It was lovely visiting North Carolina last week. The weather was quite pleasant -- it was in the 50s most of the week, and I believe one day even reached 60 degrees, plus there was very little precipitation.
I enjoy visiting North Carolina because the spirit of North Carolina still lives within me, and going home feeds my soul. I go out and hear people speaking, and I recognize their accent because it is my accent. In Chicago, my voice tends to be noticed because it is so very different from the prevailing midwestern/nasal accent endemic to this area of the country. It is often commented upon, rarely with malicious intent, but nonetheless the attention can be annoying.
I don't cringe, though, nor do I slink from my Southern heritage or my lilting Piedmont southern accent. I embrace being Southern. I know the difference between a mint julep and a mojito. I know just how and when to use the phrase, "Bless her heart" to allow me to say anything about anyone without fear of reproach. When I cook I measure ingredients in dollops, dashes, smidges and pinches. I understand how nervous is a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs and comprehend the happiness of a puppy with two peters. I know the correct way to use the word y'all -- I also know the correct way to punctuate it.
Some people will be forever biased against people who pronounce the word "couch" with three syllables. It's their loss.
I am Southern. Hear me roa-ahr.
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2 comments:
Yes well....
Some of us were born in the wrong part of the country to begin with and have since rectified the situation.
Now get to adopting a Chicago accent pronto!
I guess I can start this afternoon . ..
"Da Bea-ahs!"
Well, I'll keep working on it.
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