So Happy
"Who here's happy!"
"We all happy!"
"Just how happy?"
"Oh, SO happy!"
"Why so happy?"
"'Cause Jesus is our king!"
We go through this little ritual fairly frequently at home. Dad is usually the questioner, but I think it was Grandpa who brought it into the house. He and Grandma--who moved in with us about a month ago--brought other things as well. Rolled biscuits, for example. Meatloaf you would kill for. My grandpa should be a chef--and he's a southern gentleman, the only man in my life who never fails to call me by my whole first name, but in lilting southspeak.
"Well Christina, how are you this mornin', darlin'?"
"Good mornin', Grandpa!" But what I'm thinking is, "I love you."
All of our accents are becoming more and more distinct at home, which makes sense. Remember our quoteliness, which is all mimetic anyway. What we hear, we pick up.
"That's a jim-dandy stimwinder!" Grandpa observes of a car in the lane beside us on our way to church. I smile, but I use the phrase a little while later.
"Do you notice that we sound more southern at home these days?" Davy asks me. We've picked up "Sugar" and "Baby" and "Well now, I don't just know" and "I think maybe." Southspeak is a lot more circumlocutory than the straightforward speech that we learned from our New England mother... or should I say, "our Yankee mama"?
Mama, ever the auditory learner, is picking it up fastest of all. There's a positive drawl in her language now, which I find unspeakably lovable. And then, you know, there's the jinks that we get up to. Grandpa has inaugurated a summer of croquet; he and Burgee play almost every evening, but the rest of us find time to join in at least a couple times a week. The other night Grandpa was reading the Koran aloud to us because an unbeliever had asked him to read it, and Grandpa decided to read aloud. I was cooking or doing dishes or somethin'--I spend a lot of time in the kitchen these days--and the four of us who were in there discussed it as we read.
I read Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain) to Burgee the other evening while she sewed. Soon I'll be getting back to my own sewing projects, making skirts and jumpers for school this fall. I was baking office lunches for Davy and I all last evening, while watching various programs on the little TV with the sibs, doing several rounds of dishes, and arguing the merits of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. A few hours earlier, Burgee and I had driven to the mall like modern young ladies, buying hair barrettes and grown-up perfume and stopping for a Starbucks. Yesterday morning was the Missions Presentation at church. I knew I shouldn't have worn mascara... I was in tears for half of it. God is so good to us!
Today, driving to the office, Davy told me a great life truth that he learned on his run in the early morning hours.
"Nothing can stop a man who is determined and wet!"
Apparently, already being wet is important, signifying committment and a lack of fear to plunge through foggy fields.
"That would make a great sermon illustration." I said. "I like it."
Oh, so happy!
Why?
Silly! 'Cause Jesus is my king! What other real or deep or lasting foundation is there?
"We all happy!"
"Just how happy?"
"Oh, SO happy!"
"Why so happy?"
"'Cause Jesus is our king!"
We go through this little ritual fairly frequently at home. Dad is usually the questioner, but I think it was Grandpa who brought it into the house. He and Grandma--who moved in with us about a month ago--brought other things as well. Rolled biscuits, for example. Meatloaf you would kill for. My grandpa should be a chef--and he's a southern gentleman, the only man in my life who never fails to call me by my whole first name, but in lilting southspeak.
"Well Christina, how are you this mornin', darlin'?"
"Good mornin', Grandpa!" But what I'm thinking is, "I love you."
All of our accents are becoming more and more distinct at home, which makes sense. Remember our quoteliness, which is all mimetic anyway. What we hear, we pick up.
"That's a jim-dandy stimwinder!" Grandpa observes of a car in the lane beside us on our way to church. I smile, but I use the phrase a little while later.
"Do you notice that we sound more southern at home these days?" Davy asks me. We've picked up "Sugar" and "Baby" and "Well now, I don't just know" and "I think maybe." Southspeak is a lot more circumlocutory than the straightforward speech that we learned from our New England mother... or should I say, "our Yankee mama"?
Mama, ever the auditory learner, is picking it up fastest of all. There's a positive drawl in her language now, which I find unspeakably lovable. And then, you know, there's the jinks that we get up to. Grandpa has inaugurated a summer of croquet; he and Burgee play almost every evening, but the rest of us find time to join in at least a couple times a week. The other night Grandpa was reading the Koran aloud to us because an unbeliever had asked him to read it, and Grandpa decided to read aloud. I was cooking or doing dishes or somethin'--I spend a lot of time in the kitchen these days--and the four of us who were in there discussed it as we read.
I read Innocents Abroad (Mark Twain) to Burgee the other evening while she sewed. Soon I'll be getting back to my own sewing projects, making skirts and jumpers for school this fall. I was baking office lunches for Davy and I all last evening, while watching various programs on the little TV with the sibs, doing several rounds of dishes, and arguing the merits of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. A few hours earlier, Burgee and I had driven to the mall like modern young ladies, buying hair barrettes and grown-up perfume and stopping for a Starbucks. Yesterday morning was the Missions Presentation at church. I knew I shouldn't have worn mascara... I was in tears for half of it. God is so good to us!
Today, driving to the office, Davy told me a great life truth that he learned on his run in the early morning hours.
"Nothing can stop a man who is determined and wet!"
Apparently, already being wet is important, signifying committment and a lack of fear to plunge through foggy fields.
"That would make a great sermon illustration." I said. "I like it."
Oh, so happy!
Why?
Silly! 'Cause Jesus is my king! What other real or deep or lasting foundation is there?
posted by Praelucor at 9:18 AM
2 Comments:
Dear, the merits of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers do not need arguing over. They are fixed, immoveable, and quite meritorious.
And I am glad you are having a lovely time at home!
~ Your friend who is one of seven (as yet unmarried) brides :-)
I wish that everyone felt as you do, but such is not the case. :-( However, want to hear an outrage? Davy says the same about Emperor's New Groove. Apparently it is now the standard by which art critics are judged... just like the old story about the young fellow who didn't appreciate the Mona Lisa.
Isn't that awful? I mourn my little brother's lost taste.
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