Tuesday, August 5, 2025

Old Soul

There’s a low-key movement in country music away from the sequined blue jeans and pop glamour that it’s turned into. Some folks would rather listen to an old dobro, a fiddle or a banjo and the guy on the other end sing about real life struggles, triumphs, and love. Those people that prefer this new wave, crave a return to the old ways…the days of Hank, Merle and Waylon. Where song writers questioned the government, praised the Lord and sung songs about love lost or found again. Oliver Anthony, Zach Bryan and Tyler Childers are among this list of throwbacks to an era where words mattered.

I know another “throwback”.

An Old Soul.

It’s long been said that the one they call Bear was born a generation or three too late. He would have done well as an explorer, a trapper, or a lumberjack…a child of the woods with the manners of a polished gentleman. He’s a guy that knows the value of a man’s word when it comes sealed with the promise of a firm handshake. He takes pleasure in each sunrise and sunset, best enjoyed in a duck blind or deer stand. Logan appreciates the little things in life like freshly cut grass, the morning songbirds, and the importance of regularly buying your special lady a pretty bouquet of flowers.

He's always been that way. He was the earliest riser on our family camping trips. At two years of age, I remember him tending the fire and checking on his sleeping siblings before the rooster crowed. Logan doesn’t have to avoid crowds but chooses to and would rather canoe into the Boundary Waters than take a train into the city for some culture and a crowded concert. On the first day of school last September, his Senior year, he didn’t need the personal teenage affirmation of a loaded gymnasium full of excited volleyball fans. Instead, he sat high in a tree and sent an arrow through the boiler room of a big black bear – the culmination of weeks, months and years of preparation and practice. Providing for his family, skillfully and respectfully harvesting a beautiful animal to share with his loved ones – that’s what feeds his soul.

An Old Soul.

Like my buddy Ben – Logan is cool without even trying. There is a certain ease about everything that they do. Not much gets to them. Neither is easily shaken but both are observant and thoughtful, sharp and purposeful. Through hard work, dependability, and a certain self-confidence Logan and Ben let their actions speak of their character. Together I imagine the two of them running a stagecoach across the Oregon Trail or paddling with Lewis and Clark up the Missouri River. They would have thrived being self sufficient as trappers in the French Fur trade or frontiersman exploring the wilderness of Alaska.

But alas, they are here now and we’re the lucky ones for knowing them. Maybe we could learn a few lessons from them, really. Slow down; work hard; listen more and talk less. Let our actions do the talking in place of good intentions; put others before self. Try new things and be a good person.

Maybe one day they’ll write country songs about you.


                                                                Bear & Zen Master circa 2016

Sunday, August 3, 2025

My In-law the Outlaw

In the Stanley Kubrick classic film, Full Metal Jacket, a Vietnam era door gunner fires out into the jungle below as Joker and Rafterman watch on. Our loveable jarhead eggs on the combat reporters with the memorable line, “You guys aughta do a story about me sometime.”

“Why should we do a story about you?”

“Cuz I’m so f*ckin good! That aint no sh*t neither!”

Not sure I’ve ever heard Uncle Jeff swear, at least certainly not as colorfully as my USMC on screen heroes depicted. But it’s that same spirit – that same chutzpah – that swagger that he carries himself with that reminds me of the door gunner. Jeff has it.

I’m sure he fashions himself more of a dusty old cowboy from the spaghetti westerns of days gone by. John Wayne ‘esque….Quiet and mysterious as he rolls into town with his cooler full of Bai’, his half-eaten jar of peanut butter in tow and maybe one or two beers. In that old western, Jeff, this man of depth and mystery, would be bellied up to a poker table, ready to gamble away 10 bucks – 20 tops and maybe even offer a coupon for some quality fried chicken.

I like Jeff.

His taste in music has not changed since 1982 but it covers all you need to know about him. Charlie Daniels, Hank Williams, the KING, Lynyrd Skynyrd… back in the day, his collection of bootleg CD’s mirrored his collection of records before it. Each CD skillfully but probably illegally burned from public libraries across Minnesota and North Dakota like the Outlaw that he is. But those lawless days are gone. Now Pandora, Spotify and Sirius XM radio loop his song track of life on the wagon trail between Bismarck and here…..in his sporty leased crossover of a vehicle…not a smudge on it.

To say Jeff is particular about things would be the understatement of the century. But that’s what makes him great – and he knows it. Just ask him. The man knows what he likes. He likes buffaloes not necessarily buffalo wings. He likes Pizza Ranch but prefers the one in Mandan over all the rest. Jeff likes a good thrift store and comfortable walking shoes. He has three or four pair of the same New Balance shoes in various stages of wear to prove it. Jeff likes an organized refrigerator. Jeff is handy to have around the house and knowledgeable about a lot of things. He just works at his own pace – a pace that he’s perfected over years of training.

A man of few frills, Jeff enjoys walking the golf course and considers it exercise - chasing his ball across the fairway without a cart…honorably – like golfing cowboys would do. He’s not Irish but Jeff uses Mulligans as if he was. Under the brim of that fancy sunshade hat, Jeff can masterfully swing his menagerie collection of hybrid clubs with varying accuracy. He regularly offers me a swing of said clubs and each time I’ve tried, I’ve lost another ball into the weeds. Lucky for me, Jeff scores each game like a boy who barely made it through the Robbinsdale school systems unscathed.

