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+
In Wisconsin the barrooms are packed
With citizens in close contact,
In joyful defiance
Of medical science
Which they would deny is a fact.
They’ll take home the virus
To Gladys and Cyrus
And see if the old folks get whacked.
Sunny in New York this morning so already it’s a good day. Met a man online yesterday who’d been a sheepherder on the Snake River, a carnival barker, a forest firefighter, an artist’s model, a farmworker, actor, politician, and an Army lieutenant in Vietnam, and a woman, the daughter of an Air Force master sergeant, who’d lived in a dozen places including Spain, France, England and North Dakota by the time she was twenty, and they made me feel immature and inexperienced by comparison. This is the price you pay for finding your vocation early, you miss out on living. I grew up cautious, eager to find a safe place in the world, and now, during the lockdown, there’s plenty of time to think about it. My grandsons are thinking about college in the fall, not sure they want to spend time taking online courses, and surely it would be better for them, on the whole, to work in a carnival or fight fires or herd sheep, but I’m not sure those jobs are available. And should a grandfather suggest such things? Nonetheless, it’s true. My college education was mostly a waste, as I look back on it, though it seemed logical at the time. Seven years in the wrong harness.
Isolation due to pandemic is a great boon to thoughtfulness. You’re home, free of the usual routines, and for once in my life there’s plenty of time to think. I think this is good. At 7 p.m. last night, we went out on the terrace to join in the Upper West Side jubilee and stood there dinging and whooping and clapping and Jenny was overjoyed to see the Indian family (from India) on their terrace in a building a hundred yards west of us. They haven’t been seen for months and there they were, waving and whooping, the parents and grandma and the kids whom we’ve seen grow up to teenagerhood. She’s never met them, doesn’t know their names, but feels an attachment. Saw them once on the street and felt too shy to walk over and say, “Hi, we live just east of you and we’ve been observing you for ten years.” But there is nonetheless a social bond. As there is daily at 7 p.m. Some trumpets play from distant balconies, an undercurrent of applause, whooping and clanging and dinging, a daily statement of solidarity. “We’re still here.” Thank you, Lord, for Tuesday the 19th and let us enjoy it as we can.