Las Vegas, NV
May 20, 2020
Garrison Keillor hits Las Vegas with a new solo show!
April 18, 2020
Garrison Keillor comes to the Rochester Civic Theatre for a night of stories, songs, poetry, and humor. Tickets $50 and up
February 19, 2020
Garrison Keillor with Heather Masse at the Dakota. Night 2 of 2. Tickets $30+
February 18, 2020
Garrison Keillor with Heather Masse at the Dakota. Night 1 of 2. Tickets $30+
I’m taking a break from the news.
It just puts a flame to the fuse.
Too much information.
Put aside aggravation.
Sing a song, give us something to use.
A sunny day Thursday, a good day to stand on the balcony and look out over the rooftops and the quiet streets and think about the world to come, the quiet life that awaits. We’re not going to be flying off to Portugal or London anytime soon. The clothes in our closet we’ll be wearing a year from now. I don’t think we’ll be going to a restaurant for a while. Young people are thinking they’ll skip fall classes rather than sit and watch lectures on a screen. When will we next go to a theater and watch people sing and dance onstage? Nobody knows.
What surprises me is how calm everyone is. Musicians who suddenly have no perceptible future choose not to anguish over it and talk about what they cooked last night instead. Human resilience. You see it everywhere. In Wisconsin, the political wars continue and the state Supreme Court opens the bars and people crowd in and to hell with the consequences, but according to polls, it’s a tiny minority that wants to defy science. The rest of us are settling into quieter lives. We’re heading back into the 1930s, which is where my parents came from, so I’m familiar with the thinking. They had rules that I, a teenager heading into the boom era, tried to ignore. One was, “Don’t think you’re better than other people because you’re not. So don’t say or do anything that might make other people think you think you’re better than they.” My generation flaunted itself and produced a whole string of performers who created a sensibility that you could buy into and be superior. The plague has brought that to a quick end. The plague is no respecter of persons. Talked to an old friend last night who acknowledged that she is seriously ill and who steered the conversation away from illness and onto familiar ground, the doings of mutual friends and their grandchildren, scenes of street life, recollections of happier days. She is my age and she sounded like my mother. Maybe we’re becoming our parents.
My mother canned vegetables and put up preserves, I put up prose in essays and books. I’m a worker, and I don’t say it pridefully, it’s just a fact. I try not to think back over a long career because I’ll only remember my failures and where does that lead? Nowhere. I look ahead to a day of working on a couple books and a play I’ve started after hearing from an actor who played a cowboy in a movie I wrote. Two cowboys riding the open prairie. I wrote two pages yesterday and it made me happy. The novel beckons, the memoir needs some revision. Jenny runs our lives and keeps things on an even keel, Maia had a painful argument with a good friend and an hour later she was on the phone laughing with someone else. Life is good. Forgive us, Lord, if we do not love it enough.