The joys of 983 Reservoir Street!

When I came to WMRA, nigh on to ten years ago (and who knew I'd be anywhere for ten years), we were officed in a hole. A beloved hole, but a hole nonetheless.

Management had windows; the rest of us were encased in cement blocks. I, personally, was housed in the satellite room, along with the equipment that captured our national programming and put it on the air. This equipment also regularly hummed, beeped, spoke (yes, spoke), and needed very cold temperatures. Needless to say, in the battle for temperature control of our shared space, the equipment won. I worked in my coat.

Four years ago we moved to 983 Reservoir Street, and, while already tremendously happy with my job, I became tremendously happy with my office. It is the one with all the clutter, and with a window that looks out on a scrub of woods in which live birds, squirrels, an obese groundhog, and foxes. My window faces north, making it the perfect light for African violets. And, best of all, it lets in natural light, which is so good for the soul.

983 Reservoir Street is a grand place to hang out and make radio. And it's also a very welcoming space, a perfect community center for the WMRA community of listeners. Its arrangement was configured (mostly by our engineer, Bill Fawcett) so that staff offices ring a kind of big square atrium-like central area that contains two on-air studios, a talk-show studio, and a couple of production studios.

This means we also have a big square of wide, white-walled hall.

A couple of years ago, All Things Considered host Terry Ward and artist Mia LaBerge got the brilliant idea to turn that hall into a gallery. They've just hung what I consider to be our most hopeful show, for it consists of the creations of students at Harrisonburg High School and Eastern Mennonite School.

I look at the work of these teenagers and somehow feel that this country will be alright; that our culture will not be engulfed by ignorance, anger, cynicism, and video-game addiction.

The opening is tonight, 5-7; and, yes, there will be food and music. I will be there interviewing students for this blog, and I want to underline what we've been saying on the air: You are most emphatically invited.

Hopeful art, good snacks and live music--what more could one want?

Neighbors

We did some modest traveling to reach our family celebration of Thanksgiving. I enjoyed myself there almost as much as I enjoyed getting home again.

Home to me is marked by a constellation of house, yard, cat and neighbors.

In my opinion, neighbors are underrated these days as an enrichment of our lives. So, in honor of all my neighbors, current, past and future, today I'm posting an essay I wrote about five years ago. It celebrates the first neighbors we got to know when Charlie and I moved to the Valley.

It's called "The Sisters."

The sisters were way up in their eighties if they were a day. During the two years I lived one farm down from them, I passed Marjory and Elizabeth most mornings on my way to work—Marjory, driving the tractor; Elizabeth, riding shotgun—heading out to tend the sheep, or plow a field, or mend a fence.

I’ve always been drawn to happy, unconventional, un-helpless people. A month after becoming their neighbor, I told the sisters I was a journalist and asked if I could record their story. Elizabeth is deaf, so Marjory shouts, and she shouted at me they'd have to think about that.

Six weeks later, there was a fortissimo message on my answering machine: "This is Margery. If Martha still wants to hear our story, tell her to come on."

Margery wasn't a particularly good storyteller—she's not at all interested in the past—perhaps the only eighty-year-old I’ve ever met who isn’t. "The past is over!” she bellowed into my microphone. "Who wants to think about the past?"

But she did play an old recording of her and Elizabeth singing hymns, and she showed me a lot of old photographs—two dark-haired sisters smiling in pretty hats and flowery frocks, Elizabeth drop-dead gorgeous, Margery handsome and obviously nobody's fool.

It struck me that these were the photographs of women who could have gone anywhere, done anything that women were allowed to do in the mid-part of the last century; yet here they were, and here they obviously wanted to be. Even when talking into a microphone, they felt no need to explain or justify their odd course to the rest of us.

"Did you ever think about marrying?” I asked. They were—after all—of a generation of women that usually did.

Margery hooted. "Awe, fellows asked us, but we didn't pay ’em no mind. One came around a couple of years ago crying how his girlfriend had died, and he was all alone and wouldn't one of us marry him. Elizabeth told him to get a dog.”

I’ve moved a lot and had a lot of neighbors. Most of them have come and gone without leaving anything permanently useful inside me. But my life is richer and steadier for having lived for a while one farm over from Marjory and Elizabeth. I simply haven’t met many other women—many people, really—who are living as they truly wish to, without worrying at all about the sideways glances of the rest of us.

The only bumper sticker I’ve ever put on a vehicle is one my daughter, Lizzie, sent me years before I met the sisters. It read “Uppity Women Unite,” and when I slapped it on my truck’s bumper, I thought, “There! That’s who I am!”

After meeting Marjory and Elizabeth, however, I realized I am a mere wannabe in the uppity woman department. That bumper sticker would have really belonged on their tractor.

Thoughts on our national day of shopping . . .

