Podcast 16 — Heredity, the streaks of tragedy, the guarded secrets, a family of good gardeners and Bible believers, sworn to modesty, dry humor, intensely loyal.
Yesterday in an what was once a high school that so many of my relatives graduated from, a Family Reunion was held. My father’s mother’s family, a huge and close-knit family, from the days they arrived from Scotland (in the 1600s) to this changeable now. I am too far away to attend but several cousins, first cousins, once removed and great-aunts and uncles sent lots of videos and pictures. This high school had been such a huge success for the tiny communities of Mackville, Kentucky and my great-grandfather worked hard to see it built. As a little girl, when my eight strapping grand uncles stood together, for a few moments I wasn’t sure which was my beloved grandfather. All were very tall with azure blue eyes and proud profiles. We were taught by watching and observing so much, a huge family of farmers and educators and builders and hopeless romantics with a taste for Celtic music and famous for our gardens and cooking and baby-whispering skills. This brought tears to my eyes!
You break my heart as usual with such beauty. I heard you as a child. Your voice would waft through my grandmother's house on Sundays. I moved to Manhattan and used to listen to you after she'd passed away to remember the wonder of those hours in her home. How still the place became when you got around to your most recent tale of Lake Wobegon; and how rapt her face looked listening, the corners of her mouth turned up, on the brink of a smile. When I found the love of my life, it came as no surprise when invited to her little studio apartment for the first time, you were on the air when I walked in. You were required listening in her house growing up as well.
How lucky we are that your stories connect us to our stories, to aunts and uncles, Sunday dinners, warm tomatoes from the backyard, a canvas hammock between the cedar trees. We of that age were birthed in a time to listen and look.
This is a beautiful story! Light-hearted, and Loving! Mothers and Sons, Fathers and daughters - it seems as if children are drawn to the parent who doesn't have "Same Gender Expectations" for their kids. I get the impression that you felt free to "Be Yourself" with your mother!
This piece also brings in the sense of "Generations." For me, I'm "Fourteenth Generation New Amsterdam Dutch!" I've hardly hung around wall Street at all - but the "Wall" was there, way back when, to protect the "semi-indigenous" Dutch (arriving ca. 1607) from the "conquering English" invaders! I have a childhood memory, too. IT was some sort of significant gathering - a wedding or some such. They were all there from generation eleven, to my brother and myself - two little kids running up and down the creaky stairs. But what I remember most was this "Modern Miracle!" This piece of plastic on a cord that grownups put against their ears. They'd speak into another piece of plastic., responding to a woman's voice on the other end "What Number, Please?" with some sort of code that got them to the folks they were thinking of.
In a way, that image is similar to the photo of your mother that you describe. It speaks of another time - but - it also gives us a sense of our "Roots!" When I was working in California, my immediate boss would brag: "My family goes back to the Mayflower!" as if she was saying: "Can you beat that?" So, very casually, at a company picnic, I spoke up: "By that time, my Dutch relatives had been in Manhattan for more than a dozen years." My boss never played the "Mayflower" card in my presence again!
It's nice to have a sense of "Who You Are!" But it's can be even better to appreciate that America is a melting pot - and that each of our family histories can be interesting! I remember, for some reason, one APHC show when I was driving home from my farm one Saturday night. One of the featured guests was a twelve-year-old immigrant boy from Michigan(?) who played the piano really well! I was so impressed - that you'd feature a "newcomer" and give him and his family as much respect, as you would have for someone whose ancestors came to the Midwest and were buried in "The Prairie Home" Cemetery in Waukesha, Wisconsin!
"A Prairie Home Companion", from the beginning, has impressed me as the epitome of "American" culture! It's the American Dream - in which country of origin, class, ethnicity and religious affiliation blend into a fascinating quilt of The American Dream! Keep On Keeping On! You're The Tops!
