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Please be hesitant, Mr. PresidentThe Column: 01.09.25
One man can do only so much and rather than deal with the prospect of war with Panama or Denmark, I’ve decided to think about winter, seeing as I’m spending a couple weeks down South and feel guilty about it, as I well should. It was bitterly cold when I left New York and when I got in the cab to go to JFK I was wearing no overcoat, no scarf or gloves, and the cabbie looked over his shoulder, wondering if he was going to have to contend with a lunatic. Meanwhile, dear friends of mine in Washington, D.C., employees of the deep state, are dealing with a blizzard, and friends in Alaska are living in darkness, and up in Toronto when Justin Trudeau announced his resignation as prime minister, he was brief; it was freezing, he didn’t want to be seen speaking in a pitiful trembly voice. I’m 82 and so the prospect of a war of annexation with Canada doesn’t affect me personally, but I’d only point out that Republican states (PA, MI, ND, MT) with thinly defended borders would be easily invaded and if the war extends from January 20 into February and March, the wily Canucks may have some advantages. And when we win and our northern border extends deep into the Arctic, federal officials from Florida may be flying to the far reaches of Manitoba and be unable to play golf for extended periods of time. Just saying. As a Minnesotan, I believe winter is a crucial part of growing up; it teaches you how to be happy under adverse conditions. Florida is fine for the sickly and delicate and those nearing the end of life’s journey, but the Lutheran Church should open dozens of winter camps for young Floridians to experience sleeping in a tent when it’s ten below zero, as I did when I was a Boy Scout. You lie in a close cluster of other Scouts, toasty warm but exhaling frost, and having eaten a hearty meal of mushroom stew and roasted squirrel, you face that inevitable moment when you must venture out alone and move your bowels. You don’t want to do it but you must. You drop your trousers, grab hold of a tree, squat and do your business, cleaning yourself with leaves, making sure they’re not poison ivy. You remember this for the rest of your life. Winter is a pleasure, if you know what to do. You wear a scarf and gloves when you go out to play pond hockey and you keep warm by playing vigorously. Your face feels the chill, you breathe freezing air, but you are quite happy dashing around. The goalie needs to wear a heavy coat but you don’t. It’s exhilarating. Poets get awfully cold, sitting in a snowdrift, pen and paper in hand, and so most winter poems are about death. But runners do okay, snow shovelers, trash haulers, and of course old men who sit by the fire drinking ginger tea and reminiscing about their youth are just fine. Winter is an excellent time for the young. The old people stay indoors but the young go out to wait for your school bus on minus-20 mornings, and you feel liberated. Snow is falling, headlights appear through the haze, you crouch in the ditch with a big snowdrift as a windbreak. The bears are hibernating, the timber wolves live farther north in tall-pine country, but there are coyotes around and of course snow snakes, so you learn to fend them off. The best defense against coyotes is to crouch low and bare your teeth and make a low chuffing sound like a stallion makes, and the way to defend against snow snakes is to use foul language, which was a valuable lesson for a good Christian boy like me. “Heck” and “darn” and “shucks” and “dadburn it” will not get the job done, you must venture into the dark corners of the English language. I am an old man who never employs profanity, as my friends know very well, but in defense of my wife and daughter against vicious arctic reptiles I am prepared to go all the way. I worry about children growing up in Florida, whether the year-round relaxation may leave them incapable of self-defense if the vicious Danes should attack America’s soft underbelly, spreading poisonous pastries to knock off the unsuspecting, in cahoots with maniacal Panamanians wielding pans of pernicious fishes from their isthmus. And let Mexico keep the gulf. We have golf. That’s enough. Now available as an audiobook, Garrison Keillor’s Serenity at 70, Gaiety at 80: Why You Should Keep On Getting Older is filled with humor, wisdom, and 23 rules for aging.CLICK HERE to download, unzip, and enjoy!You’re on the free list for Garrison Keillor and Friends newsletter and Garrison Keillor’s Podcast. For the full experience, become a paying subscriber and receive The Back Room newsletter, which includes monologues, photos, archived articles, videos, and much more, including a discount at our store on the website. Questions: admin@garrisonkeillor.com |
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