T-minus 2.5.....

Kirby started his 'countdown' to Christmas at 50 days. Yes, at 50 days he already had announced to the world and his followers that he would be coming back to the lower 48.

I am a tad bit more realistic and started my countdown at 7 days.  

You see...Kirby and I are a little different from each other.

As you can tell from his previous post---he honestly and profoundly professes his love not only to me, but the world and the universe as well.  He's the communicator-he's the writer-he wears his heart on his sleeve.

And I do love that about him.

My love language however is not as 'loud' as my husbands. It's a little quieter--a little less noticeable--a little bit introverted if you will.

I couldn't get worked up 50 days ago about him being home for Xmas.

I can however, get a little bit excited at the thought that in 2.5 days--he'll be here.  Like, in our house...and trying to drive MY truck.  And that he  can empty that stupid dishwasher....and maybe  let the dogs in and out a few times.  And just maybe he can re-organize the garage that I have left a complete mess because that's his place and he usually takes care of the turnover between the seasons.
And just maybe he can be the one to remember to put the garbage can out on Wednesday morning.

The 'honey-do' list may be growing a little longer each day but if I know my husband-he'll dive in head first.  And I'm more than ready for a mid-season break.

For the first time in 21 weeks...I looked at our family calendar tonight and let myself feel a little  bit excited for what will happen in 2.5 days.

Hurry up and get home Yukon......

An Open Letter to FIVE:

Mrs. Kirby,

You’ll either love this or hate it. But I’m doing it either way. I’m going to write, right here on this blog, just how much I love you.

I cannot hold you on the thirteenth anniversary of our wedding day but don’t you, for one second, think that I don’t love you more today than I ever have.

Through this crazy turn of events you have stood faithfully by my side and been my guiding light in a storm that I never saw coming. You counseled me when times were tough. You listened when I needed to vent and you advised with the best of intentions always. You pushed me to be a better me and sent me off to a far away land. You knew we could do it not only because of your own strength but also because of our strength in each other. Now that I am in Alaska, I am reminded of your commitment to “us” every day.

You truly are the partner in crime that I have always wanted. You are exactly the mother I envisioned that I would one day raise children with. And I am so thankful that they reflect the best parts of you. Our kids are loving and kind. Our kids are generous and thoughtful. Our kids are hard working and talented. Every day I thank the Good Lord that YOU were the one to give me the greatest gift I have ever received, our children.

You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I remember the old college days out carousing with friends when I casually referred to you as my “Dream Woman”. Like some fantasy, I dreamed that you would pay me the slightest attention. And to think, now you’re my wife! - the Mrs. to my Mr. – My dreams have come true. I am married to a gorgeous, tall, leggy blonde that is way out of my league.

I have not bothered you for a kiss in five months. I have spent many long lonely walks talking through prayer and reminding myself just how good of a life I have. And at the center of that life that I am so thankful for is YOU. You are the thing I like most about me. I will patiently wait 6 more days to hold your hand, to hug you, to kiss your lips but I can’t promise that I won’t be a pest for the 2 weeks that we are together over the Holidays.  

My love tank is FULL because I realize how much responsibility you’ve assumed by me being here. You’re holding down the fort, raising the kids and still finding it in your heart to send supplies my way, to send words of encouragement at always the right moment. Your unwavering support sustains me in even the toughest times.

I love you, Michele. I have loved you for a long time now. I don’t expect that to change, ever.

Thank you for being the mother of my children and the wife of my dreams.

Happy 13^th Anniversary.  (12/14/02-12/14/15)

See you in a WEEK!

Lv,

Mr. Kirby

Stiff as a BORED.

Yeah – I’m bored. It’s 8:21 on a Saturday night in December. I am a thousand miles from nowhere. The Internet is spotty, at best. So the NHL Gamecenter coverage of the Minnesota WILD game is popping in and out enough to qualify as cruel and unusual punishment.

Back home we try to keep our kids from talking about being bored too often. My wife even says that, “It’s good to be bored. It’s also called “relaxing.” – So instead of sitting here mindlessly scrolling through the Facebook Feed again…instead of refreshing the WILD game in hopes that the interwebs cleans up … instead of reaching in to the pantry for another snack… I figured I’d write.

