Am I Secretly a Southern Girl at Heart?
Warning! This post has very little discernably to do with Madrona School. But I figure this is my blog, so I get to post what I want. I also figure that since I haven't yet convinced anyone else to post anything, I most DEFINITELY get to post whatever I want. And I hope it's entertaining for at least someone out there.
Ahhhh, well, the short answer is....
Yes, definitely some percentage. Y'all should know that mah daddy's from Texas, so that makes me half-Southern -- who knew?!
The long answer is....
My dad is from Texas, my mom is from New Jersey, they met and got married in Alaska, and I was born in L.A., so I am just one of many modern-day American nomads, really. But this Southern stuff is in my blood somewhere, try as I may have in the past to deny it.
For example, I grew up with my dad listening to all sorts of country music. I think we had every Willie Nelson album, including all the ones where he partners up with everybody else in the known country universe. In fact, the first big-name concert I can remember going to was when I took my dad to a Willie Nelson concert at the county fairgrounds for Father's Day when I was ten or so. And Johnny Cash, if he counts as country, anyway, he was part of my dad's collection as well. So of course I tried to separate myself from this country music thing, and refused to listen to it ever, if I had the option not to. Then I got married. And the thing about this is, I lived with my husband for five years before we got married. Did he listen to any country music during this time? NO! Then we get married, and all of a sudden I start finding country music all over the house and car. And all I can think is, "It's true! I really have married my own father!!!" And that goes without mentioning the line dancing or the black Lucchese cowboy boots. Or the watching sports on television thing, which he had previously maintained he wasn't party to. (I know that's not an exclusively Southern thing, but it sure is a "my dad" thing.) Jim is from Michigan, so he has no excuse that I can think of, either, for the boots or the line dancing or the country music. I was misled!
But here's the truly astonishing confession regarding country music. Whenever I am flipping around radio stations and unconsciously think, "Oh, that sounds like real music!" it turns out that I am hearing some of the interesting banjo or fiddle or something in a country tune. As soon as I hear any sort of twang in a voice, though, I'm on to the next station.
Lately, Jim has been leaving Dwight Yoakam cd's in the Jeep. And by "leaving in the Jeep," I mean, leaving in the cd player. I admit to being lured in to listening, partly so I don't have to figure out where he stashed the cover. And Dwight's remake of "Understand Your Man" brings me back to sitting in the diningroom of my childhood home (the one we built, which no longer exists, having burned to the ground), listening to Johnny Cash on the stereo. I love that song, despite being newly awake to the non-feminist aspects of the lyrics. I was also delighted to find, as I circled the airport earlier this summer to pick up my dad from a trip to Texas (of course!), the words Dwight sereneded me with were so very apropos: "Stop the world and let me off; I'm tired of going round and round!"
So perhaps I am coming 'round to the whole country music aspect of my Southern heritage. Something else that marks me not only as coming from Texan stock, but in particular East Texas, is a certain domino game. This is a game I love to play, although I rarely get the chance. I've only ever met one other person, not a family member, who had heard of this game that I learned on my grandfather's knee, and he was from East Texas, too. I think maybe some folks from that part of really really east Texas called Lousiana might know it, too. It's called "42," and it resembles a domino version of bridge, more or less, but not as complicated. It's a four-person partner game with bidding, tricks and the like. Anyone want to start a new gaming trend on Bainbridge, just let me know!
Another thing I was reminded of today when talking to my father, who was celebrating his birthday, is a certain turn of phrase which has caused much confusion in the early years of my parents' marriage and almost lost me even tonight. It's the phrase "I don't care about that." Seems innocuous, right? I would wager that almost everyone reading this post would understand that to mean something along the lines of "It doesn't matter to me." In my dad's language, however, this means the same thing as "I don't care for that," in other words, "I am completely opposed to that." Just imagine my mom asking my dad's opinion about something, being told he didn't care about it, and her going ahead and doing whatever it was. She, of course, thought he was neutral on this issue, and the decision was entirely up to her, and he would think that she had asked his opinion and then completely ignored it. I don't know how long it took them to get this particular communication glitch solved. Tonight my dad told me my mom didn't care about something, and I had to stop and remind myself that what he really meant by that was she was dead set against it!
