.....brought to you by Beebopareebop Frozen Rhubarb.
Winter in Minnesota: just the phrase summons up visions of (CRUNCH OF FOOTSTEPS IN SNOW) a moonlit night and fields of snow glimmering and a Russian poet in a long fur coat (TR RUSSIAN RECITING POETRY) and even though we don't understand Russian, we know what he means (TR RUSSIAN POET), he's talking about the spiritual longing, the purity of a winter night, ---- one finds this in Japanese haiku too (TR JAPANESE RECITING POEM OF GREAT DELICACY) ---- I should say, northern Japanese haiku (TR JAPANESE, MIDWESTERN ACCENT) ---- and you find many of these same feelings in Swedish poetry as well (TR SWEDISH POETRY RECITATION)....., so it's a poetic time, winter, and then it's April and May and (BLIZZARD, WOLF) winter keeps on and then it doesn't seem profound anymore (TR RUSSIAN WEARINESS, DEPRESSION) ---- Winter becomes a very boring guest. Winter becomes the climate equivalent of Calvinism. And all over Minnesota, people snap (PENCIL BREAKS), and they go into snits and stalk through the house (FOOTSTEPS, ANGRY) slamming doors (SLAM DOOR, CAT ALARM), and they sulk. (SS: This is so disgusting. I am fed up! The end of March and it's still cold out! (CAT MEOW) SS: Shuddup! TR: Honey?? I'm home! SS: Leave me alone! TR: What's wrong? SS: It's Post-March Syndrome. TR: Well, I've got good news. SS: What? TR: I've been transferred. SS: Transferred where? TR: To Oregon, honey. (BIG HEAVENLY GLISS) SS (DAZED): Oregon------ (VIOLIN) TR: Yes, we're going to Oregon. SS: Oregon---- we'll smell flowers again. Grass. Real coffee. TR: We'll throw away our parkas and buy rain gear. SS: We'll put the prairie behind us and we'll look at mountains every morning. TR: We'll go kayaking. We'll get mountain bikes. SS: We'll buy a big house and fill it with pottery and hanging plants and antiques, a house with big windows and wind chimes and a cedar deck overlooking a mountain stream where we'll sit in our hot tub and drink organic wine and talk about exciting new developments in secondary education. TR: Oh Susan! In two years, we'll be happy again! (DARK CHORD) SS: Two years!!!! It's not for two years. (DARK MUSIC) But two years pass ---- two more winters (TR RUSSIAN POETRY) --- and finally your house is (GAVEL, TK: SOLD!!!) and your children are dealt with (TR TEEN: But I don't want to move! SS: Fine. We'll put you in foster care.) and you're on the plane (JET TAKEOFF. SS: Oh Howard, I can't believe it. Oregon. TR: We're really going.) and somewhere over Idaho (TK ON P.A.: As we begin our descent into Portland, your flight attendants will be coming through the plane handing out Oregon immigration & naturalization forms....SS: What is this, Howard? TR: I have no idea.) and you land and in the airport (AIRPORT AMBIENCE) (TK: Residents in the green line, non-residents in the red line!) and you go in the red line and come up to the agent behind the counter (TK: Step through the polyester detector, please. SS: What? BIG KLAXON ALARMS. SS: It's nothing! It's only my scarf! I'll throw it away! TK: Sorry! SS: Please! please! (FADING) Please! please!) It's at times like that, a person really could use some rhubarb pie. Rhubarb! it's the secret of the good life! A taste of springtime. Bebopareebop Rhubarb Pie, that is.
But one little thing can revive a guy,
And that is home-made rhubarb pie.
Serve it up, nice and hot.
Maybe things aren't as bad as you thought.
DUET:
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
© 1998 by Garrison Keillor