Follow up “Go Six Nine” with “Stiff as a Bored” - seriously?– what have I become?

I’ve resigned to writing about being bored. I have lowered my literary standards of composition and resorted to using crappy play on words that skirts the PG13 rating. Don’t worry readership, I have accepted the fact that this may not be my best piece. 

I apologize. I’m bored.

I woke today at a decent hour. I finished watching “Horrible Bosses” – the movie that I fell asleep to last night. I enjoyed the Wild Bill Breakfast Special of pancakes and bacon. He and I have visited off and on for hours today.

At about 1:00 pm I went for a walk. Officially, the sun doesn’t rise or set. It’s technically recorded as 2 o’clock for both. There is light however. At about 11:30 it’s dusky and stays dusky until about 4:30 but none of that duskiness mattered today with the howling winds. It was a doosy out there today folks. Visibility sucked.

I finished watching “Saving Private Ryan” today too. Wrote a few emails. Went to basketball practice a half an hour early to mingle and make small talk at the school. I stayed a half an hour, maybe more, after practice to make photocopies and lesson plans for class next week. And then celebrated that excitement with leftover macaroni and cheese and a burrito. Tonight I have sat at the table here “channel surfing” the dot coms from Facebook to Gmail – looking for a little hint of life out there.

I can’t possibly peel off a third movie in one day.

I’ve recently finished a few good books and can’t seem to push through the end of another.

There’s not much to do really.

But that’s OK – maybe this is what “RELAXING” feels like.

I am too blessed to be stressed.

One week until I’m home. 

Go SIX NINE.

I have alluded to the rudimentary language used here in the village before. The spoken word vocabulary of the children is extremely limited and I’m often amazed that the same holds true for most of the adults. Entire conversations can be made with a combination of Native Inupiaq words and broken English. It blends together like the Spanglish that the vatos of East LA speak but I promise you, it’s not as elegant.

“You tuppaq me.” = Local for, “Hey man, you really just scared me a little right there.”

“I go Kotz.” = Tomorrow, yesterday, last week, maybe today? I’m going to fly to Kotzebue and be back maybe in a few days. So don’t wait on me.

“Addii” = Pronounced “Ahhh DEEEEEEeeeeeeee” = “Shucks, I’m really not happy with how things are going and rather than swear at you right now, I’m going to hide behind this culturally adapted catch all phrase that shows frustration and disapproval.”

And my favorite - "Umiaqpaksisuktuq" = which means, "He would like to buy a big boat!"

The locals have adapted their language to become an efficient use of their precious time.

In Bush Alaska the VHF reigns supreme. These small two-way radios are the center of all communication, both necessary and unnecessary. Some are hand held. Some are wall mounted. Antennas reached toward the sky from every building on the Rock. Whether an inbound plane is late or right on time, you can be assured that the information will be passed on the VHF. People selling doughnuts or looking for their children to return home just jump on the radio and announce their intentions to the whole village.

Sometimes the crackle of the VHF is just someone trying to brighten your morning with a casual greeting. Other times the VHF can be a source of entertainment when lovers squabble or drinkers drink – sometimes the two go hand in hand. Personally, I’m glad my roommate and I decided to live without a VHF because frankly, it’s filled with a lot of nonsense.

Nonsense.

The VHF code for that is “Go Six Nine.”

See, Channel 68 is the channel that every village in the Northwest Arctic but one uses. A few years back, the elders in Selawik decided that the constant vulgar language was embarrassing and so the village switched to a frequency in the 70’s. But for everyone else, day-to-day business is run on Channel 68. That is unless you’ve got something juicy to say. Then you “Go Six Nine.”

“Go Six Nine” means that if you and I are going to continue to communicate on the open radio waves you’ll have to join me on Channel 69 where we might complete a drug transaction, have private pillow talk, or complain about someone or something. Six Nine is where all the good stuff goes to keep Channel 68 clean.

This morning just before school officially started I was in the office picking something up off of the printer. Our office is a tight little space and when you throw a couple of big bodies in there it’s best to get in and get out. I was trying my best to do just that and then the office VHF started to crack.

“Complain about school – Go Six Nine.”

