This is probably my favorite photo from the wedding. It's Stoker with his mom. I don't know if you can tell, but she's really got a sparkle in her eyes. And I think you can tell Stoker loves her. He treats her so well, and as we all know, that's a good sign for how he'll treat me. I know that goes both ways, too, that I have to treat him good or else how can I expect it in return? (See my myspace for a few more pictures.)
Anyway, this morning on the way to work, we listened to Garrison Keillor. A week ago I bought this 5 cd collection of Prairie Home Companion for Stoker because he loves that radio show so much. He rarely gets to listen to it, since it's on Saturdays and all. So I surprised him and ordered that for him and today we listened to it on the way into Salt Lake, instead of the news on the radio, or one of those other talk shows we sometimes listen to. It was soothing and instead of being all riled up and angry about current events when I got to work, I felt all peaceful and calm.
The title of today's Keillor installment was "Hog Slaughter." One word or two? I don't know. It was good. He talked about the now forgotten ritual of killing the hogs in Lake Wobegone before the frost set in and the reverance the adults had at that time of year for the ritual. It was stirring. It reminded me (and Stoker, because he brought it up when the story was over), of something my mom has said, that people in animal rights organizations have probably never lived around animals. They've never seen the relationship between the ranchers and their animals and how the ranchers really do love them and feel thankful for the life the animal submits to them. Keillor captures this really well in "Hog Slaughter." His voice is captivating and full of reverence.
The first time I heard "Lake Wobegone Days" was with Stoker. We had just pulled up to the gas station in Logan, near USU, and were about to go inside to eat Indian food. The gas station, interestingly enough, is owned by an Indian family from Salt Lake, and tucked in the back corner, beneath an archway lined with Christmas lights, is an Indian restaurant known as the Indian Oven. And damn is it good. The father, who is also the chef, used to be the head chef at the Bombay House in Salt Lake. So the food is good. But even though we were both starving for delicious Indian food, we couldn't pull ourselves away from Keillor's rich voice. We listened to him as the Saturday evening grew darker with storm clouds. Stoker leaned forward in his seat, and with his hand poised over the volume knob on the car stereo, told me, "I could listen to his voice for hours and not think anything of it. It's so comforting. And I can visualize so easily the town and the people he's talking about."
I felt the same.
p.s. Myspace sucks. You have to be a member to view those other pictures. Jerks. Be sure to vote on my poll.