One missed call

At this very moment, there are probably a million things I need to be doing. Instead I'm blogging and having a stand of with the phone. 
Who will be the first to make a move? Will the phone ring before I dial his number?
RING DAMN IT! RING!
For centuries women have awaited the call of their suitors, a letter, a wire or even a herald would give news of a lady's beau. They however, would probably have remained elegantly calm and collected. I just sound as if I've O.D. on cough sirup and taken up Belle's habit of talking to inatimate objects. Particularly communicating devices.  
How infuriating! Does the opposite sex not understand the amount of stress this habit of theirs creates? I have already downed three slices of cake. This my friends, is what we females call....
" Anger Eating!"
We devour any sort of high fat, calorie heavy food in sight. Tearing at pizza slices as if it was the problem or *ahem*the heads of the people causing the problem *Ahem Ahem* 
My goodness terrible this pneumonia. Just awful. Time for more cough sirup!
Anyhoo, I'm smothering my sorrow with sugar whilst my eyes are drawn to "No new messages" reading across my cellular device. Maybe he's having thanksgiving dinner? 
Er, or perhaps he started eating at twelve when he said he would call and is suffering from "Turkey Tired Syndrome". That's why he can't bother to pick up the phone. I bet he's so exhausted from digesting the poor bird his fingers can't even make dialing motions. That's exactly why. 


WELL THAT'S WHY YOU SHOULD BECOME A VEGETARIAN!


Or maybe this is a sign. Sometimes it's the conversations you don't have that are the ones that say the most.

When you don't know the answer.

I hate the feeling of not knowing the answer.
Be it on a test, or even just in a social situation, it frustrates me to no end. It 's like jumping of a cliff and realizing you have no idea how deep the lake your about to land in is. Not only is it too late to go back, but the situation could have been avoided if only you had taken the time to think about it.
I failed my learner's test, by one question. To make matters worse, I had circled the correct answer and crossed it off thinking it wrong.
People keep asking why I'm so sick, what I have, what is wrong with me. But I don't know. The doctors don't know either. I shiver, my heart races, my temp rises and falls more than the canadian dollar has in the last two years. My parents are worried, and my coughing keeps them up at night. I wish I could promise them I really am okay. But I don't know if I'm okay.
Today we had a line test in drama. I thought I knew all my lines. I studied religiously and memorized. Every night this week. 
But I forgot to highlight a line. Forgot to remember it. Forgot to say it.
And I Hate the feeling of not knowing an answer.

"I Love my Crazy Friends"

The first time I saw a t-shirt with this statement printed on it, I was in Quebec roaming around with "The gang" and our exchange students. Honestly, I couldn't express how true that t-shirt is. Friends are possibly one of the most important parts of a person's life. That's next to family and breathing (however good friends would probably find you a gas mask or attempt to preform CPR if the need arised).
Not only do they hold your hand during needles, pull all the thorns out of your hair when you roll into rose bushes, share their food when you forget your lunch, make science fun by becoming "Periodic Table Ninjas" or call you at midnight to sing you happy birthday, there even exists wonderful fantastical people who will help you snag a bigger part in the play. That's right, you are reading Grandma Georgina's blog.
Although this might not seem too inexplicably amazing if you have not read the script for "Charlie and the Glass Elevator", try to imagine this:
An ancient Grandmother wearing nothing but a night shirt in all her wrinkly glory, speaking with a trailer park southern accent, floating in space and using her mouth as a jet propeller to gravitate in a glass elevator.
Yes, it's that awesome. A big thank you to "The Bucket" family.
I am eternally gratefully.

May we join hands, if we be crazy friends.

Arctic Hipster

Sweet things only take up a moment of your time

The fact I'm trying (emphasis on Trying) to cut back on the baked goods for the sake's of my family's and friend's health, has left me feeling a bit bitter lately among other conflicts. Although this last week has been hard, and does not seem as if it will get any better, I'm hoping in making a list of sweet things today will feel a bit more....sugary. I'm writing quickly considering tomorrow is the first day of dance rehursals for " Charlie and the glass elevator: Micheal Jackson tribute". Most pleasant things take only a minute though, so here goes...

