Perhaps a much more qualified human being?
Miriam
-----Original Message-----
From: blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
<blind-democracy-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> On Behalf Of R. E. Driscoll Sr
Sent: Sunday, April 14, 2019 5:33 PM
To: blind-democracy@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [blind-democracy] Re: So Much Can Happen in an Ordinary Afternoon
Miriam: This proves that Garrison is a much more qualified Tweeter than
Donald.
Richard
Sent from my iPhone
On Apr 14, 2019, at 10:51 AM, Miriam Vieni <miriamvieni@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>wrote:
me"?
So Much Can Happen in an Ordinary Afternoon By Garrison Keillor,
Garrison Keillor's Website
13 April 19
I have been struggling this week, looking deep within myself,
questioning my own values, asking myself: should I go public with the
incident in 2009 when Michelle Obama put her arm around me at a
luncheon in Washington? She was posing for photographs with the
attendees and I had been the guest speaker and I was told to stand
next to her and I did and she put her left arm around my back and
pulled me toward her and squeezed. It was a perceptible squeeze. I
didn't say anything at the time but I remember feeling that this was
her idea, not mine, that I probably would've preferred to shake her
hand, but what are you going to say to the First Lady? "Get your arm off
which tends to solemnize a person as well.
She didn't place her forehead against mine or kiss the back of my
head, nothing like that, but the squeeze was unmistakable and
intimated familiarity.
I don't come from a huggy family. My wife does. I don't. In my family,
a pat on the back is considered sufficient, but when my wife walks
into a room full of Keillors, she goes from one to another, throwing
her arms out and clutching them to her, and they have to stand there
and accept it or else look like soreheads.
People like us - white, Anglo, Midwestern, formal, reluctant to make
eye contact, uptight, stiff, boring - are ridiculed, by comedians of
color and also colorless comedians, and we have learned not to object.
"Where's your sense of humor?" people would say, so we laugh at the
stereotype even though we don't find it funny.
I don't go around smiling. It doesn't mean I'm unhappy; it's simply
the culture I was born in. The photographs of my ancestors that we
kept on the piano showed solemn bearded men and severe women and their
gloomy children, no incisors visible whatsoever. My dad and uncles
didn't smile a lot. They associated smileyness with salesmen trying to
charm you into buying a ten-year-old Dodge with a loose clutch and
rust around the bumpers. I went off to college and, in order to be
hip, read existential writers about the indifference of the universe
to human suffering, while chain-smoking Luckies and drinking espresso,
patronized the past couple days.
On account of my seriousness, people are always asking, "What's wrong?
Is something the matter?" I call this demeanorism, judging people by
their facial expression. Inside, I'm pretty lighthearted but on the
outside, I look as if I've been struck by a baseball bat and am trying
to remember my name.
The squeeze that I experienced was ten years ago and I'm not saying it
was traumatic but I do wish she would take ownership of it and express
some regret at having ignored my feelings, and then I have a sudden
sensation in my rear end, a suspicious flatness, and I reach back and
there is no wallet there, and suddenly I'm up and running from room to
room, checking pockets, looking under tables, calling up cafes I've
Rolling Stones hits.
This is the bright red wallet my wife bought me after I left a black
wallet on the seat of a taxicab late one night and it occurs to me
that this wallet loss, coming a month after the previous, may be what
convinces her I need help. Tomorrow there'll be a power-of-attorney
form to sign and consultation with a series of people in white
uniforms who take notes as I'm put through a battery of tests
involving matching shapes on little wooden cubes, and my wife, who
loves me dearly, will break the news gently. There is a care center
that specializes in elderly men with cognitive issues. It's called
Sunnyvale and it has a triple-A rating from the AARP and there is
shuffleboard and checkers and color TV in every room and a sing-along
on Saturday nights where the elderly gather to sing Grateful Dead and
spring.
For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe Michelle Obama reached around
me to lift my wallet out of my back pocket.
And then I find it. It's in the freezer. I set it down when I was
getting out the frozen waffles this morning.
Ignore whatever I was saying before. I am okay. Wallet, cellphone,
house keys. This is all a man needs. Wallet, cellphone, house keys. It's
We're going to be okay.
Miriam's comment: This is posted specifically for old people who have
a sense of humor.