Dear fellow writers,
You know when you get to that point in an essay where you've just elaborated so much on a point that you can't stop? Or maybe when you are writing in your journal you describe your day in such great detail you only make it to lunch before your exhausted? More obvious than that perhaps, when you are telling a story to your friends and they really don't care about the context, but you can't help explaining it anyways?
That basically sums up why I haven't been posting: there is this need, ridiculous as it is, to correctly fill you in. Yes, this is the Internet and obviously I'm not going to mention names, addresses or credit card numbers. Yet reader, I feel as though we have created this bond, and you deserve to understand the circumstances in which these posts are written.
It must be the Holiday Season that's making me so sappy. Ugh.
Even now, I'm catching myself erasing and re-writing to make each sentence more precise. Is there an end to this?
No. I probably will always write twelve page essays. I will most likely never be able to keep an accurate account of my life in a journal (however that sounds a bit narcissistic anyways).
But maybe that's okay.
Books are long aren't they? They take years to write, you can always edit and re-edit. Isn't a novelist a failed short story writer anyways?
Maybe there's hope for me then, and for all you excessive describers out there as well. We just have to write the next Harry Potter book.
Ha ha, hope.
Keeping life Short and Simple,
Arctic Hipster
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
The Official Sunday Slum is Removed
Dear Weekenders,
It feels like one of those days that really should be spent sleeping and eating, which might just be my adolescent body rebelling against late-night rehearsals and stressful amounts of school work. However, in order to satisfy this need of food and rest, I've created the following list of relaxing activities and accompanying snacks:
It feels like one of those days that really should be spent sleeping and eating, which might just be my adolescent body rebelling against late-night rehearsals and stressful amounts of school work. However, in order to satisfy this need of food and rest, I've created the following list of relaxing activities and accompanying snacks:
- An hour of Yoga, followed by ginger tea with honey and a giant trail mix cookie
- Being woken up from an afternoon nap by the smell of peanut butter and jam toast, made by someone I love
- Cuddling with family while watching a movie,and munching on kettle corn
- Eating M&Ms while having a bubble bath
- Reading a book and snacking on apple and cheese
- Chowing down on pizza while catching up with friends
- Baking cookies, then eating cookies :)
For now, I'm about to snuggle with my mom and eat a brownie.
May your Sunday be filled with warmth and food,
Arctic Hipster.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Back Flips are really just Metaphors for Life.
Dear Artists,
As you've probably discovered, in order to do the things you love as an artist there must be sacrifices. Part-time jobs as a director means a full time job as a waiter, or vice-versa. Selling paintings and making money may be an ultimate dream, but in the mean time portraits or made to order prints are the reality. Theater Career? Oh, you mean all those things you go to when we're all out doing fun things that you NEVER go to?
Yes, the skepticism apparent in the voices of those who don't understand can be patronizing. So it is also a sacrifice to simply be an artist, because of the lack of stability that parents and friends love to shove in your face. However, if you are a truly in love with what you're doing those things don't matter. You're willing to sacrifice for the thing you love.
As the show nears, we are really amping up production in the drama room. There's a fight scene where the entire cast is on stage, but to start it off is a back flip. To be more specific, an assisted backfield off a five foot set piece into the hands of cast mates. Guess who's doing that back flip? Oh yes, we all make sacrifices for our art, even if we've been dropped on a concrete floor more than once this production.
More than anything though, the back flip sequence in the show is cooperative, a real trust exercise. The only things stopping me from hitting the concrete, are the outstretched hands of my cast mates. I remember the first time we ever tried the flip. I was shaking so much I wasn't even sure if I could do it. But I shut my eyes and leaped anyway.
And maybe that's all you need to do: to trust that your love of art will be strong enough to guide you through the unknown.
After all, the best thing I've ever learned about art is that you can do anything. Just fake it 'till you make it.
Take the leap, not the plunge,
Arctic Hipster
As you've probably discovered, in order to do the things you love as an artist there must be sacrifices. Part-time jobs as a director means a full time job as a waiter, or vice-versa. Selling paintings and making money may be an ultimate dream, but in the mean time portraits or made to order prints are the reality. Theater Career? Oh, you mean all those things you go to when we're all out doing fun things that you NEVER go to?
