My grandmother took me to New York City when I was 10 years old, my first trip to see the great wide world beyond our little world on the west side of Madison, Wisconsin. What a treat and yet another reason I am eternally grateful to the woman. Her daughter lived there on the upper floor of a co-op high rise, much higher than any building in Madison. And of course, familial duty required her to visit periodically as she did until she passed on - regularly visit her children in their various locations. My mother was the child who had stayed in Madison and she and my father were busy, of course. And then my parents had additional issues, but enough about that. Without saying a word, my grandmother told me and my brother that there's a whole wide world out there, be sure to go see it when you can. She'd served in Europe as an Army nurse in WWI so she'd had a glance at some of it. We got to NYC in part by taking a cruise on the Great Lakes. The World's Fair was on and that was yet another reason to go and look and wonder at it all.
Have you heard Iris DeMent’s new album, “Workin on a World…”? It is wonderful. I remember hearing her for the first time on your program; I couldn’t get enough of her singing. You’ve introduced me to a number of great musicians. For that I thank you!
"...Old friends. It’s a blessing you don’t expect when you’re young and beset with your own troubles and then it dawns on you that familiarity is beautiful..." (Relative) youth seems like this wild rollercoaster ride, you're in there with your family, friends and co-workers: hanging on, working, laughing, crying, screaming, dreaming and then the ride dumps you off. You stand somewhat surprised and bewildered by the immensity of it all. You stoop to collect your belongings and proclaim to the universe "Now What?" The kids are gone and you're on your own again. "Alone" seems SO long ago. What to keep? What to let go? This has all of the makings for our grandest adventure of them all. Instead of clawing our way up the mountain: we have reached the summit. That glorious view! Encompassing all that you ever were - your experiences, the loves, the hard-won lessons, knowledge that can only be earned by living... through... it. Such accumulated strength and wisdom. A wealth beyond measure! The glorious pinnacle of our lives. Now, what to do with all of our treasure? But, in retrospect, hasn't that always been the question?
Well, the trio of Heather Masse, Aoife O’Donovan and Jed Wilson brought the house down with their joyful piece. Would that we'd all be suggested to a dozen plus bars of their joys and harmony. That's puresome, gladsome harmony and God knows we need more of it. Sure it's good to see happiness around a table in Omaha, but a trio with GK and Friends can't be beat. You'd think those three piedpipers couldn't keep up that beat that long, but happiness is, and it takes us with them all the way to the end. Instead of Paul Simon's obtrusive "Under African Skies", far better is "At the Zoo." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xKLBne1CoI Amen!
Guy Noir (sp?) was my favorite and I loved Pat Donahue. I’m still put out by the fact that I can’t listen to you every Saturday evening with a real, brewed cup of tea
Salinger once wrote that writers will be asked one thing when they die. if they wrote the one thing they’d most like to read. I don’t know if it beats James Thurber, but I love my stuff. I can tell it’s what I was meant to do.
I can live anywhere as long as I can get to the ocean and hear a train whistle and church bells.
Every time our Superb Host mentions the time he went to New York City with his parent during his childhood, I'm Sooooo Jealous! In my mind's eye, I see that the two of you had a truly close, loving relationship! SIGH!
The fact is, I went to New York City with my maternal parent too - and maybe 20 of the other Girl Scouts in my troop! It was a special trip that the Council arranged for us, because we'd managed to sell a lot of Girl Scout Cookies. A huge part of that sale was through my own efforts - 150 boxes or so, if I recall. We stayed in a group room in the attic of the downtown YWCA and "Did the town!" Chinatown here, Rockefeller Center there, along with a subway ride out to the amusement park at Coney Island to boot. All the while, my parent was wearing her GS Leader's hat. When that green hat was on, it narrowed her mind to a singular focus. Halfway through the first day, I found that the only way I could get her attention was to holler "Mrs. G!" just as the other girls did. I felt reduced to subatomic proportions!
Perhaps this could be a "Word to the Wise" for some of The Friends of GK out there! If you're doing volunteer work as a leader for a group in an organization that one of your children is a member of - try to be aware enough to give your offspring at least "fair play!" Certainly, responsible adults try to refrain from "favoring" their own children. But there's the other side of the coin, too. Being totally ignored does not fall under "Ignorance is Bliss for the child!"
