04 September 2016
Story #824
R. Linda:
Since me Mam moved in with us, when Dragon comes to visit, she is having a very hard time understanding not only my Irish accent (which has American inflexions creeping in, so I be not as hard to understand as I first was) but with me dear old grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam. Dragon is in a quandary over Mam's accent. I be told when I be in the room with Mam, any American inflexions to my accent disappear like smoke and she is once again sitting with "foreigners" who don't speak English.
Oh yeah, that's what she complains loudly about the house. I, for one, could very well take a mind to me speech and make it easier for her, but me heart won't let me. As far as Mam be concerned, she grew up in Ireland, was born and raised, and with the bit of time she has spent in America, she has not been exposed (language-wise) to any inflexions of Americanisms in her spoken word. Yes indeed, she be a daughter of Ireland and will so remain. I get it, but Dragon does not. She is of the mind (like Donald Trump) that if you live here, you should speak the language. The problem IS that Mam speaks the language only with an Irish accent! When I inform Dragon that she is the one with the accent, she makes it seem like she doesn't understand a word I say.
So Dragon took me aside (yes, she be here AGAIN) and tried to reckon with me to get me Mam to try to be American. Like that's going to happen. In turn, I tried to explain that it wasn't that simple to drop one accent for another unless you were a linguist trained for such things. It went in one ear and out the other. She wouldn't have it, indeed, we both (me and Mam) could be more generous when we speak so the American ear can halfway understand what on God's little acre we are talking about, otherwise, what was the need to even be in the same room? Indeed, I wanted so much to opt for not being in the same room ever, but the wife would be upset, and three people already upset didn't need a fourth in the mix.
I told Dragon privately that I would try to translate Mam's words the best I could. So that was that until yesterday, when Dragon came into the kitchen. Both Mam and I had got up early enough to have our breakfast in peace without the Dragon.
Dragon threw a good morning to us, and we back, well, me Mam, with "good morrow" instead of "good morning," the Irish greeting that has been around for hundreds of years. And I sighed. Dragon sighed and went to look out the window. She was checking the dawn weather and murmured something about how it looked like rain was coming.
Mam, not really thinking, just wanting to be sociable, says to us, "Oh, ay, dere be a chunce (chance) of soft rain 3% (light rain) an' a chance of torrential rain 97%."
Eeeyup! Said it just like that, to which an exasperated Dragon turned around and looked at me, like WTF? I shrugged like there was nothing to be done about it. And then it started to rain.
"I tole ye," muttered Mam, "prolly clare (clear) oop on the morrow." And seeing the furrowed brow on the Dragon and thinking it was because of the weather adds, "when it gits dockah (darker) ye won't notice da bod (bad) weathah (weather) so mooch (much). At least da buyos (boys) hovent (haven't) any skewl (school). Be a goud (good) day fer da buyos ta stoody (study) dere skewl werk."
I put me hands to me face at Dragon's sour look. She poured herself some coffee, and Mam, thinking Dragon was not sociable first thing in the morning, decided to talk it up. I tell ya!
"Da rain will green oop da groahus (grass)," she rattles on, "git da sneaks (snakes) back in da wooods (woods) an' da buyos won't feel so bone rubble (vulnerable) goin' oout (out) in da yad (yard)."
Seeing this brought more silence, so she went on.
"Got Kerry Gould (Gold) buttah." She inched the butter dish towards Dragon. "I bought a taub (tub) of it."
The Dragon made no move to make herself some toast, no, just stood there staring at us both as she sipped her hot coffee as if it was all a bad dream.
This further threw Mam into a conversation of the Irish kind.
"Do ye wan' a sue-flay?" Mam asked Dragon who looked at me, and I translated soufflé.
R. Linda:
Since me Mam moved in with us, when Dragon comes to visit, she is having a very hard time understanding not only my Irish accent (which has American inflexions creeping in, so I be not as hard to understand as I first was) but with me dear old grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam. Dragon is in a quandary over Mam's accent. I be told when I be in the room with Mam, any American inflexions to my accent disappear like smoke and she is once again sitting with "foreigners" who don't speak English.
Oh yeah, that's what she complains loudly about the house. I, for one, could very well take a mind to me speech and make it easier for her, but me heart won't let me. As far as Mam be concerned, she grew up in Ireland, was born and raised, and with the bit of time she has spent in America, she has not been exposed (language-wise) to any inflexions of Americanisms in her spoken word. Yes indeed, she be a daughter of Ireland and will so remain. I get it, but Dragon does not. She is of the mind (like Donald Trump) that if you live here, you should speak the language. The problem IS that Mam speaks the language only with an Irish accent! When I inform Dragon that she is the one with the accent, she makes it seem like she doesn't understand a word I say.
