I began listening back in 1975. For several years I believe that
Garrison married and "retired", and the program was called something
like American Theater. Chet Akins was a regular, as were Bob and Ray.
But Garrison returned and the name returned to A Prairie Home
Companion. And if I missed it on Saturday evening, KUOW rebroadcast
it on Sunday mid morning. So far I have not bonded with the new
feller at the hellm. But I try never to miss Wait, Wait, Don't Tell
Me. Especially when Paula Poundstone is on the panel.
KUOW moved Alternative Radio from 8:00 PM. to 11:00 PM on Wednesday
nights. and removed Tavis Smiley, after several women came forward.
Boy, I sure hope Naomi Klein and Chris Hedges don't go hanky pankying around.
Carl Jarvis
On 12/17/17, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
A Prarie Home Companion was on every Saturday night on NPR from 6 to 7:30 pm
for more than 40 years. There were all sorts of entertainers, music from
opera to country music, comedy skits, a bit of political commentary, and it
originated from various cities throughout the US, giving the history and
flavor of the various cities.
Miriam
-----Original Message-----
From: blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
[mailto:blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On Behalf Of Roger Loran
Bailey (Redacted sender "rogerbailey81" for DMARC)
Sent: Sunday, December 17, 2017 2:17 PM
To: blind-democracy@xxxxxxxxxxxxx; Carl Jarvis <carjar82@xxxxxxxxx>
Subject: [blind-democracy] Re: A Few Thoughts, in Limerick, From a Mayo
Clinic OR
Interestingly, I don't think I have ever heard Garrison Keillor. There have
been many times that I have flipped from one radio station to another
looking for something of interest and if I heard talk I would pause for at
least a little while. So I may have heard him and not known it, but I don't
remember hearing him. I have gotten a vague impression of him though. I have
picked up that impression here and there, in articles that I have read or in
commentary in other broadcasts, and the impression that I get is one that
makes me think that I wouldn't be very interested in him. The impression
that I get is that he tells kind of folksy tales about a Reader's
Digest/Norman Rockwell view of America. I would expect stories about fourth
of July parades and county fairs and such.
On 12/17/2017 11:23 AM, Carl Jarvis wrote:
Garrison Keillor, a victim of our latest Witch Hunt. While I have no
knowledge of the private man named Garrison Keillor, I am warmed, and
have been warmed for so many years, by the Garrison Keillor who has
presented himself in the form of a gentle, caring, kind, and not so
great of a singer.
On the other hand, NPR has once again shown how quick they can be to
distance themselves from potential negative press, not understanding
that shoving Garrison Keillor to the Wolves will do nothing to protect
Public Broadcasting from the Trumpsters.
And now, my own feeble attempt at a Limerick:
NPR has joined the hunt,
Garrison Keillor, has born the brunt.
A Witch in the Cellar,
and behind closet door.
Away with all Witches,
Keillor, and Roy Moore!
Carl Jarvis
On 12/16/17, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
A Few Thoughts, in Limerick, From a Mayo Clinic OR By Garrison
Keillor, Star Tribune
16 December 17
When you come to the hospital, you come back to basics.
Coming to St. Marys Hospital in Rochester, I'm surrounded by men and
women in blue who did well in high school math and chemistry, and
here I am, who frittered away those years writing limericks and
parodies and barely made it to graduation, depending on science for
survival. It's an awakening for a gent of 75. I used to look down on
science nerds as dull and unimaginative and now I am grateful for
their competence.
I'm here for the implantation of a pacemaker, my heart having decided
to sometimes hesitate 3.8 seconds between beats. At 5, you faint and
fall down and bang your head on the desk. So I get out of my suit and
tie and into a gown and lie on a gurney and am wheeled into Surgical
Prep. I have brought paper and pen, thinking to take notes, and my
nurse, Kim, who has been fussing with tape and an IV, says, "You're going
to be sedated, you know."
"When?"
"As of five minutes ago."
Well, a man needs a challenge. So I write her a limerick. I've been
doing this all my life. I can do it sedated or excited, in a moving
car or flat on my back.
A cardiac nurse name of Kim
Says, "The chances of failure are slim.
You're not going to die."
And she points to the sky.
"Any questions? Address them to Him."
No patient ever wrote her a limerick before. She is impressed. It
isn't that easy to impress young people these days. Meanwhile, she
wheels me into the O.R.
It's a beautiful sedative. I'm still cognizant of people around,
voices, the clink and beep and hum of hardware, and I appreciate the
coordination of the team, and the anesthetist who keeps me informed
of what she's putting into me, as if I actually understood.
Meredith who did anesthesia
Said, "It won't lead to amnesia
But this sedation
May cause constipation.
We recommend milk of magnesia."
I wrote this as Dr. Bradley was scoping out the incision site. A very
nice
man whose parents were doctors, a neurologist and a pathologist. He grew
up
in southeast Minneapolis. He was a little kid running around on the
playground when I was a grad student at the U. I asked what type of
pacemaker he'd be installing and he was glad to discuss the merits of
Medtronic vs. Boston Scientific vs. another one, I forget the name. So I
wrote a few lines for him.
The electrophysiologist Bradley
Said, "This pacemaker I install gladly
In your chest today
Is a new Chevrolet
Nova and it works not that badly."
The device is the size of a wristwatch, minus the band, and a wire
extends
from it down into the base of your heart where it's anchored by a screw
that
your heart creates scar tissue around, and there it sits, stimulating a
steady 60 beats per minute for the next ten years until the battery
needs
to
be replaced. You carry a plastic ID in your billfold to show TSA so they
won't be alarmed when the scanner beeps. Several uncles of mine pitched
over
and died who might've been saved by this device. One may or may not feel
better as a result, though the device is doing its work. It does not
confer
immortality.
I feel better. My niece works for Medtronic and a cousin works for Mayo
and
to me, St. Marys is Minnesota at its best, high competence combined with
great kindness and good humor. Back when I had heart surgery here in
2001,
Sister Generose Gervais was still patrolling the halls, the former hotel
administrator, retired but not really, a Franciscan nun of the Our Lady
of
Lourdes congregation, one of the last of that line of valiant women who
founded the place in 1889 in collaboration with the clinic of Will and
Charles Mayo up the street. She died last year at 97.
The procedures I've watched people work on me were front-page news when
I
was a boy and now they're more or less routine, but that spirit of
kindness
and good humor is permanent. Our society today is plagued with the
strain
of
You-Can't-Possibly-Understand-Me-Because-You're-Not-Me but when you come
to
the hospital, you come back to basics: we're blood and bones and skin,
we
depend on the goodness of others, and it is here to be found, thanks to
people trained to be precisely competent.
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