{"id":2362,"date":"2021-02-08T21:02:26","date_gmt":"2021-02-08T21:02:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/index.php\/2021\/02\/08\/do-the-stars-still-wait-for-me\/"},"modified":"2023-08-16T15:28:03","modified_gmt":"2023-08-16T15:28:03","slug":"do-the-stars-still-wait-for-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/2021\/02\/08\/do-the-stars-still-wait-for-me\/","title":{"rendered":"Finlandia, I Wish"},"content":{"rendered":"
When I assigned An Essay of Regret <\/a>to my writing student, I thought I should give it a try. I began with the template I had designed. I regret not spending more time under the night stars. Soon, the template was left behind. This excerpt of the memoir resulted. I ghostwrite<\/a> for myself, now 62, as if I were 15.<\/h5>\n

<\/h2>\n

I am fifteen, and I can\u2019t wait to drive myself anywhere I want to go. I\u2019m sick of being dependent on my parents to get me to the hockey game or home from a meeting after school. I\u2019m crazy for this boy named Paul Saaranen. That\u2019s a Finnish last name. Everyone up here in the Upper Peninsula seems to be Finnish. We have the Lahti\u2019s and the Wiitila\u2019s, the Kinnonen\u2019s, and the Makinnens. It\u2019s only Ana Liisa and I who are not Finnish. We have Scandinavian heritage, but that doesn\u2019t seem to count. <\/p>\n

Anyway, that\u2019s okay, Paul has a car and he\u2019s driving the youth group from church to his family\u2019s cabin next to a small lake. He never returns my affection, at least, not that I can tell. But, it\u2019s fun to imagine that someday he will.<\/p>\n

We arrive at the cabin on the lake. For all appearances we could be in Finland or Sweden, the little cabin is painted dark red and sits among the white bark of the birch that grow close to the water. Paul shows us around. In the first room of the cottage, a tower of blankets is piled up warm and worn on the edges, and smell of musk.<\/p>\n

We are impressed with the little bay, with its gentle waves washing over the blue rocks that lie on its edges. If I close my eyes, the lake is silent but moving and pulsing. I wonder how cold the water might be, even though it is the middle of the summer. If we were in Scandinavia there would be a midsummer festival with a huge bonfire. I\u2019m certain that Paul will make a fire.\u00a0<\/p>\n

We do have a fire, and the sun sets late, but not before we take our turn in the sauna, wearing out modest bathing suits, of course. As soon as we get out of the sauna, we run to the lake and jump in. It isn\u2019t Lake Superior, which turns you blue in three seconds and brings on a deep pain in your bones, but it is cold enough to make you scream. I have lived in Upper Michigan since I was seven years old, and this is my first sauna, my first jump in the lake. <\/p>\n

Toweling dry by the campfire, I\u2019m aware of a type of mysterious presence as if the woods are alive. It is a sacred, secret place and I will never forget it. This is my chance to connect with nature, the way an ancient Finnlander might do as he walked amongst his beloved trees, how he would step across the tender bright green moss that grows in the shade and stand under the bright moon.<\/p>\n

\u201cTonight, the sky should give us a big show,\u201d Paul tells us.<\/p>\n

We dress, pulling on thick sweatshirts over ourselves and then, we each choose a lounge chair. I settle down next to Ruth. We lie back with our faces up to the night sky and our feet pointed toward the lake. When the bright moon moves across the sky, the atmosphere disappears and the Milky Way comes into view.<\/p>\n

Unusually quiet the whole evening, I\u2019ve completely forgotten about my crush on our host. I watch the night sky and stare up into that vast darkness. It isn\u2019t long before I see my first shooting star, meteorite, or whatever they are. To me, they are falling stars. There\u2019s a second and a third. One for me, one for Ruth, one for Paul. No one speaks. I turn and smile at Ruth. There is only the lapping lake and the beat of my heart, the only melody.<\/p>\n

Back to Writing Tips<\/a>
Continue Module 6, The Essay: A Recipe for a Delicious Essay<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When I assigned An Essay of Regret to my writing student, I thought I should give it a try. I began with the template I had designed. I regret not spending more time under the night stars. Soon, the template was left behind. This excerpt of the memoir resulted. I ghostwrite for myself, now 62, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":2363,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[386,56,371,4,47,379],"tags":[361,362,363,364,365,366,367,368,369],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2362"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2362"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2362\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2964,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2362\/revisions\/2964"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2363"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2362"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2362"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worldsobright.org\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2362"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}