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

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 2^nd. 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!”

Salt of the Earth.

 The kid is a Stud. He’s All-Conference all day. He’s a Hammer…a twice over All-Section Hammer. He’s the Captain that leads by example in class, at practice, from whistle to whistle and in the locker room. Logan’s not just a 3-sport athlete. He’s been a 3-sport athlete for 4 straight seasons. He’s played through allergies and illness and even competed most of his freshman season of football with a bum arm that we just taped up and gritted through for two weeks before x-rays confirmed a break. He’s tough. All those seasons and he only missed ONE game. He played 4 years of football and never missed a competition. He played 4 years of baseball and never missed an inning. And that ONE hockey game he did miss during the Thanksgiving Holiday tourney this year; Coach had to pull him out because everyone knew, he would have played. The nagging ankle injury he got in his last career football game needed a little more time to heal. If it were up to Logan, he would have cut it off to play.

On the hardwoods, his Big Brother could rebound and bang around in the paint with the best of them. His Big Sister was a beast on the volleyball court and even tougher on the ice on defense. But Logan, he played the game, every game, with a big heart and a big bag of knuckles. He was unselfish and a true team player. He loved blocking for his backfield partner maybe even more than scoring on his own. From the blueline he was always looking to set up a teammate first and looking to shoot second. His pass first mentality came from his desire to see his teammates excel. On the diamond, Logan was such a utility player that over the course of his career he played eight of the nine positions and would have gladly played first base if Coach asked him to.

Logan worked at his craft. He was mentored by good upperclassmen and privileged to be coached by some great guys. Ever since he was young, I’d always tell him – “Look at your Coach when they’re speaking.” And he did. Logan hit the weightroom and put on some solid muscle. He shot pucks in the off season and hit baseballs off the tee to pass the time. It all paid off. His Senior year was one for the ages.

He started his final season of football on the field of our rivals, the Braham Bombers. Logan and Jamison each ran for 200 yards, and both scored 3 touchdowns that night. At Crosby-Ironton he intercepted a pass as the Rangers threatened to score. On the next play he took a short pass from Kempf and ran it 82 yards past everyone for the score - one of three that night. The storybook season was just getting underway. A few weeks later, the Bear was voted Homecoming King. No small coincidence, his girlfriend was crowned the Queen. 4 days later he turned 18 and the next day, under the Friday night lights, the Homecoming King dismantled the Mesabi East Giants by running into the endzone 3 more times. The following game was against the perennial bad guys, the Moose Lake Rebels. When Tight End, Will Volk caught an unlikely touchdown to tie the game with one second left on the clock, the good guys went for the two-point conversion and the win. Coach called Logan’s number and he delivered. It was only the second time that the Tigers had beat the Rebels in 20 years!

A friend of mine swears that a Hallmark movie should be made. If television crews had followed him and screenwriters had paid attention, no one would find the storyline believable. It was all almost too good to be true.

Logan and his teammates finished the 2025 regular season with a perfect 8 -0 record. He was voted the team’s offensive MVP and although I’m a bit biased, he truthfully could have earned the defensive MVP award too. The Hammer likes to hit.

Hockey season started with an unfamiliar and somewhat reduced role for the two-time Captain. Coach limited his playing time and kept him out of some special teams situations that would have been taxing on his injured ankle. It wound up being a great call. It was only a matter of time and Logan was back leading the team in Time-On-Ice. His plus/minus proved why. He was running the Power Play and a steadfast component of the Penalty Kill. With a great group of seniors around him, the Pine City Dragons started turning heads and played a fun style of hockey. Logan was the linchpin. Ranked higher in the Section than they had recently been, the team earned a 1^st round Playoff HOME game and one more chance to play at the Civic Center in Korbel Arena.

Cue the Hallmark writers.

As a 4/5 matchup, Pine City wasn’t necessarily favored to win the game. Some folks figured their opponent, Sauk Rapids-Rice, had played a tougher schedule and fared well. Those folks forgot to tell Logan and his teammates. The barn was electric. The music was loud. The fans were rabid. The final score reflected an 8-3 Dragon victory. It wasn’t even close. And there he was, #10 – Senior Captain - playing in his last home game… did the writers predict a hat trick? Logan was all over the stat sheet. He had a Roughing Minor in the 3^rd period, an assist and potted 3 beautiful goals for his first career hat trick – at home – in the playoffs. You can’t make it up.

