My best friend Artie “the Great Ardini” left the physical world on February 24 and has commenced haunting (actually, he may be too lazy for that). Between the anger and bouts of weeping I’m longing for one more sarcastic text, eye roll, or long drawn-out yuuuuup. The complexities of death are… complex and his family is unable to travel up from Texas for myriad of challenges.

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Although the Army will provide interment, the cost of cremation is not covered, even though he died in the care of the VA. Go figure. I’ve taken care of this expense.

His belongings are also stranded in Denver, and no magic wand can transport them to his family. I’ve set aside March 17th to the 22nd to pack up his apartment (join me on St. Patrick’s day if you’re up for helping pack), fill a trailer, and drive his Jeep, with belongings in tow, to his hometown in Ranger, Texas. There, I plan to cry with his brother and family, hopefully grab a meal at Chuey's to honor his questionable taste in food, and fly back to Denver.

Your donation will reimburse all the expenses (including cremation) if we reach our goal and leave some money for any unexpected debt (we don’t think he has any, but we can’t be sure yet).

I’m deeply saddened but want to share something if you’ve read this far. The friendship between Artie and me developed remarkably fast, reminiscent of a childhood friendship where you become best friends overnight. Despite his surgery being low risk, something reminded me that you need to express things people might not know. When Artie mentioned his surgery during one of our many lunches or dinners shooting the breeze and working on a magic show we couldn’t wait to perform, I decided to be vulnerable (not easy for me). “I want you to know I really appreciate our friendship,” to which he shrugged, smiled, and replied, “Yeah, me too. You’re my best friend.” My response, “Yeah, me too. It’s so weird. I don’t think I’ve had a best friend since…” was interrupted by Artie, breaking the tension, “Well then, try street corn. A best friend would try street corn.” Me: “Nah.”

Weeks later dropping him off at the hospital at 6 in the morning, I somehow got vulnerable again, “Hey man,” he turns and looks, “I love ya,” to which his eyes widened in that familiar sarcastic manner before I quickly added, “Not in that way,” and he chuckled, saying, “Yeah, I know.” I’m just glad he knew. His family and longtime friends lost so much, I’m grieving both the loss and what should have been a lifelong friendship. As Intype that Artie’s voice rings in my head “it was lifelong, my lifelong.” What an ass .

Here’s a piece from the Magic community I wrote, if you’re interested:

We are deeply saddened to announce the unexpected passing of Artie “the Great Ardini” on February 24. Having recently moved to Denver, Artie quickly became an essential part of our community, especially noted for his presence at the weekly Wednesday Night Hangout in Centennial. His gentle demeanor and straightforward approach to life won over everyone in that small magic group, where he always expressed how welcome he felt.

Artie was a rising star as the resident street magician for the Colorado Renaissance Festival, where his humor and magical talents left a lasting impression on the Faire community. His passion for magic was evident in his success and dedication. Artie was looking forward to an "almost completely" booked schedule of festivals across the United States starting in the summer of 2024. He was excited about living in an RV, embracing the nomadic lifestyle of a performer, and cherishing the bonds with his newfound family of fellow artists.

He leaves behind his dad Douglas, mom Quona, brother Bobby, sister Catherine, aunts, uncles, and tons of extended family, along with friends and admirers, who will miss him dearly.

Artie's legacy will live on in the hearts of those who knew him and experienced his magic. He was not just a magician but a cherished friend and "an inspiration to some," as he would say. As we prepare to bid him farewell, we hold onto the memories and the joy he brought into our lives, reminding us of the magic that surrounds us every day.