The soon-to-be southbound loons were crying before I even got outside today, long before sunrise.

Dew clung to the grass like millions of tears from the heart of the earth.

Geez, I hate to be melodramatic, but it feels worse than that when your camcorder plunges into the lake and loses 9 months of irreplaceable memories. Yep. That’s what we did. And we just got word from the Best Repair Geek that, so sorry, we can’t salvage that data. It drowned. Resuscitation failed. It’s dead and gone.

Good-bye, sweet memories.

NOTE TO SELF AND EVERYBODY: PROTECT YOUR DIGITALIA!

• Lost forever are dozens of hours of kids on beaches, boats, and beds reading stories. Old friends at cabins and new friends in island restaurants. CurlyGirl lost in reverie with dollies and dresses. Drawing sidewalk chalk pictures of the first purple lilacs and blue herons. Birthdays and holidays and graduation from Jump Start.
• Gone are AllBoy’s theatrical dives into the water. His posse and Himself having a party screaming with Tween excitement. Hanging all shy and grinny with GF#1 (while he didn’t know I filmed from a distance). Pitching strikeouts and hitting home runs and playing violin with the orchestra. Using a driftwood stick for a mike and interviewing rellies during a summer reunion.

At least we were there, I guess.

But the memories? Sure, they’re in the head. But the head don’t work so pretty good as it used too—the RAM is nearly maxed out. So in a sense, it’s just gone. Let’s be real: Life in fast-forward means it’s essential to have ways to capture the moment for reverence and ponderance later. Or those recollections decay, like so many yesterday’s roses.

That’s certain a Sabbatical theme I repeat over and over: Log your BreakAway! Log your BreakAway! Your best investment in life is making good memories…because they always appreciate in value as the years go by.

“We SHOULD download that camera soon…”

We said it countless times. But we neglected to take those gold nuggets to the safety deposit box. Forgot to back up. Forgot common sense. Forgot that sh*t happens. Man, does it.

Note to self: Download. Back up. Repeat ad nauseum—to avoid the nausea of lost data.

This life is not, after all, a dress rehearsal. You can’t rewind to relive your kids’ 5th and 11th years. You can only, as time goes by, gather around the screen, the scrapbook, the album, and let the bygone images and silent voices wash over and through you.

We do that. Watch family videos. A lot. Instead of movies and Disney and NFL. It’s amazing how alive it feels—and how much you realize you’ve forgotten while the days and years race by.

Now I must go back outside with the loons and the dew. Right now, they’re the only ones who understand. I’ll try some lakeside yoga. Breathe, bend, groan.

Seek strength. And maybe, just maybe, a stubborn outlook that includes trying harder to savor each moment while it happens…not let misfortune steal it away. Realize that this game is worth suiting up for, and sometimes it takes all you got to get half of what you want.

• ODDS OF TRYING HARDER TO TEND TO TECH TOOLS: 95%
• ODDS OF GOING: 75% (a new high)

Blogging is hard. I wonder if even the monstrous, fearless Paul Bunyan could master it. Oh sure, he could easily handle the lifehacking and workhacking thing. But could his bulky fingers handle the little, lonely keyboard?

Can’t believe nearly a week has gone by and I’ve not written a word. But if I had a dollar for every time I’ve written an entry in my head, well, I might could solve the current economic crisis.

Speaking of, allow me to introduce one of our (very few) FOK (Friends of Kirk) members: The Armchair Economist. He may fill in when this BlogStar is underwater.

Armchair Economist tends to speak in a strong voice, and now strongly recommends you read this excellent editorial by one of the Star Tribune’s editors. It’s about saving for the future, the current bear market, and the risk and speculation we all ingest every time we buy shares.

BTW, the Armchair Economist lives reclusively on a Midwest farm, and shows up in public only occasionally—and usually under heavy guard at the exclusive Rob Roy Club in midtown Manhattan. He won’t say from where he wrote this editorial.

Oh yeah, he’s also a bad keyboarder, so he keyboards ONLY in CAPITAL letters. Sorry for the annoyance; he means well.

MY FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES:

I HOPE YOU TOOK A MOMENT TO PERUSE THE “BEAR WITH ME” ARTICLE. WHAT A GEM! SUMMARIZES SO MUCH OF WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO SAY IN BETWEEN POUNDING FISTS ON TABLES. TO WIT:

FIRST, PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR WRITER IS NOT A RICH MAN OR WALL STREETER. HE’S JUST A GUY TRYING TO MAKE A BUCK.