Today is Black Friday, the first day of the annual national shopping spree that historically shifts retailers' accounts from red ink to black. As good Americans, I guess we should all hope that this particular bit of history is doomed to repeat itself, since our economy is famously fueled by shopping. Consumer spending drives 70% of America's gross domestic product.

This morning's shopping forecast, however, is not great.

Nouriel Robini, professor of the Stern Business School at New York University and chair of Roubini Global Economics, writes a weekly column for Forbes. He had this rather grim assessment embedded in this week's column titled, "Will the World Go Shopping?"

A measure of weekly retail sales released by the International Council of Shopping Centers and Goldman Sachs indicates that same-store sales flattened over the first three weeks of November, though compared to 2008, sales are up by a promising average pace of 2.9%. The National Retail Federation projects retail sales will fall 1% during this holiday season, compared to an average 3.4% annual gain in holiday sales over the past decade. After the sharp slide in 2008, a decline of "only" 1% or even a small positive gain in 2009 holiday sales may seem like a welcome number; however, accounting for the base effects of a dismal 2008 season, the underlying reality for retailers remains grim for this holiday season.

We shall know more tonight, of course. The ever-vigilant Washington Post reporters were out predawn this morning, scouring the malls to report that:

They came, they shopped and then, apparently, they went home to get some sleep.

The long lines of Black Friday shoppers that formed overnight at Washington-area malls, outlets and big-box stores had largely dissipated by daylight, with the savviest -- or craziest? -- bargain hunters temporarily sated, and most regular folks not quite ready to venture out.

Later on in the same article:

A strong showing on Black Friday can help solidify a retailer's image as a shopping destination or merely a drive-by and is seen as crucial to building momentum to last through December. . . The marathon recession has made retailers' performance this holiday season even more significant.. . .Many economists believe that without robust spending by shoppers during the holiday season--kicked off by Black Friday--the country's nascent recovery will peter out.

Remember our just-retired president, George W. Bush, exhorting us to go shopping after 9-11?

Oh dear me . . .

I don't know about you, but this day depresses me. As an old hippie (peace, love, and flower-chains for all!), I do hate to face the fact that out grand nation's economy is mostly powered by the acquisition of stuff. What does that say about us and our values?

I'm no economist and refuse to play one on this blog. Righting the world's fiscal ship is complex beyond measure, and I'm not going to spout any ill-informed suggestions for doing it. Besides, it's not the economics of shopping that bothers me, its the results of shopping. It's what the acquisition of yet more stuff does to our lives, our houses, our souls!

We're desperately aware of our need for a differently fueled automobile. Might we also--for the greater good of us all--need a differently-fueled economy?

Thanksgiving day professional sappiness . . .

I usually am repelled by anything sappy, but not today. Today I will wallow unashamedly in that which on most other days I would consider bathetic. Today, I am officially, happily, unabashedly sappily thankful for, among many other things, my job.

I think I only became intentionally thankful on Thanksgiving Day in my forties. Before that, I was just too frenzied with cooking. (By the way, if you are so frenzied and need some last-minute help, the NY Times has Sam Sifton on on-line duty until 3 p.m.).

The things in my personal life for which I'm thankful are not appropriate blog fodder--let's just say that I'm a happy camper and leave it at that. But one of my greatest blasts of personal gratitude gets bestowed on my job at WMRA--the big rush and mush of the hectic, absorbing days I get to spend there making radio; the creative freedom I'm allowed; the good company of my very funny and fun colleagues; the chance to meet and get to know people in the WMRA community of listeners; the chance to work directly with NPR editors.

Being pretty sure a lot of my colleagues felt the same, yesterday I sent a note out asking them to let me know what each of them is personally grateful for re WMRA and/or public radio in general. Here's what I got back (you'll note that I'm not the only person who waxes sappy on the subject!).

From Scott Lowe, host, Weekend Edition Sunday:  "I have been very thankful for the enthusiasm and appreciation loyal WMRA listeners express to me whenever they find out I work here. WMRA members are more passionate about their choice than any others I have encountered in a 25-year career."

From Tom Graham, host, Virginia Insight: "I wake up every morning feeling grateful to be part of such a special public radio community. After many years, earlier in my career, of employment in profit-oriented, commercial television and radio news, it is such an honor to work for a non-profit whose overriding mission is public service. And I find myself giving thanks many times a day for the supportive listeners who make this type of dedication possible."

From Bob Leweke, host, Morning Edition, “In a world full of voices, I'm thankful for the unique, and constructive, voice that public radio provides in our democracy.”

From Tina Owens, host, Acoustic Cafe: "I am thankful that WMRA gives me the the opportunity to be a part of the local roots music community.  It is such a treat to spend each weekend presenting - and listening to - such wonderful acoustic music."