As I reread the above, suddenly in memory I'm transported to a seaside venue for APHC presented somewhere near San Diego, CA. I had taken a train to the station, and arrived by taxi at the large amphitheater hours before showtime. I was sitting in the upper bleachers, just taking in the sea and the sun, when I saw a father and daughter taking a solitary, hand-in-hand, walk together. It could have been you and your father, walking around New York City. Instead, this time it was you and your daughter, Maia, strolling around the your "place of work!"
Do you know? I wouldn't be surprised of Maia has as warm memories of those "pre-performance" walks with you, as you cherish in reliving your New York City adventures with your father! Perhaps, she was aware that these walks were especially significant for you, too!
Whether it's your best work or not, I cannot say, but I am feeling your recent Posts to the Host are certainly in that category. They seem to be coming from a deeper, truer place, and you - as you know- have the chops for greatness.
By the way, we in my family have wondered why you have not been given the Mark Twain award. You are the FIRST person who comes to mind for an award with his name on it. Unfortunately, that award has been tainted by being awarded to comedians, many of mediocre talent, even at comedy, let alone writing.
If we readers' here or of your other work, including radio, took a poll, I bet we could award you with a rogue award; let's call it The Real Mark Twain Award Awarded By the. Man Behind the Mask, Samuel Clemonson, a Norwegian Bachelor Farmer Who Shucked the Farm and Took Off Down the Mississippi to Greatness, New Orleans.
It will have to be a very large award to accommodate all those words, but it will be well worth it.
If I may, let my tell you my “Midwesterner’s-first-trip-to-NYC” story, (in which you, GK, play an important part).
Shortly after I graduated college (IU, Bloomington, Indiana) I was lucky enough to be invited for a job interview.
So, in short, I flew into NYC and (somehow) managed to find my way through the terminal. In addition to being overwhelmed by my first trip to a city anywhere near this size, I was, needless to say , shaking in my boots in anticipation of the next day’s interview.
Then, while waiting to get on the shuttle bus I achieved one small lifelong goal: namely I bought my first copy of the fabled NYTimes.
Later, while riding the shuttle (up the Hudson River Valley to the interview which would take place in —what was for me the mystically named— East Fishkill, NY) I began browsing through my brand new copy of the Times. And, there, Lo and Behold, was an article by, of all people, Garrison Keillor.
This may sound like a small thing, but the article, with its familiar voice, was really a great comfort to me, there in this alien place so far from home. I’ve always hoped to meet you one day to say “Thanks”, and that I hope that you truly appreciate the joy and comfort that your writing has brought to so many folks out here over the years.
[P.S. Unfortunately, in later years, I’ve never been able to find a copy of the article, but it had to do, of all things, with using a menu when dining out.
Your advice was, when in a restaurant, to never use a menu because it’s almost always completely useless. That is, if you do know what you want (for example, a bowl of tomato soup, a peanut butter sandwich, and some lime Jello), just tell them and let them work it out. On the other hand, if you don’t know what you want, simply look around to see what folks at the other tables are having. And when you find something that looks good, then simply point and say “I’ll have that”.
Advice that has served me well over the years. --N]
I was trying to remember what causes a quicker, deeper chemical reaction from our Chem 101 days, thinking of the many good times in our lives when a yummy Potato Pancake breakfast was had at our nearby Perkins Restaurant, now sadly gone. That breakfast for me was what we Chem students called a "catalyst." In the breakfast there it caused a finer morning, if not a finer day. That said, life goes on and now we may have to go to Omaha to find it. But cataysts of all kinds can be found in many places by a finder like GK. He tweaks everything. Thanks, Garrison!
How did you know I'd been wondering why you weren't in church Sunday? I'll listen to your music and/or stories later on, because I'm halfway finished reading my Bucket List book : WAR AND PEACE. So I'll briefly say now that church, friends, luck, and a trip from my Deep South home to New York have all made me cheerful!