SHORT SELLING IS EVIL: SUDDENLY, SHORT SELLING IS SEEN AS UNPATRIOTIC, BAD FOR CAPITALISM, & “GREEDY.” PISH TOSH! AS IF CAPITALISM ITSELF WERE WORKING RIGHT NOW! RATHER, WE ARE SLOWLY SOCIALIZING WALL STREET. AND MUCH MORE. MEANWHILE, THE ENTREPRENEURS WHO GOT RICH OFF IT FIRST SLIP OUT UNMARKED EXITS (WITHOUT EVEN YELLING “FIRE SALE!”) WHILE SNICKERING AND CLUTCHING THEIR CASH. MILLIONS, BILLIONS, TRILLIONS. WHAT A FARCE!

WALL STREET IS A “CASINO”: OUR AUTHOR MR. BANKS (WHAT A RICH NAME!) QUOTES POSSIBLE PRESIDENT MCCAIN AS SAYING THAT CERTAIN INVESTORS “HAVE TURNED WALL STREET INTO A CASINO.” WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, JOHNNY-COME-(NOT-SO)-LATELY, THE STREET HAS ALWAYS BEEN A CASINO. THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THAT MIRAGE HAS MANY MORE SCANTILY-CLAD WOMEN ON THE FLOOR, AND THEY SERVE STIFFER DRINKS! ONE MORE THING THEY SHARE: WHAT HAPPENS THERE…STAYS THERE.

AND FINALLY…

BUY-AND-HOLD CAN GROW MOLD: GUESS WHO TAUGHT US ALL TO BUY AND HOLD? THAT’S RIGHT: THE SAME INVESTMENT PROS THAT ARE NOW TEARING DOWN THE WORLD ECONOMY. SURE, IT CAN WORK. BUT SO CAN TAKING A SMALL ALLOCATION AND PLAYING THE VOLATILITY. BUY AND SELL AND VICE VERSA FOR EVERY 3% MOVE THIS YEAR AND YOU COULD BE RICH. BUY AND HOLD THIS YEAR? YOUR 401K MAY BECOME A 104K. FOR THAT MATTER, THE DOW FIRST CROSSED 1,000 IN 1966. IT DIDN’T MEANINGFULLY MOVE BEYOND THAT TIL 1982. HOLD THAT THOUGHT!

IN SUMMARY, MY FELLOW INVESTORS, BEWARE THE BEAR. EXPECT MUCH BULL. AND FOLLOW NEITHER HERD.

GODSPEED, from THE ARMCHAIR ECONOMIST

BlogWriter’s Note: THE ARMCHAIR ECONOMIST has now left the keyboard and gone back into seclusion. But you can reach him though this website, if you dare.

We’re in Countdown Mode now. Less than three months, and we’re not having fun yet.

What happened? Countless obstacles (a.k.a. Big Butts) appear in your path when planning a Big Break. Duh!?! I’ll not list them all for fear of boring you and frightening myself. But today’s, which emerged last evening over dinner in a dark, rude restaurant is this: Communication. If you’re not going alone, you’ll need to talk over stuff like…

• Like…What is Plan Z? Or, can we even get a ticket back home after the 17 days in St. John—if the Sabbatical isn’t happening? See, we still only have on-way tickets. The airlines aren’t helpful. And the Kommittee if not doing the work. Yuck.
• LIKE…Sabbatical aside, how are we, the Family, doing with back-to-school? Oh BTW, we have these two high-maintenance hobbies called children (AllBoy, 11, and CurlyGirl, 5). School has started, but we are all still living like summertime around here. The violin and math book remain untouched. The iTouch is endlessly touched. Even getting to bed is like all-star wrestling. Where’s Alice (from “The Brady Bunch”) when you need her?  Routine can be boring. But it can make matters simpler, and get things done.

But nah, what we’ve got here is not only house-wide failure to communicate, but downright chaos and disorder. Dirty dishes abound. Junk food is ubiquitous. The Kids are so NOT adjusting to the fall regimen, but instead complaining about it all, trying to skip sports, and treating me like the bad cop.

Do these citified brats even want a BreakAway? Would they even groove on daily beach lessons (home schooling) with teacher-Dad? Or would they rather just watch SpongeBob SquarePants reruns?

Please: Don’t answer that.

Meanwhile, my own dreams seem like a school of angelfish getting tangled in nasty nets. And as for my parenting prowess? Let’s just say I’m getting real confident about my kayaking. Solo.

On very little, fitful sleep, these are the questions I’m not loving long before daybreak. Will the sun even come up today? I’m filled with doubt; the pre-dawn sky looks filled with murky haze. An ill wind is hissing and snarling. (Or is that just my children?)

Chance of rain: 70%.

• TODAY’S EMOTIONAL WEATHER FORECAST: Dark & stormy.
• ODDS OF GOING: 33%.
• ODDS OF THIS WEBSITE GETTING LAUNCHED: 25%.
• ODDS OF ME (OR ANYONE) MAKING A ‘CAREER’ PREACHING THE GOSPEL OF SABBATICAL: 10%.
• ODDS I’LL ATTEMPT A NAP TODAY: 100%.

Is it just me, or is Rilke’s first name, Rainer, kind of a downer?