I only know how I feel...

That guy in the blue shirt on the far left... hearing his Senior Drill Instructor's voice...

"Bring your left heel against the right.

Turn your feet out equally to form an angle of 45 degrees. Keep your heels on the same line and touching.

Your legs should be straight, but not stiff at the knees.

Keep your hips and shoulders level and your chest lifted.

Your arms should hang naturally, thumbs along the trouser seams, palms facing inward toward your legs, fingers joined in their natural curl and elbows in.

Keep your head and body erect. Look straight ahead. Keep your mouth closed and your chin pulled in slightly.

Stand still and do not talk."

This is the "Position of Attention." I was taught it in Boot Camp, right away. When not in uniform, it serves as a salute - a proper means of showing respect. In times that demand respect, i.e. - Taps, Reveille, National Anthem or when called on the carpet for a good ass chewing - you will stand at the Position of Attention.

It is a salute, a polite recognition and acknowledgement. A homage to honor those that came before you. 

First Note to the Last Note. Period.

If the Marines on Iwo Jima could charge in to the hellfire that was Mount Surabachi, you can lock your body up and stand there for 2 and a half damn minutes. If those Army soldiers clinging to life on the beaches of Normandy could face insurmountable odds yet continue to fight on, you can stop what you're doing and pay some respect during the playing of a song and the passing of our Flag.

*********************************************************************************

March on the Colors... I love this picture. 

Miss Jeanine captured this moment at the home football field of the Aitkin Gobblers a hundred years ago. Aitkin could always be counted on for having a below average High School band - so the music is a distant memory. Yet, the images of their color guard are burned in my mind. 

It seemed the local VFW sent their most grizzled veterans to carry out a few steps in Close Order Drill. Their disheveled uniforms and crooked garrison caps seemed to match their out of step cadence which somehow made me admire them even more. I distinctly remember believing that at any point one of the old duffers was going to knock off his Piss Cutter while going to Port Arms. It always felt that at any moment one of them could stumble, fall over or heaven forbid - drop the colors. 

Locked tight, I focused on those men and swore that I could get to them before the Flag ever touched the ground if one of them faltered. But they NEVER DID.

Ever.

Even though it may look like I'm at mid-field, the Tigers are lined up on the visiting team's sideline, just a few yards behind me. This one picture captured me standing for just one National Anthem. I coached for a long time. I've stood this way for the song hundreds of times.

Miss Jeanine noticed. 

She once told me that she always noticed but never understood...

until her oldest son joined the Marine Corps.

Accidentally?

Three weeks in on year seventeen of my teaching career and I am flat worn out. However, I'm comforted that the hilarity of my job will provide me an endless bank of stories to tell while sitting around a campfire swilling bourbon for years to come.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kirby. I accidentally licked my Glue Stick."

The above sentence was actually spoken to me late last week.

I haven't figured out how 4th graders rationalize their little worlds but I'm always amused when good kids explain their mistakes by saying that they "Accidentally" did something. Maybe it comes from the days of messing in our underpants and Mom and Dad calling it an accident, who knows?

But wait, there's more. (There always is.)

This year has been especially challenging as budget constraints have placed 29 students in my classroom.  After assigning a Cut and Paste vocabulary worksheet on "Landforms", I thought I would be afforded a few minutes of down time. Time to actually sit at my desk for a second. Maybe even have a chance to grade a few papers without constantly having to be up and about "putting out fires". Seriously, I've been playing "Whack a Mole" on 4th graders with the attention spans of puppies since Day One.

My most challenging girl came to me and said she didn't have a glue stick. To her I responded, "I can lend you one but I just saw you with yours yesterday. What happened?"

"I shoved a Starburst in it and ate it."

Yeah, you read that correctly. She shoved the chewy confectionery in to her paste tube and consumed the whole kit and caboodle.

I shook my head, not so much in disbelief and handed her one of my sticks anyway, oblivious as to what would happen next.

Moments later, I had 3 more students talked in to the idea of licking away at their Elmer's Glue Sticks.