Reasons to smile...

Tonight my family and I embarked on an adventure to purchase orange juice
I almost can put my feet completly on the ground in the yoga position of downward facing dog
We received our information package about the child in Africa we are sponsoring
Her name is Febby
Today "The Guitar Playing Hippie" and laughed at yet another inside joke
We have inside jokes
I adore him...even more than cookies.
Found an amazing recipe for spicy mexican brownies
Had no homework tonight
It was twenty two degrees... IN SEPTEMBER!!!
There is a breath taking sunset right now
My dad just called me "Macadamia Nut"
Mom read from "Ink Spell" using her teacher voice
I just thought of the "David HassleHoff Contest" on Megan's blog, then remembered her cooking.
Nichola, the italian exchange student said Hi to me this morning


Tomorrow is a brand new day, and honestly there is nothing that could be sweeter.


Arctic Hipster

By the time I had finished writing this the demon had dissapeared

Anger is a hideous thing. 
It poisons your mind, making you believe in strange ideals, causing your faith to falter. It clouds your judgement to the point where you can not control your actions. It can turn you into a monster. Rage makes people unrecognizable, even to themselves. It tears apart relationships, shatters friendships and cuts family ties. 
Anger Kills.
If you have ever lost anyone, no matter how distant, you know the devastated feeling in the pit of your stomach that follows a death. You know the sickening taste in your mouth signaling a reality check. But, do you know the hit-by-a-freight train sensation that is suicide? 
I never met them. I knew them only through word of mouth, but that didn't matter. The shock hit just as hard. Cause' people are like dominos, when one falls the rest are pushed. 
And boy, can you feel the weight of everyone tumbling after. Even after they are gone we, the living, are affected.
To be honest I don't understand. Death is a concept I've had to get used to recently, yet the meaning still escapes me. How can a person truly be gone if we still feel the repercussions of their actions? How could they have "passed away"? A term used to ease the pain when really, it just makes death sound more twisted. As if we're acting as someone has merely gone on long holiday. But they are never coming back. Nor can anything this severe ever be reversed. 
Anger hurts. 
It killed them. Blinded them, maimed their sanity momentarily. Long enough to do the deed I guess. But anger didn't just hurt them. Anger hurt everyone.
But I can't help feeling the horrible emotion that ended an existence, as much as I despise it. I wallow in a bath of frustration. What would send them into such a fury? How could we not have known? Why couldn't we stop it? 
Why was living not good enough? Why were we not good enough? 
That's what gets me. No matter how hard I tried, even if I had known, I couldn't save them. We're all just helpless spectators when it comes to other people's decisions. You can't change anyone's mind but your own. 
Oh, but you can try. And you can feel guilty about failing. You can be frustrated by the fact you can't stop someone's pain, end their suffering without them coming to an end as well. 
My mom said to be careful,  because people are breakable and life is fragile. Nothing lasts forever, no matter how we wish it would. She's right, and I wish I could accept that. Too bad my stubborn heart refuses to make sense. 
Anger can be silent.  
Please, if you have been hurt, or are hurting yourself, know that it doesn't do any good. That there are people who care for you and love you. You are important to someone. You are important to me. Frustration passes in time. Don't let an argument ruin your life. Don't give up hope in tomorrows, or the days that follow. There are endless possibilities if you hold onto your dreams. You are strong, we can and will make it through this together. I promise. Most of all, never surrender to the demon anger can become.


Because anger can be conquered,


Arctic Hipster

Pneumonia is the word... among others

 Dear Sickie Sympathiser,


Now it's important that we are all on the same page, be that web page or maybe just metaphorically, but I have been ill for months. 


