A Prairie Home Companion: Nostalgia, Musings

This weekend has made me think about a lot of things; namely, A Prairie Home Companion. Yes, Garrison Keillor has an odd, breathy voice and sometimes tells stories with no apparent point. But it's not about him. It's about what his voice--his show--represents to me.

As long as I can remember, from 6-8pm, A Prairie Home Companion really has been our companion. I would wake up on crisp, fall Saturdays and play outside with the boys, climbing trees, making potions, playing kickball in the circle, until I had that outdoorsy smell that little kids get, and the knees of my jeans were thoroughly stained green. But as the sun started setting, and the already crisp air got that undercurrent of pure cold, it would be time to come inside. The lamps would be turned on, and so would PHC. My dad would be in the kitchen, covered in flour as he kneaded the dough for noodles while bread baked in the oven and the sauce bubbled on the stove behind him.

I'd run upstairs and leave my pile of tomboy clothes on the floor and step into a warm bath, thoroughly girly with piles of bubbles. I'd lay in the tub with the faint murmurs of the radio show in the background. It was in that tub that I imagined my future as a famous actress, archaeologist, or writer. I would make bubble beards and bubble bikinis until the bathwater turned chilly. I'd put my warm pajamas on and run downstairs to help my dad crank the pasta machine, making piles of ribbons of dough.

When the pasta was cooked and I had finished dancing to PHC's musical guests, I sat down with my family to eat. This is where the magic happened. I'd sip milk in a wine glass and my family would talk. We'd talk and talk and talk. I think it's what solidified us. On those Saturday nights, lulled by stories of Lake Woebegone, we shared our own stories: things that happened in our days, what we dream about, what we fear.

As I got older, Saturdays became less about tree-climbing and more about shopping. My bathtub musings became focused on how my first kiss would happen, what my first love would be like, and how it felt like the process of growing up was taking FOREVER.

My family's dinners became more rushed as I inhaled food as quickly as possible, to dash outside when I saw the headlights signaling that my best friend or boyfriend had arrived to cart me off to yet another movie or show.

The irony is, I can't remember the plot to most of those movies, or the lyrics to the songs played. What I do remember, with vivid clarity, are the endless discussions around the table--of religion, of politics, of silly stories--being accompanied by PHC's house band.

In college, when weekends at home became treasured, the Saturday dinners became longer again. The pasta was still fantastic, as I remembered, but my wine glass held a nice cabernet instead of milk. The discussions got larger and lingered past PHC, into some Celtic music program until someone put on some jazz. It was at that table where I saw my parents as real people, full of quirks and history and individuality. It's where I learned to respect them and like them, and understand why they did the things they did.

These are the things I cling to; the things I want for my future family. I want to sit around a table with my childern as they tell me about their dreams over pasta, and look into their eyes and be shocked at how quickly they grow, while they sit in bathtubs filled with bubbles, wondering why growing up takes so long, and what are they going to be when they grow up (if it ever happens) and who will kiss them and what will they smell like, and what is it like to love someone so much that it actually hurts...




Side note: Last night, when my family went to see A Prairie Home Companion live, we all talked about how surreal it was. My father has been listening to this show for 26 years. His history with the show is older than his history with me. It was magical. Also magical: Mr. Nappy Brown. This talented R & B musician is 78 years old, but when he sang and danced (yes, danced) on stage, it took everything in me to not throw my panties on stage. He had that kind of presence that only the truly, utterly talented do. He is famous for writing this song:



for Ray Charles, but he's now famous to me for giving my family yet another incredible memory.