I keep hearing about legacies as if it is a birthright to greatness. I do not think we are destined to be remembered by people who are strangers outside our families. If we do, well I suppose that's goodness being magnified. I do wish I could communicate with those who are no longer part of the present, only the past. I've had mutliple dreams about my late uncle. He never dies in my memory. I have dreamscapes about my existence in college. It wasn't a favorable time. Too much sickness and loss. I suppose I have regret like a stone that prevents me from embracing human suffering. I try to be optimistic but I know that years from now life will eventually devolve. So yes GK please do continue to love your spouse and have visions of those who are deceased. We are the flame keepers.
I loved this. I wasn't a fan of the screed against former Prez. DT, but only because you said you'd not do that and then you did. Sigh. At any rate, I can't afford another paid subscription to anything, so I have to enjoy what comes gratis and I am nothing if not grateful. So I am submitting a feeble attempt at limericking, if you will be so kind to not be unkind. Be blessed, Mr. Keillor. I am but a decade behind you and loved 'most every broadcast...including your weekend of song, dance and storytelling many years ago in Moorhead MN, I believe. That is it's own story and it, too, is bittersweet.
I said to my youngest daughter recently that I wish I could stand, for just a few minutes, among the memory of my family, during the time I was growing up.
Just be a presence in the living room where we watched TV together and my quiet Dad roared at the idiotic, blathering of Archie Bunker.
I know that won’t happen but I do believe I will see them again.
Until that time, I’m working on making good memories for my kids and grandkids.
Keep on writing and telling your stories. They are greatly appreciated!
You voice and stories make me feel good. You talk about things that are familiar and you put them in a lovely frame with your storytelling. Thank you.
"great variety of gaits" . . . may it ever be so.
Yesterday in an what was once a high school that so many of my relatives graduated from, a Family Reunion was held. My father’s mother’s family, a huge and close-knit family, from the days they arrived from Scotland (in the 1600s) to this changeable now. I am too far away to attend but several cousins, first cousins, once removed and great-aunts and uncles sent lots of videos and pictures. This high school had been such a huge success for the tiny communities of Mackville, Kentucky and my great-grandfather worked hard to see it built. As a little girl, when my eight strapping grand uncles stood together, for a few moments I wasn’t sure which was my beloved grandfather. All were very tall with azure blue eyes and proud profiles. We were taught by watching and observing so much, a huge family of farmers and educators and builders and hopeless romantics with a taste for Celtic music and famous for our gardens and cooking and baby-whispering skills. This brought tears to my eyes!
"Family History".... Is that all that we have?
Colored eyeglasses of Anoka are those spectacles through which one can only see the world... wether ye be from Anoka or Manhattan.
Stories are only that medium through which we can discover the selves we are; selves formed from that origin of beginnings.
Keep telling those stories, Garrison, lest we lose the memories of that place from which we are from.
You break my heart as usual with such beauty. I heard you as a child. Your voice would waft through my grandmother's house on Sundays. I moved to Manhattan and used to listen to you after she'd passed away to remember the wonder of those hours in her home. How still the place became when you got around to your most recent tale of Lake Wobegon; and how rapt her face looked listening, the corners of her mouth turned up, on the brink of a smile. When I found the love of my life, it came as no surprise when invited to her little studio apartment for the first time, you were on the air when I walked in. You were required listening in her house growing up as well.
Sir, you are most certainly an influencer!
How lucky we are that your stories connect us to our stories, to aunts and uncles, Sunday dinners, warm tomatoes from the backyard, a canvas hammock between the cedar trees. We of that age were birthed in a time to listen and look.
My Protestant NNY upbringing,, seems much like yours. We came from solid Welsh upbringing
We were trained to be quiet and respectful.
While 20 years your junior.
I'm considering the same end of life issues
Sounds good to me.
Not sure you remember why you had to leave Minnesota. Your show was canceled due to your behavior.MPR canceled all your shows and affiliation.
This is a beautiful story! Light-hearted, and Loving! Mothers and Sons, Fathers and daughters - it seems as if children are drawn to the parent who doesn't have "Same Gender Expectations" for their kids. I get the impression that you felt free to "Be Yourself" with your mother!
