Garrison Keillor

You've heard the voice. I know you have; that smooth, soothing, melodic baritone, waxing philosophic, or poetic or nostalgic - or all of the above - as the narrator of (and giver-of-life-to) A Prairie Home Companion. If not, then perhaps you've read his syndicated column (or his 77 Love Sonnets). If none of the above applies, then I'm afraid you, sir or madam, have truly missed out; there is a hole in your life you don't even realize exists! I implore you, find his column (in the editorial pages, for those of you who still read newspapers), find his books, or find A Prairie Home Companion somewhere on your radio dial (590 public radio stations carry the weekly broadcast), on the internet, or via podcast. Trust me, your life will be better for it. (Want to find out more? Go to http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/

People, Garrison Keillor is a national treasure. Yes, a walking, talking, wiser-than-most-of-us-could-ever-hope-to-be NATIONAL FREAKING TREASURE. And we nearly lost him recently - to a stroke. He's a national treasure, but he's human - and he ain't gettin' any younger. He's OK, thankfully, and brilliant as ever. So that's why I pay tribute to him here - while he's still very much vertical. He deserves to be recognized in the here-and-now, rather than the here-after.

There are those who might say Garrison is old-fashioned, or even out of touch, considering his wistful Lake Wobegon ways and references to bygone days, but trust me, this dude has it going on, and has for over three decades. Don't judge a book by its Lake Wobegon cover. Consider this excerpt from a recent Keillor column:

"The right believes that if you throw enough mud, some will stick, and if you characterize healthcare reform as an evil plot by one-eyed space aliens, you can defeat the thing. The fact is that there are 40 million uninsured Americans and soon, if nothing is done, there will be more. This is a moral dilemma, the same as if habeas corpus only applied east of the Mississippi or that green-eyed children will only be educated through the sixth grade. Not acceptable in the country I live in. And it's up to people who care about the common good not to be scared off.

The right is operating in the grand old irreverent American middle-finger spirit of contrarianism. The cars full of kids who drive country roads busting mailboxes with baseball bats are expressing the same freewheeling spirit, and the computer hackers, and graffiti artists, and every conscientious rock 'n' roll band for the past 50 years.

But the price of being an angry jerk is that nobody wants to invite you over for supper except your mother, and even she feels a little uneasy. . ." (copyright, Garrison Keillor, all rights reserved.)


Brother, that's good stuff! Eloquence need not be uppity. It doesn't require arcane, high-brow Dennis Miller-esque references that only a few people ever really get. We need more Garrison Keillors - people, who with wit and wisdom, evenhandedness, depth of knowledge and incredible, insightful, historical perspective, can declare that the emperor has no clothes and do it without sinking into the hateful, spiteful mosh pit of a monologue (Yes, monologue, because a dialogue requires two voices, and we seem to hear only one these days. You know the one, its full name is Seanglenn Rushann Limbaughcoulter-Hannitybeck) that has become the standard for those who lean to the right.

So, this day, I revel in the survival of our National Treasure, Garrison Keillor, and I raise a pint to his ongoing battle against the forces of ignorance (and clogging arteries), and his love of the Lake Wobegon life, where the fish are biting, "all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." And that makes me think . . .

. . . I Wish I Was Fishing.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

I'm a guy, so like lots of other guys, life sort of goes like this when it comes to the influence mothers have on our lives:

