Good morning, Garrison. That part of your message this morning about current political events seems to indicate that there is no stopping him from becoming president. I think otherwise. We are seeing the signs of hope that when, "we the people" make our mark on this falls ballot for our leader something is going to happen inside the brains of most that will not let that happen. Sincerely, RR
I LOVE this, Sir! I'm the only member of my family who prefers rhubarb pie to all others, and two scoops of vanilla sounds like Heaven! You think the Guy's gonna win. I think the Gal will. I just came back from a two-day fishing trip with our 16-year-old grandson who so loves his "Grandpa." You are so right about our need for vacations, especially now. I love your limericks and your poems. I love how you speak so tenderly about your wife. I think that I look like Mick Jagger, and my still beautiful bride of forty-four years tells me that I don't, that I'm much better looking than he is! May God bless America. We'll see you in Irvine come January. We can't hardly wait!
Rhubarb pie struck a chord here too. In my case, it is strawberry rhubarb compote. This spring, I gave an English friend a couple pounds of stalks, and he returned the favor with a container of his compote. Mine is sugarless and bracingly sour; his is like mushy jam.
When I was twenty years old, I spent a long, hot summer's day weeding the vegetable garden of a kindly old widow, Alma Casperson, who rented a room out to me when I was working as a door-to-door salesman in Manchester, Connecticut, back in 1977. One particular batch of weeds had roots going clear down to hades and was the hardest to get out. I really had to work hard to get them all out, knowing full well that Alma with her bad back could never pull them out herself. I left all the weeds in a pile on the edge of the garden to dry up in the sun, intending to put them in the trash later. When I came home from running an errand later that day, Alma said that her nephew had been by to inspect my work and asked her, "Hey, WHO pulled up all the rhubarb?" I was mortified, but Alma just laughed at the horrified and embarrassed look on my then young face.
Garrison. You've worked hard all your life and your legacy is assured. Don't you think it's time to stand down, step aside, and pass the torch to the next generation of gentle ironists? I mean Come On, Man!
I really, really hope so. I like Ms. Harris and will absolutely be voting for her, but I'm so afraid that Mr. Umpty-Ump will figure out a way to derail her campaign. My conspiracy theory brain cells are working overtime on recent events (and it wasn't helpful when my hubby pointed out that the same theories that I thought were only in my own deranged mind are actually floating around on the 'net). Let's all hope the sky isn't really falling....
You're a wordsmith, and nobody's fool. The way younger generations either (as you said) imfantalize humans over the age of seventy, or eulogize them is grotesque. To have endured over a decade of stupidity from others, I think you're grand.
My family owned a local amusement park for over a decade before selling to Premiere Parks (Six Flags) in the late 90's. I remember as a kid having dinner with Bob and Delores Hope at a dinner party my mother gave, and Bob and my grandfather swapped stories steeped in humility and humor about the one liners they often received from well meaning (but idiot) youngsters. There was always a grace extended that I could never understand: "They'll enjoy these youthful absurdidties, and their naiveté will give way as experience takes over," Bob would say with a wink.
Just wanted to drop a line and thank you for decades of entertainment, and your thoughts steeped in a potpourri of wisdom and wit. Enjoy a wonderful week. ~ Steph
Garrison, we first heard you on The Morning Show in the early 1970s after my husband returned from his naval experience sailing in a spy ship off the coasts of Vietnam and Cambodia. Eventually, my husband announced he had signed up at seminary, and I demanded marriage counseling to explore my options to avoid becoming a “pastor’s wife.” We were lucky enough in those years to see several of your shows live in St. Paul and listened every Saturday without fail, usually with neighbors gathered around the radio.
I’ve had a complicated relationship with the Lutheran Church, and your humor about that topic has helped me to be more forgiving about its oddities. I expect to live into my mid-90s because my mother and her mirror identical twin were 96 and 99, respectively, at their deaths. Because they continued to be mentally active for most of that time, I made four goals for the final decade. Once completed, I surprised myself by applying to become a synod-authorized minister (SAM). I expect to meet with the bishop and a trainer soon. The shortage of rural pastors shocked me here in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. I thought, “I have 49 years of my husband’s sermons filed in the basement, and that’s a good start to research my own”. I’ve been preaching for about eight months, and I find that researching, writing, and speaking are stimulating and satisfying activities. Your monologues often strike me as gentle sermons. By the way, I decided to respond to this post because Sunday’s announcement energized me and gave me more hope for our democracy than I’ve had since Mr. Trump began his latest “return to power” bid.
This is an inspiring post. I admire you for sticking with the church. There are people who go sailing through their middle years and wake up spiritually empty and need to find a reason to live. It sounds like you're the person who can sit down with them. The gospel of Mark is a good place to begin. Very succinct. Leave the prophets to others and stick with the gospels. And psalms.
Well I like a Rhubarb Pie too, but being English, custard is the accompaniment of choice for me. 2 nations with a lot in common and a lot of differences, but I think at heart a similar inherent decency that seems to have been obscurred in both countries in recent years. Even so, we now feel the winds of change blowing that fog away in the UK and looks as if the chances of better weather in the US is increasing by the day.