Two adults out of reach told me to go six nine. I froze like a deer in the headlights. I had forgotten the code. “Kirby, Go Six Nine!” They told me again, yet this time were pointing and smiling with excitement. Apparently somebody had some laundry to be aired about our school and they wanted to do it discretely on a very public two-way radio channel.

Lyle bailed me out and reached over for the dial. He went Six Nine.

And on Six Nine some lady let on how her kids are bullied – how the teachers of the school are all lazy – how everyone should be fired – how no body ever pays attention to her complaints… I felt like I was eavesdropping and was a bit embarrassed that my first time “going Six Nine” was happening right there in front of my co-workers. I’ve lost my Six Nine virginity and it wasn’t even worth it.

There’s a lot of animosity surrounding public education in these villages. The schools are still feeling the affects of failed assimilation programs of generations ago. There are people that support the school and teachers. They think that their children deserve a free and appropriate education and then there are those that are burdened by the western world’s educational mandates. They distrust everything that's associated with school.

Facebook is no place for dirty laundry.

Neither is Channel Six Nine.

But it happens.

Back to work tomorrow.

Communication Once Removed

It’s Sunday evening and Bill and I have just finished an early supper. The sun went down a long time ago. Today I learned that the sun doesn’t necessarily always rise in the east and set in the west. Here in the Arctic, on this 6^th day of December, the sun peaks over the horizon in the southwest and sets in the west. Its lazy attempt at an arc makes it hard to decipher if it’s actually a sunrise or a sunset.  Officially sunrise is at 1:00pm and sunset is 2:38. Do the math. Our early supper is understandable. There’s not much to each “Day” anymore.

Supper is done and I am waiting patiently for my SKYPE call from my family.

Our Sunday conversations have become the thing that I look forward to most each week. When I contemplated this leap of faith, I remember Michele telling me, “It’s not like it was when you were in the Marine Corps. You can email, call, SKYPE. We’ll be right here whenever you want to talk to us.”

She was right.

This Communication Once Removed has become our new normal. I usually read an email from my wife each morning before I step it off to school. Once my oatmeal is down and dress clothes on, I fire one back to her. And now that I’ve settled in to a bit more of a routine with my class, I’m able to write a quick message mid-day more often than not.

Email is how Michele and I stay in touch. No text messaging. No phone calls. No physical touch. No pillow talk. We work out life in the interwebs. I’ve become accustomed to pecking out a nightly email long after I know that she’s snoozing away back in Minnesota. I share with her the happenings of my day and answer any questions that might come up about raising kids together even though thousands of miles separate us. I want there to be a message from me when she wakes up.

It’s not just communication with Michele and the kids that sustains me. I like to hear from other family and friends. This crazy adventure to Alaska has showed me a few things about the holes in my social circles back home. But it has also showed me the strength that I’ve got in other relationships. Facebook messaging, emails, gift boxes and this blog have been just a few of the ways that I’ve stayed in contact…stayed in touch… got my story out there and kept some sense of normalcy in a world completely different than what I was used to.

I actually had to scold my old man. A “like” on a Facebook photo wasn’t enough for me. I need to hear from my Dadd. And since he’s heard that, we’ve chatted on SKYPE a few times and he’s sent out a few more emails. Heck, he even comments now and then on those Facebook photos he used to just “like”.

We’re not quite as far in to the future with person-to-person, long distance, communication as the holoforms and 3D teleporting of the old Sci-Fi flicks led us to believe. We’re getting there though. I couldn’t live without SKYPE right now.

2 weeks from now though – I won’t need it.

I’ll be holding my family in my arms.

Our communication will not be “once removed”. 

Every clime and place.

In just about every village up here there is a National Guard Armory. The one in Selawik is labeled as such and is easily distinguished right next to the Clinic. I remember talk of one in Buckland but never actually saw it and here in KIVLs people refer to the Armory often. “Yeah, once the ice is good and the Tomcod are in, go fish right in front of the Armory.”

Except, I’ve walked around this island a hundred times already and I cannot, for the life of me, distinguish one dilapidated old building from another. Therefor, I have no clue which one is actually the Armory. I have learned though that none of these except maybe the one in Kotzebue is actually an active military armory. They are just remnants of the Cold War – evidence of the regions proximity to Mother Russia.

