What it’s like to be old, if you want to know

What it’s like to be old, if you want to know

I was back home in Minnesota last week, throwing away boxes of old manuscripts to spare my darling from having to deal with them after she plants me in the Home for the Happily Medicated. I saved the stuff thinking it might ferment, like wine, but it hasn’t, so out it goes. I look out the window at Loring Park where I used to walk when I was 17, on a break from my dishwashing job at the Evangeline Hotel, my first job out of high school. I was practicing smoking Pall Malls to prepare for a literary career. I’m 78 now and last week I had dinner with the man who hired me to do a radio show when I was in my 20s. Diligence and discipline are all well and good, but thank God for wild good luck.

It was a music show on Saturday nights. I grew up fundamentalist and we avoided rhythm for fear it would lead to dancing and copulation so we praised God in slow mournful voices, like a fishing village whose men had been lost in a storm. We never learned to play a musical instrument for fear we might have talent and this would lead to employment in places where people drink liquor. When the radio show started, my lack of musical ability determined that I’d be the emcee. My musician friends didn’t want to do it: they were proud of their ability to play tunes with intricate fingering at impossible tempos. So I became the guy who walks downstage and says hello to the audience and tells the joke about the man and his wife who die in a car crash and they go to heaven and it’s stunningly beautiful and he says, “If you hadn’t made me stop smoking we could’ve gotten here when we were young enough to enjoy it.” And so, for lack of talent, I was made boss and had job security for 40 years. My bio, in less than 25 words.

This was back in the Era of Agitation, when people were opposing the draft and picketing Honeywell to protest weapons manufacture, and women were fighting to be ordained and gays were fighting for gaiety. I’m over that now. Now I’m in love with ordinary American life.

I love looking at runners, each with his or her individual gait. The Fitness Era started after the Agitation. I hated phy-ed, thought running was boring, but I admire it as a democratic movement, people of all ages, many colors and ethnicities and creeds, some listening to Bach, some to punk, but feeling a common bond and all smelling bad. Each with an individual style and all feel warmly toward each other.

I love public happiness such as our State Fair, a place for gluttony and violent centrifugal experiences in contraptions operated by tattooed men who might have done prison time for larceny, a time to see giant Percherons and designer chickens with topknots and anklets and pumpkins the size of studio apartments.

I love the prospect of sitting in the right field bleachers, a sunny day, the outfielders shifting for each batter. I wait for a great play, a diving catch, a home run stolen, a double off the wall and the fielder pegs it to the cutoff man who catches the batter trying to make it a triple. Three or four great plays in a game, each one memorable.

The other day, I ordered lunch online and I learned I could track the delivery on my laptop, following the red car icon as it heads north on Lyndale to our apartment building. Somehow the technology that put a man on the moon has been put to work to reassure me that food is on the way.

When I was young, I imagined that old people think a lot about death, but no, I’m thinking about a video I took with my cellphone. I’m old enough to remember phones on the wall with cranks you turned to get an operator. There was no video. This video on my phone is from the Fair, of my daughter laughing hysterically. We’re in a boat on the River Raft ride and she’s looking at me and my pants are wet. This is the meaning of my life right here, my girl screaming with delight. When I’m in the Home, bring me the phone, let me look at it again.

Posts the Host

(In reference to March 10, 2021 column, I'm not hoping for normal, no thank you )
About the verse from Luke, the one about “giving up possessions …” I read it through a lens of charity and compassion. Big houses, small houses … not for me to judge. Whatever you’ve got, what place does it hold in your heart? Like you, it’s the small life for me — easier, less upkeep, quieter. And I too think home is best. I’ve come to the conclusion that really, it’s all at one’s doorstep. The beauty of nature, place, people … the mysteries are the same everywhere. Food, climate, religion, and clothing vary, but the point’s the same — survival and living a good life.
Cheers!
David/Seattle

“The mysteries are the same everywhere.” You hit the nail on the head, sir.
GK

I love you dearly and I need to comment on your phrase “sausage is a product.” If you knew the suffering and horror of how these animals are treated you might think differently. Factory farming is barbaric, and that is when the sausage is a product. I will not say any more and I thank you for reading my note.
For The Animals,
Karen M Sheppard

