43 Comments

On the subject of lying like a rug, it appears that Americans weren't so ready to support lies and fascism after all. I'm proud of us today, and I thank you for the support for our democracy that you have offered in these pages, for your evident belief in what this country can and should stand for. It's something I've always perceived in and loved about your writing and PHC, but it has seemed more important in recent years. It has meant a lot to me.

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I am proud too. More credit should be giving to the sensibility of the common American. We stood up for Democracy and justice. It's a testimonial to the American Political process. God bless America.

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I'm especially proud to be from PA, where we said no to two extremists, and sent one packing back to NJ and his other eight houses.

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Good for PA and here's hoping Senator Fetterman takes to wearing suits and his health improves.

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Ditto on his health, but he could show up in a clown suit and that would be preferable to Oz showing up in his bespoke three-piece and silk tie.

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Here in NH, Maggie Hassan beat out Don Bolduc (a "former" 2020 election denier who apparently backpedaled when it was time to try to run for the U.S. Senate seat). He was so crazy that NH voters came out in force to vote for Ms. Hassan, luckily (because a bunch of people supported Mr. Bolduc). Hurray for the good guys and gals! :D

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This was great news! I was rooting for her. What a relief that some of the big election deniers haven't done well. Fingers crossed for Arizona and Nevada.

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Garrison, You track (so eloquently) our long, often painful, but also humorous, learning and living curve. We are a people of contradiction, and at our best, remember to love our neighbors (as we are loved). Your prose is the stuff of real life. We with the long view backwards know this. Your journey through these years of aging, your sage perspective on a world that could send us dribbling into our wheelchairs, is balm for the soul. Gratitude abounds since that is what we fear the most. We'll meet you (again) in St. Louis.

By the way, the museum(s) that you consider exist, of course. They have been politically corrected.... as they should be.

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Change is uncomfortable, for better or worse, I suppose.

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Funny I just wrote about old school phones, and the impact of the transition to digital (as depicted in the arts). Always enjoy your philosophical discoveries. Thank you.

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Editors and writers from my class of '58 from Edison HS, Mpls.MN, just published our 3rd book, Fast Forwards (the first two covered our childhoods and our years at Edison), for the Centennial of the school. A lot of old culture and technoloigy was covered including phones and party lines.

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"Black as the pit from Pole to Pole...I thank God for my unconquerable soul"...

Pride and adversity, struggle and authenticity. W.E Henley's lines above encompass for me a sense both gratitude and grit born from a humilty in being a creature subject to the whims of chance, a slender reed, if you will. Your essay today adresses this well with the usual pinch of circumpectual humor. Thank you.

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Life was simpler then. Simple in many fashions, including fashion while I'm at it. Those of us over 60 can say "Life was simpler then" and only we really know what we mean. And you are correct, we were less self conscious then, we had little concern of the opinions of others, we minded our own business and our integrity was what we were judged on, not that we cared.

I have often wished I was a teen or adult through the 30's and 40's. Men were men, women were classy women, kids were kids, newspapers and radio was your source of information. Respect was widespread and people minded their own business. Sure there was a war going on but there was national pride and we all banded together for a common cause.

Coca-Cola was made with a sweet syrup and fizzy water. Now it's made with more chemicals for ingredients with names I can't spell let alone say. I can remember in the 60's walking a 1/2 mile to a corner store, sitting on a chrome and vinyl stool and asking for a coke that I paid for with change my mother gave me. I watched the man in his white uniform and had mix the syrup and fizzy water together to give me that sweet concoction. If you're under 50, you likely never had the joy of that experience. You know what I'm talking about.

I hate to disappoint Garrison, but a museum to the "Simpler Life" would flop like a Youtube video about dishrags. No one cares and the only one who would care are those of us over 60. But I see what you mean. Perhaps there should be a course given to kids in school about the American History we know, we lived, we experienced. Not so much the American History that so many find offensive. Daily life American history before metal detectors in schools, the internet, cell phones and whiny politicians who blame things on Russians, hanging chads or red hats.

On second thought, open one up. I'll go and reminisce with those over 60.

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I love your museum idea. Makes me wonder, will this current younger generation also someday think that a museum of their youth will be a good thing, and what will they be waxing nostalgic about?

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Love this column today. So eloquent. So true. Thanks for your wonderful writing.

