If irony is the spice of life, mine's on the upper spectrum of the Scoville scale. (That's the measurement for rating potency of peppers. I googled it, so it must be true.)
The older I get, the more I realize how ironic life can be. For instance, growing up, I never liked my voice. If I had to listen to myself recorded, I would cringe. Fast-forward 30 years, and I spend hours a week editing myself talking in videos.
While I never liked my voice, I also never realized I had what some would call an "accent." I think it has something to do with being surrounded my entire life by people who talk exactly like me. But I don't have to get too far from home to hear: "You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, and I reckon that's obvious."
I have come to not only accept but embrace my seeming lack of grammar and affluence in Southern vernacular. Maybe the saying should really be, "Beauty is in the ear of the beholder."
I love learning new words or meanings for old words from friends I've made in other parts of the country and abroad. My Canadian friends have some real doozies. Did you know they think a toboggan is something you ride in the snow and not something you wear on your head? Who ever heard such? And, evidently, in some parts of America, a hay loft is called a hay mow. And, a creek is a crick? Around here, a crick is something you get in your neck when you sleep on it wrong. I won't even go into the pecan debate (by the way, it's pee-can.)
I'm not trying to stir the pot, just pointing out we're all gonna sound strange to someone out there. Own your voice and appreciate others -- because bless our hearts, we all talk funny.
Meredith Bernard tends farm, family, writes, takes photographs and talks about life from North Carolina. Follow her on social media @thisfarmwife and visit her website at http://thisfarmwife.com/…
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