The world is treacherous, my darlings, and if some ambitious person were to interview everyone who ever knew you for ten minutes or more and offered them anonymity, he could paint a bleak picture of you that you wouldn’t recognize. There’s a lot of gossip and envy and animosity out there, don’t kid yourself, so all the more reason to hold fast to your friends. These people are crucial. In high school I wanted to hang out with cool people, but coolness evaporates in your twenties or whenever you beget children, and eventually you come to know who your friends are, they’re people who share a secret language with you.
“…..in our own private language.” Bingo! That connection is rare and cherished. Thank you, GK! And this: As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles.
I lost one of my besties last year and I'm still hurting. A big chunk of my life went with her...I pray I'm not the last to go of my dear friends...it would be so lonely out there,
I have a distant friend, Graham, in Bulgaria. He's a Brit and an author who relocated, tired of the overcrowded little island nation, politics and overpriced life, he settled in a nice village not far from the Black Sea coast line. Like me, he's a motorcycle guy and I have spoken to him several times before on Skype and Google Meet. I've even chatted with him via Whatsapp on my smart phone. He's been on my podcast a few times and every time we talk, 2 hours would pass before we realize that one of us better pull the plug and go to bed, usually him. The joy of this relationship is that we have never met and yet we still feel a kindred spirit, we are indeed friends.
My other friend Rick, owns a winery in upstate New York. I see him maybe 2 or 3 times a year when I'm at my little off-grid cabin in that area. Rick let's me sample some of his wines and we chat motorcycles for hours and things we have in common and before you know it hours and glasses of wine have vanished.
It's nice to have friends like that. People you can launch into a conversation about nothing and still be going at it in an hour. Conversations where laughter is the main concern and the topic is of no concern. The only thing that ruins a chats like that is if politics weasels its way into it and then the happy tone levels off and eventually begins its slow decent like a 737 coming into Newark.
None of the people I went to school with in the 70's are those type of "Friends", they are acquaintances, people I spent time with in a brick building in Cranford, NJ and had little, if anything, in common with except for our location. Consider yourself lucky.
There are people that I know, people that I have known for a long time, decades, yet, I cannot consider them the type of friends I could talk with for two hours on Skype or over a glass of wine. Those are truly the type of people we have a connection with and will remain with us for life.
Let's not forget you are tall with extra long arms, both of which prep you for third base. Just like the way you enter a ballad on key, you are ready to move quickly on that 3rd base hot line. Nothing much is sweeter than a clean grab of a hot baseball bounce, and as time allows, pivot what you can to your left, plant that same foot, and like the catapults of old, let loose your throwing arm now aimed at first base over a hundred feet away.
This act is one of, if not the, most beautiful "pas de deux" dance moves in baseball. The batter who hit that liner can run like a deer, and now a mere jump-step from safe at the base. But, contradicting it all, you pirouette and your throw whizzes like a diamond cutter.
Yet, the quickness of the hitter's step is nigh a match for elbow snap of your toss. What looks like a hit is lost in the split seconds. He's thumbed, "Out!". Well-tossed, lad! Few can do it!
Here's some jabber you can throw to your phone friend next call. How did Abner Doubleday know that 90 feet between bases would make these magic split-second out-tosses happen? 85 or 95 feet would have ruined it all. It's the stuff of dreams and old guys stories.
This is a gem, Mr. Keillor. A true gem. I have a few friends who are as you describe. They are more rare than diamonds, and precious to me, but I wouldn't dare tell them that, since it is perfectly understood, and might alter the dynamics of the friendships.
There's something very special about meeting someone at whatever stage of life you may be in and finding that you click and feel as though you've known each other you're whole lives. That, and the oldest of friendships is what keeps us all "in the game" as our lives are being played out. Thanks for sharing!
Great column. I'm half way through 61 and I still text, write or send stuff to my friends Lloyd, who I've known since 6th grade and Lisa whom I met in the 5th.There are reasons that go deep to the core, of who we are, just how we were born that keep us bonded. There are others I love and respect who I generally don't communicate with or pursue a connection. Fine people. But we all have that chosen few in our lives - don't let them fade away.