Eighty, I find, isn't such a bad age to be. My birthday falls on the same day that Beethoven was born (Although there is some question about that.) and the day that the Battle of the Bulge began, a more memorable and certain date. Walking each day and talking with folks along the way keep life new and surprising. My wife and I are considering buying a new motor home to replace the trailer that is difficult to set up and tow. Is that something an eighty year old should be thinking about doing? My wife thinks it is, so I guess it is. Then Kamala Harris comes along with her bright smile and brilliant plan for our future, adding to my hope for future generations. Yes, life is good at eighty.
Got back with the kids and grandkids this past sabbath.
Although we did not observe it in a cloistered edifice, we did tiptoe along a ridge top marveling at the inimitable majesty of that ethereal creation.
We are back in the "comforts" of civilzation now, refreshed that perhaps the stultifying chaos of our situation has broken with the admirable octogenerian in the White House stepping from that torrential stream of politics in lieu of a sprightly 59 year-old female whelp with a prosecutorial background.
Let the muddied waters of our democracy be cleared. Alleluja!
Thanks for this. Some time back, you (or someone on your behalf) were kind enough to grant me permission to set your lovely poem "A Summer Night, and You, and Paradise" to choral music. It's been a while now, but I still like it, mostly because hearing it set to music helps me remember the beautiful words (much like "The B.I.B.L.E., yes that's the book for me" or "Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce," but on a much higher plane).
Ah the ‘mental margarita’ I wish the folks from Lake Whoo had more time to enjoy the bliss, the sweetness of life as it is when one loves, and yes, with all it’s pain, twists and turns that make for a rich broth…for love by it’s nature is loss. Must be salt and sweet.
And good loving is salty!
Thanks always chump, dump, clump, frump, bump….are we really fooled by a circus barker whose is selling what’s behind the curtain? Do we care any more.
Ms. Harris’ smile is a joy to behold! Real human joy! And her bio is American!
I’m so glad you love what you do! Heaven on Earth!!
Thank you, Sir. I am a recent octogenarian. My memory is good, but I couldn’t do what you do. I still love, “the lives of the cowboys. Thanks again.
Good morning, Garrison. That part of your message this morning about current political events seems to indicate that there is no stopping him from becoming president. I think otherwise. We are seeing the signs of hope that when, "we the people" make our mark on this falls ballot for our leader something is going to happen inside the brains of most that will not let that happen. Sincerely, RR
I LOVE this, Sir! I'm the only member of my family who prefers rhubarb pie to all others, and two scoops of vanilla sounds like Heaven! You think the Guy's gonna win. I think the Gal will. I just came back from a two-day fishing trip with our 16-year-old grandson who so loves his "Grandpa." You are so right about our need for vacations, especially now. I love your limericks and your poems. I love how you speak so tenderly about your wife. I think that I look like Mick Jagger, and my still beautiful bride of forty-four years tells me that I don't, that I'm much better looking than he is! May God bless America. We'll see you in Irvine come January. We can't hardly wait!
Rhubarb pie struck a chord here too. In my case, it is strawberry rhubarb compote. This spring, I gave an English friend a couple pounds of stalks, and he returned the favor with a container of his compote. Mine is sugarless and bracingly sour; his is like mushy jam.
When I was twenty years old, I spent a long, hot summer's day weeding the vegetable garden of a kindly old widow, Alma Casperson, who rented a room out to me when I was working as a door-to-door salesman in Manchester, Connecticut, back in 1977. One particular batch of weeds had roots going clear down to hades and was the hardest to get out. I really had to work hard to get them all out, knowing full well that Alma with her bad back could never pull them out herself. I left all the weeds in a pile on the edge of the garden to dry up in the sun, intending to put them in the trash later. When I came home from running an errand later that day, Alma said that her nephew had been by to inspect my work and asked her, "Hey, WHO pulled up all the rhubarb?" I was mortified, but Alma just laughed at the horrified and embarrassed look on my then young face.
Garrison. You've worked hard all your life and your legacy is assured. Don't you think it's time to stand down, step aside, and pass the torch to the next generation of gentle ironists? I mean Come On, Man!
Who do you have in mind? (It's not a torch, though. It's a porch.)
Thanks a lot, really, for this and everything else - from a guy who was arguing politics on here last week. The very best to you all.
Tom Petty sang, "Even the losers get lucky sometimes." It ain't over yet. I'll try to hold off on my depressive breakdown until November.
I think you'll be thrilled in November!
I really, really hope so. I like Ms. Harris and will absolutely be voting for her, but I'm so afraid that Mr. Umpty-Ump will figure out a way to derail her campaign. My conspiracy theory brain cells are working overtime on recent events (and it wasn't helpful when my hubby pointed out that the same theories that I thought were only in my own deranged mind are actually floating around on the 'net). Let's all hope the sky isn't really falling....
If he wins, he will continue his Chaos Tour. If he loses, he and his cult will continue their Chaos Tour. It's what they do.
You're a wordsmith, and nobody's fool. The way younger generations either (as you said) imfantalize humans over the age of seventy, or eulogize them is grotesque. To have endured over a decade of stupidity from others, I think you're grand.
