Up here, we say "grits" quickly. The word jumps off the tongue like a bullet from a Remington, then leaves the room in stunned silence.
Now, with all I have said about Northwesterners taking their time to say things, embellishing the simple sentence with all kinds of flora, again, I say that "grits" explodes off the tongue and falls to the ground, stunned there in the silence of people looking at the speaker to say, "What?! Please explain!"
And as the speaker endulges in the best explanation they can come up with for the ignorant, they respond, "Oh! That stuff! I had some once at Aunt Emma Mae's house when we were visiting in Louisiana. Horrible stuff! I finally put cream and sugar on it and managed to . . . ."
STOP!
Don't --
Don't say another word!
Eww! You put sugar on your grits? Did your Aunt Emma Mae have a gun?
No! She did not! Because if she had, you would not be sitting here talking to me!
Sacrilege! The pure abominated gobbledygook of sacrilege
-- to put sugar on grits!
Deplorable ignorance! The stuff of treason against humanity!
Grits should be pampered, lolled-over, with melting butter, salt, and pepper.
Sometimes, cheese.
They should be savored; they should play long upon the tongue with a triumphant but quiet flair, then be swallowed slowly, exultantly, even while the spoon is seeking more. When they are all gone, they ought to be mourned with a yearning that will not allow the table any sustained absence of them.
And that is why Southerners do not say “grits” as Northwesterners do -- as though they are trying to rid themselves of the word.
No. Southerners revel in the sound, rejoicing in it, making it two syllables.
Gree-its.
And to do the word justice, hold each syllable out long and gloriously.
I was privileged, back in 1989, to have had a neighbor girl, age 15, whose mother seriously did not like her. Neither did her brother or sister. Finally, the mother kicked her out of the house in late June, with nowhere to go. She moved in with me and my children, just as we were going down the driveway on a cross-country trip to Portland, Oregon, in my new camper. It was her first trip out of Minnesota.
That August, she went with us on another trip to Murphysboro, Illinois. Reaching the southern part of the state, we stopped for brunch before pulling into our destination.
Now, Star was a very beautiful young lady, and I would say that the waiter was likely quite taken with her. He asked her what she wanted, and he wrote her order. Then he said to her, “Would you like grits with that?”
She thought for a moment, then replied sweetly, “Yes – one or two small ones.”
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Foodies
Foodies
* So, SOMEONE sent me an email and said she was counting negative points in her diet for drinking "pop". Pop. I love it.
I call it "Soda" because other words have always bothered me. Now, in my stomping grounds, the name "Coke" is used for everything from Pepsi and Dr Pepper to 7-up and Sunkist. Ummm, remember Delaware Punch? Do they even make that anymore?
* Dutch Baby - before visiting my pal Tzav, I had never seen nor heard of such a critter. Is this a northern thing? Are they exclusive to the great Northwest? Thus far, every single person I've asked about it had never heard of it. Now everyone wants to make them.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you.....a dutch baby
* Tea - around here, unless you specifically request hot tea, you'll always get sweetened ice tea. That's just the rules.
* Fried Pickles - I understand that they're not quite as common in the north. Why is that? Maybe they are a healthier bunch than we are? I don't know, but they are a staple in every average southern restaurant.
* Italian Sodas Yeah - now you're cookin' with grease! This was also something I was introduced to while visiting my Northwestern pal. NOW I'm finding them all over the place, but I've yet to try one. I'm kinda picky about my drink mixers lol. I've seen a lot of recipies online and they were exactly like hers, I just gotta find the syrup. So, apparently this one isn't just for a waaaaaay up thar, it's for down here too. I never saw them in Mississippi, or at least not that I am aware of.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Mississippi Wife
Wish I knew who wrote this
MISSISSIPPI WIFE
The first man married a woman from OHIO . He told her that she was to do the dishes and house cleaning. It took a couple of days, but on the third day, he came home to see a clean house and dishes washed and put away.
The second man married a woman from MICHIGAN . He gave his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes and the cooking. The first day he didn't see any results, but the next day he saw it was better. By the third day, he saw his house was clean, the dishes were done and there was a huge dinner on the table.
The third man married a girl from MISSISSIPPI . He ordered her to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed, and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything but by the third day, some of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye, and his arm was healed enough that he could fix himself a sandwich and load the dishwasher.
MISSISSIPPI WIFE
The first man married a woman from OHIO . He told her that she was to do the dishes and house cleaning. It took a couple of days, but on the third day, he came home to see a clean house and dishes washed and put away.
The second man married a woman from MICHIGAN . He gave his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes and the cooking. The first day he didn't see any results, but the next day he saw it was better. By the third day, he saw his house was clean, the dishes were done and there was a huge dinner on the table.
