Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.

- Eskimo Proverb -

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I must admit, when I first signed up to blog for the newspaper, I thought it would be an easy gig. Blog five times a week, at least one paragraph. With so many things going on in the world, how could it be so hard to write about something, anything!

... It is difficult, as hard as having to watch grass grow for three hours. Sounds easy until you try it... at least... that's what I've heard. I always feel like I have to juggle apples while balancing my check book and teaching a class of chimpanzees how to do advanced Calculus. How did it get so hard?

The fact of the matter is that most days, most days are pretty boring. Most days we just live, we just go hour by hour doing the mechanical and the mundane. And sometimes when some of the really big things happen, we don't necessarily have the need to share it with others, because, despite the need to have it out loud, sometimes we need to keep a few things to ourselves, the stuff that make us unique, that make us feel alive.

If we shared all the things that were running amok in our head, more than four-fifths of this world would be incarcerated and the only reason other fifth wouldn't be if simply by the virtue of already being there in the first place... or comatose in the hospitals.

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R.I.P. Uncle Russ.