Yes, the skepticism apparent in the voices of those who don't understand can be patronizing. So it is also a sacrifice to simply be an artist, because of the lack of stability that parents and friends love to shove in your face. However, if you are a truly in love with what you're doing those things don't matter. You're willing to sacrifice for the thing you love.
As the show nears, we are really amping up production in the drama room. There's a fight scene where the entire cast is on stage, but to start it off is a back flip. To be more specific, an assisted backfield off a five foot set piece into the hands of cast mates. Guess who's doing that back flip? Oh yes, we all make sacrifices for our art, even if we've been dropped on a concrete floor more than once this production.
More than anything though, the back flip sequence in the show is cooperative, a real trust exercise. The only things stopping me from hitting the concrete, are the outstretched hands of my cast mates. I remember the first time we ever tried the flip. I was shaking so much I wasn't even sure if I could do it. But I shut my eyes and leaped anyway.
And maybe that's all you need to do: to trust that your love of art will be strong enough to guide you through the unknown.
After all, the best thing I've ever learned about art is that you can do anything. Just fake it 'till you make it.
Take the leap, not the plunge,
Arctic Hipster
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
"Sign Me Up Sir!"
Good afternoon lovely readers,
Today is one of those days. They say happiness is a conscious choice, and so I'm fighting tooth and nail against fate trying to choose to be happy right now.
As the day progresses, it seems as though I'm digging myself deeper into a hole. Not only is it that disgusting half-rain-half-snow despicable type of weather out, Mother Nature has decided to make us extra miserable today by creating wind! But no, I awoke with a skip in my step this morning, unknowingly rushing out the open. Of course I was stupidly smiling when the wind whipped my jacket's hood against my face. That wasn't discouraging though. Nope, because I was set on being happy.
And then I got to school.
Now you know how when you're on a team, certain people inevitably get lazy and there's always that one person who picks up the slack? I'm that person.
Lately though, it doesn't even get to the point where everyone is assigned equal jobs and then some team members lose motivation. There's other people's crap on my plate when we start projects now. It used to start with an innocent question, a simple plea; so and so can't do this, would you be able to? And because I'm sympathetic (ie: a major sucker), I would try to help everyone out. Now the conversations go like this:
Chief: "Alright so I'll take this on. So and so can do that, and you can do this."
Annoying Team Member 1: "Oh. But I have this that night. Let's trade!"
Chief: "Okay. So She'll take mine and I'll take yours."
Me: "But that means I have two? I thought...."
Chief: "Yes but you can handle that much. Besides it needs to get done."
Me: "But I feel as though there's a bit of imbalance here. Can we ..."
Annoying Team Member: "Oh thanks so much! You'll do such a great job. I love how you always pull it together at the end."
That, my friends, is my life. Let me let you in on a secret though..... I AM SICK AND TIRED OF PICKING UP THEIR SLACK! I am not a maid. I am not any one's mother. For the most part, I'm a kind person. That does not mean I look forward to doing other people's stuff. I'll do it for the team, because I am a team player. The worst part of all of this though, is the fact that I was chided for helping someone out. Someone insulted me because they didn't do their job, and I had to fill in for them. Is that fair? No, it's not.
So this is me giving up on fair play. If you want something done, do it yourself!
Be an M.V.P.,
Arctic Hipster
Today is one of those days. They say happiness is a conscious choice, and so I'm fighting tooth and nail against fate trying to choose to be happy right now.
As the day progresses, it seems as though I'm digging myself deeper into a hole. Not only is it that disgusting half-rain-half-snow despicable type of weather out, Mother Nature has decided to make us extra miserable today by creating wind! But no, I awoke with a skip in my step this morning, unknowingly rushing out the open. Of course I was stupidly smiling when the wind whipped my jacket's hood against my face. That wasn't discouraging though. Nope, because I was set on being happy.
And then I got to school.
Now you know how when you're on a team, certain people inevitably get lazy and there's always that one person who picks up the slack? I'm that person.
Lately though, it doesn't even get to the point where everyone is assigned equal jobs and then some team members lose motivation. There's other people's crap on my plate when we start projects now. It used to start with an innocent question, a simple plea; so and so can't do this, would you be able to? And because I'm sympathetic (ie: a major sucker), I would try to help everyone out. Now the conversations go like this:
Chief: "Alright so I'll take this on. So and so can do that, and you can do this."
Annoying Team Member 1: "Oh. But I have this that night. Let's trade!"
Chief: "Okay. So She'll take mine and I'll take yours."