From Terry Ward, host, All Things Considered: "On WMRA, I will not be subjected to commercials with cheesy sound effects of Santa's belly laugh, as happens on certain ~other~ broadcast entities with increasing frequency from this date forward, til Xmas. For that, I am grateful."

From Matt Bingay, Program Director: "I am thankful for the fact that I work in an environment that encourages exploration, discovery, discussion and meaning. Before beginning my career in public radio, the world was small and trivial. Today, I see so much, and want to know so much more. Thank you NPR for helping me live outside of myself."

And finally, from Tom DuVal, General Manager: "Hmmm. It's easy to say I'm thankful for the thousands of listeners who support WMRA and WEMC financially. And James Madison University, and dozens of local businesses and organizations. And believe me, I most certainly am!

 "I think, though, at heart I'm most thankful for the many listeners who take the time to contact us with kudos and criticisms. They keep us honest and keep our spirits up.

"And I'm thankful every day for my professional and dedicated colleagues, here and at the national level, who dive into and complete the necessary work of keeping public radio coming out of the speakers all across the region."

Thought I'd leave you with one of my husband's, Charlie, photos (taken late last month) of where we live. For no other reason than to remind  myself and you of how beautiful it is here in WMRA Land.

The emergency back-up post . . .

Okay, I wanted to post about Penrose sausages (for cultural reasons--or at least Woodroof family cultural reasons), but got up this morning and realized my research was incomplete. So, I did what all reporters/bloggers do, trolled the newspapers for another subject.

I rejected last night's state dinner (everyone's talking about that), speculation on President Obama's upcoming announcement about Afghanistan troop levels (who am I to speculate about that?), and this weekend's Virginia/Virginia Tech football game (go Hoos!).

That left turkeys. After all, this is the day before Thanksgiving.

I found the picture posted above in The Los Angeles Times' "Top of the Ticket" blog. The blog contained a link to the Times story cut and pasted below.Yes, turkeys get presidential pardons every year. But this, my fellow WMRA listeners, is the back story of that pardon!

These turkeys won't be gobbled up!

Two Butterball turkeys will be pardoned by President Obama after months of pampering and grooming. And his declaration will get them one step closer to a ride in Disneyland's Thanksgiving Parade

By Jason Horowitz
November 25, 2009
Reporting from Washington

Last month, Walter "Gator" Pelletier, chairman of the National Turkey Federation and an executive at Butterball, approached Wes Pike, his go-to bird handler, with a secret mission: raising two well-mannered birds that wouldn't trash a room at the Willard hotel or go ballistic on President Obama during a pardoning ceremony in the White House Rose Garden today.

Pike, 54, accepted the challenge. From Butterball pens in Goldsboro, N.C., he picked 22 15-week-old toms from a flock of 52,000 poults and moved them to a safe barn across the road. There, the 4-pound birds were hand-fed corn, soybeans and a mix of grains and vitamins. The birds walked on a fresh bed of kiln-dried pine shavings and gobbled and clucked freely with humans, to better prepare them for the members of the first family, administration officials and reporters at the ceremony.

They listened to a constant loop of music provided by Disney ("more new-age Disney rock," Pike said) to acclimate them to the noises the lucky two would encounter as grand marshals riding a Thanksgiving Day float at Disneyland.

The now-40-pound broad-breasted white turkeys will fly first class on a United aircraft and live out their days in Frontierland's Big Thunder Ranch. (With life spans lasting usually a few months, Thanksgiving turkeys are bred for breast meat, not longevity.)

Sherrie Rosenblatt, communications director of the National Turkey Federation, said that Pike looked for the "most regal" birds. "A turkey," she said, "that knows when to strut and when to be calm, to gobble at all the right points."

Pike selected the two standouts about five weeks ago. The 20 others, he said, crossed the road "back into the general population."

Pelletier, Pike and their associates named the White House bird Courage, and its alternate Carolina. The breeders believed Courage paid tribute to the U.S. soldiers fighting overseas, many of whom were trained in North Carolina.

Both birds will be at the ceremony -- and neither will be eaten -- but Courage is to receive the official pardon.

About 9 a.m. Tuesday, Pike loaded his family and turkeys into a van and headed for Washington.

In the garage of the Willard hotel, Pike helped bellhops load the turkeys, white pails of feed and two bags of wood chips onto brass luggage carts. Pike and the rest of the turkeys' entourage escorted the birds to room 326, a deluxe.

After all the excitement of the trip, the turkeys seemed rather languid in their hotel room, and Courage's waddle looked a little pale.

"He'll color up," Pike said. Rosenblatt decided it was time for everyone to leave the birds and their handlers in peace.

"It's time for their nap," she said.

Horowitz writes for the Washington Post.

