News from Lake Wobegon

People talk about "NPR moments." I've had more than a few: delaying a weekend errand by a few minutes (or more) to hear the end of "Car Talk," playing along with "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me: The NPR News Quiz" rather than mowing the lawn or tackling my emails.

But nearly every week, for more than 25 years, I have had "NPR hours." That's when Garrison Keillor's  "A Prairie Home Companion" is on. Saturday nights at 6, or (when I miss it, or want to re-listen) Sundays at noon, there's a great hour of radio.

Turns out, I'm a newcomer, along with my wife, who's also a fan. (The kids, not so much. Their loss.)  This week, Keillor and Company celebrate an amazing 40 years on radio. Four decades of music -- everything from opera to blues, but mainly folk -- plus inventive skits, wonderful sound effects, incisive commentary and, of course, "The Week from Lake Wobegon."

For one hour each weekend, it's like visiting with an old friend. The minute you hear the opening chords of, "I hear that old piano from down the avenue ..." you have arrived. You know the back stories; you're aware of the quirks and the corny jokes. But each experience is enjoyable and, in its own way, enriching.

There are the ads for Powdermilk Biscuits ("Made from whole wheat raised in the rich bottomlands of the Lake Wobegon river valley by Norwegian bachelor farmers, so you know they're not only good for you, but also pure, mostly." "They give shy persons the strength to get up and do what needs to be done. Heavens, they're tasty -- and expeditious!") Visits to the Cafe Boeuf with its pretentious waiter and wonderful faux French. Ads for Bebop-A-Reebop Rhubarb Pie (and frozen pie filling). And on and on.

Keillor has created something special here. Over the years, I've come to care about the characters -- Rusty and Dusty from "Lives of the Cowboys"; Pastor Ingqvist and, more recently, Pastor Liz. I'd love to grab a cold one at The Sidetrack Tap.

Actually, I have. OK, the beer or other beverage is usually in my kitchen or on my deck, and the conversation at The Tap is coming over the radio. But once a week, I'm part of this wonderfully wacky, comfortably familiar, family.

Here's to 40 years, and many more, of quiet weeks in Lake Wobegon.

The declaration

What must it have been like, that summer of 1776, when the Declaration of Independence was being crafted? The thing was written by committee, after all, yet it reads -- 236 years later -- like the bold manifesto it was then. I get chills reading it. Or reading it out loud, although my audience is generally only being polite.

Not everyone is a fan of this kind of writing, of course. A blogger for The Economist notes that

"Everything in America has gotten bigger since 1776 but the sentences. Were Thomas Jefferson writing today, the baggy monsters with which he opens the Declaration of Independence would be hacked to bits by editors and spin doctors mindful of the need for quick sound bites."

But really, what's not to like? Go through it at a measured pace. Remember that nothing like this was ever written before, so the opening frames the document's purpose (it's time to dissolve "political bonds" with Great Britain) in grand fashion (within "the course of human events").

The stage set, the Declaration notes that this is a big deal. In fact, it would be far easier not to break off with Britain.

"Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."

But, really, things have gotten so bad -- there has been such "a long train of abuses and usurpations" -- there is no other choice.

Now comes the best part. The authors set forth a list of  crimes and hardships they have suffered. But it's not just a list imposed by some power across the seas. The authors are not content to complain about a faceless "government." They name the perpetrator: "the present King of Great Britain."

This was mighty bold.

On and on it goes, with strong words: quartering, imposing, denying, cutting off, suspended, abdicated, plundered ... This is a list of wrongs like no other.

And then, the kicker:

"A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people." 

Take that, King George.

I grew up not more than a few miles from where one of the signers of The Declaration was born. Samuel Huntington and his colleagues were not just taking pen to paper that day; they were risking their lives. In fact, they knew it and said so:

"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

Take a few minutes. Settle back and read it deliberately. Or watch this 10-minute video of famous actors reading The Declaration. The language is at times odd, but it's not impossible.

And it's really bold stuff.