• Infancy and Early Childhood: Mom can do no wrong. She feeds us; bathes us; clothes us; protects us; comforts us; encourages us; gives us ice cream and animal crackers and above all else, believes in us.
• Adolescence: Except for the bathing part (other than when she threatens to do it herself if we don't), repeat bullet #1, and add in a healthy dose of what we now come to view more as nagging.
• Pre-Teen (or what these days is the new euphemism, "tween"): Our viewpoint is totally skewed, thanks to the onslaught of puberty and raging hormones, so there's no question it's all about the nagging (even though the points in bullet #1 still apply).
• Teenager: Face it, parents are just lame - Mom, Dad (and usually any siblings, for that matter). All Mom does is try to make us feel guilty. Hormones are out of control. We're so self-centered we can't see straight (or is that the weed?) Just get out of our faces and leave us alone already! What do you mean, did I do my homework? Duuuuhhhhh! Why is my door locked? Read the sign, people: "Parental Units, Teachers and Sisters Verboten!" 11:00? You're joking, right? Hello, it's Friday and ALL my friends get to stay out until midnight! Heck, Steven doesn't have to be home until 1:00 and his parents are freaking ministers! This sucks! You have no idea what it's like to be me! You're repressing my individuality; stifling my self-expression. And on, and on, and on . . .
• Early Adulthood: Still waaaaaayyy too self-centered, but now thoughts begin to creep into our amped-up little noggins that maybe, just maybe, Mom knew what she was doing - sort of, anyway (occasionally Dad did too, I guess). Geez, we were obnoxious little bastards, weren't we? How did she put up with us? Remember the time Dad was ready to draw-and-quarter us for sneaking out in the middle of the night and totaling the car? (Was that really projectile spittle coming from his mouth as he screamed at us?) Or how about the time Dad found pot in our closet? (Exactly, what was he doing in there anyway? The sign did say "Parents Verboten.") Mom always managed to bring the temperature down in those situations and made us feel like we weren't quite as derelict as Dad would have us believe, didn't she. We could be salvaged. We had value. We could still amount to something - some day. We really were good kids. She still believed in us.

So, here we are in adulthood, suffering through the worst recession since the The Great One, and thinking, "You know, Momma said there'd be days like this." Even if she didn't really say that (the song did), you know what I mean. It's like, now that we've reached this age, we've learned - hopefully - that there were no promises, and there were no guarantees. Life didn't come with an extended warranty. Mom always said to just do our best; show up on time; wear clean underwear; wash behind our ears; say please and thank-you, and be nice to people. The rest will take care of itself. There's some genuine wisdom there if we take the time to think about it.

If we all could believe in ourselves the way Mom believed in us, and set out each day to be nice to people, imagine what the world would be like! We have a bi-racial president, who, despite being without a father for much of his formative years, had a mother who stood by him, taught him, guided him, encouraged him, challenged him, supported him, and most of all, loved him and believed in him. Against unfathomable odds, he went on to be elected president of the United States of America. Did any of us honestly think that would happen in our liftetimes?

My mom told me I could do anything I wanted; be anything I wanted, as long as I was willing to work at it. She sat with me on the front steps of our house when I was four and five years old as my sisters went off to school each day and read books and did flash cards with me before she had to go off to work herself. She bugged me about my homework as I got older. She gave me "the look" when I brought home a C in math. She cut me slack when she thought I deserved it, and she gave no quarter when she thought I didn't. But above all else, she believed in me. I lost my mother to Alzheimers when I was 39 years old, but in actuality, she was lost to us ten years earlier when the disease rapidly began to steal her mind. At 29, I was equipped to deal with this world motherless, because she and my father had prepared me. I was fortunate to have 29 quality years with Mom. Some people are not so fortunate. What would Mom tell me now, if she were here?

As I sit and ponder how I'm going to fix this all-too-common mess I've gotten myself into these past few years with a maxed-out home equity loan and credit card balances out the wazoo that I can't pay off, I take comfort in the knowledge that Mom truly believed that I could do anything I put my mind to. So why shouldn't I be able to fix this? After all, there's another mom, and a couple future moms (and a future dad) in my house who are pretty special, and they've always believed in me too. I owe it to them, if not myself, to get us out of this hole. With love and support, and the will to get it done, anything is possible, right? (Besides, I'm an American; I'm an optimist!) And as importantly, I've got Mom(s) on my side.

I was thinking about this the other day as I opened what seemed like the 57th bill to come in the mail that day alone, and then my mind began to drift off, and I found myself . . .

. . . Wishing I Was Fishing

When Did "Republican" Become a Dirty Word?

