Welcome to my TED talk.

 

"It's the Circle of Life, Simba."

This here family BLOG started way back as a way to chronicle the cute little happenings of our young family. Suddenly, all 3 of our kids are officially adults, although one is still a squatter and refuses to pay rent. We're past the fun stages of weddings and baby showers and are learning all too quickly that time doesn't stop for anyone. Life is fragile. 

And here at the Kirby Krew is where I have written memorials to help process emotions associated with loss. I never intended to be good at Eulogies. I wanted to write funny stories about our children or marriage and sneak in a hunting story every now and then. 

Writing about my time in Kivalina helped get me through as well as recorded my experiences in a place foreign to many. Maybe that is when I started adding depth and thoughtful reflection to my essays. And now we're at that new stage in life where we're losing loved ones faster than we can add any more babies. It's here at the Krew where I've put pen to paper and got things off my chest. 

Sorry about that folks, I understand if you're getting tired of my same old TED talks. I am too. 

75 Pennies.

There’s a sign on Grandma Judy’s lanai that says, “The most important things in life aren’t things.” It resonated with me when all I was really trying to do was chase tiny lizards out of her screened in porch.

But don’t get me wrong – I still think it’s OK to collect things. I’m a bit of a collector. I’ve got plenty of old baseball cards and a slew of fishing lures. Lately I’ve had a growing collection of license plates too. I’ve never collected anything weird like spoons or stamps though. I have a coffee can full of wheat pennies that I’m sure holds some value beyond one cent per. But to be frank, I aint a coin collector either.

There’s an old favorite, family story of young Sista Emma sighing sadly on one particularly difficult afternoon in 2009. Our 5-year-old princess had “Lost a lot of really important people in her life.” Uncle Ray, Grandma Fox “and now Michael Jackson”. That story always makes me laugh and reminds me of the innocence and caring heart of my only daughter.

Truth be told, - I’ve lost a lot of really important people in my life recently.

To use another coin analogy, I was once asked if I’d rather have 75 pennies in my pocket or 3 quarters. Without hesitation I answered, “3 quarters.” The same holds true for friendships. I learned this lesson at a trying point in my life. My wife pointed out that I made an effort to be friends with everyone instead of focusing on genuine relationships with the ones whose opinions matter the most. Turns out Michele was right again. We’re better off carrying a few “Quarters” as friends than trying to manage keeping all the pennies happy.

A friend that is a Quarter to me is one that you can go to in all situations; a friend that knows all versions of you and still choses to be your friend. Those kinds of friends that you can talk with about life, and God and family and work and hopes and the future and yet you expect them to be honest in every way. I’ve had a few of those boundless friendships. In September 2021 Mick Skalsky passed of pancreatic cancer. He was my mentor and true friend. Two months later, in November, Dave Hicks took his own life. Dave was a friend of mine since 4^th grade and one of my best buds. And in September of this year, Todd Heimdal passed of glioblastoma – a fast growing, aggressive brain cancer. Todd was more than a neighbor and a fishing buddy, he was one of my go-too guys for everything. Yesterday we laid him to rest.

In the span of 3 years, God has called home and collected 3 of my closest friends.  John and Brent, I need you fellas to stick around awhile. I’m down to my last few Quarters.

 

Joe’s Boat

 

We’re all in this World together. On the same 3rd Rock from the sun. Spinning in the same universe; dealing with the ins and outs, ups and downs; just trying to get by and make the world a better place - one day at a time. To be “in the same Boat” as someone implies that you’re sharing in the same circumstances. Sometimes those circumstances are unfortunate but not always. I’ve been in the same boat as friends struggling to find work and yet I wouldn’t mind being in the same boat as any millionaire with more money and more problems.

Poppa Joe had a boat.