I like Jeff – that brother-in-law of mine.

He's a sports fan – steeped in rooting for the Twins, the Timberwolves, and the Vikings. More often than not though, I catch him watching golf or even bowling on the television. That’s probably why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. But we placate his weird ways and watch the Masters on the telly when he visits and when he leaves, we don’t tell him that now we like watching golf on tv too. Not bowling. That’s weird.

He’s been good to his baby sister, my wife. They fondly reminisce about spinning vinyl in his basement bedroom – younger sibling blindly adoring her wise, older brother. His version speaks more about tolerance than acceptance. When I hear about McDonald’s Cheeseburgers and WWF matches on the couch cushions, it’s as if I was there watching him politely beat the tar out of her. I have no question that if they tried this now it wouldn’t even be close. Michele could now easily whip that old man and make him pay for her childhood trauma, but she doesn’t because she loves him. And since she does – we do too.

It wasn’t the Door Gunner that suggested I do a story on him. It was Michele that suggested I do a story about Jeff. I guess she figured he’s one of the last remaining Peanut Gallery – a relic… a dwindling number of faithful readers left here on the Blog that checks in from time to time to catch up on the happenings of our family or the wanderings of my mind. And since it’s his birthday today – what better way to celebrate than for me to digitally tell the world how great he is at 52. Or is it 58? Is he friggin’ 60 already?

Or wait – maybe he’s 48…

Hell – I don’t know. Nobody knows how old he is.....because he hasn’t changed. The Man is set in his ways and hasn’t changed one bit in the 20 plus years I’ve known him. His taste in music? Same. His opinions on life and all things that make the world go ‘round. Still Jeff. His impeccable sense of style – nope, that hasn’t changed either. I think he was 59 when I met him. He dressed like it anyway….

Hell, I don’t know.

I do know though that he’s a good guy. A throwback to a bygone era….a cowboy on the dusty trail. I like Jeff.

“That aint no sh*t neither!”

 


Happy birthday, vaquero.

 

RESPECT.

 Pope Leo XIV is a Chicago White Sox fan. At least they have that going for them.

The rest of the rational thinking people in the Chicagoland area are sure of a few other things. They’re sure that they will one day be called on to conquer Bozo’s Grand Prize Game and they prepare for that moment accordingly. Chicagoans also are sure that they can count on quality carpet and flooring installation with the press of a few easy to remember numbers. “588-2300 EMPIRE” If you sang the jingle along with me, then you have no doubt spent a part of your life in the 1980’s on WGN-TV channel 9 and if that’s the case than hopefully for your soul, you’re a Cubs fan like me and the rest of the Free World. Real Chicagoans are sure that the Cubs are the best baseball team in the city.

We recently returned from a family reunion, a wonderful gathering of the descendants of Earl and Ellen Fox. The Fox family proudly claims the Chicago Cubs as the ball team that most embodies our family’s sprit and attitude. The loveable Cubbies are ours because Grandma Fox said so. There are a few exceptions to the rule of course – the Black Sheep- like that shyster lawyer cousin of mine that pledges his allegiance to the St. Louis Cardinals. Nonetheless, most of us bleed classic red, white, and blue.

The Chicago Cubs of the 1980’s are my true sports heroes. Guys like Ron Cey and Mark Grace. Rick Sutcliffe, Lee Smith and Jody Davis, Andre Dawson, Gary Matthews and Leon Durham…those are my guys but man that middle infield with Shawon Dunston at shortstop and Ryne Sandberg at second…. I wanted to be them. To me, the Hawk, Penguin and Ryno could do no wrong.

It’s on record and common knowledge that the most revered athletes in Chicago are Michael Jordan (1), Walter Payton (2) and Ryne Sandberg (3). Ryno was the best in the business, a guy that played the game the right way. He was a perennial leadoff/top of the order man with exceptional power for a second baseman. As a matter of fact, when he retired, he was the leader in career homeruns at 2nd. On the basepaths he was a threat to steal and always situationally aware, but it was his 9-time golden glove that most remember him for. #23 played the game the right way and in his own Hall of Fame speech he said that was because of one word, “Respect”. Ryne Sandberg had earned the respect of every teammate, every opponent and every true baseball fan because of his attitude, hustle, and effort.

With his passing this week, baseball enthusiasts remember him for his love of and commitment to the game. Ladies in their 50’s have a tear in their eye and an ache in the hearts because Sandberg was their first true crush. I long for those days of my youth and one more call from Harry Caray and Steve Stone as  Ryno and Dunston turn a 6-4-3 double play or Sandberg delivers another clutch hit in the bottom of the ninth to hear Caray call – “Cubs Win. Cubs Win. Holy Cow….the Cubs win.”

I miss Grandma Fox.

 


“Go Cubs Go’oo… Go Cubs Go’ooo…

Hey Chicago whaddya say….the Cubs are gonna win today!”