Me: "But that means I have two? I thought...."
Chief: "Yes but you can handle that much. Besides it needs to get done."
Me: "But I feel as though there's a bit of imbalance here. Can we ..."
Annoying Team Member: "Oh thanks so much! You'll do such a great job. I love how you always pull it together at the end."
That, my friends, is my life. Let me let you in on a secret though..... I AM SICK AND TIRED OF PICKING UP THEIR SLACK! I am not a maid. I am not any one's mother. For the most part, I'm a kind person. That does not mean I look forward to doing other people's stuff. I'll do it for the team, because I am a team player. The worst part of all of this though, is the fact that I was chided for helping someone out. Someone insulted me because they didn't do their job, and I had to fill in for them. Is that fair? No, it's not.
So this is me giving up on fair play. If you want something done, do it yourself!
Be an M.V.P.,
Arctic Hipster
Saturday, September 24, 2011
The Weight of Grief
Dear Concerned Readers,
As you've probably already read on the front page of The Edmonton Journal, of The Yellowknifer or of News North, this past month has been one full of tragedy for Northerners. Thursday September 22, a Twin Otter crashed in front of The Dancing Moose Cafe in Old Town, killing two and leaving two in critical condition.
Now, for those that live in bigger cities or are unfamiliar with the north, when there is an emergency, the entire community is affected. Yellowknife may be classified as a "City", but it is certainly no exception: the plane skimmed the roof of my cast mate's house, hit a power line and left my friend's without power for a night, and it was my mother's co-worker's fiancee who pulled the pilot out of the cockpit.
There was an announcement at our High School a couple hours after the incident, calling all Old Town residents out of their classes. Now, if there's something else that is inevitable when there is a crises in the north, it's the quick spread of news. Every student who passed through the hallways knew what had happened, but no one could give out sure details. I was sitting in by the library window, half reading, half people watching, as they filed out of the classrooms. It's interesting to consider people from a solely objective view, to numb the part of yourself that allows for sympathy, and simply observe peoples reactions. Every face wore the same expression of apprehension, mouthes pursed with worry. There were the more emotionally driven teenagers that already showed signs of tears, so perhaps they already suspected the fate of the flight's passengers, and felt obligated to keep possible names to themselves. Either way, it was an image of unease.
I suppose the administrators would have tried to breech the subject gently, but it couldn't have made much of a difference. When people have an outcome set in their minds, it's impossible to make them believe or react otherwise. The plane crash quickly became the only topic of interest that afternoon, and the more it was talked about, the more people became paranoid that someone they knew was involved.
I must admit I fell prey to this. One of my good friend's dad is a pilot who is hired out by both of the bush plane companies in the city, and as soon as I found out what was going on, I called her.
It's funny the way things work, because of course she didn't pick up, which only made me panic more. After about forty five minutes I finally got a hold of her, and was able to calm down enough to ask her if her dad was alright. He wasn't involved, but boy was the moment where she had paused after I'd asked her where her father was tense.
That's the nature of crises up here though. No matter how many people you know, you know someone involved, and share the loss. It's been a little over a month since the plane crash in Resolute Bay, and now this one has refreshed the pain. In a way, these tragedies have helped to showcase the humility and the generosity of Northerners; residents organized themselves to assist in the rescue of the survivors as well as the honouring of the brave souls who didn't make it. Tonight there is to be a public gathering at seven to remember the victims of the plane crash and to support their families in their grief.
In fact, it's beginning to feel as though grief is a blanket that stretches across the North itself. Even though I still haven't come to terms with the loss of my grandfather, I can't help but feel my hands rising to lift the blanket's weight from the shoulders of these families.
Lift your hands up in support,
Arctic Hipster
As you've probably already read on the front page of The Edmonton Journal, of The Yellowknifer or of News North, this past month has been one full of tragedy for Northerners. Thursday September 22, a Twin Otter crashed in front of The Dancing Moose Cafe in Old Town, killing two and leaving two in critical condition.
Now, for those that live in bigger cities or are unfamiliar with the north, when there is an emergency, the entire community is affected. Yellowknife may be classified as a "City", but it is certainly no exception: the plane skimmed the roof of my cast mate's house, hit a power line and left my friend's without power for a night, and it was my mother's co-worker's fiancee who pulled the pilot out of the cockpit.
