There are some days that I feel overly contemplative. I wonder about things that I'll never have the answers for and I probably shouldn't be asking the questions in the first place. I'm completely aware that it's a waste of time and energy, but I continue to do it. One day about ten years ago, I was in this state of mind when I woke up that morning. I knew I needed to think some things out, but I wasn't sure what those "some things" were. My wife had just laid down for a nap with our daughter and I was left alone with my brain. Rather than sit around the house and think, I decided that I would go for a drive and think.
It was late on a Saturday afternoon, which was my only day off at the time, so I had nowhere to be and no one to see. So, I got in the car and drove. The classic rock station was playing songs that I'd heard a thousand times over the course of my life. The Top 40 station was playing songs that I'd heard a thousand times over the course of that week. I opted for silence. As I drove the rural routes around San Antonio, I stared and tried to think of something. Something I was missing or something I needed to do. Nothing came, so I just drove. Soon the silence was too much to bear, so I put the radio back on. I hit the scan button to see if there was anything new or exciting or worldly. Anything but southern rock, hip hop, or the preacher in the old time gospel hour. The preacher's station was low on the dial like they always are. What was also down on that end was NPR. I was vaguely familiar with the station. I knew that I heard some news once, some classical music, and an interview or two. I should have realized that I would love this station because I like to know what's going on in the world, I like most classical music, and I enjoy hearing people's stories. But NPR was a haughty people's station, wasn't it? Instead of zipping by NPR that day, I stayed tuned in to it. I heard what sounded like a commercial, but it was a live commercial for something called "Powdermilk Biscuits". It seemed real enough, but then again, not quite real. Next, I heard two men talking in a northerner's version of a cowboy drawl, which I always find entertaining. I heard someone making sound effects like crackling fire, horses settling down, and a howling wolf. It was odd enough to keep my attention. As I drove across the countryside, I discovered I was listening to a radio variety show like I'd heard my parents and grandparents talk about. I turned up the volume and started listening more carefully. The Dusty and Lefty skit finished up and the announcer, whom I would later discover was the talented Garrison Keillor, introduced a bluegrass band. I can't remember the name of the group, but I recognized the music. I had heard it from a family that was from the town in which I grew up. They loved to play and sing old gospel and bluegrass just like what was on the radio now. It definitely wasn't classic rock or top 40 and that was perfectly fine with me. I finally made my way home but didn't get out of the car until the final soliloquy was finished, Garrison's weekly story of his hometown of Lake Woebegone.
My mind expanded a little bit that day. I had listened to funny skits like Guy Noir, great fake commercials like The Ketchup Advisory Board, music like I hadn't heard in years, and a heartfelt story of a place that only exists in the mind of one man. Since that day, I have listened to countless editions of A Prairie Home Companion. Each one amazingly written during the week since the last show and performed live in front of a theater full of people. It showed me that the world didn't have to be as fast-paced as I thought it needed to be. Sometimes you have to stop and listen to a story, or a ballad, or a guy making a string of sound effects. The show taught me to listen to the world around me, because there are stories to be heard in some of the oddest places. Stories of real people that have done real things. Listening to these talented performer's stories is my break from constantly telling the world my story. I'm always thankful for a mini vacation, even if it's just to Lake Woebegone.
Here is their home on the web. http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/
It was late on a Saturday afternoon, which was my only day off at the time, so I had nowhere to be and no one to see. So, I got in the car and drove. The classic rock station was playing songs that I'd heard a thousand times over the course of my life. The Top 40 station was playing songs that I'd heard a thousand times over the course of that week. I opted for silence. As I drove the rural routes around San Antonio, I stared and tried to think of something. Something I was missing or something I needed to do. Nothing came, so I just drove. Soon the silence was too much to bear, so I put the radio back on. I hit the scan button to see if there was anything new or exciting or worldly. Anything but southern rock, hip hop, or the preacher in the old time gospel hour. The preacher's station was low on the dial like they always are. What was also down on that end was NPR. I was vaguely familiar with the station. I knew that I heard some news once, some classical music, and an interview or two. I should have realized that I would love this station because I like to know what's going on in the world, I like most classical music, and I enjoy hearing people's stories. But NPR was a haughty people's station, wasn't it? Instead of zipping by NPR that day, I stayed tuned in to it. I heard what sounded like a commercial, but it was a live commercial for something called "Powdermilk Biscuits". It seemed real enough, but then again, not quite real. Next, I heard two men talking in a northerner's version of a cowboy drawl, which I always find entertaining. I heard someone making sound effects like crackling fire, horses settling down, and a howling wolf. It was odd enough to keep my attention. As I drove across the countryside, I discovered I was listening to a radio variety show like I'd heard my parents and grandparents talk about. I turned up the volume and started listening more carefully. The Dusty and Lefty skit finished up and the announcer, whom I would later discover was the talented Garrison Keillor, introduced a bluegrass band. I can't remember the name of the group, but I recognized the music. I had heard it from a family that was from the town in which I grew up. They loved to play and sing old gospel and bluegrass just like what was on the radio now. It definitely wasn't classic rock or top 40 and that was perfectly fine with me. I finally made my way home but didn't get out of the car until the final soliloquy was finished, Garrison's weekly story of his hometown of Lake Woebegone.
My mind expanded a little bit that day. I had listened to funny skits like Guy Noir, great fake commercials like The Ketchup Advisory Board, music like I hadn't heard in years, and a heartfelt story of a place that only exists in the mind of one man. Since that day, I have listened to countless editions of A Prairie Home Companion. Each one amazingly written during the week since the last show and performed live in front of a theater full of people. It showed me that the world didn't have to be as fast-paced as I thought it needed to be. Sometimes you have to stop and listen to a story, or a ballad, or a guy making a string of sound effects. The show taught me to listen to the world around me, because there are stories to be heard in some of the oddest places. Stories of real people that have done real things. Listening to these talented performer's stories is my break from constantly telling the world my story. I'm always thankful for a mini vacation, even if it's just to Lake Woebegone.
Here is their home on the web. http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/
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