Garrison Keillor – Prairie Home

School choice — the right of parents to get state subsidy of the private education of their kids — was not around back in my time, my dears.

I did my solo stand-up act in Ohio last week and in the midst of a story, the auditorium shook with a blast of thunder.

Easter is almost upon us when we Christians take a deep breath after Lent and relax and whoop it up a little.

Joe Biden came to Manhattan for a couple fundraisers last week, which gave the NYPD a fine excuse to close off as many streets as humanly possible, which is why some people go into law enforcement — for the chance to make civilians stand behind barriers — and there I stood, looking at York Avenue, abandoned except for a few cop cars, lights flashing.

It’s good to know what true misery is as opposed to irritation, frustration, or annoyance, and now, thanks to influenza B, I am clued in.

Old outdoor and corporate adventurer here grew up in Minnesota River Valley hometown Jordan; subsequent adventures took him and long-term bride, sweetheart and best friend to papermill towns near oceans’ coasts and in between, before late-life move back to Minnesota’s Northland at once-grand rapids of dandy Mississippi.

You only live once and once is enough if you do it right.

I walked into the neighborhood bank the other day and there in the lobby, loading the ATM machines, were two guys with fistfuls of money, bricks of $100s, $50s $20s, a sight I’d never seen before, perhaps a signal from alternative reality that my chance at bank robbery was here, but then I saw the third man, his hand on the pistol in his holster, and so instead I walked up to the cashier’s window and asked for a couple grand so I can make New Year’s gifts to doormen at our building and Mitch the plumber and our cleaning lady and also to some deserving children.I know it’s pitifully small-minded of me but I enjoy walking around with a $100 bill in my pocket.

Old Man Christmas (moi) has been out shopping and found a shop that sells hiking shoes so, being married to a hiker, I went in and saw beautiful alligator boots, also a pair of sharkskin, and wouldn’t this be perfect for my beloved venturing into ungenteel neighborhoods, boots made from man-eating creatures, better than pepper spray or a Smith & Wesson, but the price tag was staggering –– I’m the son of a postal clerk –– so I moved on.