There was an announcement at our High School a couple hours after the incident, calling all Old Town residents out of their classes. Now, if there's something else that is inevitable when there is a crises in the north, it's the quick spread of news. Every student who passed through the hallways knew what had happened, but no one could give out sure details. I was sitting in by the library window, half reading, half people watching, as they filed out of the classrooms. It's interesting to consider people from a solely objective view, to numb the part of yourself that allows for sympathy, and simply observe peoples reactions. Every face wore the same expression of apprehension, mouthes pursed with worry. There were the more emotionally driven teenagers that already showed signs of tears, so perhaps they already suspected the fate of the flight's passengers, and felt obligated to keep possible names to themselves. Either way, it was an image of unease.
I suppose the administrators would have tried to breech the subject gently, but it couldn't have made much of a difference. When people have an outcome set in their minds, it's impossible to make them believe or react otherwise. The plane crash quickly became the only topic of interest that afternoon, and the more it was talked about, the more people became paranoid that someone they knew was involved.
I must admit I fell prey to this. One of my good friend's dad is a pilot who is hired out by both of the bush plane companies in the city, and as soon as I found out what was going on, I called her.
It's funny the way things work, because of course she didn't pick up, which only made me panic more. After about forty five minutes I finally got a hold of her, and was able to calm down enough to ask her if her dad was alright. He wasn't involved, but boy was the moment where she had paused after I'd asked her where her father was tense.
That's the nature of crises up here though. No matter how many people you know, you know someone involved, and share the loss. It's been a little over a month since the plane crash in Resolute Bay, and now this one has refreshed the pain. In a way, these tragedies have helped to showcase the humility and the generosity of Northerners; residents organized themselves to assist in the rescue of the survivors as well as the honouring of the brave souls who didn't make it. Tonight there is to be a public gathering at seven to remember the victims of the plane crash and to support their families in their grief.
In fact, it's beginning to feel as though grief is a blanket that stretches across the North itself. Even though I still haven't come to terms with the loss of my grandfather, I can't help but feel my hands rising to lift the blanket's weight from the shoulders of these families.
Lift your hands up in support,
Arctic Hipster
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Art of Weekends and Being Full
Dear Weekend Warriors,
This, is the Weekend of all Weekends.
That's right, we are allotted three days to stuff our families into mini vans and haul ourselves to various tourist attractions, to see distant-cheek-pinching-relatives or to improve our character by taking on some sort of outdoor adventure (RVing comes to mind). We may find ourselves taking in the last rays of sun before work or school begins, relaxing on a beach (if we're lucky) and returning to the grind on Tuesday with a proud sunburn. Why proud? Because we savoured that last bit of lingering summer even if it made us a humiliating shade of Lobster Red! For those who can't get away from the house, maybe we've decided to finally fix that squeaky door, or start on a new home improvement project. After all, nothing screams accomplishment more than a mahogany candle holder! For the less ambitious however, a three day weekend means twelve hours of well deserved sleep every night. If you happen to fall into this category and are a teenager, this number may become fourteen hours of sleep, four hours of eating, and six hours of online entertainment.
BUT WHY STICK TO THOSE STEREOTYPES?
Yes, jam packing your weekend with family obligations may be necessary, you really might need to fix the door, and escaping into the wild may be a well needed break. However, a long weekend is also an opportunity to be creative and break the cycle of most weekend warriors. Just because we have an extra day, does not mean that it needs to be booked up with engagements. Too often we see an empty space, be it physical or abstract, and feel an uncontrollable urge to fill it. There's a plain wall in the living room? We buy a painting to make it look less plain. We find out our work meeting is cancelled? Time to get home and start cleaning! At dinner there's extra garlic bread? Fill 'er up, Mom!
We are always wanting fullness, because in modern day language we associate it with "happiness". Especially on long weekends or festive occasions, it seems as though we should be incredibly happy the entire time, as well as feel accomplished by the end of the whole affair. This is not necessarily wrong, but with almost irresponsibly high expectations, we are setting ourselves up to be disappointed. Not only are we preparing ourselves to feel "less than up to par" with the rest of society, we are also setting the stage for stressful encounters and unattainable deadlines. There are only twenty four hours in a day, and those extra hours are not going to allow us to accomplish inhuman amounts of housework or homework. We are in fact living beings who get tired and irritable, and sometimes just really need to take a step back.