Your comment about going through scanners revives another memory of that trip to the Ukraine again for me. When Katya, Paul and I finally arrived in Grand Central Station, we had to go through a customs line before we could get to the main concourse. They had sniffer dogs, and Katya's luggage had some "Good, Old Country Sausage" in it! Of course the dog went and sat by that suitcase, and wouldn't move! Katya really didn't want to give up that sausage - it was her mother's special recipe from a hog they had slaughtered themselves. When we got to an inspector, Paul, the "Honest-Abe-Looking" clean-cut, tall, dark and handsome son with a great American accent - he'd been in the US for maybe a decade, stepped up to answer, as if Katya couldn't speak English. He told a FIB! A very believable one, and pointed out that they were a parson's family, and all that... The tired inspector didn't feel like holding up the horrendous line "just for that," so he waved us through. Perhaps it helped that they were traveling with a "Born in the USA" woman, too.
Neither Katya no I ever said a word to Paul about LYING to the border inspector. And, depending upon his upbringing and the extent of Paul's Americanization Process", it's possible that he didn't even mention telling a lie when he prayed to God that evening. I'm pretty certain that that sausage went nowhere else except the breakfast table the next morning. We had made the return journey in my car, the one I had left parked in NYC while we were abroad.
I suppose, for many of us, there are different categories: 1) the Absolute Truth (whether it has consequences or not) 2) the Relative Truth ( taking into account the usual reasons why the US Government might be interested in a pound or two of home-made sausage) 3) a Guilty Lie (as in the time I brought Ricardo and friends into the US, hidden under a sleeping bag while we passed through the Border Patrol into California. ) Actually, I could say that was only a "2 1/2", because I didn't say a word to the Border Patrol agent who stood at my window - except, perhaps a casual "Hi!" He saw a mother with young daughters and assumed what he wanted to assume. I guess Paul's comment there in NYC was of a similar variety - probably with a "Hi, How are you?" too!
Not that I'm disparaging the Ten Commandments and all that. It's just that, there really are times when folks understand the purpose of regulations. If an action doesn't disturb the basic intent of the law, sometimes social interactions run a lot more smoothly if "Within half an inch of the Letter of the Law" is overlooked.
My grandmother took me to New York City when I was 10 years old, my first trip to see the great wide world beyond our little world on the west side of Madison, Wisconsin. What a treat and yet another reason I am eternally grateful to the woman. Her daughter lived there on the upper floor of a co-op high rise, much higher than any building in Madison. And of course, familial duty required her to visit periodically as she did until she passed on - regularly visit her children in their various locations. My mother was the child who had stayed in Madison and she and my father were busy, of course. And then my parents had additional issues, but enough about that. Without saying a word, my grandmother told me and my brother that there's a whole wide world out there, be sure to go see it when you can. She'd served in Europe as an Army nurse in WWI so she'd had a glance at some of it. We got to NYC in part by taking a cruise on the Great Lakes. The World's Fair was on and that was yet another reason to go and look and wonder at it all.
Have you heard Iris DeMent’s new album, “Workin on a World…”? It is wonderful. I remember hearing her for the first time on your program; I couldn’t get enough of her singing. You’ve introduced me to a number of great musicians. For that I thank you!
"...Old friends. It’s a blessing you don’t expect when you’re young and beset with your own troubles and then it dawns on you that familiarity is beautiful..." (Relative) youth seems like this wild rollercoaster ride, you're in there with your family, friends and co-workers: hanging on, working, laughing, crying, screaming, dreaming and then the ride dumps you off. You stand somewhat surprised and bewildered by the immensity of it all. You stoop to collect your belongings and proclaim to the universe "Now What?" The kids are gone and you're on your own again. "Alone" seems SO long ago. What to keep? What to let go? This has all of the makings for our grandest adventure of them all. Instead of clawing our way up the mountain: we have reached the summit. That glorious view! Encompassing all that you ever were - your experiences, the loves, the hard-won lessons, knowledge that can only be earned by living... through... it. Such accumulated strength and wisdom. A wealth beyond measure! The glorious pinnacle of our lives. Now, what to do with all of our treasure? But, in retrospect, hasn't that always been the question?
Mr. Keillor, I believe Grand Central to be the most wonderful room in the world, though I must confess I have not been in all of them.
