Jean Marie Kjos
Born Thursday, September 18, 1947
Died Thursday, November 29, 2007
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Saturday, November 29, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Veteran's Day 2008
In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lt.-Col. John McCrae
Canadian Expeditionary Force
May 3, 1915, near Ypres, Belgium
Medical doctor John McCrea penned those lines during the Second Battle of Ypres after the death the previous day of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer. Written in the voice of those who have perished, it has become an iconic expression of remembrance for the sacrifice of those who’ve fought in our wars.
When I was a child, In Flanders Fields was read over rows of crosses representing the fallen in our small town cemetery (the actual graves of those veterans are scattered among family plots in the Lutheran and Catholic sections). The poem (and the poppies) were originally associated with Armistice Day (now Veterans’ Day), commemorating the end of World War I on November 11, 1918. It still is with Remembrance Day in Canada and elsewhere amongst the allies of “The Great War.”
It should be a time to pause and appreciate those who have given their lives in the cause of our freedom. For far too many that’s just lip service, they disdain the service of our soldiers and veterans the rest of the year; certainly that disdain cannot turn to reverence in the instance of a day.
In July, my daughter Courtney, an instructor at the United States Military Academy at West Point, and I visited the grave in Connecticut of a comrade of another time. It was a sobering and long overdue visit. Brian was a soldier, a son of loving parents, a child of the sixties. Unlike those to whom we now apply that sobriquet, Brian still is, and will ever be. He – and we – had an innocent certainty that we were doing the right, in the moment, and for each other. Those others – and their successors – retain only one, disagreeable, part of that era’s popularized persona; a self-righteous and smug judgment of soldiers and soldiers’ endeavors. They have never shared the camaraderie of soldiers; they can can never, ever, understand.
I hold the torch proudly. I have not – will not – break faith with you - and I have passed that torch to others who will hold it in strong hands.
Canadian Expeditionary Force
May 3, 1915, near Ypres, Belgium
Medical doctor John McCrea penned those lines during the Second Battle of Ypres after the death the previous day of his friend Lieutenant Alexis Helmer. Written in the voice of those who have perished, it has become an iconic expression of remembrance for the sacrifice of those who’ve fought in our wars.
When I was a child, In Flanders Fields was read over rows of crosses representing the fallen in our small town cemetery (the actual graves of those veterans are scattered among family plots in the Lutheran and Catholic sections). The poem (and the poppies) were originally associated with Armistice Day (now Veterans’ Day), commemorating the end of World War I on November 11, 1918. It still is with Remembrance Day in Canada and elsewhere amongst the allies of “The Great War.”
It should be a time to pause and appreciate those who have given their lives in the cause of our freedom. For far too many that’s just lip service, they disdain the service of our soldiers and veterans the rest of the year; certainly that disdain cannot turn to reverence in the instance of a day.
In July, my daughter Courtney, an instructor at the United States Military Academy at West Point, and I visited the grave in Connecticut of a comrade of another time. It was a sobering and long overdue visit. Brian was a soldier, a son of loving parents, a child of the sixties. Unlike those to whom we now apply that sobriquet, Brian still is, and will ever be. He – and we – had an innocent certainty that we were doing the right, in the moment, and for each other. Those others – and their successors – retain only one, disagreeable, part of that era’s popularized persona; a self-righteous and smug judgment of soldiers and soldiers’ endeavors. They have never shared the camaraderie of soldiers; they can can never, ever, understand.
I hold the torch proudly. I have not – will not – break faith with you - and I have passed that torch to others who will hold it in strong hands.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
So, What's Changed?
What’s different? I’ve been quiet while Gopher Nation’s gotten on Punky’s bandwagon. I even hitched a ride myself, to the extent of finding a place to watch the Rodents play Saturday mornings.
Until today, that is. Yes, it only takes is one loss to hop off the Brewster bandwagon. What’s the tight ends coach done to demonstrate he’s any improvement over his predecessor? Mason’s teams couldn’t “get over the hump,” couldn’t “win the big one.” One season after another played out the same way: Beat up on a few creampuffs, lose to one or more Big Ten “powerhouse,” programs (Ohio State, Michigan, Michigan State, Penn State). Split games with the Big Ten’s “have nots,” (Indiana, Northwestern, Illinois, Purdue). Close the season taking a beating in the “border battles,” with Wisconsin and Iowa.
Limp in with an 8-4 or 7-5 record (Mason often did better than that by a game or so). Go to a third-tier bowl, where a few Golden Gopher faithful barely fill a single stadium section.
For perspective, it’s still more fun than watching Chilly’s Vikings, and the Rodents had a better day than the Dawgs.
It can be entertaining along the way. Jeannie and I had a great time watching the Rodents thump Alabama at the Music City Bowl, and Nashville’s a far more entertaining place than, say Orlando, or San Antonio. We spent a couple of seasons in the Metrodome with Goldy watching Marion, and Laurence set records. We were fans. I still am. But I know the difference between new and old, between different and the same. So far, this is the same.
Until today, that is. Yes, it only takes is one loss to hop off the Brewster bandwagon. What’s the tight ends coach done to demonstrate he’s any improvement over his predecessor? Mason’s teams couldn’t “get over the hump,” couldn’t “win the big one.” One season after another played out the same way: Beat up on a few creampuffs, lose to one or more Big Ten “powerhouse,” programs (Ohio State, Michigan, Michigan State, Penn State). Split games with the Big Ten’s “have nots,” (Indiana, Northwestern, Illinois, Purdue). Close the season taking a beating in the “border battles,” with Wisconsin and Iowa.
Limp in with an 8-4 or 7-5 record (Mason often did better than that by a game or so). Go to a third-tier bowl, where a few Golden Gopher faithful barely fill a single stadium section.
For perspective, it’s still more fun than watching Chilly’s Vikings, and the Rodents had a better day than the Dawgs.
It can be entertaining along the way. Jeannie and I had a great time watching the Rodents thump Alabama at the Music City Bowl, and Nashville’s a far more entertaining place than, say Orlando, or San Antonio. We spent a couple of seasons in the Metrodome with Goldy watching Marion, and Laurence set records. We were fans. I still am. But I know the difference between new and old, between different and the same. So far, this is the same.
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