Like the football season, the hockey season came to an unfortunate end at the hands of someone just a little bit bigger and a little bit better. The Dragons fought to the bitter end and forced the Monticello Moose to beat them in Double Overtime. The game was well worth the price of admission.

The ice melted and gave way to another trip around the bases. Hope springs eternal. Logan and his baseball teammates looked to repeat and build on their 13 win season from the year before. 4 seniors lead the way. The Pace Bros. and their muscles intimidated opponents. Their pitching and hitting proved why. Matt Kempf used his golden arm and high end speed to lockdown centerfield. And then there was the Bear – throwing guys out from behind the plate; taking his turn on the mound and commanding the corners for big wins against Hinckley and Braham; and leading from the front again. He batted Lead Off from the first inning of the first game until the last. His batting average was close to .450. He stole bases and played great defense wherever he was called. 3^rd base – like he was born to do it. Middle Infield? Let’s turn two. Can Logan play the outfield? We need a guy. Yep – just let him borrow Dad’s sunglasses.

Spring sports in Minnesota fly by. April showers pack double headers into pieced together schedules like Dolly Parton’s Coat of Many Colors. Before we could even catch our breath, we found ourselves in Aitkin for the second time in two weeks in the first round of playoffs. The team in the other dugout had nothing to lose and put their #1 hurler on the mound. It was a well-played game by both squads in a defensive battle that ended in a 2-0 triumph for our beloved boys in blue and gold. Each run was scored with a Solo Homerun from a Senior. Nathan Pace crushed the first one and dented the elementary school across the lot. And like the Hallmark writers predicted, Logan Kirby hammered the second one just over the fence in deep left-center field. His first home – his Senior season – in the playoffs. You can’t make it up. I wonder if Mesabi East remembered him from the Fall.

He might be upset that I wrote this. He doesn’t do any of it for attention. When he tumbles into the endzone, he’s been known to point to a sibling or a favorite photographer. He typically thanks his blockers and then hands the ball directly to the official with little to no fanfare– as if he’s done it before and intends to do it again. He might be a little more dramatic when he scores in hockey but truthfully, hockey is a little more intense and scores are harder to come by. But listen to him in the post-game interviews and he’s quick to deflect and eager to heap praise on his teammates. He is humble. Almost unbelievably so. He’s just so happy to be on the team and playing games with his friends. And you know what…. It’s not the touchdowns nor the tackles that I’m most proud of. It’s not the hat trick or the homer that I want to remember. My favorite memory came on Senior Scholarship Award night.

To the graduating seniors that plan to continue learning once their high school diploma is signed, the cost and logistics of post-secondary education can be overwhelming. Although Logan is proudly a member of the Minnesota Honor Society and was repeatedly on the A honor roll, he admittedly took it easy in 12^th grade and reaped the benefits of his earlier hard work. Shop classes and work study softened his schedule that may have had an English class and a Math class in there somewhere. With the college application process underway, scholarship applications came due, and Logan towed the company line. That night a collection of seniors sat on stage as community stakeholders doled out awards. It was a pleasant surprise to hear Logan’s name called as the first recipient. Dale’s Heating and Appliance awarded him a nice scholarship intended for a student headed not to a traditional college but a career in the trades. The American Legion and the VFW both handed him scholarships that night too. Many of his classmates raked in the awards and honors as well.

And then the night culminated in a major award. Mr. Dennis Frandsen is a local entrepreneur and banker that has done well for himself in life. He has created an endowment to extend his legacy for generations to come. He doesn’t just offer a low-grade scholarship. Mr. Frandsen has offered a complete tuition grant to graduating students from a few surrounding schools. The award is for those that are attending 2-year colleges and pursuing a career in the technical trades. Select colleges have partnered with the Frandsen Foundation to encourage kids that might not have otherwise considered the technical fields to further their education without any financial burden. Yes, you heard that right. Dennis Frandsen’s philanthropic ways have called him to write a check covering books, tuition, supplies, and tools for two years for those qualifying students. This year 197 students from 8 different schools took him up on his offer. Logan was one of them.