A tour of Merwin’s trees! He came to the Sun Valley Writers Conference 20 years ago. I signed up for his morning breakout session, 8AM. Only about a dozen turned out for the U.S. Poet Laureate. I’ll never forget him sharing this poem he’d just finished:
Being a fan is a special category of attachment, and is very different from being a good friend, but I am a fan of you, Garrison Keillor, and have been for over four decades. I'm generally not a shy fan, one who leaves quietly after a concert or a lecture or a performance. Whenever I can, I make my way backstage, or out to the band's bus. As a starry-eyed young university student, I once waited to meet Count Basie, until the gifted trombonist, Al Grey, kindly informed me that Basie had already left in a car, and then he signed my program. The ephemeral souvenirs that I have collected and the people I have felt compelled to seek out and thank are mementos of wonderful experiences. But I was too shy to attempt to meet you, Garrison, the two times that I heard you: once in Huntington, WV at an old theater where you performed with the fabulous pianist/musician, Richard Dworsky; and once in Portsmouth, Ohio, where you walked out on stage and gave a riveting soliloquy for around two hours. You are awe-inspiring. Now that we fans have this digital platform on which we can read whatever you decide to share, triggering us to laugh out loud, sigh in remembrance, nod in agreement-- and then express our appreciation if so moved-- that's magical!
T-shirts as mementos! Ah, yes! There are several of them, all in mint condition, that are sitting in my drawer - mementos of various APHC Summer tours! When I look at them, I remember a park in the Midwest that offered "lawn chairs" that sat less than 6 inches from the ground. The concept might have worked for thin, lithe lads, but they hadn't design tested them out on middle-aged women with ample derrières! Once I finally got seated, I had to stay that way for the whole performance! No jumping up and applauding with my hands over my head! Sigh!
Another T-shirt, from a West Coast tour, bears one of my favorite locales! I had arrived really early at the "Pacific Beach" (?) arena, on the shore near San Diego. I climbed high into the bleachers to get an "eagle's eye view!" Half an hour went by, perhaps, before I saw a father and daughter stroll by. She was clad in a swimming suit, holding his hand with the sureness of absolute right. She might have to give Daddy up for a couple of hours later on, but right then, she was Daddy's Girl! You, Dear Host, have evolved many stories around Your Little Girl." But the proof is in the pudding - she really thinks you're "The Greatest!""
On a different T-shirt, I think, there was a listing for a venue in Idaho. I remember turning into a dirt road in a forest, thinking this couldn't possibly be the right place, but it was! I got a seat in the back row. On stage, Mother and Daughter were seated a yard or more behind the stage edge. As it began to get dark, our tall, handsome Host took a hand-held microphone and wandered around the back of the seating area. Attracted, as a bee to honeysuckle, the daughter walked up so close to the edge of the stage that she would have fallen off, had she taken another step. As her father passed right behind me with the spotlight on him, the look of LOVE I saw in those daughterly eyes was so intense, it was Magical!
I realize that those T-shirts also represent mementos in a "Time Capsule." But I'm encouraged to note that the APHC tradition of "Road Tours" lives on for our Felicitous Host! It's not just the "Towns Toured" he can count, but the memories left behind! Memories that can last Lifetimes!
Thank you so much, Dearest Host, for making yourself available "locally." Most performers are little more than an absent voice coming through the airwaves somehow! Muchisimas Gracias! Danka Schoen! Arigatōgozaimashita! You're truly Awesome!
yay, this may be my rosetta stone for understanding your early article about some sports game (which sport i wasn't even able to grasp at the time that i read it, but i don't know much about any sports, not even billiards but that would be my pick if any) but i later referred to in a comment here as islands of understandable words regarding roles people played during the game! I'm referring to Uncle Don's Grounder which I saved as a jpeg on my computer and may become my cornerstone not just for understanding sports lingo, which shows up at the end of the article. by fortuitous circumstance, a passerby just delivered me some quite overwrought hate in return for displaying a sign of a teeny tiny character flaw of mine, and i let it pass almost unremarked except for locking my doors when he'd temporarily left the scene.
George Plimpton appeared in an advertisement for the 1969 Oldsmobile luxury cars (Toronado, Ninety-Eight and Eighty-Eight) and part of his ad is on the cover of our next 'Toronado and Aurora Times' newsletter, now in pre-production.
“…..in our own private language.” Bingo! That connection is rare and cherished. Thank you, GK! And this: As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles.