For years, that boat was parked back behind the “House Joe Built” at 501 Riverview Drive. The old inboard, powerboat sat quietly off the channel of the Warroad River, protected by the backside of Government Island. Nestled in neatly, it was tied between the cattails and the steady dock that Joe Built. To keep it away from the Army Corps of Engineers concrete wall, Joe’s boat was secured tightly to the pine pole logs of his dock.

The boat was a nondescript lake cruiser with seating for 6 although we often filled it with more. Joe’s boat wasn’t particularly good on gas mileage nor was it very fast. It was solid. Dependable. Hard working. Functional. Reliable. Steadfast and constant.

Against the challenges of Lake of the Woods, Poppa Joe’s boat would more than suffice. It was the catalyst for generational memories. With Grandpa Joe at the helm, Great Grandma Fox barked orders and reeled in walleyes while grandkids fought over netting her fish and baiting her hook. In Joe’s Boat, Grandma Judy always had a sandwich or snack for everyone on board. If Joe wasn’t driving, Tom or Tim was at the wheel. Driving or not – Grandpa Joe was the Captain.  The quiet Captain of our family. Steadfast and constant. Dependable and Hard working.

Over the years, many relatives came and went through Warroad. Most spent some time enjoying the view from Joe’s Boat. My friends from Illinois got to experience the big lake in Joe’s Boat. My college buddies fished out of Joe’s Boat. I even reunited on the water with a Raider pal from the Marine Corps in Joe’s Boat. What was his was yours. Grandpa Joe didn’t love to fish but what he did love was seeing people happy. If he didn’t join a group on the water, he’d be there at the dock upon your return. He’d be happy to entertain a conversation about the day’s events. Joe enjoyed talking about life and telling stories. His front porch was a gathering place for many. I think he was best at listening. He was an observer and a thinker.

When Biskup left the Navy in 1959, it wasn’t long before the banker in Middle River thought that young Joe might make a good Bean Counter. Harold Heneman, the President of Security State Bank in Warroad took notice and enticed Joe into moving to Warroad and working for him. Joe built a house in Warroad; built a life and raised 5 Biskup kids. In 1984 he joined another family when he married Judy and inherited her Kirby brood. The marriage brought together two families and ensured that Judy and Joe would be busy with grandkids from then on out. In 2003, with a career in banking in the rearview mirror, Joe Biskup retired. Behind him was a legacy of being reliable and constant, steadfast, and hardworking – much like that boat of his.

After his retirement, Joe and Judy snowbirded for a while but eventually sold the boat, sold the house, sold the little white Chevy S10 and headed for Florida. They busied themselves with travel and new experiences in the Villages. Joe golfed. Judy learned how to swim. Navy reunions, weddings and the births of great-grandchildren kept the Biskups on the move. Passing through the Midwest on bi-annual family holiday loops, the mileage on their mini-van piled up right along with their frequent flyer miles. From Hayward to Montrose and North Aurora to Warroad and Roseau, they did their best to stay connected to the ones they loved. It seemed they would never slow down.

Then they had to.

The gentle, loving, caring, friendly, “kindest man you’ve ever known”, slowly lost his ability to perform daily activities. Grandpa Joe, the man who at one time that could solve a newspaper crossword puzzle in minutes, fell into cognitive decline. Dementia gradually ate at his ability to think, remember, and function. The old Bean Counter would still happily talk to anyone and regale them with tale’s from long ago- growing up in Middle River; or woodworking in his basement in the house that he built. But with every person he talked to it was like meeting them for the first time. Even amongst family he was surrounded by strangers. Sadly, he most often sat quietly.

We all learned to politely chat with him. Many times, you’d end up in the same conversation that you’d held minutes or hours earlier. Eventually Poppa Joe became less and less independent and his difficulties became a liability. He napped a lot. Judy stayed beside him and though names and memories of family and friends were no longer in there, his love for Judy remained. In sickness and in health, she became his caretaker and provider.