Well, the trio of Heather Masse, Aoife O’Donovan and Jed Wilson brought the house down with their joyful piece. Would that we'd all be suggested to a dozen plus bars of their joys and harmony. That's puresome, gladsome harmony and God knows we need more of it. Sure it's good to see happiness around a table in Omaha, but a trio with GK and Friends can't be beat. You'd think those three piedpipers couldn't keep up that beat that long, but happiness is, and it takes us with them all the way to the end. Instead of Paul Simon's obtrusive "Under African Skies", far better is "At the Zoo." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xKLBne1CoI Amen!
Guy Noir (sp?) was my favorite and I loved Pat Donahue. I’m still put out by the fact that I can’t listen to you every Saturday evening with a real, brewed cup of tea
Salinger once wrote that writers will be asked one thing when they die. if they wrote the one thing they’d most like to read. I don’t know if it beats James Thurber, but I love my stuff. I can tell it’s what I was meant to do.
I can live anywhere as long as I can get to the ocean and hear a train whistle and church bells.
Every time our Superb Host mentions the time he went to New York City with his parent during his childhood, I'm Sooooo Jealous! In my mind's eye, I see that the two of you had a truly close, loving relationship! SIGH!
The fact is, I went to New York City with my maternal parent too - and maybe 20 of the other Girl Scouts in my troop! It was a special trip that the Council arranged for us, because we'd managed to sell a lot of Girl Scout Cookies. A huge part of that sale was through my own efforts - 150 boxes or so, if I recall. We stayed in a group room in the attic of the downtown YWCA and "Did the town!" Chinatown here, Rockefeller Center there, along with a subway ride out to the amusement park at Coney Island to boot. All the while, my parent was wearing her GS Leader's hat. When that green hat was on, it narrowed her mind to a singular focus. Halfway through the first day, I found that the only way I could get her attention was to holler "Mrs. G!" just as the other girls did. I felt reduced to subatomic proportions!
Perhaps this could be a "Word to the Wise" for some of The Friends of GK out there! If you're doing volunteer work as a leader for a group in an organization that one of your children is a member of - try to be aware enough to give your offspring at least "fair play!" Certainly, responsible adults try to refrain from "favoring" their own children. But there's the other side of the coin, too. Being totally ignored does not fall under "Ignorance is Bliss for the child!"
As I reread the above, suddenly in memory I'm transported to a seaside venue for APHC presented somewhere near San Diego, CA. I had taken a train to the station, and arrived by taxi at the large amphitheater hours before showtime. I was sitting in the upper bleachers, just taking in the sea and the sun, when I saw a father and daughter taking a solitary, hand-in-hand, walk together. It could have been you and your father, walking around New York City. Instead, this time it was you and your daughter, Maia, strolling around the your "place of work!"
Do you know? I wouldn't be surprised of Maia has as warm memories of those "pre-performance" walks with you, as you cherish in reliving your New York City adventures with your father! Perhaps, she was aware that these walks were especially significant for you, too!
Whether it's your best work or not, I cannot say, but I am feeling your recent Posts to the Host are certainly in that category. They seem to be coming from a deeper, truer place, and you - as you know- have the chops for greatness.
By the way, we in my family have wondered why you have not been given the Mark Twain award. You are the FIRST person who comes to mind for an award with his name on it. Unfortunately, that award has been tainted by being awarded to comedians, many of mediocre talent, even at comedy, let alone writing.
If we readers' here or of your other work, including radio, took a poll, I bet we could award you with a rogue award; let's call it The Real Mark Twain Award Awarded By the. Man Behind the Mask, Samuel Clemonson, a Norwegian Bachelor Farmer Who Shucked the Farm and Took Off Down the Mississippi to Greatness, New Orleans.
It will have to be a very large award to accommodate all those words, but it will be well worth it.
If I may, let my tell you my “Midwesterner’s-first-trip-to-NYC” story, (in which you, GK, play an important part).
Shortly after I graduated college (IU, Bloomington, Indiana) I was lucky enough to be invited for a job interview.
So, in short, I flew into NYC and (somehow) managed to find my way through the terminal. In addition to being overwhelmed by my first trip to a city anywhere near this size, I was, needless to say , shaking in my boots in anticipation of the next day’s interview.
Then, while waiting to get on the shuttle bus I achieved one small lifelong goal: namely I bought my first copy of the fabled NYTimes.
