Skip to main content

he pronounced the p


sweet-tart raspberries

I love words and I’m mad about raspberries.  I know it seems like a really odd connection to make.  What in the world do thorny canes that ramble everywhere, growing blissful rosy, I’m-in-heaven berries have to do with words; made up of letters, syllables and sounds?  Uh, nothing except a very sweet memory.

he pronounced the p

There are many words in our language that have extra letters stuffed in; a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that actually belong somewhere else.  These spare jots have no voice, they don’t make a peep.   And what’s more, there are oodles of words like ... 

know - crumbs - wednesday 
champagne - island - gourmet - raspberries

Why we do this is a conundrum.  I don’t get it.  Why not just spell everything phonetically?  Life would be easier and we wouldn’t make language faux pas – there’s two more silent letter words.

From time to time, those quirky pronunciations become very endearing to us; the way kiddos say “Gamma” or “b’scetti.”  These captivating little vocal variances aren’t limited to kids.  We, as big people have our own idiosyncrasy.

raz-berre  or  rasp-berre

Returning to raspberries…I can’t think of why this came to mind, possibly a recipe or having seen bare root canes at the market – that’s not the important part – I remembered.

Last spring I had more than one chat with my daddy-in-law about raspberry canes being planted; replacing the regular garden items.  We discussed how they should be stuck in the ground, the amount of sunshine and how he’d need to make sure on the amount of water.  Of course, we wondered whether he’d get any of the delectable melt-in-your-mouth fruit that first year.  We spoke of jam and tarts and warm handfuls picked right off the vine.

As much as I adore these delicate, sweet-sour nuggets that taste of summer, I hang onto the way my father-in-law pronounced raspberries – he pronounced the “p”.  He also had a few other unique ways of saying words, but for today I’ll remember the raspberries.  What about you?

Holding onto verbal variances…

Missy


If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Good morning, lab rats!

One of my favorite movies is “A Good Year,” starring Russell Crowe.  It’s a fun little romp through the South of France, filled with wine, romance and very poignant moments of clarity. Max, is a driven, pompous business man who is willing to use, abuse and finagle his way to the top, and then gloat.  He is never satisfied with his accomplishments.  "Good morning, lab rats,” indicates his ‘tude. Fanny, on the other hand, is a bicycle wielding, passionate woman.  She is suspicious, short-tempered and very jealous, yet content with her way of life; minding the business of others. The storyline is obvious:  opposites attract, love blooms and then blows up.  Reflecting on the vast difference in their existences, this dialogue is uttered: Max:   This place does not suit my life. Fanny:  No Max, it’s your life that does not suit this place. Makes me wonder how many times I have said no to things because it didn’t fit into my prec...

wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

do you see a weed or a wish? Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella. Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed. pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being funny , how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and ...

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to ...