Anyway, one more thing that got me thinking about my Southern self was a new dvd of Jim's we watched tonight, called "Down from the Mountain," which is a concert documentary of the music from the movie "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" I recommend both, especially if you enjoy bluegrass music. "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" is a retelling of the Odyssey set in the depression era in the South, featuring George Clooney and Holly Hunt and directed by the Coen brothers. While not my most favorite movie ever, I think it's worth watching. It's a little off-the-wall, and it's fun to trace the classical elements through the unlikely setting, similar to the experience of the Jane Austen fanatic (uh, that would be me) observing the story of "Emma" seen through the lives of Valley Girls in "Clueless."
But it's a moment in "Down from the Mountain" that brings me to a small gem of relevance to the Heart of Leadership course. Gillian Welch describes a moment when she lived in a communal house in Santa Cruz, California (a setting I am incidentally quite familiar with, as I grew up right near Santa Cruz, myself.) She describes how she was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom, and one of her housemates put on this certain Bluegrass record. As soon as she heard it, she came out of the bathroom and had to find the album jacket immediately. She just HAD to see it. And it seems to me that she dates her connection with Bluegrass, a major part of her life, with the experience of that moment. And my experience in hearing and seeing her relate the story of that moment was that I was thrilled. Really and truly thrilled. While I can hardly imagine having the response she had to hearing that album, I am thrilled to hear the story of a moment of connection with one of her life's purposes. I wonder if there's really anything more exciting than that? I realize that I don't just want to have those moments for myself, but I want to hear about those moments for other people. Those are the most interesting stories I can imagine right now!
I still don't like okra.
That's it for my pondering and rambling for tonight. I'll be leaving for a week tomorrow, so wannabe new members of the blog will have to wait for invites until I am back -- feel free to email requests, though, and I'll send them out as soon as I return. We'll depend on the handful of other members we currently have to post any new content between now and then -- so post early and post often!
Ahhhh, well, the short answer is....
Yes, definitely some percentage. Y'all should know that mah daddy's from Texas, so that makes me half-Southern -- who knew?!
The long answer is....
My dad is from Texas, my mom is from New Jersey, they met and got married in Alaska, and I was born in L.A., so I am just one of many modern-day American nomads, really. But this Southern stuff is in my blood somewhere, try as I may have in the past to deny it.
For example, I grew up with my dad listening to all sorts of country music. I think we had every Willie Nelson album, including all the ones where he partners up with everybody else in the known country universe. In fact, the first big-name concert I can remember going to was when I took my dad to a Willie Nelson concert at the county fairgrounds for Father's Day when I was ten or so. And Johnny Cash, if he counts as country, anyway, he was part of my dad's collection as well. So of course I tried to separate myself from this country music thing, and refused to listen to it ever, if I had the option not to. Then I got married. And the thing about this is, I lived with my husband for five years before we got married. Did he listen to any country music during this time? NO! Then we get married, and all of a sudden I start finding country music all over the house and car. And all I can think is, "It's true! I really have married my own father!!!" And that goes without mentioning the line dancing or the black Lucchese cowboy boots. Or the watching sports on television thing, which he had previously maintained he wasn't party to. (I know that's not an exclusively Southern thing, but it sure is a "my dad" thing.) Jim is from Michigan, so he has no excuse that I can think of, either, for the boots or the line dancing or the country music. I was misled!
But here's the truly astonishing confession regarding country music. Whenever I am flipping around radio stations and unconsciously think, "Oh, that sounds like real music!" it turns out that I am hearing some of the interesting banjo or fiddle or something in a country tune. As soon as I hear any sort of twang in a voice, though, I'm on to the next station.