It started with a throat infection during an extraordinary band competition in May, grew exam week in June, dominated the fabulous road trip to the mountains with my best friend, prospered all the way past my birthday week until this very day. Before my doctor had taken the time to do a chest X-ray last Thursday, we had no idea what could be wrong. The blood work ruled out mono, anemia and the dreaded H1 N1 virus, but provided no relief. My doctor prescribed an inhaler for my cough, and mom made threats with chicken noodle soup. This year I was planing to join the cross country team and maybe try to be sporty despite my disabling klutzyness which had landed me in an ambulance a couple years previous. This year I thought it would be different. 

 Friday morning dashed those hopes with a ninja karate chop to the metaphorical groin. The maternal unit received a phone call from the doc diagnosing me with a worse-than-grounding fate. I have  between a moderate and a severe case of pneumonia. That means antibiotics the size of horse pills three times a day and limited physical activity. In other words, no running. 
Which is sort-of funny, because up to about two weeks ago I was still going for six km excursions in under thirty one minutes. That's about five point one minutes to a klick. I feel pretty good about that, considering my lungs are filled with fluid.

I've had it for months without knowing and have been lucky enough to relatively normally (with a bad cough, chills, head aches and inexplicably chest pains). My pharmacist aunt said the reason I was able to last this long without medical assistance was because of running and staying in physical shape. My friend Oliver, skied in the cold air of the north for such a long time, his throat and lungs became stronger and he no longer gets asthma attacks. But if you are sick, do not take your life into your own hands and run a marathon to beat your respiratory ailment. Know however, an illness is only a word. With the help of a medical practitioner, family and friend's support as well as determination, it won't break you. it may hold you back or delay you, but don't ever let it stop you.
Words are often open to interpretation, so our opinions may differ my gentle reader. In the spirit of vocabulary, here is an Arctic dictionary.




Arctic Hipster: noun
A person who actively practices hippie-like behavior in a north of sixty climate, be that through ideals, environmental awareness, enjoyment of psychedelic music, political opposition, freedom of speech, peaceful aura's, "making love not war", planting trees, food choices and just fighting the power so as not to lose that old fashion free spirit which defines Hippies everywhere.


Inspirational Explosion: Noun
The result of an inspirational happening, encounter, conversation or it might even just happen haphazardly. A burst of ideas free flowing to an individual in a disorganized, un-scheduled, often inconvenient and confusing way. Nevertheless, it can be moving and should be treated with a hot date with a pen and paper until the explosion subsides. Inspirational explosions end as quickly and randomly as they start. Therefore chronic sufferers should keep writing utensils at hand in case of emergencies. 


Old towne: Noun and adjective
1. The part of our town that is closest to the boat launch, docks ext. Stereotypically home to very wholesome people who have lived on that side of our fair city for many generations and will probably continue to do so. We joke that in old towne rotate cutlery because it's such a limited amount of people, who often find themselves attending all the same events, belonging to the same clubs and living about the same virtuous lifestyle ie Eating lentils and rice while discussing the benefits of children having a say about politics. 
Example : So on friday the Smiths have the spoons and all they eat is soup  
My friend Emily does not appreciate this so much because she lives there. However we are a teasing bunch and she tolerates it like a team player. That's why we love her and the whole Old townie gang.
2. A title used for anything wholesome, ethical, homemade, ridiculously heathy, terribly good-for-you, or anyone mature and sensible.

Example: "You knitted your own socks?! How incredibly old towne!"

Parental Units: Noun

A term used to describe parents. Most mothers and fathers do not appreciate this term however (Why is beyond me) and prefer to be called mother and father. 

Synonym: Vadder, Mum, Dad, Mom, Pops, "Da boss lady", Maternal unit, Paternal Unit, female parent, materfamilias, matriarch, mom, mommy, ma, mama, pa, Male parent, xy chromosome, xx chromosome, the bearer of children, Your maker, Parentals

 Mother in Greek: Meter, Dutch: Moeder ,German: Mutter  and Latin: Mater

Example: "Yeah, the parental units grounded me this weekend."

