more.  It's about screwing around with my template, getting on feeds, reading what would be stacks of random blogs that I have discovered I can have limitless access too and trying to master the art of following.  I've always enjoyed these glimpses into stranger's lives.  Even back when I was seventeen, 20sb bloggers didn't exist, and scanning meant clicking "next blog" and seeing what came up.  Even if it was a business site in Mandarin. 
Ultimately, though, I'm blogging for myself.  The mini-community I was part of originally have all moved on from the blogosphere.  Can you believe I was nominated for featured blogger once?
Now I like looking back for glimpses of my own life.  Remembering the posts that I was particularly proud of, although all my comments were on Haloscan and, consequently, lost. 
I'm working on the rust.  A wire brush is in order.  Hopefully with a little practice I can return to enjoying my own blog as much as I enjoy other people's.

Lately I have been resisting the temptation to sign out library books in an attempt to motivate myself to study/excercize/enrich my life in general.  The main result has been that I have picked up my Mom's choice in library book, and have been reading this.

Sharon Astyk is a wife who shares over a decade of education between herself and her husband.  She's also a blogger (http://sharonastyk.com/) although I haven't actually spent much time on her site.  What defines her, as you may already have deduced, is that she's chosen to live much as my parents do.  Part of a family of five, she largely homeschools and raises as much of their own food as she can.  A lifestyle known to it's participants as "self sustainable". 
Now, she is more extreme in many cases.  She makes a valid argument for population control.  My Dad has been known to say that everyone in the world could own and acre of land in Saskatchewan.  Her main purpose of argument stem from peak oil and climate change.  My parents are fond of stating their pet reasons why climate change is a conspiracy theory.  However, for their own purposes they've both been relatively successful in returning to a more sustainable form of living.
Sharon's case is that in the face of impeding disaster we're focusing on trying to find solutions that allow us to maintain our current standards of living, and this will become and impossibility.  Interesting, and the first part is certainly true.  We would prefer to ignore possible demise then actually forfeit some of our current comforts or conveniences.
Is life better because of these things now then, say, 100 years ago?  Most would say yes.  But it could use a little considering.
I don't necessarily agree with Sharon.  I do, however, think that this planet wasn't meant to bear what it currently is.  Because of political or environmental instability I do concur that we will be hard pressed to maintain the level of consumption we currently hold in the developed world.
Now, any steps are better then none.  I am especially a firm believer in reducing and reusing.  I'm thrilled at the move towards local and organic eating.  Many of my favourite clothes come from thrift shops.  I ride my bike when possible, and shower outside in the summer and recycle cereal boxes.  I have the luxury of being able to make these decisions.  More of them need to be made. 
The thought of "returning to the land" is so traditional it's almost novel.  And I grew up immersed, more then most, in this mindset.  Maybe it requires a little more thought.

At night the stars seemed to pierce the entire sky. More then a little upset, I was there without my sister. My now very married cousin was having her ceremony, and I remained halfway around the world. Instead I stayed up nights talking to a dreadlocked Jewish stoner. I chopped pallets for wood and walked into town to buy oatmeal and bread, asking for "shtay kabbalot". Two reciepts. Still the extent of my Hebrew. I walked to the edge of Mtizpe Ramon's canyon-like crater and marvelled as the sun came up. I learned poi from, and made American hashbrowns for, a vegetarian hippi who camped with us.
I would wander outside the palm frond fence and sit on the old car seat.  Paco, who looksed like he should be pulling a sled through the tundra, would bark around my feet.  The landscape almost was tundra-like.  Long rolling stretches of bare land sprinkled with stone.  I rarely wore shoes around the camp. 
It wasn't my first experience with desert.  Arizona, Texas, Mexico roadtrips has left them one of my lesser favourite forms or terrain.  There was something different here.  Maybe it was slowing down that had the calming effect, but I think it was sleeping outside at night.  During the day I laughed at everything.  I wasn't high, but everything was funny.  All I had to worry about was that there was enough wood for the fire and that the bathroom sink was clean enough in case any guests showed up.  At night, wrapped in a thick sweater we would talk.  Myself and Sason and any guests staying.  Memorable characters who's names I can still recall.  Andy, the other Canadian, Mark the British preacher, the lesbian couple.
Sason was my best friend for four weeks.  I can't pronounce his last name, and I have no idea where he is now.  But for that month we talked about everything.  Maybe it's because we knew we'd never see each other again.
A left healed in so many ways I'd been waiting for.  Ready to see the rest of the world.
It was something about the desert.  Something so calming.  Something in that dry barren waste land and the raw elements.  The candle light and that wide open sky.
This concept cemented itself for me over the next month.  Eating Magoobla with Bedouin, a philosophical Phillipino American and an underage Belgian in a stunning Jordan desert.  Long desert walks where we managed not to get lost.  Smoking nargilah before the four of use would fall asleep around the fire, full of sweet Bedouin tea.  Watching the early venus sink towards the horizon.
Camping in the Egyptian white desert.  The Jeep ride out.  Arab drum beats into the dark.  Jumping off the pure white drifts to get captrued in the sunset.  A polite Japanese with infinitely cool hair and a crazy middle aged Swiss lady who was strung-out on something.  She sobered up eventually, but never quite got sane.
I love the desert now.  I'm still a Rocky Mountain girl at heart.  Home is a river, a lake, a field surrounded by white peaks.  But the idea of sleeping on sand beneath a stretched canvas of stars calms my soul like nothing else.

