Suzanna Danna

This just in: Well, not really just in. More along the lines of something that I have been thinking about for nigh on two weeks and it is driving me insane and I just finally put it into words in the comments section of my darling friend’s; Anne’s; site yesterday afternoon.

And now? Because I am totally lazy and quite content to pirate my own ranting and lunatic commenting… I present to you for your entertainment something I like to call…

Yesterday after I hung up the phone I promptly called the helpful bastard (Robert – the Comcast guy) something that disgorged forth from my mouth with such venom I surprised even myself.

[click]
“Clod.”

Yes, yes… I know. The language. And yes, I do kiss my mother with this mouth.

Clod? Clod of what?

We may have been over this before but that was the name my father chose to bequeath to other drivers or anyone of questionable mentality that he deemed worthy of such a moniker.

A trucker pulls in front of my father’s highway traveling vehicle and slams on the breaks?
“CLOD!”

Waiter trips and douses my mother with iced tea?
“CLOD!”

I fall off of the curb and accidentally smack my sister in the face with a flailing limb?
“Clod.”

Our clan has names and characters and certain things that are regional colloquial speech or familial sayings. (Regional AND colloquial? Yes! Captain redundant!... Shut it.) I will share with you several of ours and I would like to hear about yours as well.

She’s so skinny she’d have to run around in the shower to get wet.

If someone acted the fool or did not RSVP in a timely manner or any number of things that would make them different in a bad way from how I was raised, my mother or grandmother would say, “They just aren’t our kind dear.” My girlfriend J.Wo and I were talking about this at lunchtime today on the phone. She sent out an invitation and the only RSVP that she has received was mine. She asked about the other people and if their poor manners were a product of where they lived? I started to say, “They are just,” and she helped me finish “not our kind.” She had a Southern grandmother too. :)

One afternoon I was cleaning up the kitchen and dining room with my Great Aunt. She bent over to pick up a linen napkin from the floor and then stood up abruptly. As she walked into the kitchen I heard her say, “I just about lost my manners.” Meaning that she almost pooted.

My father credits my mother with running the household finances in such a way as to be almost perfect. His compliment to her is, “She could squeeze a buffalo nickel until it farted.”

Two songs that my Agriculture teacher (and FFA sponsor) would sing while working in the barn: “She has freckles on her but (butt)… she’s pretty…” And “She’s warm in the winter, shady in the summer time, that’s what I like about that fat gal of mine.”

My grandmother knew of a little girl in their small town who would slam doors. Car doors, screen doors, refrigerator doors. She was so harsh that one day a car door that she slammed fell off. Her name was Amy. So, anytime any of us (anyone in the family really) shuts a door with extra force, even if we don’t mean too you will still hear from somewhere in the house, “Slam it Amy!” Or something along the lines of, “Is it shut yet Amy?”

Dumb as a box of hair. – self explanatory

Goodness sakes alive! Or my lands! Either of these could be used in place of “Holy Shit.”

One of my favorite expressions comes from Trixie’s mother. She was raised in New York and it is not a southern expression at all, but ya’ll should hear her say, “Oh, go shit in your hat.” It is her version of, “Oh, please.” I have always wanted to work this particular one into my repertoire but I have yet to incorporate it into my lingo.

If I was working on a project and I couldn’t get the outcome I desired… my father would say, “You must not be holdin' your mouth right.”

The newspaper that my mother, father, grandparents and most of my extended family grew up reading is the Hartwell Sun. It has been a running joke for the past… oh, 4 or 5 decades with everyone that in each editorial piece describing a function either in town or out that the words, “And a good time was had by all.” will be present at the end of the column or piece.

If you go to visit my Aunt and Uncle in Hartwell today you will be treated to incredible hospitality, the sweetest hugs and wonderful food. You will also be asked to join them out on the porch were several things will commence… smoking, drinking Co-Cola (Coca-Colaｩ) and listening to the police scanner. Someone may even read the Hartwell Sun out loud… and at the end of each piece everyone must say, “And a good time was had by all!”

When I got married to the X in 1994 a piece was run in the Hartwell Sun about my wedding and reception. A beautiful description of my wedding gown and the silk brocade bodice, buttoned by renaissance buttons up the back, blah blah blah. They described the reception in two or three paragraphs. It really could have been summed up like this, “Hooo Wee that bride shore’nuff danced her ass off while the rednecks gathered around the kegs and floated them before 10 pm.” But of course, even after all of that description of the dress and the wedding and the reception the last sentence was, “And a good time was had by all.” Heh.

Ok, ya’ll’s turn.