—Walt Whitman
I lost one of my besties last year and I'm still hurting. A big chunk of my life went with her...I pray I'm not the last to go of my dear friends...it would be so lonely out there,
I have a distant friend, Graham, in Bulgaria. He's a Brit and an author who relocated, tired of the overcrowded little island nation, politics and overpriced life, he settled in a nice village not far from the Black Sea coast line. Like me, he's a motorcycle guy and I have spoken to him several times before on Skype and Google Meet. I've even chatted with him via Whatsapp on my smart phone. He's been on my podcast a few times and every time we talk, 2 hours would pass before we realize that one of us better pull the plug and go to bed, usually him. The joy of this relationship is that we have never met and yet we still feel a kindred spirit, we are indeed friends.
My other friend Rick, owns a winery in upstate New York. I see him maybe 2 or 3 times a year when I'm at my little off-grid cabin in that area. Rick let's me sample some of his wines and we chat motorcycles for hours and things we have in common and before you know it hours and glasses of wine have vanished.
It's nice to have friends like that. People you can launch into a conversation about nothing and still be going at it in an hour. Conversations where laughter is the main concern and the topic is of no concern. The only thing that ruins a chats like that is if politics weasels its way into it and then the happy tone levels off and eventually begins its slow decent like a 737 coming into Newark.
None of the people I went to school with in the 70's are those type of "Friends", they are acquaintances, people I spent time with in a brick building in Cranford, NJ and had little, if anything, in common with except for our location. Consider yourself lucky.
There are people that I know, people that I have known for a long time, decades, yet, I cannot consider them the type of friends I could talk with for two hours on Skype or over a glass of wine. Those are truly the type of people we have a connection with and will remain with us for life.
Let's not forget you are tall with extra long arms, both of which prep you for third base. Just like the way you enter a ballad on key, you are ready to move quickly on that 3rd base hot line. Nothing much is sweeter than a clean grab of a hot baseball bounce, and as time allows, pivot what you can to your left, plant that same foot, and like the catapults of old, let loose your throwing arm now aimed at first base over a hundred feet away.
This act is one of, if not the, most beautiful "pas de deux" dance moves in baseball. The batter who hit that liner can run like a deer, and now a mere jump-step from safe at the base. But, contradicting it all, you pirouette and your throw whizzes like a diamond cutter.
Yet, the quickness of the hitter's step is nigh a match for elbow snap of your toss. What looks like a hit is lost in the split seconds. He's thumbed, "Out!". Well-tossed, lad! Few can do it!
Here's some jabber you can throw to your phone friend next call. How did Abner Doubleday know that 90 feet between bases would make these magic split-second out-tosses happen? 85 or 95 feet would have ruined it all. It's the stuff of dreams and old guys stories.
Beautiful. I envy you those friendships.
Beautiful. I envy you those friendships.
So you're an old "has-been", are you? I'm offended on your behalf.
This is a gem, Mr. Keillor. A true gem. I have a few friends who are as you describe. They are more rare than diamonds, and precious to me, but I wouldn't dare tell them that, since it is perfectly understood, and might alter the dynamics of the friendships.
On the flip side, it is often your best friend that your wife is cheating on you with.
There's something very special about meeting someone at whatever stage of life you may be in and finding that you click and feel as though you've known each other you're whole lives. That, and the oldest of friendships is what keeps us all "in the game" as our lives are being played out. Thanks for sharing!
Great column. I'm half way through 61 and I still text, write or send stuff to my friends Lloyd, who I've known since 6th grade and Lisa whom I met in the 5th.There are reasons that go deep to the core, of who we are, just how we were born that keep us bonded. There are others I love and respect who I generally don't communicate with or pursue a connection. Fine people. But we all have that chosen few in our lives - don't let them fade away.