Knuckleheads, Average Joe's and the recently elected Student Council Representative were convinced by Mr. Mohawk that ALL Glue Sticks are edible and tasty even. So away they licked - like the Owl from the Tootsie Roll Ads of old. Yep on Friday of Week #3, 4th graders stuffed their faces with paste. The same 4th graders that have been gobbling up and spitting out pieces of pencils since Labor Day. The same 4th graders that seem to have an endless supply of bracelet making rubber bands. The same 4th graders that have drilled holes with their ink pens 200 pages deep in to their Composition notebooks. The same 4th graders that bring Freezie Pops in the backpacks for 10:15 "snack time". The same 4th graders whose parents have them opted OUT of Intervention Services designed to provide extra help in areas of individualized need.

By the way - "Starburst and Glue Sticks" is an Actual THING - Google it.
Stinkin' YOUTube!
#$*&%$@@#$&

I think tonight I'm going to ACCIDENTALLY have a couple extra cherries in my Moonshine.

"Paging Mr. Herman - Mr. Herman to the front desk."

"Bueller?"
"Bueller?

"The BLOG needs a little attention," they say.

I concur.

It's a prized family possession. Unlike the rotting Cadillac in Stall #2.

This archive of the ins and outs and ups and downs of the Kirby Krew has been left unattended for far too long.

Like the auger with bad gas in the lines, it'll go. Ya just gotta give it a pull. Pump the primer. Have faith. There's life in there somewhere.

I must commit to less Facebook and more chronicling of our lives.
I must commit to getting the rest of my obligations taken care of posthaste and then pecking away at the keys like I used to do.

It brings me joy - this Blog. It really does.

So then, why then has it been neglected for so long?

My fictional heroes have excused my from regular contributions and random story telling here on these interwebs.

David Wooderson put it best - "The older you do get, the more rules they're going to try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man. L.I.V.I.N."

Andy Dufresne added, "Get busy living or get busy dying."

That's what I've been doing...that's what Michele and I have been doing together.

Living.

Raising some kids, cleaning up after some dogs, mowing some lawns, gallivanting from Virginia to Vegas, tossing out old junk and accumulating more of the same, hockey and homework,kettle bells and canoes, sunscreen and hammocks, job switches and status quo, Friday night dinner dates and a new coat of paint, long walks and short naps, more bleacher popcorn than the F.D.A. could reasonably approve of, cancers and car problems, scratch offs and slot machines, hopes and dreams, hard work and perseverance.

I love my life and I love my wife.
(My kids and dogs too.)

I just haven't written about those things in a while... it feels good to be back.

I'm just looking for clues at the scene of the crime...

Alaska Airlines delivered me safely to MSP one year ago, yesterday.

Having spent the better part of 10 months in the Arctic, I came back with a bushy red beard, some long hair to go with it and looking for a few pounds I lost along the way. Hard to imagine that a year has passed since the great adventure on the edge of the Chukchi Sea but it has.

With little fanfare, I feel like I've assimilated back in to the Middle Minnesota life nicely.

Youth sports seasons have come and gone with a deeper appreciation to just to be able to sit and watch. To be Dad in the Stands or in some cases, on the bench. School pictures, dances, report cards, sleepovers, and homework help, reminded me regularly that there's still plenty of parenting left for Michele and I to do. Only now, we can do it together. Instead of Skype being the highlight of my weeks while away, I look forward to holding hands with the Missus over dinner and a date. We can have "our show" together again or enjoy a walk around the neighborhood on a whim. The dogs accept me as Alpha again.

Life's Been Good to Me So Far...

Life was good BEFORE Alaska but the high and hard, professional curveball that the School Board threw my way sure sent me for a loop. But a year later, to use another baseball term, I think I fought it off nicely. I made some contact and put that ball in play. I took a very bad thing and WE turned it in to a very positive experience for our family.

Make no mistake, I miss Kivils... I miss the kids that made my days difficult. Other times, those same kids made it a highlight of my career. I speak of them often. Their pictures hang in my classroom. I miss my friends I made along the way. Some I'll see again soon - other's, most likely never again. The mountains and the ocean...lots of wonderful things to fill my memory banks.

