Average...

Some scholars consider Bemidji State University the "Harvard" of the MidWest. Now, I'm not one to brag and I've never even been to Harvard but I can say that I am proud of the Bachelors of Arts degree I earned in Elementary Education from the next Ivy League School up by the lake.

Looking back at my time at "Uni", I reminisce fondly on my freshman English class in Creative Writing. Perhaps it was the fact that I was 4 years older than most incoming freshmen and had life experiences and adventures in the Marine Corps to reflect on and share. Maybe that, combined with my willingness to be less worried about impressing people with my intelligence and more likely to baffle them with my bullshit. I honed my skills in prose at Harvard and by that, I mean BSU.

I'm actually a published author, albeit in outdoor periodicals that have since gone the way of the dinosaurs. Undeterred by that kiss of death, I like to annually throw out an often prolonged account of the ups of downs and ins and outs of our hunting seasons in the Lost River. Hunting buddies and family alike read and respond, probably just to placate my feelings.

The readship of this here Kirby Krew Blog are faithful to a fault. While living in the Arctic I wrote to ease my worried mind. The numbers checking in grew and grew. Although I initially kept up contributions after returning to the Lower 48, I eventually slacked off. All that it took was an International Pandemic for me to return pen to paper.

One faithful follower commented that I can "sure spin a yarn." Rumplestiltskin could lock me in a room and I'm confident that I could write my way out of the transaction.
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Oddly enough, one recent interaction with our local English teacher has me scratching my chin.

Earlier in the Fall while coaching the Junior High football squad, I introduced myself as an ally.  7th grade boys have traditionally struggled with due dates and 5 paragraph essays. As their coach I did my best to run interference. The young educator struggled gaining a grip on the middle schoolers in her charge. As I understand, that continued throughout the year. During the distance learning end to our school year, Michele and I have done our best to help Logan navigate her aggressive assignments and unpredictable expectations. (That's the nice way of saying, "I've been doing his English homework with him.")

Teachers have been sending regular progress reports throughout the school year. That has continued as kids work from home.You can imagine my surprise when I saw that Logan is earning a "C" in English... especially because I DID THE DAMN WORK SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO HIM!!

Michele laughs... I'm getting a C in 7th grade English.

A smile and a wave can make my day.

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”

Martin Luther King Jr. 

My friend Matt is the happiest, most agreeable guy you could ever meet. His mellow demeanor and gentle ways are natural and not forced in the least. It actually kind of goes against what you might expect from a Goalie Dad. The high stress world of watching your son try to stop all of the pucks typically makes others grey prematurally, turn to heavy drinking and sour on all things wrong with society. But not Matt. Matt is always there to offer a smile, lend an ear and just be a good friend.

He works for the city and he's always quick to notice our truck as we drive by his project for the day. My day is made with a friendly wave. Matt's always happy and that makes me happy. 

If you have questions about the happenings in our big little town - detours, road construction, city projects on the horizon - ask Matt. It looks like fun. Well, Matt makes it look like fun. I mean, driving heavy equipment and slogging around in the sludge on the mean streets of Pine City might be one of those Dirty Jobs that Mike Rowe would stop by and sink his hands in to. I'm sure at times it's no fun. You couldn't tell by watching Matt work. He's always smiling. 

Following an all night snow storm last winter, I was out shoveling our driveway as more snow fell. The city's snow plow took it's one pass down our dead end road and when I saw it was Matt at the wheel, I flagged him down on the way back by. I asked him how things were going and if the Boss had him on a strict schedule to tend to. Matt quickly read between the lines and offered to take a second pass up and down 7th Avenue, knowing that it would keep my elderly neighbors happy that we were plowed curb to curb. And of course he did so with another wave and a smile. 

Yesterday I heard the rumble of a streetsweeper make it's way on to our street. The COVID lockdown affects people in different ways. Some of you can relate to the little shot of happiness it gave me to watch my friend drive by in the fancy new machine. As it crept past our house, I jumped from the couch and stood at the front window like a kid watching the Zamboni driver through the glass. My wife began to laugh at me.