Later, while riding the shuttle (up the Hudson River Valley to the interview which would take place in —what was for me the mystically named— East Fishkill, NY) I began browsing through my brand new copy of the Times. And, there, Lo and Behold, was an article by, of all people, Garrison Keillor.
This may sound like a small thing, but the article, with its familiar voice, was really a great comfort to me, there in this alien place so far from home. I’ve always hoped to meet you one day to say “Thanks”, and that I hope that you truly appreciate the joy and comfort that your writing has brought to so many folks out here over the years.
[P.S. Unfortunately, in later years, I’ve never been able to find a copy of the article, but it had to do, of all things, with using a menu when dining out.
Your advice was, when in a restaurant, to never use a menu because it’s almost always completely useless. That is, if you do know what you want (for example, a bowl of tomato soup, a peanut butter sandwich, and some lime Jello), just tell them and let them work it out. On the other hand, if you don’t know what you want, simply look around to see what folks at the other tables are having. And when you find something that looks good, then simply point and say “I’ll have that”.
Advice that has served me well over the years. --N]
I was trying to remember what causes a quicker, deeper chemical reaction from our Chem 101 days, thinking of the many good times in our lives when a yummy Potato Pancake breakfast was had at our nearby Perkins Restaurant, now sadly gone. That breakfast for me was what we Chem students called a "catalyst." In the breakfast there it caused a finer morning, if not a finer day. That said, life goes on and now we may have to go to Omaha to find it. But cataysts of all kinds can be found in many places by a finder like GK. He tweaks everything. Thanks, Garrison!
How did you know I'd been wondering why you weren't in church Sunday? I'll listen to your music and/or stories later on, because I'm halfway finished reading my Bucket List book : WAR AND PEACE. So I'll briefly say now that church, friends, luck, and a trip from my Deep South home to New York have all made me cheerful!
Clark University 1972-1977 Physical/Inorganic chemistry
You can use the list to poll for other chemists.
Your comment about going through scanners revives another memory of that trip to the Ukraine again for me. When Katya, Paul and I finally arrived in Grand Central Station, we had to go through a customs line before we could get to the main concourse. They had sniffer dogs, and Katya's luggage had some "Good, Old Country Sausage" in it! Of course the dog went and sat by that suitcase, and wouldn't move! Katya really didn't want to give up that sausage - it was her mother's special recipe from a hog they had slaughtered themselves. When we got to an inspector, Paul, the "Honest-Abe-Looking" clean-cut, tall, dark and handsome son with a great American accent - he'd been in the US for maybe a decade, stepped up to answer, as if Katya couldn't speak English. He told a FIB! A very believable one, and pointed out that they were a parson's family, and all that... The tired inspector didn't feel like holding up the horrendous line "just for that," so he waved us through. Perhaps it helped that they were traveling with a "Born in the USA" woman, too.
Neither Katya no I ever said a word to Paul about LYING to the border inspector. And, depending upon his upbringing and the extent of Paul's Americanization Process", it's possible that he didn't even mention telling a lie when he prayed to God that evening. I'm pretty certain that that sausage went nowhere else except the breakfast table the next morning. We had made the return journey in my car, the one I had left parked in NYC while we were abroad.
I suppose, for many of us, there are different categories: 1) the Absolute Truth (whether it has consequences or not) 2) the Relative Truth ( taking into account the usual reasons why the US Government might be interested in a pound or two of home-made sausage) 3) a Guilty Lie (as in the time I brought Ricardo and friends into the US, hidden under a sleeping bag while we passed through the Border Patrol into California. ) Actually, I could say that was only a "2 1/2", because I didn't say a word to the Border Patrol agent who stood at my window - except, perhaps a casual "Hi!" He saw a mother with young daughters and assumed what he wanted to assume. I guess Paul's comment there in NYC was of a similar variety - probably with a "Hi, How are you?" too!
Not that I'm disparaging the Ten Commandments and all that. It's just that, there really are times when folks understand the purpose of regulations. If an action doesn't disturb the basic intent of the law, sometimes social interactions run a lot more smoothly if "Within half an inch of the Letter of the Law" is overlooked.
I THINK YOU WANT TO AVOID POURING ACIDS INTO BASES. SPECIFICALLY, AVOID: Bleach + Rubbing alcohol = Chloroform, UNLESS YOU WANT A NAP!