And here we are...sometimes it's as if it never happened. We didn't skip a beat - and just like that a year has gone by.

Lucky I'm sane after all I've been through
(Everybody say I'm Cool, he's cool)
I can't complain but sometimes I still do
Life's been good to me so far. 

A look back and a dream ahead...

Periodically Michele will re-send me an email string from last year. We don't do it often, but it's sometimes fun to look back at what was important to us then as compared to what's important to us now.

Being physically apart for 10 months (minus 10 days) really brought us closer. I know it sounds cliche but absence can and does make the heart grow fonder. I couldn't be happier than I am today.

And proud too.

I'm proud to have been married to Michele for 14 years. Today is our anniversary and we will be together. Not until after an honest day's work. And not until after we get the kids off to hockey practice and tended to by some helpful friends.

But we will be together.

Tonight we've decided to hold back on the expensive steakhouse and instead be reasonable and responsible. We'll still enjoy each other's company whether we end up at White Castle or the Casino Buffet. No worries though, we've been a little wild and crazy - maybe a little less reasonable and less responsible. We've cut loose and had some really good times since I rejoined the Krew back home in the Lower 48.

I am just so happy now. Thought I was happy then.

I love you, Five.
Happy 14th Anniversary.

“Sure as God made green apples...”

My wife has said that I am “faithful to a fault”. She has seen me scorned by so-called friends that I used to let in to an Inner-Circle that had gotten much too big. Seen me burned by girlfriends of the distant past. Michele lovingly compares me to our dog, Raider - an attention seeking hound that will, without fail, always come running to your side when you need him the most.

I am loyal.

My best friend can see it when I fish. I am diligent and persistent. It's not Blind Faith though, more like the Little Engine that Could – “I think I can. I think I can.”

Out of high school, I joined the United States Marine Corps, an organization who's Latin motto is Semper Fidelis - “Always Faithful”. These words are more than just some catchy phrase to have tattooed on your arm. It's a belief. No matter the clime or place, you can count on your Marine brothers. This is who we are. To this day, I'm the guy that other dude's should call if it ever goes to a back alley brawl. Marine or not, if I've ever called you a friend, I'll be there for you.

It's not a fault. It's actually a positive character trait and a learned behavior.

This “learned behavior” of believing and trusting and loving so unconditionally has been woven in to the make-up of our family for generations. The Fox Family can thank Ellen for that. Great-Grandma Fox was the matriarch of our clan. To say she was the glue that held us all together might not do her justice. Grandma Fox made every one of us feel like we were her favorite. First generation, second generation, it didn't matter...each cousin, aunt or uncle has a story of their own, very close, personal, connection to the Greatest CUBS fan any of us have ever known.

Ellen Fox lived life well. She enjoyed good martinis and fishing walleyes on Lake of the Woods - never at the same time. She loved to play just about every card game she ever tried and would whip even the youngest of adversaries. No mercy – she loved to win. Grandma Fox was the all-time SkipBo champion amongst us. Our family still plays and it's always in her honor.

My grandmother was a classy lady. I'm not sure I ever saw her without perfectly coifed hair. She wore fabulous jewelry and always seemed dressed to the nines for every occasion. Even when chasing walleyes, she'd wear slacks, a nice sweater, a perfectly matching visor to deflect the suns rays off of our favorite lake, always deferring to me to bait her hook.

Oh Grandma was as opinionated as they come. I remember her once saying, “I have the two dumbest grandsons in the world.” Why, you ask? Well, Stutzman was married in the Virgin Islands in June and yours truly was married in Minnesota in December and there she was at both ceremonies, loving each of us meatheads as if we were her favorite.

Leading by example, Grandma Fox taught us about commitment and love. Throughout my childhood, with a CUBS game on the TV, I fondly recall sitting with Grandma on the davenport. Her love for the Chicago Cubs was only surpassed by her love for her family. Family photos are scattered across generations with Grandma proudly flanked by scores of grandchildren decorated in all manners of Cubs apparel. It wasn't until last night that I finally put it all together. Through her love of baseball and family, Grandma Fox passed on great lessons in faithfulness and devotion.