So Dragon took me aside (yes, she be here AGAIN) and tried to reckon with me to get me Mam to try to be American. Like that's going to happen. In turn, I tried to explain that it wasn't that simple to drop one accent for another unless you were a linguist trained for such things. It went in one ear and out the other. She wouldn't have it, indeed, we both (me and Mam) could be more generous when we speak so the American ear can halfway understand what on God's little acre we are talking about, otherwise, what was the need to even be in the same room? Indeed, I wanted so much to opt for not being in the same room ever, but the wife would be upset, and three people already upset didn't need a fourth in the mix.
I told Dragon privately that I would try to translate Mam's words the best I could. So that was that until yesterday, when Dragon came into the kitchen. Both Mam and I had got up early enough to have our breakfast in peace without the Dragon.
Dragon threw a good morning to us, and we back, well, me Mam, with "good morrow" instead of "good morning," the Irish greeting that has been around for hundreds of years. And I sighed. Dragon sighed and went to look out the window. She was checking the dawn weather and murmured something about how it looked like rain was coming.
Mam, not really thinking, just wanting to be sociable, says to us, "Oh, ay, dere be a chunce (chance) of soft rain 3% (light rain) an' a chance of torrential rain 97%."
Eeeyup! Said it just like that, to which an exasperated Dragon turned around and looked at me, like WTF? I shrugged like there was nothing to be done about it. And then it started to rain.
"I tole ye," muttered Mam, "prolly clare (clear) oop on the morrow." And seeing the furrowed brow on the Dragon and thinking it was because of the weather adds, "when it gits dockah (darker) ye won't notice da bod (bad) weathah (weather) so mooch (much). At least da buyos (boys) hovent (haven't) any skewl (school). Be a goud (good) day fer da buyos ta stoody (study) dere skewl werk."
I put me hands to me face at Dragon's sour look. She poured herself some coffee, and Mam, thinking Dragon was not sociable first thing in the morning, decided to talk it up. I tell ya!
"Da rain will green oop da groahus (grass)," she rattles on, "git da sneaks (snakes) back in da wooods (woods) an' da buyos won't feel so bone rubble (vulnerable) goin' oout (out) in da yad (yard)."
Seeing this brought more silence, so she went on.
"Got Kerry Gould (Gold) buttah." She inched the butter dish towards Dragon. "I bought a taub (tub) of it."
The Dragon made no move to make herself some toast, no, just stood there staring at us both as she sipped her hot coffee as if it was all a bad dream.
This further threw Mam into a conversation of the Irish kind.
"Do ye wan' a sue-flay?" Mam asked Dragon who looked at me, and I translated soufflé.
"No, thank you," Dragon said slowly, pronouncing each word as a hint that Mam might try the same.
"Gabe's vather (father) uoosed (used) ta like dem. Only he liked 'em bootery (buttery) an' I tried to tell 'em he woz (was) cryzee (crazy), dey were made only to poof (puff). One day I kooked (cooked) 'em won (one) wit (with) booble goom (bubble gum) in it." And she started laughing at the memory as Dragon's eyes got big over the rim of her coffee cup. "He taught (though) it were mogic (magic) da middle grew and grew and grew!" Another outburst of laughter, which I admit made me chuckle because I remember that scene from childhood.
"Da (the) colah (colour) woz off an' he's (his) face an' 'ee said jus' befur (before) it boost (burst), it were da strangest sue flay he'd ever taw (saw)." And into gales of laughter, she and I at the memory of Da's face dripping exploded bubble gum. You had to be there. It was the last soufflé he ever requested. She never made another and told me later how much she hated making them, so I knew she was toying with the Dragon who would never request one now for fear of what might be hiding inside.
Mam wasn't looking at Dragon's horrified look but out the window. She got up and said as she left the room, "Dat chunce of rain weirdly low roight (right) now, apart from da drizzle an' slanty rain." And off she went, leaving the Dragon in consternation of just what she meant by that.
I hightailed it out of the kitchen meself as I wanted no more complaints on me Mam, who (and I knew it though Dragon did not) had overheard the accent conversation the night before and made sure she was on her most Irish as much as she could be just to rattle the Dragon's cage.
Gabe
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