So according to my current singular news source the flack that has been international coverage of the 2010 olympic games is starting to change over. 
Yes.  It's sad that a Georgian luge athlete was killed directly before the opening ceremonies.  I'm sorry it happens, and no 21 year old deserves to have their life ended like that.  But, really?  Luge is one of the world's most dangerous sports.  Stuff happens.
The snow situation sucks.  Look, this is my province, and it's my tax dollars that are paying out to have it shipped onto Cyprus.  Am I blaming officials?  Heck no.  It's unfortunate.  If we knew, when we put in our bid, that it was going to be the warmest season on record maybe we would've thought twice.  We didn't.  We're dealing.  And it's working out.  Period.
Oh, and Canada is losing multi-millions of dollars through these failing games in this failing global economy.  I say, really?  Give me solid numbers.  Yeah, the economy isn't great.  Maybe this is a chance for a boost.  It's impossible to figure out the money that has flowed into the province due to the games.  And, regardless, we'll have these great facilities for years to come.
And, right.  We granted countless hours of course training to our own athletes, and limited others.  That's why we're at the top of the medal count.
Oh, and prices!  did you know that local businesses are raising them because there is a inflated demand and thousands of extra people in town?!?!
Plus, there's more traffic!  Really.  How is this reasonable?
Seriously, I've always been a little upset at the whiners anyway.  And those "protesters".  Way to cost the province more.  What, do you expect them to call of the games after they've opened because a couple hundred intimidating individuals are busting store windows? 
We need something to celebrate once in a while.  What's wrong, really, with being excited that these Olympics 2010 are taking place here?  Why can't we all just cheer on our athletes?  Life is a little better.
So, there's a turn around taking place.  No major event like this ever comes off flawlessly, and I'm not denying that things couldn't have been better.  I just honestly think officials are doing a pretty decent job of dealing with the issues they've been handed.
I'm having a good time.  And I appreciate the Canadians who are cheering right along with me.  I'm not surprised the athletes themselves are complimenting Canada and our venue.  So, go team Canada.  Congratulations Vancouver 2010. 

Let's celebrate this country of ours.

The typical, once life happens blogging stops.
At least, temporary life in this case.
I have been on the road for a week and a half and the number of experiences we've had have been worth dozens of posts on their own.
I bring you highlights.
1.  Arriving at 1:00 in the morning at Kaitlyn's.  To hear the GPS say, "you have reached your destination", a pretty serious highlight after a ridiculously long drive.  And to have Kaitlyn bouncing around and being the epitome of excited, a very cool thing.  The fold-out bed, even better. 
2.  Cowboy bar and Cowboy swing.  I knew nothing about the genre, and by the end of the night I felt I could dance it.  At least with any sort of a strong partner.  I was amazed at what a strong lead could do.  Such a blast!  Also, being flipped...flipped... by a professional bullrider.  I was pretty impressed.
3. Olympic gym.  Like, gymnasium.  You know, where they train for gymnastics.  I loved having run of it.  Spring loaded mats, rings, bars, foam pit, seriously everything.  Also loved playing on it with Sarah's family!
4. NHL game.  Just the Wilds and they Coyotes.  But the experience was well worth it.  And tickets were about 20 bucks!  The game managed to be exciting despite the lack of competitive vibes.  And sitting there eating popcorn with Sarah and Karen just made it that much better.
5.  Tacos in Mexico.  Authentic Spanish.  I kinda missed it all.  So the little taste was good.
6.  Seeing Sarah, talking to her a little bit.  There's no way to make up for seven years, but it was good to give it a chance.
7. LA basically wasn't amazing.  No serious highlights.  Hollywood sign, kinda cool.  Seeing green after leaving the desert, always nice!  Oh, IHOP!  Pretty much the best time in LA.
8. Quaint San Fransisco.  Can't help but enjoy much of it. 
9.  Hostelling again!  The young international crowd.  The, "Where are you from and what are you doing here" conversation that's been had to many times.
And that's it for now folks.  There's a few more experiences to be had.  And they will be.  Until then, I leave you with these.

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.