A tour of Merwin’s trees! He came to the Sun Valley Writers Conference 20 years ago. I signed up for his morning breakout session, 8AM. Only about a dozen turned out for the U.S. Poet Laureate. I’ll never forget him sharing this poem he’d just finished:
In Time
The night the world was going to end
when we heard those explosions not far away
and the loudspeakers telling us
about the vast fires on the backwater
consuming undisclosed remnants
and warning us over and over
to stay indoors and make no signals
you stood at the open window
the light of one candle back in the room
we put on high boots to be ready
for wherever we might have to go
and we got out the oysters and sat
at the small table feeding them
to each other first with the fork
then from our mouths to each other
until there were none and we stood up
and started to dance without music
slowly we danced around and around
in circles and after a while we hummed
when the world was about to end
all those years all those nights ago
-W. S. MERWIN
Being a fan is a special category of attachment, and is very different from being a good friend, but I am a fan of you, Garrison Keillor, and have been for over four decades. I'm generally not a shy fan, one who leaves quietly after a concert or a lecture or a performance. Whenever I can, I make my way backstage, or out to the band's bus. As a starry-eyed young university student, I once waited to meet Count Basie, until the gifted trombonist, Al Grey, kindly informed me that Basie had already left in a car, and then he signed my program. The ephemeral souvenirs that I have collected and the people I have felt compelled to seek out and thank are mementos of wonderful experiences. But I was too shy to attempt to meet you, Garrison, the two times that I heard you: once in Huntington, WV at an old theater where you performed with the fabulous pianist/musician, Richard Dworsky; and once in Portsmouth, Ohio, where you walked out on stage and gave a riveting soliloquy for around two hours. You are awe-inspiring. Now that we fans have this digital platform on which we can read whatever you decide to share, triggering us to laugh out loud, sigh in remembrance, nod in agreement-- and then express our appreciation if so moved-- that's magical!
T-shirts as mementos! Ah, yes! There are several of them, all in mint condition, that are sitting in my drawer - mementos of various APHC Summer tours! When I look at them, I remember a park in the Midwest that offered "lawn chairs" that sat less than 6 inches from the ground. The concept might have worked for thin, lithe lads, but they hadn't design tested them out on middle-aged women with ample derrières! Once I finally got seated, I had to stay that way for the whole performance! No jumping up and applauding with my hands over my head! Sigh!
Another T-shirt, from a West Coast tour, bears one of my favorite locales! I had arrived really early at the "Pacific Beach" (?) arena, on the shore near San Diego. I climbed high into the bleachers to get an "eagle's eye view!" Half an hour went by, perhaps, before I saw a father and daughter stroll by. She was clad in a swimming suit, holding his hand with the sureness of absolute right. She might have to give Daddy up for a couple of hours later on, but right then, she was Daddy's Girl! You, Dear Host, have evolved many stories around Your Little Girl." But the proof is in the pudding - she really thinks you're "The Greatest!""
On a different T-shirt, I think, there was a listing for a venue in Idaho. I remember turning into a dirt road in a forest, thinking this couldn't possibly be the right place, but it was! I got a seat in the back row. On stage, Mother and Daughter were seated a yard or more behind the stage edge. As it began to get dark, our tall, handsome Host took a hand-held microphone and wandered around the back of the seating area. Attracted, as a bee to honeysuckle, the daughter walked up so close to the edge of the stage that she would have fallen off, had she taken another step. As her father passed right behind me with the spotlight on him, the look of LOVE I saw in those daughterly eyes was so intense, it was Magical!
I realize that those T-shirts also represent mementos in a "Time Capsule." But I'm encouraged to note that the APHC tradition of "Road Tours" lives on for our Felicitous Host! It's not just the "Towns Toured" he can count, but the memories left behind! Memories that can last Lifetimes!
Thank you so much, Dearest Host, for making yourself available "locally." Most performers are little more than an absent voice coming through the airwaves somehow! Muchisimas Gracias! Danka Schoen! Arigatōgozaimashita! You're truly Awesome!
yay, this may be my rosetta stone for understanding your early article about some sports game (which sport i wasn't even able to grasp at the time that i read it, but i don't know much about any sports, not even billiards but that would be my pick if any) but i later referred to in a comment here as islands of understandable words regarding roles people played during the game! I'm referring to Uncle Don's Grounder which I saved as a jpeg on my computer and may become my cornerstone not just for understanding sports lingo, which shows up at the end of the article. by fortuitous circumstance, a passerby just delivered me some quite overwrought hate in return for displaying a sign of a teeny tiny character flaw of mine, and i let it pass almost unremarked except for locking my doors when he'd temporarily left the scene.
George Plimpton appeared in an advertisement for the 1969 Oldsmobile luxury cars (Toronado, Ninety-Eight and Eighty-Eight) and part of his ad is on the cover of our next 'Toronado and Aurora Times' newsletter, now in pre-production.