by jphilo | Nov 16, 2015 | Out and About
One of my earliest memories is of sitting with my big sister on our bed, the kitchen radio between us, waiting for Dad to read the market report for our hometown radio station. Our bedroom door was tightly shut to avoid feedback from the dining room, which was HQ for Dad’s broadcast.
The glamour of hearing Ole Oleson announce–”And here’s Harlan Stratton with the morning market report for K-L-E-M, 1410 KLEM.”–sent shivers of delight down my spine. Listening to Dad’s voice come through the radio was magical.
Dad’s radio career was cut short by the progression of his multiple sclerosis, which soon left him unable to read. But KLEM’s magical aura lingered clear through numerous high school treks to the station to promote the theater productions that were my lifeblood in those days.
This week I’m in my hometown again to speak at 4 northwest Iowa libraries, the Le Mars Public Library included, about caregiving. Monday morning, at 11:45, I’ll join the city librarian at K-L-E-M KLEM to talk up the Le Mars event. Thanks to the magic of the internet, you can listen to 1410 KLEM live from wherever you may be–in the next room or in the next continent.
Dad’s been gone 17 years now, and his last radio broadcast was 50+ years ago. But if his name comes up during the broadcast and my voice wavers, you will know that the magic of hearing Dad’s voice still lingers. No longer on the radio for the morning market report, but forever in my heart.
by jphilo | Aug 7, 2015 | Daily Life
With Garrison Keillor’s retirement announcement, this post from August 2008 was the only possible choice for this Friday’s fantastic peek at the past.
Hiram and I spent part of Sunday at the Iowa State Fair. We ate artery-clogging junk food on a stick and looked at the butter cow, which was pretty cool and the butter Shawn Johnson, which was pretty strange. Her pony tail was good, but how do you sculpt a form-fitting leotard out of butter, and even if you do, what kind of cholesterol/exercise mixed message does it send to our country’s young people?
We wandered to the cattle barn, which during my dad’s State Fair glory days was where he slept for the duration of the festivities each year. But Sunday was the fair’s last day and we got to the barn after all the cattle had been sent home, along with their owners. All that remained was an odor which Dad called the smell of money. We dutifully inhaled. But a slightly green cast to our skin was as close as we came to finding any money. So we went next door to the Livestock Pavilion and watched the dog agility training. After that we took in the cloggers at Pioneer Hall and looked at the antiques.
But to be honest, we were just killing time, waiting for eight o’clock and the grandstand show – Garrison Keillor’s Rhubarb Tour. Hiram got the tickets in June and gave them to me in July for my birthday. And we’d been looking forward to the show ever since.
The night was everything wonderful. The weather cooperated – no wind, pleasant temperatures, even a full moon rising in the east. Our seats in the ninth row were the best in the grandstand. Garrison came out right on time and did all the right stuff, singing and joking, telling stories. The Powdermilk Biscuit Band had Hiram drooling and Fred Newman’s sound effects were hilarious. Suzy Bogguss sang and strummed her guitar beautifully. And a little boy named Andrew, the winner of this year’s Bill Riley Talent Search, wowed the crowd with his phenomenal piano performance.
All evening, I experienced a profound sense of joy and gratitude. At moments, it seemed almost too much blessing – to see such performers on such a perfect evening, to be healthy enough to enjoy them with a husband who has loved me for thirty-one years. Why should I receive such blessings when so many people around the world are suffering?
That’s a question I can’t answer, one I plan to ask God someday when we meet face to face. I’m not sure what He’ll look like, but I’ve already got a pretty good picture of heaven in my mind.
It’ll be a lot like Iowa on a perfect August evening. I can hardly wait.
What will you miss most after Garrison Keillor retires? Leave a comment.