Coming here I actually asked an elder in C3 camp if I could talk of my experiences in the Marine Corps. I didn’t know if military service was a viable option for these folks. He assured me that people would be interested and said there are many Inupiaq Veterans of the Alaska National Guard… remember, Cold War?

So, in my time here word has gotten out that I am a United States Marine. Seeta, the night janitor, loves anytime that I dig up old pictures and share stories of those glory days when I was a little lighter and a lot less hairy.

I remember him coming in my room with his vacuum one evening in August saying, “Geez, I never meet someone been in War before!” For a while, he’d ask about the stuff daily.

My students are equally inquisitive. My man Thomas even went so far as to declare to his parents that he "wants to be a Marine like Mr. Kirby." Every morning we greet each other with a salute and end each day the same way. “By your leave, Sir.” More than once Thomas and his friends have ambushed me on an evening walk. I'm sure to debrief and critique in school the next day.

I did a minor Veteran’s Day project and shared a video that I have shared with classes in the past. The kids responded superbly. I posted their letters in the hall and invited friends, family and Veterans of Kivalina to come by the school for a peak. I wasn’t sure anyone ever did or not until last week when a stranger introduced himself to me at the store and told me about his time at Fort Benning, Georgia (Army National Guard). He wanted to hear more about the Marines.

So, the Cat’s out of the Bag. Kirby’s a Jarhead. Yeah – whatever.

2 days ago a plane dropped off a collection of toys to be distributed to the children of Kivalina when Santa’s Helpers arrived…that was all we knew – nothing more.

Actually them leaving today at Noon 12/3/15

Santa’s Helpers arrived on snowmachine yesterday.

Along with their Native Guide, Robbie from Noatak, 1^st Sergeant Josh Guffey and Corporal Bill Worthy pulled in at about 1630 hours. Clad in Bunny Boots and heavy military issued arctic gear, it was hard to tell who they were and what was going on. Miss Knowles and I helped them unload their gear, which included another sled full of toys left over from the celebration at the Noatak School earlier that day. A little disoriented and worn out from their long haul over, the men acclimated to the McQueen School and politefully went with us on our mini-tour.

Emma (Miss Knowles) kicked in to high gear and began asking questions, making decisions and delegating authority. An Army brat herself, Emma looked at me at one point and said, “I don’t know Kirby. They look militaristic. They might be Marines.”

I asked and handshakes ensued. I was amongst my people!

Eagle, Globe & Anchor on a Snowmobile!

We had very little information about the operation that was going to be conducted at our school. I find it hard to believe that the United States Marine Corps would ever do anything on a whim. Somebody in the District Office, somebody at the Center of Confusion had known about this mission for a while now but the ball was dropped and nothing ever communicated to us on the Rock. Like all good Marines, these guys were happy to be here and ready to go with the flow. We agreed to work out the specifics in the morning and play it by ear when the kids came rolling in.

We checked them in to a room and went on our separate ways.

I retired to Senior Housing for a bowl of Clam Chowder Chunky Soup and a glass of water. Bill and I unwound from another eventful day at the school like we always do – with a good old-fashioned vent session. I scoured the land of Facebook, wrote my wife an email, looked at the clock and decided to go back to the school and chat up the visitors.

I’m glad that I did.

I popped in on the men who by now were maxing and relaxing in the classroom next to mine. I asked if they minded me stopping in and invited myself in. Robbie offered up some MukTuk (Bowhead Whale) and that spurred a fun conversation about his Uncle’s whaling crews in Barrow. Corporal Worthy let on that he is an MP reservist from Anchorage and joined the Corps at the ripe old age of 27. Just 2 and a half years in, he was recently meritoriously promoted to Corporal and just earned a NAM (Navy Achievement Medal) bringing his total ribbons to 3! He took the gentle ribbing as a Boot like all Boots do - with a smile. 1^st Sergeant Guffey and I hit it off. He is an Active Duty Marine attached to the MP squad in Elmendorf Air Force Base and in charge of this "squad" here in the Arctic. Originally though  he is a just a grunt – like me. And grunts know – if you’ve met one, you’ve met us all.

