Garrison Keillor…I want your job!

Dear Garrison:

I heard recently that you will be retiring soon.  I am sad, like many of your fans.

But, I know how it is, the aging thing, you get tired.  I’m getting up there myself but I still have quite a few years until retirement and that is what brings me to this request.  I really do not think I’m up to the Saturday night spot, all that creativity in a week might be just a bit much for me to produce.

like ships

The gig of yours I want is the morning show, The Writer’s Almanac.  I want to say:  “Good morning, today is February 9th, it is the birthday of….”

I like to research, I like to write, and this would be a great gig for me (oh, and I’m a big talker too).   I’ve two puppies, well I guess they will be dogs when you retire, and I like a little extra time with my husband.  I have some good qualifications you might be interested in:  I helped a famous scientist with his memoirs and I was a social studies teacher for ten years.  I like poetry and history and love all things about writing.  But I regret to say I may not have just the right credentials:  I have two Masters Degrees, one in Education and the other in Communications.  But alas, I do not have a PhD. and I do not have an MFA.  I know those are often the admission tickets to a job like yours but hey, I thought I’d give it a shot.

As those darling young folks say:  You rock Garrison.  I know I could not replace you, but I could fill your spot for a little while.  All best, and here is a poem  for today…

written about life, but more specifically, life in Ithaca, NY.  A great place to live if you do not like to fly…the world comes to you, but it also moves on.  Inspired by the accompanying painting and for dear friends, some  long over the horizon and others  at the liminal edge.

‘Just passing through, Ithaca.’

ships moor together three

bask in sunshine, sway & dip on moving water

hang, frozen on a peg of space & time

until the journey ends

& as they look forward & backward

their births in sight

until a new port, a blind horizon, moves them farther

and farther out of each other’s sight.