Down and back once. I thought he was done. 

At the 2nd Street intersection, I could hear that he was turning around for another pass. I missed the slow moving machine go past a third time because I was defending my excitement and joy to my wife who continued to rib me on the silliness. But when Matt came past again, I ran out on the porch and saluted him with the biggest wave I could muster. He immediately saw me and waved back with an equal wave. A wave and a smile that said, " I see you, friend." - the way only Matt can do. 

Of course Michaelangelo swung back around for a finishing pass and painted a streetsweeping masterpiece.

Two Tears in a Bucket...

It snowed today. - TTiaB
We've got multiple cats making a litter box on the underside of our porch. - TTiaB
I've honestly forgotten what number day this is "on the island". - TTiaB
It's 4:17 p.m. and I think Michele is still working. - TTiaB
The dishwasher needs to be emptied. - TTiaB
The Governor of the great state of Minnesota has extended the Stay at Home order to May 4th.-TTiaB
Confirmed COVID-19 case in Pine County yesterday. -TTiaB
I had to evict a squirrel family from our soffits this week. - TTiaB
It's only 37 degrees. We're less likely to go for a walk this afternoon. - TTiaB
We have TP but haven't been able to buy re-supply in 3 weeks. It's getting Danger Close. - TTiaB
Distance Learning and Social Distancing are phrases that we knew nothing about a month ago. - TTiaB
I was supposed to ump a baseball game today. -$90. - TTiaB
Emma hasn't been to daycare/work in a month. - TTiaB
We finished "Tiger King". - TTiaB
Logan's Pheasants Forever Youth Hunt has been canceled. - TTiaB
I need a haircut and a shave but not one without the other. - TTiaB

Did I mention that it snowed today?

Two Tears in a Bucket...


"But I love my life man it's something to see
It's the kids and the dogs and you and me
It's the way it's alright when everything goes wrong
It's the sound of a slow simple song"

Chris Stapleton - "A Simple SOng"

The Devil is in the Details...

Details of what?
Day to day life in the middle of a COVID-19 pandemic...
Mine is like yours. No details that make it special. I've got the white picket fence in middle America, with a dog and 2.5 kids - All on LockDown. Just like you.

1 of those kids is able to handle her business in the digital realm of distance learning like a trained professional. We rarely see her except when she emerges from her lair for chesse sticks or strawberries. Occasionally she'll join us for a family board game or to force us to watch her weird Vampire shows. But overall, she's going with the swing of things and seems to be handling things much better than the pater familias.

You would think that the other kid would be loving life without the strains of four walls and a classroom. He's made for the outdoors. His new found hobby of outdoor photgraphy falls right in his wheelhouse. To me a walk in the woods should suffice as a weeks worth of biology lessons - better than any textbook or online video chat could offer. But the MN Department of Education doesn't see it that way. So, ISD#139 keeps throwing ZOOM classes, Schoology Lessons, Google Classroom notes and at least 15 emails a day at our 7th grade, Total Outdoorsman. And he's drowning in it.

I feel for the Dude because I'm not adjusting very well myself. This isn't how he learns and it's not how I teach but it's the challenge we've been presented and attack it we must. Daily, I diligently host a two hour open window of online video conferencing with whichever 4th graders decide to join me. Naturally, it's the same 7-8 kids evey day and mediating two hours of small talk with 9 year olds proves difficult. I've gotten better at focussing our discussions towards sharing and a little homework guidance. But being glued to a chair, staring down a desktop camera - careful to reply to any staff emails in less than 59 minutes as instructed by our administartion is potentially a violation of the Geneva Conventions rules on torture.

I need a gobbler to holler in the distance or to feel the tug on the other end of a fishing pole soon. Both are just around the corner. So, I'll wait patiently. In the meantime, I tiptoe past my better half who is navigating work from abroad herself. The whole nature of her job description fits right in with this Social Distancing well as does her introverted ways. I admire my lovely wife knocking out Kettle Bell sessions with her gym buddies on opposite ends of a video screen and think that she must actually prefer things this way. Shopping online has always been a source of joy at her fingertips but this lockdown seems to have her Leveled Up in the next round of Jumanji. Involuntarily, I've signed up for a League of "You're not Doing it Right" - of which there can be no winner. But I love her to pieces. When we're able to get out for a walk at least once a day, I'm eventually centered and reminded how grateful I am to be married to my Dream Woman.