The third man married a girl from MISSISSIPPI . He ordered her to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed, and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything but by the third day, some of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye, and his arm was healed enough that he could fix himself a sandwich and load the dishwasher.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
We don't talk as slowly up here, but what we have to say sure takes a lot longer
When my husband and I happen to get a workday off together, which occurs about every six weeks, we almost invariably spend at least an hour and a half in some bookstore somewhere. We did that this week, too, and as we were leaving, my eyes fell upon a title: Well Butter My Butt and Call Me a Biscuit. I didn’t buy the book, but it caused me to recall the colorful language of the South.
Up here, we just don’t have that. In fact, unless it’s going to come out in dollars and cents, our imaginations can be very limited, when it comes to our words. But we sure have plenty to say.
Did you already notice, as I did, how wordy my posts are and how succinct LLB’s posts are? I’ll admit it: although LLB doesn’t have what I would consider anything near a southern accent and drawl, I wonder if being a Southerner causes one to limit one’s words, because they take much longer to say and require so much more effort and calories. Up here, we just rattle on and on and on, as though people are dying to hear our opinions. You know -- it takes less time to talk here, so perhaps we have an insatiable desire to fill up our talk-vessels by saying a lot more?
After all, was it not in the northwestern states that the irrepressible “ya know what I mean” at the end of every second sentence – the bane of every English instructor in the nation -- was created? And was it not a famous Yankee (although he was admittedly from St. Louis) who invented “déjà vu all over again”? Furthermore, I know two young ladies from my synagogue up here who started the Redundancy Redundancy club on Facebook.
Oh, and listen to a Northwesterner praying publicly! Lotsawords! And no, the most oft-used word in their prayers is not “G-d” or “L-rd” or “we pray“ as might be supposed. In fact, it’s a filler-word, something at which the Northwesterner is particularly practiced. What is it? It’s “just.” That’s right.
But perhaps the worst Northwestern verbal redundancy faux pas is the unexpected one that developed over the years I was away from the West Coast: the “is-is.”
As I was driving my little family from Minneapolis back to my hometown in California in 1983, I was listening to the radio, and I heard the “is-is” for the first time. I chalked it up to simply being an oddity of speech for the person I was listening to. However, I heard it over and over on the West Coast – on the radio, on TV news, at school, and more! Since you Southerners are probably completely stumped at this one, I will explain then end this long post.
This is what they say: “Well, the problem is-is that your strategy. . . .” I’m serious! You cannot be in California more than about a week before you hear someone use the “is-is!” “Well sometimes, the color is-is. . . .” Seriously! And one time, I was listening to the radio, and the speaker said “is-is-is”! No Kidding! Three in a row!
Worse, the “is-is” has recently crept out of California, as far north as Washington. It was only a couple days ago that I heard it on the radio here. Unnnnhhhhh!
Up here, we just don’t have that. In fact, unless it’s going to come out in dollars and cents, our imaginations can be very limited, when it comes to our words. But we sure have plenty to say.
Did you already notice, as I did, how wordy my posts are and how succinct LLB’s posts are? I’ll admit it: although LLB doesn’t have what I would consider anything near a southern accent and drawl, I wonder if being a Southerner causes one to limit one’s words, because they take much longer to say and require so much more effort and calories. Up here, we just rattle on and on and on, as though people are dying to hear our opinions. You know -- it takes less time to talk here, so perhaps we have an insatiable desire to fill up our talk-vessels by saying a lot more?
After all, was it not in the northwestern states that the irrepressible “ya know what I mean” at the end of every second sentence – the bane of every English instructor in the nation -- was created? And was it not a famous Yankee (although he was admittedly from St. Louis) who invented “déjà vu all over again”? Furthermore, I know two young ladies from my synagogue up here who started the Redundancy Redundancy club on Facebook.
Oh, and listen to a Northwesterner praying publicly! Lotsawords! And no, the most oft-used word in their prayers is not “G-d” or “L-rd” or “we pray“ as might be supposed. In fact, it’s a filler-word, something at which the Northwesterner is particularly practiced. What is it? It’s “just.” That’s right.
. . . and L-rd, we’re just so grateful that You just stepped
right into that situation and just helped Moonglow and
Shia when they were just lost in the desert. We just thank
You that You just brought them back safely and that when
we just pray, You just show up every time. . . .
But perhaps the worst Northwestern verbal redundancy faux pas is the unexpected one that developed over the years I was away from the West Coast: the “is-is.”
As I was driving my little family from Minneapolis back to my hometown in California in 1983, I was listening to the radio, and I heard the “is-is” for the first time. I chalked it up to simply being an oddity of speech for the person I was listening to. However, I heard it over and over on the West Coast – on the radio, on TV news, at school, and more! Since you Southerners are probably completely stumped at this one, I will explain then end this long post.