When 20 or so Rush City students’ names were called to come forward that night to accept their certificate and be recognized, Logan was in the middle of the pack. I assume because his last name starts with a “K”. Those before him shuffled from the chairs and quietly accepted their slip of paper and hung around for a group picture. Not Logan.

He is the Salt of the Earth.

Logan thanked the presenters and then promptly walked off the stage.

The captain of the football team slowly walked down the steps and into the audience. The captain of the hockey team sought out the elderly Mr. Frandsen and knelt in front of him and extended his hand for a handshake. In the background, the presenters continued down their alphabetical list. Logan quietly visited with Mr. Frandsen and thanked him for his generosity. He shook Mrs. Frandsen’s hand as well. I wished that I could have heard their conversation. I could barely see the interaction. Tears of pride welled in my eyes.

Teachers and Coaches in attendance took notice and knew Logan did not do this for attention but because it was the right thing to do. Some of his peers noticed too and followed suit. Logan doesn’t act as if he is special in any way. He is straightforward and honest, humble and thoughtful. That handshake proved to his mother and me what we already knew. It proved that the touchdowns and tackles, hat tricks and homers matter but they don’t matter half as much as being kind.

Great Job, Bear.

We are so proud of you.

Cue the Hallmark Credits........

49 and a Half.

 The thing is – I don’t feel “old”.

I feel like I could still do a pretty decent cartwheel. Like I could knock out a 5K tomorrow if I had to. I feel like my taste in music is broad enough to still be one of the cool kids. I feel like my closet is hip enough to pass as “chill” and not as someone that is trying too hard.

I don’t even really feel like I’m from here – although I’ve lived here for half of my life. Sometimes I still feel like the new guy, even though I’m not. Half my life? Wow – I must be getting Old.

I can hang. I can still party – if I had to. I feel like I can still play the game…whatever game – baseball, hockey, whatever. I can still chuck the old pigskin around. I think.

I’m not set in my ways – the old-fashioned ways…. the way we have always done things. I can adapt and change with the new-fangled things in life – modern technology – new methods – new philosophies.

I think.

Except – I don’t do spreadsheets. Excel or Google Docs. I haven’t figured out how to set up a Group Chat or even talk to Siri. I’d still print out driving directions if Michele would let me. The only Bluetooth ear buds I own are my new hearing aids. Yeah, I said it. Hearing Aids. Like Old People have… and my taste in music? There are two cases of cassette tapes in the basement that I refuse to get rid of because I think it’ll make a cool Arts & Crafts activity sometime. – even though most of those artists are played on the Classic radio stations anymore. And that cartwheel? Don’t bet on it. My shoulder hurts. I may have torn my rotator cuff. So, I probably can’t throw a football or chuck a baseball very far…not without pain anyway. I could maybe play “the game” but I’d be sore as Hell afterwards. I eat Aleve like M&M’s.

I’m 49 and a Half.

My back hurts. My kids make fun of the way I dance. When those Progressive commercials come on about You-Turning Into Your Parents, Michele and the kids point at me and laugh. At work I talk in terms of 5–10-year spans or more. On the depth chart, not only am I on the front page, but I’m an elder. #8 on the seniority list or some shit like that. I remember what it was like here way back when.

And those hearing aids… yeah, that was a shot to the ego. But a move that I think my wife appreciates.

You know – I go back and forth – sometimes I feel like a Spring chicken…. spry and full of piss and vinegar and then other times I feel the steady geriatric decline of gravity pulling at my everything.

Hell….at least I aint 50 yet.

That’s in 3 days.

The Prettiest girl in the Holler’... another love note.

22 years later I still struggle to keep up with her pace when those lovely long legs step it out for an afternoon walk. She recognizes this and offers an evening stroll in flipflops. Gladly I accept because it means another opportunity to walk hand in hand – sometimes in silence – other times with a conversation starter that she pours out and I take over. With or without the playful, energetic, 9-month-old puppy in tow, a walk with my beautiful wife is one of my favorite ways to pass the time.

