Things I Tell My Wife by Matt Knutson

“Apparently Garrison Keillor walked past me today,” I told my wife when I got home from work. I was just finishing up a photo shoot for the Women’s Leadership Council when one of the women remarked on my lack of reaction when he walked passed.

Truth be told, I didn’t know what the legendary radio personality looked like. I’ve certainly heard his stories and am familiar with his overall work, but one of the perks about radio fame is people don’t necessarily know your appearance compared to celebrities in other medias. There’s likely still a certain amount of anonymity that comes with his line of work.

The group’s reaction had gone unnoticed by me as I snapped their photo against the downtown Rochester backdrop. These women were certainly more aware of Keillor’s work than myself, but retained their composure much more than my peers would have had a local celebrity been found strolling down our path.

When I arrived home that evening and shared the news with my wife, she was unimpressed. Apparently broadcasts of “A Prairie Home Companion” didn’t make it over the airwaves to Madagascar or any of the other countries she resided in during her childhood. Lake Wobegon was just another place she didn’t know. After learning so much about my wife’s culture, I realized it was time for her to learn a bit more about mine.

It’s been easy for me to learn about her culture because it’s so different. Sera understands the American culture simply because she’s been immersed in it for several years, but you don’t exactly learn the legends and tales of the Midwest in a college environment unless you’re taking a very specific course.

Our recent trip to northern Minnesota found us driving past more than one giant man standing near a large blue bull. This prompted me to share stories of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. I recalled going to Paul Bunyan Land as a child and the joy that came when the friendly giant would greet me by name at the entrance.

Out on the lake we had the privilege of a nearby loon making regular appearance fairly close to the boat. I swear she described it as a weasel on a log, but perhaps the hot Minnesota sun was getting in my wife’s African eyes. (Sera now claims she meant it looked like a beaver instead of weasel, if that means anything to you.)

I’ve since informed her that what she called a weasel is our state bird, despite many people saying the state bird is a mosquito.

With the State Fair well underway, I couldn’t help but ask my wife if she knew about the legendary butter sculptures. “Why would they waste butter like that?” she responded, using the same tone when she shared her thoughts with me about wasting water in the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. To my knowledge, people can technically still use the butter once it has been sculpted, so technically it is not wasted. I just can’t imagine the mother who inevitably ends up with her daughter’s Princess Kay of the Milky Way butter head sculpture actually spreading it on some toast in the morning a few weeks down the line.

Clearly my wife has some potential for growth in cultural appreciation of our state. To her credit, she can do a stereotypical accent fairly well, though it normally only makes an appearance when it slips out of my mouth. I return the favor with my poor impersonation of a Kenyan accent, which turns Indian quite quickly. Needless to say we all have things to work on.

Unfortunately, I haven’t even begun to explain to her Keillor’s Lake Wobegon. The fictional city characterizes small-town Minnesota so well; perhaps we’ll start listening regularly. I’m sure our previous years living in Forest City, Iowa, will relate. Knowing there is an off-chance that Keillor could make another appearance nearby, it only seems fair to subject her to the quiet town on the edge of the prairie.

Now that we’re back to living in Minnesota, she surely couldn’t deny that like Lake Wobegon, we’re living in the land where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.

 

Rochester resident Matt Knutson is the communications and events director for United Way of Olmsted County.