My family owned a local amusement park for over a decade before selling to Premiere Parks (Six Flags) in the late 90's. I remember as a kid having dinner with Bob and Delores Hope at a dinner party my mother gave, and Bob and my grandfather swapped stories steeped in humility and humor about the one liners they often received from well meaning (but idiot) youngsters. There was always a grace extended that I could never understand: "They'll enjoy these youthful absurdidties, and their naiveté will give way as experience takes over," Bob would say with a wink.
Just wanted to drop a line and thank you for decades of entertainment, and your thoughts steeped in a potpourri of wisdom and wit. Enjoy a wonderful week. ~ Steph
"You're a wordsmith, and nobody's fool."
Bullseye!
it kinda breaks my heart when you usec trailer trash to describe trump. as if poverty is shameful.
Poverty isn't shameful and there are other ways to be trashy: the "trailer" is purely symbolic.
As you begin your 90 minutes, remember: it is better to be seen than to be viewed.
I will keep that in mind.
Garrison, we first heard you on The Morning Show in the early 1970s after my husband returned from his naval experience sailing in a spy ship off the coasts of Vietnam and Cambodia. Eventually, my husband announced he had signed up at seminary, and I demanded marriage counseling to explore my options to avoid becoming a “pastor’s wife.” We were lucky enough in those years to see several of your shows live in St. Paul and listened every Saturday without fail, usually with neighbors gathered around the radio.
I’ve had a complicated relationship with the Lutheran Church, and your humor about that topic has helped me to be more forgiving about its oddities. I expect to live into my mid-90s because my mother and her mirror identical twin were 96 and 99, respectively, at their deaths. Because they continued to be mentally active for most of that time, I made four goals for the final decade. Once completed, I surprised myself by applying to become a synod-authorized minister (SAM). I expect to meet with the bishop and a trainer soon. The shortage of rural pastors shocked me here in Pelican Rapids, Minnesota. I thought, “I have 49 years of my husband’s sermons filed in the basement, and that’s a good start to research my own”. I’ve been preaching for about eight months, and I find that researching, writing, and speaking are stimulating and satisfying activities. Your monologues often strike me as gentle sermons. By the way, I decided to respond to this post because Sunday’s announcement energized me and gave me more hope for our democracy than I’ve had since Mr. Trump began his latest “return to power” bid.
This is an inspiring post. I admire you for sticking with the church. There are people who go sailing through their middle years and wake up spiritually empty and need to find a reason to live. It sounds like you're the person who can sit down with them. The gospel of Mark is a good place to begin. Very succinct. Leave the prophets to others and stick with the gospels. And psalms.
Well I like a Rhubarb Pie too, but being English, custard is the accompaniment of choice for me. 2 nations with a lot in common and a lot of differences, but I think at heart a similar inherent decency that seems to have been obscurred in both countries in recent years. Even so, we now feel the winds of change blowing that fog away in the UK and looks as if the chances of better weather in the US is increasing by the day.
I seem to recall that when Sunak became PM all the newspapers predicted it would take a decade for Labour to rebuild any power...
Eighty, I find, isn't such a bad age to be. My birthday falls on the same day that Beethoven was born (Although there is some question about that.) and the day that the Battle of the Bulge began, a more memorable and certain date. Walking each day and talking with folks along the way keep life new and surprising. My wife and I are considering buying a new motor home to replace the trailer that is difficult to set up and tow. Is that something an eighty year old should be thinking about doing? My wife thinks it is, so I guess it is. Then Kamala Harris comes along with her bright smile and brilliant plan for our future, adding to my hope for future generations. Yes, life is good at eighty.
Take heart, Garrison. Take heart. All will be well.
We did just as you recommended, Garrison.
Got back with the kids and grandkids this past sabbath.
Although we did not observe it in a cloistered edifice, we did tiptoe along a ridge top marveling at the inimitable majesty of that ethereal creation.
We are back in the "comforts" of civilzation now, refreshed that perhaps the stultifying chaos of our situation has broken with the admirable octogenerian in the White House stepping from that torrential stream of politics in lieu of a sprightly 59 year-old female whelp with a prosecutorial background.
Let the muddied waters of our democracy be cleared. Alleluja!
Thanks for this. Some time back, you (or someone on your behalf) were kind enough to grant me permission to set your lovely poem "A Summer Night, and You, and Paradise" to choral music. It's been a while now, but I still like it, mostly because hearing it set to music helps me remember the beautiful words (much like "The B.I.B.L.E., yes that's the book for me" or "Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce," but on a much higher plane).
Ah the ‘mental margarita’ I wish the folks from Lake Whoo had more time to enjoy the bliss, the sweetness of life as it is when one loves, and yes, with all it’s pain, twists and turns that make for a rich broth…for love by it’s nature is loss. Must be salt and sweet.
And good loving is salty!
Thanks always chump, dump, clump, frump, bump….are we really fooled by a circus barker whose is selling what’s behind the curtain? Do we care any more.
Ms. Harris’ smile is a joy to behold! Real human joy! And her bio is American!
I’m so glad you love what you do! Heaven on Earth!!