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Cool autumn morning--

In her yellow and gold

The young barista

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Blue? Red? Green? Black? White? Purple?

In the beginning of the republic, an individual debated with another. Alliances of like minds changed depending on the issue. Things were worked out, compromises (maybe not all good) were engineered.

Then the republic descended into collective bargaining factions all acting as if their "platform" would save the people from another horrible faction's menacing ideas or personalities.

Where is the voice of the individual? Where is the "unum" of a marketplace thT debates and reaches agreement?

Our society shouts from the ramparts of their respective factions much like John Cleese in "..Holy Grail". We could see the humor of the scene.

In contrast, it is difficult to see or listen to the broad brush characterization of persons by their blue or red associations and not see a fear-mongering attack on an individual. (perhaps someone you know) We brush it off as the accepted practices of politics.

If I was to hanker back to a time, it would be when entrenchment was not so deep that we could not differ, reach a middle ground, sigh at a beautiful sunset, smile at our fellow citizen and sip our preferred beverage.

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Whatever it takes, we’ll be there. We do hope you’ll resurrect one of your Thanksgiving prayers. It’s not the same without it. You know, the one that ends with “more we do not need.” We really do have what we need. Just reach out to everyone. It starts with a welcome and handshake and ends with “pass the turkey.”

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Speaking of shocking lyrics: give a close listen to "She Loves You" by The Beatles. It isn't on any sheet music, but they do sing "She'd love to" in many of the choruses. Back then, when the song came out, IF people had noticed those lyrics (meaning she'd love to have sex with you) they would have been banned, album bonfires would have lit up America and the greatest rock/pop band ever would have bitten the dust. Now? Who cares? Back in 1964 it would have been a gasping, scandalous fatal blow to the fab four. Just sayin'.

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Yes, so many 'wrong' ideas, and being 'wrong' and 'right' and in-between is pretty much history itself. I'll go in on the museum mortgage.

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I have a perpetual calendar beside my desk that lists the birthdays and anniversaries of all the people I love, and some who I don’t know but admire, like Edward Hopper and Jackson Browne, and significant dates, like the day a fine surgeon cracked my chest open like a pistachio nut and skillfully replaced my pesky aorta and the day my daughter and I got baptized together.

I keep this calendar because I faithfully send hand written cards with my father’s Esterbrook fountain pen (which still works beautifully I might add) to make sure those people I send them to, know they have a cherished place in my heart and I am thinking of them especially on that day. And when I’m in the mood, I still use my ruby red barreled Shaffer cartridge fountain pen I bought at the Five & Dime for $1.99. Peacock Blue and Brown were my favorite ink colors.

A friend from church says I have a card ministry. I like that.

My cursive stays true to the model on the blackboard in Miss McAbee’s class (which they started teaching us in kindergarten, not pre-school (there was no such thing). We did that between licking the paste off our fingers and crouching under our desks for air raid drills and snack and nap times.

I got a million of ‘em folks, but I think you’re onto something Mr. Keillor. At The Smithsonian there is an exhibit of a 1960’s classroom and a 1940’s kitchen. I LOVED those.

And I, like you, am grateful for my younger years during a time when girls took Home Economics classes and the boys took Shop. I can truthfully say that I can still sew a dress from a Simplicity pattern and rock it and I can still do long division and show my work.

Being in that boat with people like you makes the harshness of this world a little easier to handle. In this case the idea of forgetting history means we are bound to repeat it makes me cherish those years in spite of the fact that I, among millions, utilize the convenience of Amazon. I miss going to E.J. Bass with my mother right before 7th grade started and buying brand new loafers for the occasion. I consider myself wealthier because I remember.

Tess Clayton

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Definitely a good idea! Include cursive writing. I am currently reading David McCullough’s 1776, and the letters pictured were penned by the folks in that war. They are mostly incomprehensible to me, and I am 70 and can write in cursive. But it encourages me to know that brave souls with simply quills, ink, and paper could create the country that they did.

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Mr Huber has his obit in the Dayton Daily News today.

The brick homes he built are what I am nostalgic for, as my grandma

lived in one most of her adult life.

A great home maker, and traveling as a child for family gatherings there, I bought a leftover bottle of youth dew at an estate sale in Huber Heights recently. It was a drive to get there, and my nostalgia was off the charts, especially during the holidays.

After she passed, the gatherings were not the same, and even awful actually.

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