We struggled understanding the confusion and disorientation from the man that so many of us had counted on for guidance and wisdom. Grandpa Joe’s unfortunate circumstances were our circumstances. None of us were “in the same Boat” as Joe anymore. That hurt. Our only solace was that although he was now lost in an unfamiliar world, good Ol’ Joe was still in there. Dementia took his ability to process new information. Small, menial tasks became monumental. Grandma Judy struggled to hold it all together but through it all, one thing remained constant. Joe was just Joe.

Nobody in the same boat as him yet he remained polite and kind; genuine, caring, and gentle. Joe’s struggles continued but his failing mind didn’t compromise his unbelievable character. Joe remained quiet and observant; tender and amicable; good natured and gracious. He was still the nicest man most of us ever knew.

Maybe we’d all be a little better off if we chose to be in Joe’s Boat – be kind and caring, compassionate, and happy.          

Be like Joe.

“Where are all the pictures of me?”

I might be one of the last dinosaurs that actually prints out pictures. I talk to strangers in stores and offer assistance even when I’m not asked. I’m the guy that prints out MapQuest Directions too…hell, I’m that guy on those Progressive TV commercials that warns us about turning into our parents.

This summer I ran into a little snafu between WalMart’s Photo printing services and UPS handling of the delivery options. Somewhere in transit, $15 bucks’ worth of Happy Snappys were misplaced. After some email follow up to Wally World customer service and consultation with my local Professional Online Purchasing Agent, a reprint and reshipment was expeditiously sent my way.

A few short days later, my local, Professional Online Purchasing Agent sat on the couch and fingered through a random collection of pictures of big fish and hockey stick arts & crafts. When I walked in the front door, she waved the photo envelope at me and questioned, “Where are all the pictures of me?”

We laughed but buried in the pile of nonsense pictures there was a hint of truth. Her whit and sarcasm are the way she hugs. There were zero pictures of my Dream Woman in that WalMart run of reprints.

A few short days later, I text her a picture of my desk a work showing a timeless picture of the two of us, arm in arm, cutting a rug at a Wedding reception. My Agent quickly replied that said picture is "10 years old!” Actually, it was 8 years old but I decided not to correct her.

Fact is – I don’t have enough pictures of my wife. I will never have enough. She deserves a whole album dedicated to her beauty. No – I stand corrected – she deserves volumes of photo albums dedicated to her beauty.

Look at this Dime Piece.

And to think, I’m the lucky schmuck that she chose to look after all these years!

Sweet Virginia

 Proverbs 27:17 - "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another."

My Mom, along with my sister and me, found ourselves on some tough times in the early 1980's. Tarina and I spent my 2nd grade school year in Warroad with Dad while Mom received treatment for her mental health struggles. On the mend, Mom was trying to hold our family together while chasing men in and out of jail.  Those men came and went while my mother toiled away trying to raise two kids on a single income, without a car; on the rough side of the railroad tracks in East Aurora. For 3rd grade we were back in Illinois, and I was enrolled at Bardwell Elementary.

We lived just off of Broadway Street/Highway 25 in a 2 bedroom, second-story apartment. I remember a great sledding hill in the back yard and that the building was yellow. It wasn't far from the Clark gas station and lucky for us, it was within walking distance of the house of a certified Angel. Virginia Collman was a daycare provider that lived maybe 3 or 4 houses down Concord Street from the elementary school that my sister and I would attend - my third in as many years. Sweet Virginia provided stability, love and genuine care for me and my family when we needed it most.

They say God puts people in our lives for a reason. He does it at His chosen time. There was no better time for Mom. There was no better time for Tarina and me. Virginia had a big family and an even bigger daycare family. That little house on the east side of the Fox River was filled with busy bodies and love. It was there that I fell in love with the Chicago Bears, He-Man cartoons and Virginia's macaroni and cheese. 

