Yesterday, we met with a woman who wanted to use our office for a daylong training.

Words flew out of her mouth like a flock of birds during migration. A swooping mass that went this way and that way, mostly in a forward direction. Her crooked teeth reminded me of my mother’s smile.  

“Tell me to slow down if I am speaking too fast, that’s just the Yankee in me,” the woman explained.

It was a bizarre thing to say which made me think of a tiny solder in blue holding a musket, camped out somewhere in her body, defending the North. The same North that is under a blizzard warning, while we complain about the rain and grey skies of middle Tennessee. (By we, I mean Baby Brother and Little Legs. You are right to assume this was part of a serious discussion.)   

However strange the phrase, I understood what she meant. We carry the place(s) where we are born and raised with us, right down to our cells. It comes out in how we speak, our preferences, what feels safe or unsafe, who and what we seek out. It is so much of who we are, consciously and subconsciously.

My inner Yankee, obviously irrational, misses the cold weather and longs to hear the call of the Hoosier in its natural environment. (It sounds like this, Go Hoo-hoo-hoosiers.)

Being so far from home during this weather event, I feel like we are missing out on a history making experience that will change and bond those involved. An experience, that like childbirth, is unforgettable and mostly terrible but also amazing to remember after it is all over. Enduring this snowstorm will result in a memory that people will talk about to their children and their children’s children about.

“And the snow was how high?” the small people will ask.

With each retelling, the response will get higher and higher. We are talking the stuff of legacy here.

In the meantime, my heart is in the Heartland. I will be keeping all our friends and family on my mind as they hunker down and wait out the Blizzard of 2022. I guess if I really want the blizzard experience, I can always go down the street to Dairy Queen where I can get one with a whipped cream and a cherry on top and that will keep my inner Yank happy until we can get back home.

6 thoughts on “The Yankee In Me

      1. Thank you! I might not post another one for a while- we are all down with covid, even the little one. We were so careful and then we went to Chuck E Cheese and it was game over.

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      2. Yes! We were both vax’d. The boys are still too young but apparently it would not have mattered. We are a mess! Coughing, sniffling and still chasing after the boys who are barely affected. It feels like a hangover that doesn’t go away.

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      3. I’m sure you are miserable yet glad you are suffering instead of the boys. My mother used to always say, “Honey, I just wish it was me,” when we were ill. Once when I was three or four and feeling terrible, I said, “Mommy, I just wish it was you.” Ha.

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