Netflix is an addiction that Uncle Sam will have to address once this all passes. Gay Tigers and Beautiful Vampires, Australian lifeguards and Loud-mouthed fishermen... a world of mindless distraction is out our fingertips. Thankfully we can all usually come together for some family time around the TV screen.

And Raider - the old fella loves having the whole pack together. He'll curl up at your feet when you need a friend during your 3rd online chat of the day. He'll retrieve every thrown ball and happily join you on a shelter-in-place approved walk around town. Raider's got it made. He doesn't have any job description tying him down.

I lost count of what day we're on in Quarantine... probably for the better....a number is just a detail. And who cares really?
The Devil is in the details.

A walk with Big Paul...

This dang COVID got me going stir crazy. Like the rest of the extroverts struggling with their new social boundaries, I was thankful to have essential clearance to leave the house Thursday. My grade level decided to schedule a meeting to touch base that morning. From my classroom, I hosted my regular 9:00 a.am., ZOOM Video Conference - A.K.A.: Chuck E. Cheese Stage Show Madness. After convincing a handful of 10 year olds that 45 minutes of small talk was adequate, I politely excused them one by one and we went about our merry ways.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Erdman, Mrs. D and I met with our building principal, all well aware of the mandatory social distance. We accomplished a few things but for me the value was in the face to face contact. I'm not sure much was decided but we were able to share a few things and ease each other's anxieties about Week #1 of Distance Learning.

A trip to the gas station for a treat and a slow country drive home with the windows down was helping to ease my worried mind but as the truck climbed the hill by the highschool, I still felt out of whack. Remembing that my mud boots were in the back, I pulled in to the lot at the rink and decided it was time for a walk with Big Paul.

See, I'm not Big Paul.
I'm Little Paul.

Big Paul was my Grandpa. He died in a car accident in 1994. I was an 18 years old Marine, recently assigned to the Fleet. I flew home on emergency leave to comfort my grandmother and to bury my namesake. He never saw me in uniform but I carried his casket in my Service Alphas. I'm not sure that I've been to the cemetery in 20+ years but I think of him often.

I think of him when I hear my Grandma's voice on the other end of the phone. She's the one that often still refers to me as Little Paul. I think of Grandpa when I take my kids to the Pine City Flea Market in July. Big Paul was an original American Picker. I think of my Grandpa each time I do something crafty. He was a proud German carpenter although I inherited very little of that craftiness.

What I remeber of Big Paul was his mastery of the French Language. Grandma would fuss and my mother would ask him not to talk that way in front of the kids. He heeded neither warning. I remember my grandfather knew a lot of people in his neighborhood. He'd always have someone to stop and offer his opinion to. Grandpa Paul knew his way around the BEER too. Now, I wish I remembered his flavor to have one in his honor.

But what I most remember about my Grandpa was that he loved his grandkids. It was a treat to ride up to the recycling center with Grandpa to turn in some cans for pocket change. Although I'm sure many adults probably took us to that playground by my grandparents house in Aurora, I don't have the foggiest recollection of anyone else doing it, except Grandpa. But the real reward for us grandkids was to go up to Phillips Park and hunt for golf balls.

Oh he wasn't a golfer. I've told that story before. Big Paul was Fred Sanford. He saw value in everything. And when I say value, I mean that he saw PROFIT in everything. What other people wasted, Paul Sempsrote turned in to cash in his pocket. He toted us youngins along. Maybe it was to have another set of eyes looking for another golfball to turn in to a dime but what it felt like was LOVE.