Lately, Jim has been leaving Dwight Yoakam cd's in the Jeep. And by "leaving in the Jeep," I mean, leaving in the cd player. I admit to being lured in to listening, partly so I don't have to figure out where he stashed the cover. And Dwight's remake of "Understand Your Man" brings me back to sitting in the diningroom of my childhood home (the one we built, which no longer exists, having burned to the ground), listening to Johnny Cash on the stereo. I love that song, despite being newly awake to the non-feminist aspects of the lyrics. I was also delighted to find, as I circled the airport earlier this summer to pick up my dad from a trip to Texas (of course!), the words Dwight sereneded me with were so very apropos: "Stop the world and let me off; I'm tired of going round and round!"
So perhaps I am coming 'round to the whole country music aspect of my Southern heritage. Something else that marks me not only as coming from Texan stock, but in particular East Texas, is a certain domino game. This is a game I love to play, although I rarely get the chance. I've only ever met one other person, not a family member, who had heard of this game that I learned on my grandfather's knee, and he was from East Texas, too. I think maybe some folks from that part of really really east Texas called Lousiana might know it, too. It's called "42," and it resembles a domino version of bridge, more or less, but not as complicated. It's a four-person partner game with bidding, tricks and the like. Anyone want to start a new gaming trend on Bainbridge, just let me know!
Another thing I was reminded of today when talking to my father, who was celebrating his birthday, is a certain turn of phrase which has caused much confusion in the early years of my parents' marriage and almost lost me even tonight. It's the phrase "I don't care about that." Seems innocuous, right? I would wager that almost everyone reading this post would understand that to mean something along the lines of "It doesn't matter to me." In my dad's language, however, this means the same thing as "I don't care for that," in other words, "I am completely opposed to that." Just imagine my mom asking my dad's opinion about something, being told he didn't care about it, and her going ahead and doing whatever it was. She, of course, thought he was neutral on this issue, and the decision was entirely up to her, and he would think that she had asked his opinion and then completely ignored it. I don't know how long it took them to get this particular communication glitch solved. Tonight my dad told me my mom didn't care about something, and I had to stop and remind myself that what he really meant by that was she was dead set against it!
Anyway, one more thing that got me thinking about my Southern self was a new dvd of Jim's we watched tonight, called "Down from the Mountain," which is a concert documentary of the music from the movie "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" I recommend both, especially if you enjoy bluegrass music. "Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?" is a retelling of the Odyssey set in the depression era in the South, featuring George Clooney and Holly Hunt and directed by the Coen brothers. While not my most favorite movie ever, I think it's worth watching. It's a little off-the-wall, and it's fun to trace the classical elements through the unlikely setting, similar to the experience of the Jane Austen fanatic (uh, that would be me) observing the story of "Emma" seen through the lives of Valley Girls in "Clueless."
But it's a moment in "Down from the Mountain" that brings me to a small gem of relevance to the Heart of Leadership course. Gillian Welch describes a moment when she lived in a communal house in Santa Cruz, California (a setting I am incidentally quite familiar with, as I grew up right near Santa Cruz, myself.) She describes how she was in the middle of cleaning the bathroom, and one of her housemates put on this certain Bluegrass record. As soon as she heard it, she came out of the bathroom and had to find the album jacket immediately. She just HAD to see it. And it seems to me that she dates her connection with Bluegrass, a major part of her life, with the experience of that moment. And my experience in hearing and seeing her relate the story of that moment was that I was thrilled. Really and truly thrilled. While I can hardly imagine having the response she had to hearing that album, I am thrilled to hear the story of a moment of connection with one of her life's purposes. I wonder if there's really anything more exciting than that? I realize that I don't just want to have those moments for myself, but I want to hear about those moments for other people. Those are the most interesting stories I can imagine right now!
I still don't like okra.
That's it for my pondering and rambling for tonight. I'll be leaving for a week tomorrow, so wannabe new members of the blog will have to wait for invites until I am back -- feel free to email requests, though, and I'll send them out as soon as I return. We'll depend on the handful of other members we currently have to post any new content between now and then -- so post early and post often!
posted by Jennifer Conway at 11:59 AM
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