OK, first it was "death tribunals." Then our children were going to be brainwashed through subliminal, subversive, socialistic rhetoric cleverly disguised as a - gasp! - work-hard, stay-in-school, get-an-education message! Oh my God! Hide the women and children! Barricade your doors and windows! Those horrible socialist barbarians are at the gate!

Please, spare me the hysteria! When I was a kid, if the President of the United States (POTUS, to you old West Wing fans) announced he was going to go on television to talk directly to the nation's young people, both my parents (one a Democrat and one a Republican, by the way) and my teachers would have made it required viewing. No debate. "Son, the president wants to talk to you. Have a seat. Get comfortable. He needs about an hour of your time. Would you like a snack? Oh, and afterward, you'll be writing a 500-word essay on what you learned. Here's the thesaurus."

T-H-E P-R-E-S-I-D-E-N-T. Yeah, that one. Once again, what happened to simple respect? Respect for the man; respect for THE OFFICE? So, POTUS wants to say a few things to the kids. Since when did we develop the hubris to deny him that opportunity, regardless on which side of the idealogical aisle we reside? Damn it, he's the President of the United States, and it matters not whether you voted for him. He's OUR president and we should listen to what he has to say. You know, he is a rather bright guy.

I am sooooooooooooooo sick and tired of the bottom-feeding, pot-stirring, self-righteous, hate-mongering, fear-mongering, gun-toting, gay-bashing, egomaniacal, self-appointed right-wing, cloaked-in-the-flag (did I mention egomaniacal?), Limbaughs, Coulters, Hannitys, O'Reillys, et. al., taking advantage of an ignorant populace and a national platform to twist and spin information any possible way to discredit ANYONE who disagrees with them - and lying through their teeth throughout the process.

I'm a caucasion, balding, golf-loving, small-business owner; married (to the same beautiful woman for 27 years), proud father of three; a small-town child of the Midwest; a baby boomer. You know, the perfect poster child for the Republican Party. And guess what, I am, in fact, a registered Republican. I came of age during the Reagan years, entering the workforce with my fresh, crisp, newly-minted college diploma smack in the middle of the recession that followed the Carter presidency. Reaganomics, trickle-down, and down came the Berlin Wall. Free enterprise, baby! No new taxes! It's the economy, stupid! You bet your ass I was a Republican, and damn proud of it.

Then came Bush the Elder, Iraq the Prelude, Newt Gingrich, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, Dubyah, John Ashcroft, Donny Rumsfeld, Karl Rove, Abu Ghraib, Sarah "I Can See Russia From My Porch" Palin, etc., etc., etc. A veritable non-stop rogues gallery of self-righteous (there's that word again), deceitful, dishonest and downright disgraceful poseurs who would have us believe they, and their Republican cronies were the enlightened ones. (Did I mention Tom "Dancing With the Stars" DeLay and Dick "The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight" Cheney?). Gosh, how could I be more proud of my Grand Ol' Party! Come on, you know waterboarding really isn't torture.

So, here I stand, essentially Republican only because that is what my voter registration card says. Disgusted, disenchanted, disappointed (and probably most other "dis-" words you can think of) asking, "When did Republican become a dirty word?" Don't worry, I don't plan to switch party affiliations anytime soon. And I certainly don't think the Democrats have all the answers, or the Libertarians, for that matter. I didn't have to become a Democrat to vote for Barack Obama. (I merely had to have a few neurons firing to know that was the right choice.) We make waaaayyyy too big a deal out of party affiliation these days. All the labels serve to do is polarize us at a time when we desperately need to find common ground.


Out-of-pocket medical bills never should have nearly bankrupted my family three years ago, thanks to the crappy insurance that was all I could afford as a self-employed small business owner. And coverage for my son's prescription for Allegra should not have been denied this week by Aetna because they think they know better than his pediatrician. So what are we (not the Republicans and not the Democrats, but WE) going to do about that? Our elected officials should somehow be mandated to work together to find solutions. POTUS can't do it by himself. Oh, and don't get me started on Afghanistan, and immigration, and Wall Street salaries, and Big Three bailouts, and off-shore drilling and . . .

. . . man, I Wish I Was Fishing!