Because I was 8 years old at the time, I was not privy to the financial agreements between my mother and our daycare provider. I only vaguely remember some of the house rules - like No Daycare Kids Upstairs - that's reserved for family and Stay out of Don's Chair when Don is home from work! But now that I'm older and have had our own wonderful experience with a loving Daycare Mom, I see that Virginia loved us unconditionally. She bent her own rules for Jeanine and the kids. As I remember it, we were often the first kids there in the morning and the last to be picked up at night. With my mom riding public transportation to low paying jobs, life was hard. It was harder because of who she was running with socially. The police visited our little yellow apartment more than once. 

We walked to the grocery store and the laundry mat together. We walked up the hill to Virginia's house in the morning before school and walked home together at night when Mom was home from work. While at Virginia's she didn't pass judgement. She set rules and expectations for us and consequences when we slipped. She quickly made my sister and I feel like family and now that she's passed, I'm learning that was her gift to the World.

Virginia Collman was so caring and honest and genuine that most of the people she came across felt as if she loved them the most. 

Midway through the next school year, in the middle of grade 4, we up and moved out of the Hood and 10 miles down the river to the more affluent Village of Oswego. In a year and a half Virginia and her family had committed to my Mother, my sister and I for life. They visited Oswego often and as things stabilized for our Mother, we reciprocated and visited them in the old neighborhood. We grew up with her daughters as friends and as we became adults were able to celebrate weddings and growing families together. But it was Virginia that was always at the center of it all. Her smile and tenderness made me want to do things with my life that met her approval and made her happy. We wrote letters periodically when I was in the Marines. She always kept in touch with my Mom. Virginia even came to Minnesota for my wedding. I'll need to find that picture of her and my grandmother together at the reception. It'll bring me a smile.

Virginia's old fashioned ways of always sending a Birthday Card reminded me of her God given ability to build genuine relationships with people and remain so positive about the gift of life. Her passing this weekend will leave a void in our Earthly home but 87 years is a life well lived and I am so thankful that God put her in my life when he did and kept her there. She's home with him now. I love you Virginia.

Sweet Virginia. 

Again?

 The Big Orange Slide at the Rush City pool is 165 feet from start to finish. That means you would have to go up three flights of stairs and back down the slide again and again 32 times to slide a full mile. By my rough calculations, Logan has traveled this route 2,318 times or the equivalency of the length of the Mississippi River. Since his days as a youngster growing up here and on into his teenage years as an employee, he has commanded the top of the slide like a sentinel standing watch over Fort Snelling. He’s tightly hugged and maneuvered through the curves like a Formula One racer. He’s mastered the art of skimming the surface for max speed. With his masterful finale in the plunge that sends a directed tidal wave wherever he wants to as if it was Splash Mountain at Disneyland, it has cost the taxpayers countless dollars in splash out water.

You’d think that it would grow old. No – it has grown old.

Yet even after 17 years of up and down that slide…after 3 years of lifeguarding and 2 years of teaching swim lessons…after Lord knows how many hot summer days, he has spent here… he could not say “No” to the kids in his swim lessons class that just wanted to slide with their Hero “one more time.” "Again?"

Last Friday Logan may have worked his last session of swim lessons. By this time next year, he’ll be a high school graduate and staring down big boy decisions and responsibilities. The job will be here if he wants it but I’m not counting on getting another season out of him.

He’s good.

No – he’s the best!

I’m his Boss at the pool and it’s hard to separate that to the point that I don’t have to because he sets the standard. Kids love him. Parents marvel at his patience and tenderness with kids of all ages. Don’t even get me started about how the ladies at evening Water Aerobics feel about him. The kid has just “got it”. And I am so stinking proud of him. It has been a joy to watch him work. To watch him use humor and quick whit to gain people’s trust. To watch him command respect through his assertiveness and decision making.

