Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I spent most of the evening in the kitchen where I usually am on Saturday evenings with my white apron on and my sleeves rolled up, cooking to the music of Prairie Home. I was prepping for Easter dinner this time around, and Mr. S, who was home for the weekend (Amen to that) wandered in more than once looking for a taste of the spinach salad dressing and a key lime bar (just one, he said) and a cup of hot chocolate and a sample of the Nut Goodie ice cream I stumbled across at the grocery store and hid in the freezer but didn’t hide quite well enough.
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. Been a week of cold nights so I got a fire going and wrapped up in a blanket and watched Forrest Gump for about the eleventh time. There are a couple movies like that, ones I can watch again and again, and I do. See something new every time. And it’s not just movies that are like that. There are places you go like up the North Shore or to a particular park. Walks you take around the lake. Radio shows with new musicians and old songs. Fishing holes. Restaurants with wild rice soup and bakeries with raspberry Bismarcks. Meadows full of wildflowers. The places and experiences that make life Your Life. The familiar.
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I set, as always, the clocks ahead one hour just after dinner. I find it easier to reorient that way, if I have a few hours to do so before bedtime rather than wake up on Sunday morning all messed up and scrambling. I don’t have a problem with all the Daylight Saving changes. If nothing else, it’s something different, and I just go with the flow. After all, it’s not an hour lost. It’ll return, come fall, and we’ll all be giddy with that one beautiful bonus hour.
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. I sat there at the window noticing how spring seems to be making its way into these parts early, and I’m not complaining about that, though I do have a big wish in me for just one more big ol’ storm of snow. And why not? There’s no rush far as I’m concerned. The snow is gone, I’ve seen a robin or two, and the grass is greening as I write. One more storm would be a fine thing, and then the sun would have at it and we’d be back to green by Easter.
Went to the show again Saturday and it was not bad. It was a last minute thing, really. A friend called, she’d come down with that awful flu and would I like her tickets for the Prairie Home Show at the Fitz, because she would hate for them to go to waste, and with Mr. Sundberg away giving a talk on meeting the challenges of authenticity, I said, “Heck, yeah,” and called up my daughter who said the very same thing. And was it ever worth the price of admission. The music was over-the-top with Taj Mahal singing, “Queen Bee”, and Robin and Linda Williams with their gospel music, and all the tenderness of Dean Magraw and Peter Ostroushko. Tim Russell did his Donald Trump thing, and with Sue Scott and Fred Newman made me laugh to tears, and Mr. Kriehn’s mandolin playing was somethin’ else, and of course Mr. Dworsky’s piano music. And Mr. Keillor, who held it all together with his stories and smile and songs.