She’s the prettiest girl in the Holler’… my Michele.

She’s given me 3 wonderful children and let me interject my fatherly ways from time to time. But the truth is, she’s the Captain of this ship. Mom’s always been the one they run to for money, for permission and for help filling out a FAFSA. Her tech-savvy, organizational skills make her the obvious choice over me with anything electronic. But it’s her patience, open mind and her giving heart that make Mom the go-too for most everything else. Like a good mother, she always puts them first – like a great mother.

She’s the prettiest girl in the Holler’… the mother of my children.

Michele’s willingness and uncanny ability to tackle day to day challenges comes from her fierce independence and a time in her life when she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. Somewhere that 20-year old, single mother, balancing college courses, a volleyball team and the uncertainty of her future is still fighting to prove to herself that she can do it. She has done it. She’s persevered. She won the race. She got the guy. She got the white picket fence in the suburbs with 2.5 kids and a dog….if Pine City is the suburbs and if I am “the guy”. I am the guy – the guy that needs to realize that she’s not stubborn. She’s independent. That she doesn’t need a man – she chooses a man. I’m the lucky one.

She’s the prettiest girl in the Holler’….

And now 22 years later, it’s just me and my pretty girl. The oldest son has a pretty girl and home of his own in the actual suburbs. Our only daughter is the prettiest girl in the North Country and winning her way through life and college. And now the youngest son has started his journey into early adulthood with vocational training that began in July, a lease on his own apartment and a pretty girl that will keep him checking in back home regularly. But here at home, for now, it’ll just be me and my beautiful wife. Empty nesters they call it. How lucky am I to be the guy to hold the hand of the blonde in the sundress with those lovely, long legs? Just me and Michele…

The Prettiest Girl in the Holler’.

Shake the Frost off of my Bones

Tyler Childers has done it. 

Lynyrd Skynyrd did it. 

Every poet, songwriter, author and musician since the beginning of time has done it.

....done what?

Written love notes to share with the world about the women in their lives....

But don't let Michele come on here and threaten to write a BLOG about our ever changing life together. Don't let her try to convince you that I love her any less or that I care about her safety and well being any differently now than I did in 2001. She is the Love of my Life. 

And now you know that....

So if this Hall of Famer decides to write some silly story about me taking an afternoon nap on our new-to-us, college level, sectional couch....and go on about that nap being interrupted by the unfortunate circumstances of my dear wife mis-stepping and losing her balance but gracefully falling to the living room floor in front of me... don't believe a word she says. (Because later in the day while on our way to an afternoon movie date, she started laughing and threatened to "Write a Blog" about me not loving her like I used to!)

I watched the whole thing. She kicked the footrest and fell forward in an dignified tuck and roll. Lewie was there to assist her and truthfully, she may have begun laughing before she actually even hit the floor. Yes - I was concerned. Yes - I resisted the urge to point and laugh as she would have no doubt done to me. Without any sudden movement, I tipped my hat back and asked if she was alright.

What my bride will try to convince everyone is that the Kirby of Old would have somehow sprung into immediate action and rescued his damsel in distress. The Old Kirby would have sympathetically rushed to her side to offer emotional support and administer any necessary topical first aid. She professes that my love for her has changed and that I am somehow less caring about her safety and well being because I didn't sound the alarm and rally the troops when my wife lay sprawled across the living room floor.

I contest that I love her more this day than the last...and that I love her more and more each and every day. Although I bear the brunt of most familial jeering and laughing, in this instance I chose not to lash out in laughter but to calmly assess the situation and tried to get back to my nap.

It's just that it caught me by such surprise that she lost her balance and didn't elegantly glide across the living room like the high caliber athlete that she is.

I love you, #5. Way to stick the landing!

I guess we're both getting a little older. 

"I wouldn't keep it all inside

And I'd let you know how much I loved you every day

So darlin', will you stay right here and shake this frost off of my bones?"