Please stop what you are doing and pay heed to the following announcement.
I AM SICK OF POLITICS!
You may now return to your regular programming.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Lots of folks are "from Kentucky" and I am one of those. My body needs only to cross the invisible plane that hangs in the air above the Ohio River and liberal uses of "Y'all" and a native southern drawl magically reappear. My husband and I once made a hasty journey to Frankfort to get my birth certificate and he told me I was fully "Kentucky conversant" with the sweet records clerk who so graciously met my need to be "certified." I never even noticed the dialect change. It was just like breathing, purely natural.
Our parents grew up in northeastern Kentucky, and left there when Dad entered the ministry in 1958. I was six years old, and obviously a dyed in the wool southerner by then. Our Michigan cousins used to love teasing us about the way we spoke. We used to howl and roll on the floor when we asked them to say "hog" and "dog." You see all our vowels require the adequate amount of time to get said properly. None of this short, clipped speech would do for us. If someone in Kentucky wants to tell you a story (and they all have stories, believe me) then you had better just plan on pullin' up a chair for a spell. It is gonna take some time!
Last weekend we took our parents back to see the those who stayed and lived their lives south of the river. There have been a few sporadic visits over the years when the hectic pace of life allowed. Last weekend we saw too few, spent way too little time with them, and all too soon it was time to travel back across the river and north to home.
It is good to know we come from such solid and God fearing stock. I have missed them, and they love me without seeing me as much as they would like. I wonder what our lives would have been like if we had stayed "south of the river?" Goodness knows.
Our parents grew up in northeastern Kentucky, and left there when Dad entered the ministry in 1958. I was six years old, and obviously a dyed in the wool southerner by then. Our Michigan cousins used to love teasing us about the way we spoke. We used to howl and roll on the floor when we asked them to say "hog" and "dog." You see all our vowels require the adequate amount of time to get said properly. None of this short, clipped speech would do for us. If someone in Kentucky wants to tell you a story (and they all have stories, believe me) then you had better just plan on pullin' up a chair for a spell. It is gonna take some time!
Last weekend we took our parents back to see the those who stayed and lived their lives south of the river. There have been a few sporadic visits over the years when the hectic pace of life allowed. Last weekend we saw too few, spent way too little time with them, and all too soon it was time to travel back across the river and north to home.
It is good to know we come from such solid and God fearing stock. I have missed them, and they love me without seeing me as much as they would like. I wonder what our lives would have been like if we had stayed "south of the river?" Goodness knows.
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