Before you continue reading this blog, please watch this video
so you can better understand my situation.
Yes, its true. I have been faced with the same hard situation of listening to a real cowboy/girl talk. Knowing that the language spoken must be english, yet I do not understand what is said.
The first time the western accent caused me some trouble, was when I first got here. We had only stayed in our new home for about a week. Then I started noticing that the air conditioner didn't seem to be working properly. Either that or what worried me more, I just was not adjusting to the desert heat.
So, by recommendation we called the big bug Ivan Lee, which came over directly. Ivan Lee (probably in his eighties) is a cowboy through and through. Wearing a cowboy hat, jeans, patched and re-patched shirt and some pretty fancy cowboy boots. He is kinda like the towns very own maintenance man. Knows how to fix everything and has a few acres of parts for any kind of fixing up. And Ivan Lee has the thickest accent I have heard so far. He came and went a few times that day, to fix my air conditioner. Pointing and waving his hat. But by hook or crook, I could not understand a word he said. Telling me something very important for sure. Probably something about the dial in the house because he kept putting his hand on it while talking. He also explained to me how an air conditioner works after taking off the covers of it. Or he was praying. Either way, the air conditioner works perfectly. Haven't had any trouble with it. Ivan Lee knows his stuff.
And so it is, that I often have to give my full attention to the person speaking. I can honestly say that learning to listen again has been one of the lessons I did not expect to learn on this adventure. The most recent and foreign sound that I have heard, was on a Saturday, Founders day celebration and between 5 and 6 am, someone was shooting a canon (I think). Not once, or twice! But about 20 times. If I closed my eyes I could imagine myself as a character in Mary Poppins. First silence, then the loud startling sound of a canon shot and then the mad dogs barking.
Here I have learned the joy of listening to the rain after such a long time of draught. I miss the sounds of water in all its variety. Or hearing the owl in my back yard. Imagining what it looks like since I still have not found its hiding place. I also listen to the train. It's now become this humming steady sound. I hear insects that freak me out and country music that makes me happy, sad or in love.
And now, reflecting on all these new sounds, I have this deep desire (combined with a little regret for not listening more carefully in the past) to listen ... really listen to my kids. How much I have probably missed! When they were younger, they kinda did sound like a mumbling cowboy. Always telling me of their great adventures or deep thoughts. Didn't always understand them then. But it became easier and easier. Somehow parents gain this skill to be the only people on the face of the earth to understand what their toddler just said.
Now my kids have grown and I consider myself richly blessed with teenagers that still talk to me (a little more clearer now). They tell me everything from their deepest secrets or regrets to their true love. I hope they know how grateful I am for that. As long as they keep talking I will do my best to listen...really listen.