Peter Pan syndrome: Illness
A state where a person refuses or cannot grow up. They lack either the want to mature or the capacity to accept the natural order where people must change and mature in order to continue with their lives. Symptoms include temper tantrums, reckless spending and behavior, immature responses to responsibility ie: You and what army ?, refusing to accept events or facts that are unchangeable, believing all problems will be fixed by someone else, thinking that "Wendy" can just leave her whole life behind her without feeling any sort of attachment. Also has a positive side, people who suffer from Peter Pan syndrome often indulge in childlike luxuries such as afternoon naps, may have cookie addictions, may color to unwind as well as laugh often. 
Example: "Stacy suffers from Peter Pan syndrome. She has been watching all the "Land Before Time" movies for the past twenty four hours. We're starting to worry."




Randomly Lovely: Noun and adjective
1. Used to describe something that is out of the ordinary, a pleasant surprise or an unexpectedly wonderful thing. 
Example: It's pouring rain and you have been standing at an intersection waiting for the light to change for five minutes. You are soaked, but a stranger in a car rolls down their window and offers to drive beside you so you can cross with out being run over. You make it across and the kind stranger continues on their way.
2. A blog written by a teenager in hopes to start her career as an author about things that are just as the name suggests, randomly lovely.


To expanded vocabulary and determination,


Arctic Hipster

The far-from-perfect recipe for the the most oh-so-perfect scones

The following recipe is aptly named because when you make it, you're surely going to think you did something wrong, but you are far from it. The eight year old I am baby sitting and I know this from experience. In fact, we had quite the production going on. Both of us were covered in flour, laughing so hard our guts hurt while attempting to spatula our creation off the counter, a step we omitted for your benefit. We also had to stop for disco dance breaks. 
Baking and music go hand in hand. I believe that when listening to the appropriate tune-age a person can become more inventive and inspired, two key ingredients in the recipe for a successful culinary adventure. So I've included a list of songs suggested for optimum baking results. 
Now before you write me off as some crazed cheese-ball cook, try these scones on for size. The chocolate chips give them the perfect hint of coco sweetness, while the craisins add a fruity tang. Something different and possibly, music to your taste buds.


Musical Scones Playlist

Here(In your arms)              by Hellogoodbye
Shake it                             by Metro Station
Nine in the afternoon         by Panic! At the Disco
Fallin' Apart                       by the All American Rejects
LDN                                   by Lilly Allen
Gone Daddy Gone              by Gnarls Barkley
Take it Home                     by The White Tie Affair 


Musical Scones Recipe

2 1/2 cups  All-purpose flour                    
3 tbsp        Sugar                                     
2 1/2 tsp    Baking powder                        
1/2 tsp       Baking soda                            
1/2 tsp       Salt   


1/2 cup   Very Cold butter
1 cup      Milk
1            Egg
2 tsp       Vanilla extract

1/2 Heaping cup Chocolate chips
1/2 Heaping cup Craisins

• Set out ingredients on a clean counter space. Fire up your computer and click on Itunes, turning up the music loud enough that you can hear it in your kitchen, but not enough so you can't hear yourself think. Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees F(200 degrees Celsius)

• Begin by taking out two large baking sheets. We used special silicone baking covers that you can get in places from grocery stores to wal-marts. However if you don't have some, dusting your pans with flour or covering them with parchment paper will work just as well. 

• Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt in a large bowl. This is important because your leaveners will work better to lift your scones if they are distributed evenly. Also, do not skip the salt. You may think it does not make a difference. IT DOES. Salt is important to help create certain chemical reactions necessary for baking. Trust me, bakers are not out to heighten your blood pressure without reason. 

• Using your fingers, crumble the butter with dry mixture. we found this was a two person job, but if you are baking solo cube the butter before you stick your hands in the bowl and put a measuring cup, shaking a bit in as needed. All the dry mixture should be worked in, but don't fret if it's done evenly. The texture will be around an apple crumble.