The guys and I bullshitted for almost 3 hours. We talked about salmon fishing the Kenai Peninsula. They asked questions about the locals, the island and the tundra. Robbie and I put the two Marines through a crash course in Inupiaq cultures and customs. I felt like a seasoned pro and now have a friend from Noatak. Robbie was a good guy. Like Marines do – we told stories of deployments and bootcamp, Drill Instructors and old ladies. We heard about each other’s families and really just shot the shit like we’d known each other for years. There in that cramped classroom, 4 grown men sat on elementary sized school chairs much too small for our growing asses and didn’t complain about a thing.

The Youth Leaders here at school labeled a toy for each kid. 

Guffey and Worthy were just as surprised to see a Marine in Kivalina as I was to see them here. The USMC and Toys for Tots out of Anchorage has picked a different part of Bush Alaska to visit for the last few years. This year they picked the Northwest Arctic. As far as anyone can tell, nothing like this has ever been done for the kids of Kivalina or the other surrounding villages for that matter.

Cpl. Worthy & Joel. 

A C130 flew in to Kotz 3 days ago and 1^st Sgt’s Marines dispersed in 3 different 2-man groups -  taking government issued snowmobiles across the Tundra and doing the work of Santa’s helpers.

1^st Sgt. Guffey was in on the first Invasion of Iraq and last night he “invaded” Kivalina.

1st Sgt. Guffey & Ben. 

U.S.M.C. Toys for Tots - 12/3/15 

Their reception today was powerful. Every kid from pre-school through the seniors received something from the Marines. The Marines did a great job and spread a lot of Christmas LOVE. When some of my kids teased Worthy about his Portholes (What Marines call Eyeglasses) I thought the 1^st Sgt. and I were going to loose it.

The helicopters were a big hit!

I was proud of how today went. I was glad I went back up there last night and visited with those guys. I was happy to see the kids of my class happy. I was reminded about the special bond between Santa Clause and the United States Marine Corps.

One of these Marines needs a haircut and a shave!

 Merry Christmas Marines. Semper Fi.

“19 days from Tuesday!”

There’s a young lady I know that cannot put ice skates on her feet without first putting a smile on her face. Skating and playing hockey makes most kids happy as a lark but Miss Abby takes it to another level. When her feet are moving and she’s gliding across the ice, the smile on her face never falters.

I’ve shared many a practices and open skates with this little speedster and her energy is contagious. She’s a good little hockey player. She’s strong on her skates, her stick handling is emerging and she knows how to go to the net. I challenge anyone to find a picture of her on the ice where her wide grin isn’t obvious behind the cage of a hockey helmet.

On the way home from a game last Saturday, from the back seat little Abby-girl proclaimed with a jolt, ““19 days from Tuesday, Coach Kirby will be here!” The excitement in her proclamation startled her mother but she showed emotions like my own children have been feeling for months on end now.

Now the countdown doesn’t seem so unrelenting. 19 days from Tuesday seems miniscule compared to the number of days, weeks and months that have stacked up since I left in July.

Today I walked the chilly streets of Kotzebue. I’m down here attending a coach’s conference prior to the start of a basketball season in the Arctic. When class was over we had a few hours to burn so I headed for a Native Art store for some Holiday shopping. After making my purchase I threw on my backpack and started to make my way back through town. Just as I reached the street, I was startled by the thunder of a large jet taking off from the Kotzebue Airport.  The freedom bird took me by surprise because at first I only recalled the Alaska Airlines jets leaving Kotz daily at about 7:00 am and about 7:00 pm…and then I remembered that on Tuesdays they add a third flight at Mid Day.

This big bird took to the sky with a different roar than the Navajos and Caravans that I’ve grown accustomed to. With a hard right in to the clear crisp sky I realized that the next time I see and hear the roar of one of those commercial airplanes, I’M GOING TO BE ON IT!!!

Today is Tuesday.

“19 days from Tuesday” – starts today!

I cannot wait to skate with that smiley little girl, Abby. I can’t wait to hug #17 her teammate and my daughter. I cannot wait to bear hug the boy we call Bear. I cannot wait to kiss my wife and see her personal reaction to the Yukon Cornelius beard.

A little teaching left to do before break.

A little testing left to do before break.

A little ball to be played before break.

And before you know it, I’ll be back right where I belong.