This is what they say: “Well, the problem is-is that your strategy. . . .” I’m serious! You cannot be in California more than about a week before you hear someone use the “is-is!” “Well sometimes, the color is-is. . . .” Seriously! And one time, I was listening to the radio, and the speaker said “is-is-is”! No Kidding! Three in a row!
Worse, the “is-is” has recently crept out of California, as far north as Washington. It was only a couple days ago that I heard it on the radio here. Unnnnhhhhh!
If you'll just follow that dirt road down a yonder ways....
"Pardon me, Sir, but can you help me to find *****?"
"Why yes, ma'am! If you'll just follow that dirt road down a yonder ways until the grass starts up the middle, you're about half way. Keep on a goin' down and watch for that sharp curve as you're commin' down the hill; cows cross there, so you'll hafta watch for thems too. When you get to the big oak tree with the old gray dog sleeping under it, go just a bit further and take the paved road on the left. You cain't miss it!"
I have literally been given these directions before.
Now I live in a large city in Texas complete with road signs, traffic lights and of course - rush hour. You would expect things to be a little different here than they were in smalltown, Mississippi, but no, they're really not.
"Pardon me, Sir, but can you direct me to the airport?"
"Uh yeah, whichun you tryin' to git to?"
"***"
"Ok, well now you're gonna hafta get on thisa road right here (major highway) and go over that bridge down thar (we call it the High-5 for a reason) and keep headed straight until you get to exit ***. Git in the lef lane cause them folks drive crazy."
I suppose it depends on who you're talking to. We have a LOT of transplants here from all states and nations around the world, so the directions can come out differently if you're talking to someone from let's say, Washington ;~D
There are many things I appreciate about the north! Direct-ness is one of them.
"Why yes, ma'am! If you'll just follow that dirt road down a yonder ways until the grass starts up the middle, you're about half way. Keep on a goin' down and watch for that sharp curve as you're commin' down the hill; cows cross there, so you'll hafta watch for thems too. When you get to the big oak tree with the old gray dog sleeping under it, go just a bit further and take the paved road on the left. You cain't miss it!"
I have literally been given these directions before.
Now I live in a large city in Texas complete with road signs, traffic lights and of course - rush hour. You would expect things to be a little different here than they were in smalltown, Mississippi, but no, they're really not.
"Pardon me, Sir, but can you direct me to the airport?"
"Uh yeah, whichun you tryin' to git to?"
"***"
"Ok, well now you're gonna hafta get on thisa road right here (major highway) and go over that bridge down thar (we call it the High-5 for a reason) and keep headed straight until you get to exit ***. Git in the lef lane cause them folks drive crazy."
I suppose it depends on who you're talking to. We have a LOT of transplants here from all states and nations around the world, so the directions can come out differently if you're talking to someone from let's say, Washington ;~D
There are many things I appreciate about the north! Direct-ness is one of them.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I consider myself a Northerner. Northwesterner, to be exact.
I consider myself a Northerner -- a Northwesterner, to be exact. Born in Northern California, I had no clue that I would ever leave that area, until I was suddenly whisked away to live in Jackson, MS. Age 8-1/2, I had no idea until my arrival that things would be any different from California.
But they were!
And things were different again when, 3-1/2 years later, we moved to Kentucky.
And again in nine months when we moved to Missouri.
Then Minnesota.
Then Maryland.
Shall I go on?
Suffice it to say that I finally did get back to California, where I thought I would live, retire, and be buried . . .
Until I ran into the man who would be my husband, who would take me on what Had Better Be My Last Move, Because The Next Move Had Better Be Into the World To Come!
Washington may not be my favorite state, but I'm not moving again!
No, I'm not!
I'm NOT, I'm Not, I'm NOT!
So when my friend suggest this blog, I loved it, but I thought she was going to collect all the data and write it! After all, I have been away from the South long enough that I think Southerners are "cute" and we in the North are just . . . well . . . less colorful, more . . . blah.
Then I thought of my first encounters with Northwesterners after being away for many years.
Now, this was not in California, where people are a little more, uh, let's just call it either knowledgeable or more ready to recognize and be at peace with differences in others. I am not going to name the state or anything, because perhaps that would be mean, but it was north of California and south of Washington, and its beaches are bordered by the Pacific, with Idaho on the other side.
See, I can write all that, because seriously, those in this particular state are basically unaware of anything that is “on the other side of the mountains”! In fact, they won’t even recognize themselves in this little post – seriously! And I am not being mean – this is just a basic truth!