• Measure out milk in a glass measuring cup twice the size that you need ( so a cup that can hold 2 cups). Crack egg into glass and whisk. When finished give yourself a pat on the back for not only saving water, but also for saving yourself some dishes! Whoot whoot!

• Pour milk and egg mixture over flour mix. Stir with a fork. It will probably look like a mess,  BUT DO NOT BE TEMPTED TO OVER MIX. Mix only until all the flour is gone. Add in the chocolate chips and craisins.  Don an apron and flour your hands. Make the most even ball of dough you can manage (don't worry if it's not perfect), deviding in half and placing one ball on each prepared pan.  squash down and spread out until about the height of double your thumbnail. Bake for eighteen to twenty minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from pan when baked and cut as you would a pizza for convienient and highly addictive wedges, or keep  whole in an airtight container for a quick breakfast the next day. 

Makes about eighteen large wedges

Don't forget to treat yourself to the first warm, chocolaty, buttery bite of your masterpiece and to turn down your stereo so as you can relax in baking bliss. The dishes can wait.  

May all your scones be golden,

Arctic hipster

A not-so joyful trip to the hospital

 This morning they stuck me. Mom woke me up at the painfully early seven am and rushed me around  so we could be the first in line at the hospital admittance desk.
When we arrived the place smelled of disinfectant and fear. But perhaps that was just me. My mother filled out some forms at the front desk. I contemplated my options. The lobby was close to the entrance, not to far off from where we were. If I sprinted I could be out of here in no time flat. Maybe I could smash the container of a fake potted plant as a distraction.
Before I could make a move, Mom bounded over to where I was sitting with a smile. My mom is pretty, with her curly blonde hair and womanly figure. She's only five foot but can pack a punch. I didn't want to feel her wrath while I was still half dead to the world.
It was hardly five past eight but the sun shone mockingly through the windows in the hallway leading to the labratory. It's if they were laughing at the fact I would be stuck inside a small waiting room without windows, on a glorious summer's day. The sad part is school starts in two days, but I'm so sick I can't bend over without getting light headed.
My mother was sort oblivious to my laboured breathing caused by being congested in the nose and throat areas. She motered it all the way to the lab without turning back. This would have probably been the best time for a clever getaway, but I was half down the hallway already. Turning around would have taken energy that I didn't have.
Sitting in the lab waiting room was awful. Every time the nurse came out of her little cubical to call out the name or the next victim... er patient, my whole body seized up. It was as if my arm knew it was about to be violated by a sharp metal object because it began to twitch. Which was sort of frightening.
Then the moment came. The nurse stepped out and called my name. My heart pounded against my rib cage. I got up slowly and marched as if it was my exacution. Suddenly the room seemed to crowded, the air too hot. 
 I read somewhere that when people become overly frightened they begin to get hysterical. That would explain why I started jabbering away as the nurse closed the door. She held my arm and used a band to push all the skin to the inside of my elbow. My voice got more high pitched the more she played with medical equipment on the counter beside me. I decided not not look at her just in case I caught a glimpse of the needle. 
She responded with clam "mhmm"s whenever I asked her if she understood what I was saying because I just was so terrified of needles and if I yelled at her or maybe thought some terrible thoughts about her it really was not her fault I just was scared silly and did not like sharp pointy things going into my arm and sucking out my blood like a vampire...  And that's when I felt a sharp pain just below the band she had placed on my arm.
It definitively was not a pleasant experience feeling my blood drain trickling out into a tube, but it was necessary and I survived. Perhaps in the future we will discover a way to make certain diagnosis' with saliva. That way, all patients would have to do would be to suck on a lollipop and doctors could analyze that. A sweet alternative to blood work.
For now I'm bearing the pain of a sore arm with a smile, because hopefully all this uncertainty will soon be over. 