This piece also brings in the sense of "Generations." For me, I'm "Fourteenth Generation New Amsterdam Dutch!" I've hardly hung around wall Street at all - but the "Wall" was there, way back when, to protect the "semi-indigenous" Dutch (arriving ca. 1607) from the "conquering English" invaders! I have a childhood memory, too. IT was some sort of significant gathering - a wedding or some such. They were all there from generation eleven, to my brother and myself - two little kids running up and down the creaky stairs. But what I remember most was this "Modern Miracle!" This piece of plastic on a cord that grownups put against their ears. They'd speak into another piece of plastic., responding to a woman's voice on the other end "What Number, Please?" with some sort of code that got them to the folks they were thinking of.
In a way, that image is similar to the photo of your mother that you describe. It speaks of another time - but - it also gives us a sense of our "Roots!" When I was working in California, my immediate boss would brag: "My family goes back to the Mayflower!" as if she was saying: "Can you beat that?" So, very casually, at a company picnic, I spoke up: "By that time, my Dutch relatives had been in Manhattan for more than a dozen years." My boss never played the "Mayflower" card in my presence again!
It's nice to have a sense of "Who You Are!" But it's can be even better to appreciate that America is a melting pot - and that each of our family histories can be interesting! I remember, for some reason, one APHC show when I was driving home from my farm one Saturday night. One of the featured guests was a twelve-year-old immigrant boy from Michigan(?) who played the piano really well! I was so impressed - that you'd feature a "newcomer" and give him and his family as much respect, as you would have for someone whose ancestors came to the Midwest and were buried in "The Prairie Home" Cemetery in Waukesha, Wisconsin!
"A Prairie Home Companion", from the beginning, has impressed me as the epitome of "American" culture! It's the American Dream - in which country of origin, class, ethnicity and religious affiliation blend into a fascinating quilt of The American Dream! Keep On Keeping On! You're The Tops!
....great to hear your voice, GK...and I'll be reading your "cheerful" words soon I hope!
I keep hearing about legacies as if it is a birthright to greatness. I do not think we are destined to be remembered by people who are strangers outside our families. If we do, well I suppose that's goodness being magnified. I do wish I could communicate with those who are no longer part of the present, only the past. I've had mutliple dreams about my late uncle. He never dies in my memory. I have dreamscapes about my existence in college. It wasn't a favorable time. Too much sickness and loss. I suppose I have regret like a stone that prevents me from embracing human suffering. I try to be optimistic but I know that years from now life will eventually devolve. So yes GK please do continue to love your spouse and have visions of those who are deceased. We are the flame keepers.
I loved this. I wasn't a fan of the screed against former Prez. DT, but only because you said you'd not do that and then you did. Sigh. At any rate, I can't afford another paid subscription to anything, so I have to enjoy what comes gratis and I am nothing if not grateful. So I am submitting a feeble attempt at limericking, if you will be so kind to not be unkind. Be blessed, Mr. Keillor. I am but a decade behind you and loved 'most every broadcast...including your weekend of song, dance and storytelling many years ago in Moorhead MN, I believe. That is it's own story and it, too, is bittersweet.
A German Redo
A young woman who hailed from Berlin
Was born with just too much chin.
So she found her a doc
Who hid his first shock;
Said he could build a new chin from her skin.
A mirror was then held to her face
To examine the chin to replace.
The droop was severe,
Spreading sag ear-to-ear.
He'd get to work now apace.
Again a mirror was requested
By this Teutonic who had been revested.
She looked with chagrin
At a face with no chin,
And wailed, My God I've been devastated.
With apologies, K.Lytle
“I’m a writer...”
What a beautiful, stunning turn.
Thank you.
Your story is truly heartwarming.
I said to my youngest daughter recently that I wish I could stand, for just a few minutes, among the memory of my family, during the time I was growing up.
Just be a presence in the living room where we watched TV together and my quiet Dad roared at the idiotic, blathering of Archie Bunker.
I know that won’t happen but I do believe I will see them again.
Until that time, I’m working on making good memories for my kids and grandkids.
Keep on writing and telling your stories. They are greatly appreciated!