Post to the Host:
Would you be able to tell me where I might find a copy of a poem you wrote a while back that contained these lines?

"It's rather sobering for a fellow
To see the maples turning yellow."

That's all I remember of the poem, and I'd like to use it in my classroom.

Shawna G.
Billings, MT

Your students won't appreciate it, Shawna, they're too young and they probably don't know A.E. Housman's "Loveliest of trees the cherry now is hung with bloom along the bough" which is all about the sense of time passing when one is twenty. ("Now of my three-score years and ten, twenty will not come again.") This is a poem I wrote when I turned sixty.

Loveliest of trees, the maple now
Is turning yellow on the bough.
It stands among the trees of green,
All dressed up for Halloween.
Now of my three score years and ten,
Sixty will not come again.
Subtract from seventy, three score.
It means I don't have many more.
And since to look at things sublime,
Ten years is not a lot of time.
It's rather sobering for a fellow
To see the maples turning yellow.

Post to the Host:
My youngest daughter and I have been faithful APHC fans for years... Me for just over 2 decades too!

Maureen, now 23, will be getting married this spring (2008) and she wants to play the APHC opening theme at her entrance to the wedding party after church. I love the idea!

Is there a CD available with a long version of the APHC opening number ? If not I guess I'll have to cull through the recordings I''ve made over the years and cobble something together for her.

Many Thanks and... Happy 65th!

Robert W. L.
Brooklyn, NY

"Tishomingo Blues" by Spencer Williams has been a big hit ever since it came out in 1917, a standard among jazz players, but I've never heard of it being used for a wedding processional. A great idea, I think. You'll find Rich Dworsky's elegant piano arrangement in the Mel Bay songbook, "A Prairie Home Companion," and you can find the original in any good collection of jazz composition. (Williams composed the piece, it's not an improvisation.) We've used it as a theme since 1990 and I wrote new words to replace the original lyric, which went—

Way down in Mississippi, Among the cypress trees, They get you dippy, With their strange melodies, To resist temptation, I just can't refuse, In Tishomingo I wish to linger, Where they play the weary blues.

Any good pianist or organist can give Maureen a stately (or lively, depending on taste) version of "Tishomingo Blues," and she will be well-launched on the new life. I wish her a long and happy life.

Dear Garrison,
I have been writing short children's stories for several years, mostly for my children who are now grown and ready to have children of their own. How do you get the courage to submit them to a publisher? To send them off to the world as a part of you, like a child off to college, never to return to you the same person you sent out? And then, how do you cope with the inevitable rejection of
part of yourself when the reject letters arrive? Thanks for any insight you can share on how to get these stories out the
door.

Jenny P.
Mechanicsburg, PA

You're a writer, Jenny. Look at your letter — I didn't change a word of it. Every sentence says what it means, no flab anywhere. Publication is the natural outcome of writing, once it achieves shape and style and urgency, and so of course you will find the courage and you will cope with the rejection. Motive is important: some people want to have written, other people want to write — to work with the material and tinker with the parts and rearrange and tear apart and start over. If you feel the stories aren't ready to go out the door, put them away for awhile and write something else. There's no rush. Write stories for grown children. Write about your children. Write something that would astonish your grown children. But eventually you will pack up the stories in a manila envelope and ship them away. They'll be rejected and then one day maybe they won't, but you won't care terribly either way because you're a writer, you're at work on new things.

Post to the Host:
I met you September 14 after a show and told you that I'm a student at Waldorf College in Forest City, IA, and you were curious as to how Waldorf, a Norwegian Lutheran college, got its name.When I got back to school, I did a little research.

Waldorf was founded by Reverend C. S. Salveson in 1903 as an academy and business college. In 1903, there were two hotels in Forest City, The Summit and The Waldorf. Reverend Salveson bought The Waldorf and put the school there and decided not to change the name. The original Waldorf Hotel is currently the administrative building which, in 1954, was named Salveson Hall.

And that's how a college with Norwegian Lutheran roots came to have a German name.

Lacy W.

My guess is that Rev. Salveson was a frugal Norwegian (aren't they all?) and the hotel had its name carved in sandstone up over the door and he just couldn't imagine paying money to have that chipped away so he named the college Waldorf. Thanks to the one in New York, the name has a nice ring of quality and stability. Luckily for you. Had he founded the school sixty years later, you could be attending Ramada College or Holiday College. That just is not a good name for a Lutheran school, Holiday College. It would attract the wrong sort of student. Thanks for the facts, and now get back to work, young lady.

Mr. Keillor,
I'm a huge fan of buttermilk. It's rich, creamy, tangy, and delicious. What more could a guy want?

So what's the difference between powdermilk and buttermilk? Can they be used interchangeably? Is one better than the other? Have you ever had buttermilk biscuits? Do you have any thoughts on buttermilk drinking, and it's apparent decline over the years?