In high spirits and low iron levels,

Arctic Hipster

Alas! The virus is attacking! Start the tea kettle! Man the tissue box! Skip the....chicken noodle soup?

That's right. I've fallen victim to the oldest form of super villain, the not-so-common cold. The reasoning for calling it that is because doctors have tried to diagnose me to no avail.

Apparently the symptoms I'm suffering from are all across the board ; sore throat to killer cramps and a splitting head ache, and could fall under numerous categories for illnesses. Leaving me feeling like a science experiment. The latest theory has me scheduled for a blood test. Tomorrow the lucky people at the hospital will use my fore arm as a pin cushion. Perhaps you can read the lack of excitement expressed in that last statement?

The argument is that the vile containing my life water will be analysed, and will narrow down the possibilities, finally giving us some sort of idea what we're dealing with. However, I'm not the most logical person when it comes to these sort of things. I prefer to have my body fluids where they belong, in my body. Yes, I'm actually quite happy with them circulating in my person like they are suppose to. Not in some lab getting picked apart by a medical practitioner. That's the natural reaction is it not? For some reason I doubt there is anyone who would readily subject themselves to this sort of examination. 

Meanwhile, while I'm feeling like the black death warmed up, it's a lovely twenty three degrees outside.

Cruel, oh so cruel.

At least there is blogging right? I write this as my feverish hands slip off the keys due to sweat. That was discusting, ha ha. Sometimes in sheer desperatos you can't help but laugh. The only down side is now I'm hoarking up a lung, which oddly enough makes me laugh harder. 

Must be my meds. 

Hopefully none of you are ill at this time. If you are, I bequeath my kleenex box to you.

Arctic Hipster     

The Pilot Post

 The North is a lovely place to be...

The winters are long and dark, with air so frigid your lungs will ice if you even think about attempting to speed walk to the bus stop. When the ice road closes, our grocery stores are reduced to mainly meat and non perishables (I'm serious, my mother almost killed for the last broccoli). In the spring, the sun mocks all who are driven by their delusions to wear lighter jackets by shining gloriously, despite the biting wind. In the summer, residences are plagued by black flies and miskitos, and the only perfume anyone wears is called "bug spray" designed by Off. 

The Art community is incredible: From local artists to imported talent, the city at the end of the highway is where all the creatives seem to prosper. We have a field house, three ice rinks, an indoor track and multiple gyms. The people are incredibly generous, donating their time and supporting northerners young and old alike. The weather is wild but has a personality, she will use affection when there's a wind storm, sarcasm with the setting of the midnight sun. 


As for me, I share the love of my home with two other generations of Northerners. It is because of my mother's bedtime story regime that I have found a passion in words. 

Did I mention my father is a chef? Now contrary to popular belief this fact does not make being a vegetarian any easier. If anything it makes things three times more difficult because there is always some appetizing aroma of animal origin in our home. Both males in our family are carnivores who do not quite share the same opinions as I do when it comes to food choices, making for interesting dinners. Therefore, I've learned my way around the kitchen quickly and also happened to develop a love for baking. As readers you'll be subject to a few experimental recipes... so ready your spatulas!

Ironically, I'm writing about how brutal winter is while it's the first glorious sunny summer day outside in weeks. The daylight is gradually being reduced because it's after the summer solstice, but it still is bright late at night. However, I think I might just stealthily slip out, trying to stay unnoticed by the parental units, and wander beneath it's rays before I'm too old to be rebellious.  

All in all, my main goal is to fill you in on all the humorous, unusual and slightly random happenings taking place here north of sixty from the perspective of someone actually lives here (unlike most of the filmmakers who create cliche documentaries about our aboriginal heritage) .

Which, to some, might not seem all that interesting. But to even more who are confined indoors during the frosty months, I hope this blog will bring you a bit of entertainment.

Let the sun wrap you in it's warmth before school starts, and take a mental health day to the beach darlings. 

Adieus,

Arctic Hipster