In the end, how much extra stress is finishing the deck in three days worth? In a month, will it matter that we were able to get sixteen loads of laundry (including all the bedding and couch covers) done on that one extra day?
Depending on your personality, the answer is usually no. Long weekends are not slots of time for absolutely anything (and everything) that needs to get done from now until Christmas. There are certain chores or errands that do require some extra time, and perhaps Friday night untill Monday is really quite practical to accomplish those types of things. Once again though, we are human, we need sleep, and a lot of the time we tend to overbook ourselves by filling our lives up with unnecessary "Stuff".
Hence, the value of simply being content with life becomes all the more important.
Yesterday the only productive thing I did was make cookies and soup with my best friend. But you know what? We had awesome conversations, laughed a lot, and went about the day feeling quite "alright". That's when you find the most about yourself, and the people you love : when you're taking time to sit and see them for who they are, to reflect upon who you are as a person. Maybe that's true human accomplishment, knowing the limits and boundaries of who we are as creatures, rather than pumping our lives full of fancy pieces of paper and nice looking houses.
Whatever you do this weekend, I wish you time with your family and friends, especially with yourself.
Happy Labour Day Weekend,
Arctic Hipster
This, is the Weekend of all Weekends.
That's right, we are allotted three days to stuff our families into mini vans and haul ourselves to various tourist attractions, to see distant-cheek-pinching-relatives or to improve our character by taking on some sort of outdoor adventure (RVing comes to mind). We may find ourselves taking in the last rays of sun before work or school begins, relaxing on a beach (if we're lucky) and returning to the grind on Tuesday with a proud sunburn. Why proud? Because we savoured that last bit of lingering summer even if it made us a humiliating shade of Lobster Red! For those who can't get away from the house, maybe we've decided to finally fix that squeaky door, or start on a new home improvement project. After all, nothing screams accomplishment more than a mahogany candle holder! For the less ambitious however, a three day weekend means twelve hours of well deserved sleep every night. If you happen to fall into this category and are a teenager, this number may become fourteen hours of sleep, four hours of eating, and six hours of online entertainment.
BUT WHY STICK TO THOSE STEREOTYPES?
Yes, jam packing your weekend with family obligations may be necessary, you really might need to fix the door, and escaping into the wild may be a well needed break. However, a long weekend is also an opportunity to be creative and break the cycle of most weekend warriors. Just because we have an extra day, does not mean that it needs to be booked up with engagements. Too often we see an empty space, be it physical or abstract, and feel an uncontrollable urge to fill it. There's a plain wall in the living room? We buy a painting to make it look less plain. We find out our work meeting is cancelled? Time to get home and start cleaning! At dinner there's extra garlic bread? Fill 'er up, Mom!
We are always wanting fullness, because in modern day language we associate it with "happiness". Especially on long weekends or festive occasions, it seems as though we should be incredibly happy the entire time, as well as feel accomplished by the end of the whole affair. This is not necessarily wrong, but with almost irresponsibly high expectations, we are setting ourselves up to be disappointed. Not only are we preparing ourselves to feel "less than up to par" with the rest of society, we are also setting the stage for stressful encounters and unattainable deadlines. There are only twenty four hours in a day, and those extra hours are not going to allow us to accomplish inhuman amounts of housework or homework. We are in fact living beings who get tired and irritable, and sometimes just really need to take a step back.
In the end, how much extra stress is finishing the deck in three days worth? In a month, will it matter that we were able to get sixteen loads of laundry (including all the bedding and couch covers) done on that one extra day?
Depending on your personality, the answer is usually no. Long weekends are not slots of time for absolutely anything (and everything) that needs to get done from now until Christmas. There are certain chores or errands that do require some extra time, and perhaps Friday night untill Monday is really quite practical to accomplish those types of things. Once again though, we are human, we need sleep, and a lot of the time we tend to overbook ourselves by filling our lives up with unnecessary "Stuff".
Hence, the value of simply being content with life becomes all the more important.
Yesterday the only productive thing I did was make cookies and soup with my best friend. But you know what? We had awesome conversations, laughed a lot, and went about the day feeling quite "alright". That's when you find the most about yourself, and the people you love : when you're taking time to sit and see them for who they are, to reflect upon who you are as a person. Maybe that's true human accomplishment, knowing the limits and boundaries of who we are as creatures, rather than pumping our lives full of fancy pieces of paper and nice looking houses.