Thank you, Karen, and I am going to give up sausage until I can find out more about this. When someone begins a critique with “I love you dearly,” it grabs a man by the elbow. Thanks, and I’m so glad you wrote.
GK

You are so right about the past year being Lent, Garrison. I am a good Catholic girl of 66, and I refused to give anything up for Lent this year — the pandemic has already denied me almost everything I love most about living, most of all travel. When I hear a plane fly overhead it actually hurts. I was about to take a wonderful trip last May, and with my elderly father (whom I live with and as his only child it’s all on me) slowly advancing in dementia, it was probably my last opportunity to travel … but thanks to the pandemic, I am now locked in for perhaps several years. About the only thing left now is food and wine — and then I got atrial fibrillation, which makes wine another probable casualty. That leaves food … so bring on those eggs and sausages! Keep those old PHC shows out there — I fire one up every Saturday night!
Pat
P.S. You once signed a book for me and wrote “To Pat, a bright light in Scranton.”

Pat, on behalf of your father, I don’t approve of your handcuffing yourself to him. I vote for you giving yourself a wonderful trip, whatever you need to lift your spirits, a voyage, a hike in the hills, a flight to Wales or the Orkneys, a slow drive through the West. Even if your father suffers from anxiety, I think some sort of temporary care can be found, and meds if necessary, to keep him calm, and you get a breath of freedom. You have a long life ahead and you need to stay strong. I come from a big family and my siblings took care of my parents at the end and I got off scot-free. I couldn’t have done what you’re doing. But you are the keeper of the lighthouse there in Scranton and you need to take care of yourself.
GK

Mr. Keillor,
In 1994 I found myself driving through the U.S. on a business trip that lasted a year. While in Tampa, I accidentally came across a man on the radio who was talking about a bunch of Lutheran ministers on a sinking “Pontoon Boat.” And then something radio hadn’t done since I was a little kid happened, I laughed. Wherever I went I’d find a station and make sure I was in a car as best I could so I could listen to PHC. I brought my daughter (born in 1998) to see you in Kansas City and you told her to write about her parents. My whole family enjoys you now.
Thank you for writing about your life. It meant something to me.
Bob Gregg
Overland Park, Kansas

I’m glad you got back from that long business trip in time to father a daughter and bring her up, sir. And I’m glad you happened on the pontoon boat story and not one of the meandering meaningless ones. I got hit by radio comedy when I was a kid and heard Bob & Ray and George Burns and Gracie Allen and Jack Benny. We were strict evangelical people, but my mother loved comedy and now, in old age, I look back and see how that shaped my life. My people were dead set against television, because there were movies on it, but my mother fell in love with Lucille Ball and so we bought a television. The power of entertainment over legalism. Ms. Ball’s wild slapstick delighted my mother who had six children and needed delight. Her father, who was anti-TV, died and so the world turned. Back in the Eighties, I got so busy that I had no time for TV or radio and now, thanks to the pandemic, there’s no entertainment period, and I’m living a very simple unadorned life not so different from my grandpa’s (except I have the advantage of modern meds). I’ve never listened to a podcast, didn’t see “The Crown,” quit reading the paper. I may as well be in the 19th century. It’s quite pleasant here, I must say. Thanks for the note.
GK

I enjoy your columns but must point out that you misquote Jesus speaking in Luke, chapter 18, when you write, “Ye cannot be my disciples unless you give up all you possess.” Jesus was speaking specifically to the rich young ruler. Jesus knew his heart and knew he had made his possessions the basis for his security because the young ruler went away very sad.

Jesus’ twelve disciples did leave their homes, families, and businesses to follow Jesus during his ministry on earth. However, we read that Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James, and John returned to fishing after Jesus’ death.

