|What American accent do you have? |
Your Result: The West
|The Inland North|
|What American accent do you have?|
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I remember when a Kiwi whom I dated briefly in my misspent youth, told me that I had a “lovely drawl”. I informed him indignantly that I had no accent, he was the one who talked funny. Though I must admit that thirty-two years later, it is obvious that I’ve spent a few decades in Texas since kicking that one to the curb. Just ask me to say “boots”. Two syllables, minimum.
And crayons are “crenz”, but then they always have been.
Signaling for an abrupt change of direction. Don’t want you to fall out of the car.
But first, another link. I remember a friend in one of my old wards. She had several books about anger on her bookshelf, and I remember thinking why on earth anybody would want to study anger. That was before I had five kids and a failing marriage, all crammed like Disney’s genie into “itty bitty living space”. I sometimes wonder if I had gotten angry about the children’s father’s repeated bouts of unemployment, instead of being patient and supportive and getting depressed, if we could have short-circuited the cycles and salvaged our marriage. Something to discuss with him when we are both on the other side of mortality and can see clearly all the forces and influences that were playing into our situation.
I particularly appreciated the comment in this article about the purpose of relationships. Something I’ve been thinking about since the conference last weekend. The singles’ program in the church has never been intended as a matchmaking service. The purpose is to provide opportunities for friendship and learning and support. To keep us connected to life in general, if not one person in particular.
Last weekend’s conference was one of the best I have attended, in ten years of being single. Almost the perfect confluence of inspiration and activity, conversation and nourishment. I may have remarked earlier this week that it has been a long time since I felt so rested and refreshed; I know that I’ve thought it more than once. And yet, that comes with a price. In order to make it through some days, I have a carefully-acquired patina composed of “I think I can, I think I can”, “hand over the chocolate and nobody gets hurt”, and “don’t mess with my cubs”, to name a few.
And all of that got chipped away during the course of the weekend. What remains are the feelings that I typically bring home with me from service in the Lord’s temple: tenderness, vulnerability, and an increased sense of trust.
LittleBit just woke up to get a drink of water. We had a lovely conversation on several topics that have been much on my mind recently. I am much reassured on her behalf, and on the state of our relationship as mother and daughter. And now I have two minutes in which to bathe, wash my hair, and figure out what I am wearing to work.
Where is that patina now that I need it?