Last Friday Free Day, he passed out grade cards, treats and day passes with his chicken scratch handwriting on it and then he did what he does best. He played at the pool. His Level 1’s adored him. I don’t know how he did it, but each kid acted as if Logan was their personal attendant and entertainer for the 40 minute swim session. Up he went and down he came, a different kid in his lap each time. He laughed and giggled with each 5-, 6- and 7-year-old and shared in the smiles and joy that splashing in the water should bring children. When the older kids wanted to play basketball, he played. When one fella wanted Logan to launch him into the air again, Logan tossed him again and again and again.

There have been so many compliments shared with me over the last few weeks about our facility and the programs we run. And sure – there have been some complaints here and there but man, I am so stinking proud of our staff here – all of them. But allow me a minute to gush… Logan, it has been a privilege of mine to work with you!

If you’re ready to move on and work in the trades, do construction, mow lawns, go to college, military whatever….if you take the same work ethic that I see in you now – wherever you go, you’re going to be an impact because you give your best at everything that you do and you do it well.

Old Man

The easiest way to catch a sunrise is to never go to bed.

June 1st was move in day for Emma and her pals up at UMD. Michele and I agreed to head up there and help unload the Uhaul storage box. We offered to be around to hoof belongings up and down narrow flights of stairs in hundred year old, traditional Duluth hillside housing. It was a fun day hanging out with the girls and hearing the joy of another year of college in the rearview mirror along with the excitement of summer ahead and their Junior year on the horizon.

A little hiccup down at the the storage yard threw us a curveball. While Mia may have taken it the hardest, it was a miscommunication that was no one's fault and we took it with a grain of salt and tried to turn it into a positive. After a nice evening walk along the lake, we got another meal at Texas Roadhouse. Michele and I decided to extend our trip in to an unanticipated overnight. A reservation at a shady hotel on the north side of town and a quick trip to Target and Kohl's got us each a new tooth brush and some fresh clothes to wear for day two. 

When we rustled the ladies from their slumber at the crack of 11:00 a.m., they were all a little weary eyed but wanted to tell us about an epic start to their summer. They reconnected with some friends in town for their own move in and let the libations flow. One cerveza turned into a few while the good times rolled and before you know it, someone hatched an idea to head to Park Point to enjoy a Lake Superior sunrise.

As luck would have it, a professional landscape photographer out of Alaska had a similar plan to take in a sunrise over the still waters of Gitchigami. Their paths intersected to create this perfect end to one chapter and the beginning of the next. Thank you to Damon Stuebner - your keen eye captured a beautiful moment in time that the girls would describe as "heavenly". They did not use the same language to describe their hangovers for move in day two.

As an aside, that weekend I took a major leap forward in my voyage as a father. While others came underprepared for any possible move in day obstacles, I was the only father equipped with a Handyman's Bag of whatnots. When Ella's Dad needed help assembling her shelving, twas I that produced an Allen Key. When Nicole's Dad scoured for a Phillips screw driver, I leant him one.

A tape measure you ask? - "Of course fella's. Grab one from my tool bag." A hacksaw? "In there somewhere." A piece of 550 chord or a zip tie...whatever the need was, it seemed like a little preparedness on my part provided the answer. I know Michele and Emma maybe didn't vocalize it but I'm sure they were proud. 

A window mounted air conditioner proved to be an afternoon project but a welcomed distraction for me while Michele and the rest of girls turned to unpacking and decorating. One final step in securing up the window unit couldn't be fixed in my grab bag of goodies so off I went on a little adventure. Down the hill a couple of blocks and then west on Superior Street another few, I tracked down a piece of window insulating foam that would be just perfect to seal the deal in our daughter's attic bedroom. When I returned, I passed the ladies lounging and taking a break on the L shaped living room couch, I tossed Emma a Blue Powerade to ward off the aftereffects of her sunrise hangover and said to the crowd, "There's a real nice little hardware store just down the way on Superior Street. Burgraff's Ace Hardware. I think you guys would like it."

Man, I'm getting OLD!

The only way I catch sunrises is on the front end - but back in my day....