The truth is, we are asked to give up anything we consider to be more important in our lives than God (idols). We must look to God for our security and not depend on anything of this earth.
Robin

You’re trying to reassure me, Robin, that it’s okay to have an IRA but I’m not buying it. I write this while sitting in our little apartment in Minneapolis, which I love, a sweet place to sit alone and write and heat up soup for lunch and read books and go to bed early, but I still feel that if I were a true Christian, I’d sign it over to my wife and put on warm clothing and go sit in Loring Park. I went to St. Mark’s early Mass on Sunday and it was good to be there and to hear Scripture and to say the prayers and to think about God, but I don’t feel holy in the slightest. I’m an old Democrat with a good many righteous liberal friends and thanks to my evangelical upbringing I feel soaked in sin. And the worship of possessions is just one. My cellphone, for example. My laptop. My coffeemaker. I can’t live without them. Thanks for your good note and I wish you a happy day.
GK

OK, Garrison, fess up, where are you living? Most of your essays indicate you live in NYC but this one says you’re in Minnesota. Which is it?
Bob
Orono, Maine

For the past year, my wife and I have been sequestered in New York because she loves walking in the city and I’m a writer who sits at the kitchen table and writes so I can live anywhere. But a week ago I came out to Minneapolis to clean out boxes of old paraphernalia and throw stuff away so that my wife wouldn’t have to do it when I lose my marbles. I feel an attachment for Minnesota and I feel a powerful attachment to old friends. I don’t have any social skills, having grown up evangelical, and so I have no idea how to make friends and must hang onto the ones I have.
GK

I applaud your idea about Biden going pheasant hunting and endearing himself to a wide swath of Republicans. Tales of hunting pheasant, dove, ducks, and quail reigned in my father’s Illinois farming family. The person to outshoot was my grandfather, and his five sons did their best. Alas, no one bested Grandpa’s encounter with a flock of doves. As the flock flew toward him, he shot the lead dove and as it fell, the others followed. Grandpa then shot one more as the flock was going down and when the flock leveled off, still headed toward him, he shot a third. As the birds flew overhead, he shot a fourth and then a fifth after the flock had flown past. He winged every one (no buckshot since no one wanted to clean a bird full of buckshot). Five doves in little more than five minutes. A pleasurable meal for the family. Grandpa was the best wing man in the county. When I reached adulthood, my grandfather confided to me that he remembered every impossible shot he had ever made with his trusty rifle.
Bless you!
Lori Atrops
Eagle River, Alaska

Your note thrilled me, Lori, because you refer to your grandpa using a RIFLE. After I wrote the column recommending that Joe take up pheasant hunting in South Dakota, dozens of South Dakota Republicans wrote in to say that nobody hunts birds with a rifle, they use shotguns. I apologized to each of them for my ignorance. I hereby withdraw those apologies. I feel vindicated.
GK
I read your piece today. Here’s my daily sketch from the art journal I’ve kept during the pandemic. Drawing is one of those small-world things, as you say.
Regards,
Bruce Petrie

This week on A Prairie Home Companion

NEWS FROM PAST GUEST PERFORMERS:
Many performers who appeared on the show over the past 40 years have been entertaining fans with new projects and virtual concerts. We will check in on a few each week and hope that you check them out!
Brandi Carlile
Brandi has been on a roll, winning Grammys as a performer and as a producer. She will take the Ryman stage for a rocking streaming show. Watch it live at 7 p.m. on March 28th or stream it until April 11th. Either way, judging from her many PHC appearances, you are in for a great show!
And, for a good read, you might try her memoir Broken Horses, which is due out in April.
“You can dance in a hurricane, but only if you’re standing in the eye.”

Spring" from Life These Days"

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Scripts and bits from A Prairie Home Companion celebrate the secret society of people who possess excellent spelling and punctuation skills. (You know who you are.) Selections include “The Six-Minute Hamlet,” a tribute to Emily Dickinson, a Guy Noir adventure that exposes an MFA scam, a riveting “Lives of the English Majors” drama, and literary guests Billy Collins, Robert Bly, Roy Blount Jr., and Calvin Trillin. 2 1/2 hours on 2 discs.

The product page has a full content list and easy-to-use download links for Amazon and iTunes as part of our Download Project.

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