Moving from Ohio to North Carolina in the 1980s was quite an experience for Carl and me.
We knew it was beautiful and our winters would be much milder.
Since we'd heard about Southern hospitality all of our lives, we anticipated making new friends quickly.
We didn't anticipate having to learn a new language.
We arrived in Raleigh in March amidst the most glorious flowering landscape we'd ever seen. We thought we were going to melt by the first of June. It was HOT! And I do mean daily, relentlessly, and everlastingly HOT till after the middle of September. Fall lasted till mid-December though and, sure enough, snow was so unusual that schools and businesses sometimes closed in anticipation when not a single snowflake had fallen.
But where were all those friendly people we'd heard about? We couldn't find anyone who wanted to go beyond "Y'all come and see me sometime; hear?" No patio parties, no getting together after work, and no invitations to dinner. Nothing beyond an initial introduction. We did, however, quickly learn about The Wo-ah of Nawthen Aggression and how those nasty Yankees had stolen Great-Great-Aunt Tillie's silverware.
As for that new language? We drove all over the area looking for Marsville and couldn't find it. Turned out to be Morrisville. I looked all over IBM for someone named Leon Hennison. Turned out to be Henderson. Someone yelled, "Hey Sallie!" in the hall one day and I answered, "What?" I thought they wanted something.
We eventually got used to having people carried somewhere and dogs hasslin' but we never did quite wrap our minds around people getting up with us. "Bye" was replaced by "Have a nice day." And we eventually made good friends, although it took a lot longer than we expected. I freely admit that telling people our ancestors were originally from Virginia while keeping our West Virginia and Ohio roots firmly in the background might have had something to do with that in certain circles.
Last week, one of our Atlanta columnists wrote an article about appreciating small things and I suddenly realized what "Have a nice day" really means. Last Friday I read the newspaper and had morning coffee with my husband of many years. I painted till 1:00 p.m. with my Southern Colours artist friends. Late lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant with my husband, son and grandson was delightful. A brief nap was interrupted by a call from a wonderful friend and that segued into an impromptu visit from our next-door neighbor. All of a sudden it was 6:00 p.m. and only two hours were left before a TV program I was looking forward to called "Who Do You Think You Are." It's about genealogy - one of my favorite things to do.
I hereby want all of my native North Carolina friends to know that I finally get it.
I had a nice day.