When I first took my children back to my old “stomping grounds” to visit in that particular state, the people would notice our accents and would invariably ask, “Where are you from?” I would respond, “Minneapolis.” Now, my children were also asked where they were from, and being young, they were completely puzzled by these people's responses!
And there was only one set of answers. They were:
5. “Where is that?”
4. “Minneapolis? Is that near Boston?”
3. “That’s way out in the sticks, isn’t it.”
2. “Well, what do you think, being in such a large metropolitan area as Portland?”
And the winner was – drum roll, please! –
1. (spoken with a particularly whangy, bored voice, similar to something that sounded like a profound state of the doldrums . . . ) “Oh. The other side of the mountains.”
Well, you have definitely already been introduced to some of the differences between Southerners and Northerners -- and you may recognize, also, that there are major differences between Northerners and Northwesterners! While I also lived in the North, I am coming to you now as a Northwesterner. We can tend to be bitingly honest -- or maybe you would call that simply rude! Shall I add crass? I would understand. In future posts, I will try to work on learning manners from my wonderful Southern friend. Perhaps, I will be able to tone it down some and not be so blunt.
But they were!
And things were different again when, 3-1/2 years later, we moved to Kentucky.
And again in nine months when we moved to Missouri.
Then Minnesota.
Then Maryland.
Shall I go on?
Suffice it to say that I finally did get back to California, where I thought I would live, retire, and be buried . . .
Until I ran into the man who would be my husband, who would take me on what Had Better Be My Last Move, Because The Next Move Had Better Be Into the World To Come!
Washington may not be my favorite state, but I'm not moving again!
No, I'm not!
I'm NOT, I'm Not, I'm NOT!
So when my friend suggest this blog, I loved it, but I thought she was going to collect all the data and write it! After all, I have been away from the South long enough that I think Southerners are "cute" and we in the North are just . . . well . . . less colorful, more . . . blah.
Then I thought of my first encounters with Northwesterners after being away for many years.
Now, this was not in California, where people are a little more, uh, let's just call it either knowledgeable or more ready to recognize and be at peace with differences in others. I am not going to name the state or anything, because perhaps that would be mean, but it was north of California and south of Washington, and its beaches are bordered by the Pacific, with Idaho on the other side.
See, I can write all that, because seriously, those in this particular state are basically unaware of anything that is “on the other side of the mountains”! In fact, they won’t even recognize themselves in this little post – seriously! And I am not being mean – this is just a basic truth!
When I first took my children back to my old “stomping grounds” to visit in that particular state, the people would notice our accents and would invariably ask, “Where are you from?” I would respond, “Minneapolis.” Now, my children were also asked where they were from, and being young, they were completely puzzled by these people's responses!
And there was only one set of answers. They were:
5. “Where is that?”
4. “Minneapolis? Is that near Boston?”
3. “That’s way out in the sticks, isn’t it.”
2. “Well, what do you think, being in such a large metropolitan area as Portland?”
And the winner was – drum roll, please! –
1. (spoken with a particularly whangy, bored voice, similar to something that sounded like a profound state of the doldrums . . . ) “Oh. The other side of the mountains.”
Well, you have definitely already been introduced to some of the differences between Southerners and Northerners -- and you may recognize, also, that there are major differences between Northerners and Northwesterners! While I also lived in the North, I am coming to you now as a Northwesterner. We can tend to be bitingly honest -- or maybe you would call that simply rude! Shall I add crass? I would understand. In future posts, I will try to work on learning manners from my wonderful Southern friend. Perhaps, I will be able to tone it down some and not be so blunt.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
-ISMS
Northern-isms and Southern-isms
"You might be a redneck if..."
Now, nearly everyone on the planet is familiar with Jeff Foxworthy's southern-antics. It seems to me that as I visit places and meet people, I find that the USA is one large union of hundreds of little countries each having their own distinct personalities. In the south, everyone smiles and waves their 'hellos' to passers by regardless of whether or now you know the person. A friend from New York asked me about it. While visiting the local gym, she thought every man was hitting on her and every woman was entirely too nosy with their questions. Different strokes for different folks.
I was daydreaming about this the other day.
A pal and I had spent some time chatting about life experiences in our varying cultures and I thought, "HOW MUCH FUN would it be to put it all in a blog!?!" So I asked if she would contribute, seeing as she has lived all over the country and I was born and raised in the south. She said "Yes"! Yay!
Tzav, my friend, I think this will be fun. Not sure if anyone but the two of us will read this, but it will be cool anyway.
Why ladies and gents, I'm so glad you're here readin' this lil ole blog, I hope you enjoy your visitin' and come back and see us again soon ya hear? And don't fret, the background will change at least a dozen times until it's right!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)