Side effects of being homesick may include rambling writings When it's been a little while since I've last been home, I see my friends and family in the little things that surround me. Right now, I'm thinking of my mom as I listen to Bruce Springsteen in my headphones while I sit in my bed. I think of my grandma as the lamp that lights up my room is from her cottage. I miss my friends while I gaze at the little drawings they drew and photos of us that are taped on the wall beside my bed. I think of my dad whenever I put on a record that sits on the record stand he gave me. Whenever I have new friends over who have yet to see my room, I'm so proud of everything that makes it up. I feel as though my room is a book and I'm the storyteller. If you haven't heard it yet, my script usually sounds like "The vanity was free on the side of the road! I took it home and fixed it up," "I also found my bedside table on the road for free and my dad mad...
August, die she must My birthday was a few Thursdays ago. In the late afternoon, Abby Ferg sent Madi and I a text about a magical encounter she had while at work at the museum in Fergus. She was outside and an older lady from the retirement home was being biked around by an individual and they stopped to chat with her. Abby said that although it was clear that the elderly woman was forgetful, it did not stop her from sharing about her life. She told Abby that in her career, the men that she supervised would tell her how young she was, even though she was old. She said something along the lines of "Everything changes and sometimes you take a turn and it's the end but you need it to... for something new, to go onto the next. You know what? Everything changes and nothing changes. I'm old but I'm young. Do you understand?" I'd like to think that when I'm her age, I will feel that at peace with myself, with my life. Like many...