As the snow melts and the Spring rains come, you can sometimes find me pacing the receeding snow piles that surround our outdoor, city, skating rinks. It's the in between times of a fading hockey season and the hope that springs eternal of a turkey hunt or baseball on the horizon. Puddles of disappearing slush leave behind stray hockey pucks left behind from winter's games of shiny and the wandering slapshot of the next Wayne Gretzky.

I don't need anymore pucks. I have buckets full in the garage. I usually like to hunt for them with Logan but his interest is fading. He has all the pucks he could ever need. To work on their game, he and Emma shoot buckets of pucks from time to time. But I can't resist the pull to go on a nice peaceful walk around a park. Each time I do, I think of Big Paul - looking for another man's errant golf ball. Seeing value in the misplaced and discarded. Looking for a way to earn a nickle.

I don't sell the pucks like Grandpa used to sell the golf balls but each time I find another one, I smile and wish I could go on one more walk with Big Paul.

Stone Cold Crazy

The official, Latin, motto of the Marine Corps is Semper Fidelis. It translates to "Always Faithful". The details are fuzzy but I think it's tattooed on the inside of my lip.

To those of us that have served in Uncle Sam's beloved Motorcyle Club, we take these words as the gospel. But we also know that Semper Fidelis plays second fiddle to the true Marine Corps Motto -

HURRY UP and WAIT. 

From the first minute you first stand on those yellow footprints, situated at a precise 45 degree angle, you begin to learn that through ALL things you must hurry up and wait. USMC Bootcamp is longer than the other branches. Some may think that extra time is needed to Earn the Title - Marine. Truth is, it has to be longer because of all that time we sat around on our ass waiting for the word.

It doesn't stop after recruit training. Throughout MCT/SOI newly annointed, "boot" Marines perfect standing in nice straight lines. Cleaning gear and weapons in between those trips to the Range and to "the Field" may seem as a necessary means to a proper end, but I'm calling Bullsh*t. In retrospect I can see that we sat on the parade deck and fiddled with meanial tasks as a way of further driving home the official motto. Hurry Up & Wait. I don't speak Latin but it'd be interesting if the Latin translation was something poetic - fit for another tattoo.

Succesfully graduated from warrior training, Marines dropped to the Fleet are readied for days on end of NOTHING. Sure we can amaze you with exciting stories of training opportunities, and high speed weapons. Stories of heroism and un-Godly feats of strength and stamina. Understand, every single story of awesomeness is just a ruse that was paid for with minutes, hours and days of doing nothing. Nothing but waiting on the word. 

Waiting for some General to give an order. A Major to tell a Captain. A Captain to tell his Lieutenants. The Lieutenants to give the word to the Senior Staff NCO's. The NCO's to argue and question and to tell the officers the right way to do things...sometimes starting the whole process over again. And in the meantime, the junior Marines are perfecting the Art of doing NOTHING. Nothing of circumstance anyway.

Moving from build up, training and preparation and in to War Time, the only constant is that you can bet your sweet ass that you'll be sitting on your sweet ass. I earned my Combat Action award in Mogadishu, Somalia 25 years ago - for that I am proud. My journal helps reconnect the synapses of my brain with memories of long ago. Read in between the lines of any military memoir and you're sure to see that through all the smoke and mirrors, fire and brimstone - I can promise that there were times with very little ACTION in any true Combat Action. 

And then of course, one's service eventually comes to an end. The acronym of love with just 3 lonely letters is EAS. It means End of Active Service.  Home from deployment, Shortimer Marines await their civilian futures on the horizon. Time ticks by at a snail's pace and every good Marine worth his salt meets this last challenge head on. When you can see the light at the end of the tunnel and are counting the days left on your hitch, terminal Marines quickly learn that the best way to pass the time is to do nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

Hurry Up and Wait. 

Time marches on.

And so my fellow Americans, as our nation's leaders implore us to Shelter in Place while the shelf life of COVID-19 is whittled down, I can assure you that I've trained my whole life for this. Stay at home. Grab a good book. Try a new recipe. Build some baits or bust out the crochet hooks. Play a board game or Heaven fobid - Do Nothing. It's O.K.

"General Quarters. General Quarters. All hands on deck, General Quarters"