The premiere talk show on NPR is The Diane Rehm Show, which for two hours a day hosts knowledgeable discussions of public issues in strictly civil tones – no snark permitted. And lately, it seems to be all about governance and endless campaign issues.
But last week, one day, I noticed the subject of one hour: “A History of the Chair, from Ancient Greece to Modern Times.”
Hallelujah! Clearly Diane and her producers could not bear – at least for one blessed hour – one more incredibly earnest attempt to plumb the depths (and I do means depths) of possibly the most depressing political season in modern history. Most depressing, I should add, and interminable.
I’m with them.
This is Labor Day weekend, the traditional start of the retail political season. But our current one seems to have been going on since the dawn of time, getting nastier all the while.
How many times lately has someone sadly said to you – or have you whimpered to someone else – please, please, can we just vote now? I think I can safely speak for the vast majority of Americans when I say, unequivocally: Let. It. End. Now.
Clearly the good people behind the Rehm show had reached their breaking point, and so for a blissful hour faithful NPR listeners were treated to a detailed discussion of the compellingly human history of, yes, the chair.
Well, okay, detailed, yes. Maybe not so compelling, at least as told by Witold Rybczynski, who in a fine NPR tradition was – you’ve got it – exceedingly earnest. I mostly remember that apparently someone in ancient China first dreamt up the idea of a folding stool, and human ingenuity took it from there, culminating in the creation of the gilded thrones that some of today’s inflated egos feel entitled to. (Yeah, Vladimir and Donald, I’m talking about you.)
Along the way, all sorts of variations of chairs were devised. One style particularly dear to those who swamped the Rehm show lines and clogged its email box, was the humble rocking chair. There seems to be no NPR listener who does not cherish happy rocking chair memories.
(A thought: Since most NPR listeners seem to be peaceable souls, at least as opposed to, say, Fox News viewers, maybe nations around the world should start offering simple rocking chairs as gifts to all new parents. Think it might have helped if Rush Limbaugh had been lovingly rocked from time to time?)
For a wonderfully tension-free hour Rehm listeners were free to ruminate on the humble (or not so humble) chair, not brood about Donald Trump’s “huge, beautiful” wall or the prospect of yet more vagrant Hillary Clinton emails apparently wandering aimlessly in cyberspace. It was such relief!
And it occurred to me that since we are unlikely, no matter how much we might plead, to be allowed to vote tomorrow and end this whole sorry election affair, we should devote our energies to creating our own refuges from grim reality.
I have a few suggestions, just starting points to get your own imaginations – which by now are doubtlessly desperate – working.
First, turn off TV, or at least network television and any cable news channels. Or at least finally learn how to record the stuff, so you can blissfully breeze past all the political flotsam and jetsam as you search for old reruns of The Good Wife or Sons of Anarchy. Otherwise what’s the point of that pricey entertainment system you got to impress the neighbors?
Recording is particularly good for watching baseball and football, since you never know when a politician might decide sports are prime territory for captive audiences. Or if you must watch in real time, make lots and lots of trips to the kitchen. And use that mute button!
You can also take up a new, distracting hobby. Learn a language, for example. Endless hours of total immersion in German language recordings might be just what the psychiatrist ordered. And by the time Nov. 9 rolls around – and the unholy cacophony is, blessedly, over – you may well be fluent enough to order a lovely dinner of Jägerschnitzel or Weisswurst, with a side of Spätzle and a glass or two of Spatenbräu in beautiful downtown München! Or, a little closer to home, at the Bavaria Restaurant in Hooksett.
Or if you’re more interested in crafty pursuits, how about learning to knit? Think of an endless supply of scarves for all your loved ones!
Or go culinary. My father, after retirement, found his bliss at the local adult ed classes, where he became a master at making egg rolls and wonton soup. Or so he fancied, anyway, and the rest of us were happy to indulge his fantasy. Maybe you could master the baking of the perfect crème brûlée and wow everyone at the next block party.
Or, best idea yet, you could devote the next two months to planting daffodils. Daffodils everywhere, not only in your yard, but in your neighbors’ yards (with permission, of course). Daffodils along your town’s rights-of-way, if the select board will agree. Planting them with abandon at churches and schools and community centers.
After all, there is nothing – except maybe kittens and puppies – as delightfully cheerful as daffodils. If you doubt this, travel through Dunbarton next spring to see the magic that can be worked by a determined cadre of dedicated daffodil planters.
Someone once wrote that after God created daffodils, she threw away the blueprint to ensure their unique appeal. Plant enough daffodils, and when they bloom you might even be able to forget, if temporarily, who ultimately becomes president.
Hey, it’s worth a try!
(“Monitor” columnist Katy Burns lives in Bow.)