WGN was one of the first cable channels to reach the masses. “The Bozo Show” filled every home, as did Bob Barker and the “Price is Right”. With WGN and Harry Caray calling the play, our beloved Cubbies racked up fans from Coast to Coast. As American as apple pie, it became common place for the casual sports fan to identify with the Cubs unpromising outcomes. Year by year it would have been easy to jump ship and root for their cross-town rivals, the White Sox. With Grandma Fox and the rest of us Cubs faithful, that was never an option.

For us “diehards”, steadfast loyalty is engrained in who we are.

Last night, Game #7 of the 2016 World Series was more than a baseball game between two hapless teams. As Cubs fans, it was the culmination of multiple lifetimes of the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. Unfortunately, over time, the Loveable Losers have provided us with much more of the latter.

In ten, long, innings this instant Fall Classic changed that forever.

Baseball is the fabric that binds us.

Although hundreds and in some cases, thousands of miles separate us, Facebook connected my family on the night of Wednesday, November 2^nd, 2016. Status updates from loved ones flashed across the screen of my computer while the game played out on TV in front of me. My own wife and children had long gone to bed but those of us once clad in Cubbie blue by our Grandmother held to the belief that this would be the night we've all waited for.

In route to an 8-7 extra-innings win, the Chicago Cubs took us along our expected roller coaster of emotions. Thanks to a leadoff home-run, the good guys jumped out to an early lead and relieved some pressure from the get go. To their credit, the Cleveland Indians fought their way back from an 8^th inning 6-3 deficit. With one out left in the bottom of that inning, the game was tied by a home-run for the bad guys. Not an honest Cubs fan on the planet could look him or herself in the mirror and say that they were not thinking that it was happening all over again. That something we had wanted for so long was slowly slipping away from us. Conditioned by years of allegiance, we knew it wasn't going to be easy. But the bullpen held, the defense was solid and although it was late in to the night, a 17 minute rain delay felt like a God send.

Across Chicago-land and across America, present day Cubs faithful must have felt that Heaven's cheering section was leaning heavily in favor of this championship drought coming to an end. Grandma and Grandpa Fox, along side Ron Santo, Ernie Banks and Harry Caray, were our “Angels in the Outfield”.

Our Cubbies came out re-focused to start the 10^th.

With runners on, the Cubs pulled ahead on a double to left field by the series MVP. One run scored and another followed on the next base hit. Shortly after, two pitchers split duties in the bottom half of the inning and the rest, as they say, is history.

108 years of it.

Nearing midnight and with my dogs looking at me as if I'd lost my mind, I fell to my knees in front of a TV showing a bunch of grown men jumping and celebrating like school boys. Tears leaked from my eyes and I could think of only one person.

I love you, Grandma Fox. This one's for you.

“And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.” - James Earl Jones in “Field of Dreams”

“All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness – Lord unto me”

Not every piece is a Picasso...

There has been times that I've shied away from posting here in the blogosphere. Shied away because I felt like if I didn't have it in me to compose a "Masterpiece" that I would be better off to leave things unsaid.

I don't always have something wonderful, life-changing, worldly or even vaguely interesting to share. Maybe I'm not all that exciting after all. Besides, I don't particularly care for those folks that weigh in on everything these days. If you've spent more than ten minutes trolling any social media lately, no doubt than you've been schooled int he ways of the world. You should have no question as to where your friends stand on: the Election, the National Anthem, Rioting and Race Relations, the World Series, the Ryder Cup, School Lunches, the civil war in Syria, and a Moose on an afternoon walk in Duluth.

I, for one, don't claim to have all the answers. Nor do I believe that anyone, let alone everyone, would care to know my stance on any of these pressing issues.

So time passes.

And I write a little less often and live a little more away from the keyboard.

That's probably a good thing.

Life is good. My children's birthdays have come and gone. My job is still sending me a paycheck that I must still be earning. Hockey season is kicking around in the starting gates and about to explode at zero to sixty. I've seen a couple of good flicks at the cinema recently but even cooler than that, the girl that I've been dating is as gorgeous as ever.

Nothing profound to flow from my fingertips this time, friends...