Whatever you do this weekend, I wish you time with your family and friends, especially with yourself.
Happy Labour Day Weekend,
Arctic Hipster
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
From Darkling to Star Gazer
Dear Soul Searchers,
If you're trying to pick a fight, you've chosen the right day. Right now this teenage soul is filled with mess and lore, so much so that I'm afraid the disorder might consume any sane feeling left in me. Everyone has their own way to deal with grief; the problem is, I haven't really found mine.
I've been very fortunate to never have attended a funeral, or seen someone I love grow cold. Maybe I'm spoiled then, to have had the opportunity to know and love my family, without the social interruption of death. If so, so be it. Let it be the fault of my own ignorance, perhaps better classified as innocence, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that my Grandfather has passed away. Really, at this point in my maturity, I should be able to distinguish past from present. It gets more complicated when his present, becomes our family's past I suppose. It's still not an excuse to behave so childlike though. I can't even bring myself to attend the funeral, because I refuse to accept this reality. It's a selfish need to keep things constant, to refuse negative change that's motivating my decision to stay home. That, and a fierce cold.
More than anything though, I wish I had the courage to support my family in their grief, in their pain. Once again however, my own selfishness is preventing me from achieving that. It's incredibly upsetting to see such a profound hurt on the faces of those you love most, and it makes the situation become all the more real. Being surrounded by grieving family, by sadness, for some can be comforting. Maybe that's what families are suppose to do, cry together. I can't seem to allow myself to do that though, because I refuse to accept this pain. I'm trying to learn to grieve with a smile, a token of gratitude for the luck that my Grandfather had in living his life surrounded by love, marked by accomplishments and it's length. I smile at the fact that he is no longer in pain, and that he need not struggle any longer. I smile at the memories we have together, that will continue to make me smile for years to come. And I know that it's strange, but I feel as though I can't accept his death, so much as celebrate his life.
My Dad used to say that after his mom died when he was a child, he used to try and find her in the stars. Turns out that the light we see may be from stars that have fallen decades, even centuries ago. So in a way, the stars are like people: even after they are gone, they still have the ability to light up your sky for awhile. I know that although I struggle in this darkness now, in this uncertainty, my grandfather's memory will always provide the light I need to get through the night.
As the stars align,
Arctic Hipster
If you're trying to pick a fight, you've chosen the right day. Right now this teenage soul is filled with mess and lore, so much so that I'm afraid the disorder might consume any sane feeling left in me. Everyone has their own way to deal with grief; the problem is, I haven't really found mine.
I've been very fortunate to never have attended a funeral, or seen someone I love grow cold. Maybe I'm spoiled then, to have had the opportunity to know and love my family, without the social interruption of death. If so, so be it. Let it be the fault of my own ignorance, perhaps better classified as innocence, that I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea that my Grandfather has passed away. Really, at this point in my maturity, I should be able to distinguish past from present. It gets more complicated when his present, becomes our family's past I suppose. It's still not an excuse to behave so childlike though. I can't even bring myself to attend the funeral, because I refuse to accept this reality. It's a selfish need to keep things constant, to refuse negative change that's motivating my decision to stay home. That, and a fierce cold.
More than anything though, I wish I had the courage to support my family in their grief, in their pain. Once again however, my own selfishness is preventing me from achieving that. It's incredibly upsetting to see such a profound hurt on the faces of those you love most, and it makes the situation become all the more real. Being surrounded by grieving family, by sadness, for some can be comforting. Maybe that's what families are suppose to do, cry together. I can't seem to allow myself to do that though, because I refuse to accept this pain. I'm trying to learn to grieve with a smile, a token of gratitude for the luck that my Grandfather had in living his life surrounded by love, marked by accomplishments and it's length. I smile at the fact that he is no longer in pain, and that he need not struggle any longer. I smile at the memories we have together, that will continue to make me smile for years to come. And I know that it's strange, but I feel as though I can't accept his death, so much as celebrate his life.
My Dad used to say that after his mom died when he was a child, he used to try and find her in the stars. Turns out that the light we see may be from stars that have fallen decades, even centuries ago. So in a way, the stars are like people: even after they are gone, they still have the ability to light up your sky for awhile. I know that although I struggle in this darkness now, in this uncertainty, my grandfather's memory will always provide the light I need to get through the night.
As the stars align,
Arctic Hipster
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