All the best,

Peter R.
Olympia, WA

My father loved buttermilk, Peter, and what's more, he believed in its health-giving qualities. He especially loved it in the summer and would pour himself a glass and drink it with great relish and feel refreshed and ennobled. For the rest of us, the thought of drinking buttermilk was akin to the idea of drinking cow vomit, in other words something that Communists might force a child to do in order to renounce God and give up nuclear secrets. And we might have done it, too. The thought of drinking it made us tremble with revulsion. There is no connection between buttermilk and Powdermilk Biscuits. I suppose you could make Powdermilk Biscuits by adding buttermilk to the biscuit mix (in the big blue box with the picture of the biscuit on the cover) but what you would get you should be careful about offering to your friends. Why has buttermilk drinking declined over the years? I suppose for the same reason that eating mud is on the wane. Because there are better things.

Garrison...
Just a note to say your column that opens with Pavarotti and works its way toward parenthood was really fine. As a father of two (23 and 17), I am right there with you when you talk about the "night thoughts" and the other terrors of being a father. All of that vulnerability is temporarily offset by moments of sheer joy, such as when I meet my son's bus after a cross-country meet. Diesel exhaust swirls in the September night. I watch him moving window to window as he files to the front of the bus. How'd my kid get that big? Once in the car, it's just the two of us, one on one, and on the dark ride home he breaks down the race for me — how he pushed himself, when he made his move, every little thing. Has no idea how much this means to me.

Thanks for your column.

Sam C.
Duluth

A lovely slice of life, Sam, and thanks. The real reason for sports: it gives people some common ground to talk about. I went to a girls' volleyball tournament in Rochester last fall (which inspired a Lake Wobegon story) and found it so moving to see the fathers and how avidly they were paying attention and the pride of the girls. Such an utterly common part of American life, right? But not part of mine. My son got into music and it was rocknroll of a sort that wasn't easy for a parent to listen to (that was the point, surely), just as I, when I was his age, wrote poetry of a sort that my parents found aggravating. My wife grew up in a family of classical musicians and that drew them together somewhat. But writing was my way of separating myself from others. My father would have loved me to play a sport, and I did not — for an accidental combination of reasons, being a bus kid and lacking confidence and then failing a physical exam on account of a heart defect — and so he and I never had those sweet moments in the car. Our moments were silent and I could feel his disapproval. It sounds worse than it is, actually. And if I imagine myself at 17 running cross-country and riding home with Dad and telling him about the race, I somehow imagine myself going to college and majoring in history and becoming a high-school teacher, which he also would have liked, and staying in the Sanctified Brethren. This would have left you, Sam, with the obligation to start a radio show, called the "Superior Home Companion" and that would be fine with me. I would listen to it now and then and admire you for your gumption.

Post to the Host:
How was it to be on the Colbert Report? He poked a little fun, but seemed a true fan. And what do you think of this kind of political humor?

Tom E.
Medford, OR

Mr. Colbert is a dazzling actor, smart, bounding on stage, bigger than life, and his TV character is a tour de force. An exhausting one to play, I would think, and a difficult one to keep airborne for a long run, but bravo for him. I think Mr. Colbert should make a movie: take his character and give him a family and home and in-laws and a day job. He'd be pretty fabulous on the big screen. For the guest on the show, it's a delight to be made fun of by funny people — and it's an adventure to see over-the-top comedy, excessive, brash, tasteless, the sort of comedy I never aspired to, being a Brethren boy, but enjoy nonetheless — and they were gracious as could be. That's the sweet part. A big hit show and a famous host and they're riding high, but he still comes over to your dressing room and says hello and chats for a minute. The writers come by and chat, though they're busy. Everybody having a good time. I liked being there though I have no idea how the little interview went over. Felt like I bombed but who knows.

GK,
I'm sitting here at a bakery/coffee shop in Fayetteville, Arkansas listening to the broadcast, and it just occurred to me whilst listening, eating a bagel, looking through the pictures from the phc website, etc., that you have the best job in the pantheon of jobs.

Wrapping up the final year of law school here in the Ozarks, I'm hoping someone will see fit to pay me to do what I love, assuming I figure out what that is.

Maybe ya'll could come down here to the U of Arkansas for a show.

Matthew J.
Fayetteville, AR

My uncle Aldridge went to the University there in Fayetteville during the Great Depression when he barely could afford shoes to put on his feet. He came north to do his residency and there met my aunt Eleanor and courted her. She resisted at first and told him she would never marry a doctor and if she did marry one, he would be the last doctor she would marry. "And," he liked to say, "she was right: I was the last doctor she would marry." So I grew up hearing his gentle Arkansas accent and his dry humor. You are right, I do have a pretty good job, mainly because I've found other people to do most of it. The loading and assembling and organizing of the thing are all done by hard-working talented people and I lead the life of a child, amusing myself and making up things. I don't know how you could work into such a cushy deal yourself, but I wish you well.

Post to the Host:
Recently I spent two months in Shanghai studying Chinese and your show on the internet was a big help. Every Sunday afternoon. Thanks.

Sean M.

