Rock-tober 28, 2025

A few decades  ago, when Andrea was still a sign language interpreter, I tagged along to a party hosted by one of her coworkers. As usual at these events, English wasn't the lingua franca of the evening, it was American Sign Language (ASL). While I may be fluent in hand gestured expletives of several different countries, I was not conversant in ASL.

The situation didn't throw me for a loop. Growing up not speaking either Ilokano or Tagalog, the primary native languages in the Philippines, as a kid I was constantly surrounded by conversations I didn't understand. That evening, I just smiled and nodded my way past clusters of signers, fixed a plate, and made a drink as I went.

I landed on the back deck where the only other person was our host's husband, also a non-signer. We struck up a conversation based on the common ground that neither of us really knew what to do at these shindigs.

It turns out he also grew up down south, and that led to comparisons of our formative years below the Mason-Dixon.

Since we were surrounded by language centric folks, our discussion turned to the uniqueness of southernisms. We laughed as we tried to outdo each other with tongue-twisting place names and surnames that defied obvious attempts at pronunciation.

I brought up my standards: Tchoupitoulas, a street in New Orleans, and Tchoutacabouffa, a river in south Mississippi. To complete the alliteration trifecta, I tossed in the north Mississippi county of Tishomingo.

We agreed that the last name, Hebert, always threw northerners for a loop. I've only known one guy, who  happens to be from Mississippi, who pronounces his name HEE-burt.

Southern colloquialisms also came up. I once worked with a northern transplant who got very agitated when one of us mentioned we "were fixin' to" do some random thing.

"But wait! You're not 'fixin' anything, dammit!"

"Weeelllll, would ya lookit that. By the way that veins a-throbbing in your temple, it looks like you're fixin' to have a stroke. Aww. Bless your heart."

My conversation partner that evening did manage to introduce me to a southernism I'd never heard before: "moonlight and magnolias". From his explanation, it meant a state of serene, tranquil, bliss, and everything was right with the world.

"But, Wayne," you ask, "how would one use such a lovely, southern turn of phrase?"

Hold your horses, Boudreaux. Ain't no need to get your britches all cattywampus cuz I'm fixin' to tell ya.

Lets' say after a day that was hotter'n blue blazes, runnin' over hell's half acre and bein' busier than a cat on a hot tin roof, you're feelin' all tore up, rode hard, and put away wet. But then your best girl meets you at the door with a hug and a smile, some sugar, and a tall, cool glass of sweet tea.

Well, damn, son, that's moonlight and magnolias.

Alabama - Song of the South