Thank you, Mr. Horowitz. Thank you Los Angeles Times. Yes, I've completely cribbed a copyrighted story, but only because it was really good. Sometimes a reporter/blogger has to eat humble pie and admit she couldn't have written a story any better herself.

How will we know it's really time to get up now?

This was sent out to NPR stations yesterday.

After 30 years of waking up at 1:05 a.m. to anchor the top of the hour newscast during Morning Edition, Carl Kasell has decided the time has come to sleep in. He will leave his newscast post at the end of this year... but happily for all of us he isn't going far. Carl will continue to be the Official Judge and Scorekeeper for Wait Wait.. Don't Tell Me!, the show that turned him from a newsman into a rock star! Carl will also continue his travels to stations around the country on NPR's behalf.

Carl has raised more than a generation of listeners with his calm and authoritative newscast and has been the first voice many people heard each day. He also has been a teacher and role model for NPR newscasters... not only because of his skill and experience, but also because of his kindness, integrity, and professionalism.

Carl has walked into the newscast booth tens of thousands of times during his tenure. He was there the day that Iranian students took over the American Embassy in 1979... he was there when the Berlin wall fell in 1989 and he was there again when two jetliners slammed into the World Trade Towers in 2001. And he’s been there every week since.

Carl first walked through the doors of NPR in 1975 as a part-time newscaster ... and was on the air in November 1979 at the inception of Morning Edition. In 1995, he hosted Early Morning Edition, which eventually led to Morning Edition’s early start time of 5 a.m. eastern. Carl is a proud member of the North Carolina Journalism Hall of Fame and a recipient of several major broadcast awards, including a Peabody which he shares with Morning Edition and another he shares with Wait Wait.

Please join us in congratulating Carl for his tremendous service. His last newscast will be on Wednesday, December 30^th

Carl. Kasell was born on April 2, 1934.  I lifted these further tidbits from Wikipedia.

       A native of  Goldsboro, North Carolina, Kasell was a student of drama in high school, where one of his mentors was Andy Griffith, then a high school drama instructor. Although Griffith urged Kasell to pursue a career in theatre, Kasell took to radio at an early age as well. During his time at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill he helped launch local radio station WUNC with fellow student Charles Kuralt.
      He worked as an announcer and DJ at a radio station in Goldsboro before moving to the Washington, DC, area in 1965. He advanced to the position of news director at WAVA in Arlington, Virginia. As news director in Virginia, he hired Katie Couric as an intern one summer.

I've only one personal thing to add: Carl Kasell, only semi-retiring at 75, is my role model!

You go, guy!

Thoughts on a couple of rocks. . .

Four days from now all of us will give at least a passing thought to the Pilgrims landing at Plymouth Rock in 1620. To be welcomed by this land's prior residents. Whom Europeans would shortly (in historical time) displace.

I think one of my ancestors was among those getting off the Mayflower. I say I think because it was not something my family ever made a big deal of. But as I like following the grand story that is history (and just in case my family's down-played myth was true), I once paid a visit to Plymouth, just to see what this famous rock looked like.

Not much, I decided.

I was to dig up bigger rocks putting in gardens on Charlie's and my 11.5 acres of land along Buffalo Ridge in Amherst County. And it's this land I want to write about, on this, the first working day of the short working week in which we celebrate Thanksgiving.

Charlie and I bought those 11.5 acres nigh onto two decades ago. They were down a rutted logging road, surrounded by thousands of acres of logging forest; home to bears, wild turkeys, deer, and very few other people. Having very little money ourselves, we lived on that land for the next six years in a couple of trailers. The first one was an ancient repo bought at a bank auction; the second was so comparatively palatial, we nicknamed it "The Palace."

But enough about Charlie and me. It's something simple that happened the day after we bought that land I want to write about; something that made me personally experience land ownership in a more complicated--and so more accurate--way.

It was around this time of year, actually. Charlie was off from work that day, so he took a lawn chair out to sit for a while on our 11.5 acres. He wanted to get to know it, to decide exactly where we should position our ancient repo. He sat his lawn chair down on a likely spot, idly reached his hand down and picked up the first rock he touched.

It was an arrowhead.

We were, of course, by no means the first to live on those 11.5 acres; just the first in a few decades, which in the context of history is a big fat nothing. That day, when Charlie showed me the arrowhead he'd found, I realized deep in my gut for the first time how people have moved other people--and peoples--around. And that we Americans, for all our national pride, are but a sentence in the larger story of our land.

On this Monday, back when I was in elementary school, we routinely made Pilgrim hats out of construction paper and congratulated ourselves mightily for being Americans. Now I realize that back then I had no idea what "being American" meant.

Even today, as glad as I am to be one, I'm still not quite sure what being American means. Whenever I think of that arrowhead, however, I do hope it means more than being able to push people around.