I remember the feeling of being stranded in a strange language and unfortunately it was so long ago that there was no Internet, no quick connection to the homeland. I had my experience in a school in Askov, Denmark, for six weeks where we spoke nothing but Danish, even we Americans — it's an odd (but sort of exhilarating) feeling, walking down a road between cornfields and discussing American piolitics in Danish with a man from Texas. We lived in a dormitory, which was odd too — I was 46 at the time — and there were a lot of teenaged students whom I hadn't much in common with. I was there by my choice, they were there under pressure from a Danish parent. Most of them were French or Italian, but with Danish surnames, the product of a bicultural romance seventeen years before, and they were, as young people tend to be, rather stunningly self-absorbed. The loneliness was intense. I would have loved to hear English, but the only way to do it was by talking to myself, which I did — recited some poems — but which is of limited appeal. The way to learn a language is through total immersion. I'm sure that's true. But one does need to come up for air now and then.

Dear Garrison,
You said in your column not long ago, "Nobody was ever indicted for watering plants." I beg to differ. I was arrested, indicted, convicted, and sentenced to three years for watering plants. They called it manufacturing illegal drugs. Our government's "zealous cruelty" is not new, or confined to one party.

Live Free and Prosper,

Rycke B.,
Natural Gardener
Grants Pass, OR

Touché. You have got me, sir. I agree with you about the "war on drugs" being mostly a case of zealous cruelty, although hanging around dopers in my youth sort of punctured the romance of marijuana for me. There was always a lot of it around among musicians and English majors, and it tended to make people stupid. They took a toke and smiled and smiled and got quiet and intensely passive. Still, that's no reason to throw people into prison for watering plants.

Post to the Host:
Garrison, On one of your recent previews to a show, you mentioned the Scandinavian principle of "good enough." I have been trying since to find it on your web site and read more about it. Alas, the closest the PHC search can find is the "godt nok. Good enough." line at the end of the July issue of The Ballast! Google is no better. It seems that this is an elusive principle at best. Can you point me in the right direction? That would be good enough.

Thanks,

Ed

The Good Enough principle is so common that Google can't find it, I guess, but basically it is a belief in mediocrity and an antidote to envy. Nobody is better than anybody else, superiority is mostly an illusion, so don't think you're a big shot because you're not. We're all about the same when you come right down to it. Don't look back with regret — your life was good enough. Your parents were good enough, so was your school, so is your job. So quit belly-aching. Don't sweat it. Good Enough may seem like faint praise, but some things really are good enough. Don't make a big deal over it. Don't try to make it the best that ever was or could be. It's good enough. And that's good enough.

Post to the Host:
My husband, 16 year old son and I attended your wonderful show at the State Fair on Friday. It was my son's first time seeing the radio show live and it was such a joy to sit in the cool summer night watching him experience that. I wanted to tell you that I think you look really handsome with your new beard. Your look is so debonair, so bohemian, so dangerous. Keep it! And thanks for the great show.

C.R.
Richfield, MN

Thanks for the vote of confidence, C.R., but the "dangerous" worries me — I look dangerous enough without adding to it — and also "debonair" and "bohemian" are not adjectives I strive for anymore, not since I gave my fringed leather vest to the Salvation Army along with the broad-brimmed leather hat and the flowery shirts. All gone. And as soon as I can find a barber with a straight-edge, this beard is gone, too. It was a summer fling, and now it's September and time to shape up. Instead of debonair, bohemian, and dangerous, I am aiming to be clean, amiable, and dependable. The beard doesn't contribute.

Post to the Host:
I heard a song on the State Fair show that was a tribute to an individual who has passed. You sang it with a trio of women including Patty Griffin. The song was "That's All Right." Is there anyway to get the lyrics to the song?

Thanks.

Kingston B.
Fallston, MD

The song was sung by Helen Schneyer and is on the last album she made before she died a few years ago. That CD, called "What a Singing There Will Be," is pretty amazing, you might be able to buy a copy here.

And the words to the song are:

I went down to the valley to pray
My soul got happy and I stayed all day
Since my soul's got a seat up in the kingdom
that's all right.

Some say Peter, some say Paul
I say the same God made us all
Since my soul's got a seat up in the kingdom,
That's all right

Those are the ones Helen sang, and then I added a few.

Dear Mr. Keillor-
Our California State Fair does not offer deep-fried cheese curds but this year we have deep-fried Coca-Cola, in addition to deep-fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, a chicken breast deep-fried in a Krispy Kreme doughnut and other dubious treats.When and where did this tradition begin?

M.H.

As I recall, it began with the corn dog, or Pronto Pup, back in the early Fifties. I can remember buying them when I was ten or eleven, a great novelty, ordinary franks on sticks dipped in batter and then deep-fried and brushed with mustard. The fried crust replaced the bun, of course, and was crispy and hot, not soggy and bland, and they rapidly caught on. And then vendors tried to ride the coattails of Pronto Pup by dipping anything they could think of in batter and deep-frying it. Candy bars, ice cream, even fruit. The one they've missed is green tomatoes, which could be very very good. My mother used to dip slices of green tomato in a cornmeal batter and fry them up and they were fabulous.