Gravy, baby!
I recently traveled to New York to assist as a third photographer at a wedding. Yes, that’s right, THREE! Three photographers to cover eight hours of the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner and then 14 hours of coverage on the actual wedding day. People, I have never in my entire life expected to see a wedding of such grandeur and magnitude. It was, in a word, ok, two words, amazing and exhausting.
When it comes to travel to the United States, I’ve only been to seven States; Delaware, Pennsylvania, Virginia, District of Columbia, Arizona, Nevada and New York. The first four were all sort of mixed into one trip where my husband had a few days of business to take care of in Delaware and I joined him pretty much for the sole purpose of an opportunity to meet a blogger friend in Pennsylvania. But we decided to make a mini vacation out of that trip and saw the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia and did the whole touristy White House thing in Washington, D.C. because those States are all so close to one another. I’ve been to Nevada twice because Las Vegas is one of my most favourite places on earth and I flew into Arizona via a tiny charter plane to experience the vastness and breathtaking views of the Grand Canyon, and finally, New York for a weekend long photo shoot.
Although Canadians and Americans are more alike than different, the differences are just so, different. Like, for example, while I was eating what was probably the most scrumptious vegetarian gnocchi dish ever between taking photographs at the wedding dinner, my husband, poor lonely him, headed out for a solo pub fare type dinner. He ordered a Budweiser, a hamburger and fries with gravy. And the waitress just kind of cocked her head and looked at him for a second, trying to register what he just asked for and was all, “Gravy?” And Mark was all, ”Yes please, fries with gravy.” And she was all, “Are you from the South because we don’t have gravy up this way.”
No gravy? Really? What about turkey and gravy-infused Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner? I mean, I know I’m a vegetarian and don’t eat gravy, but that’s kind of beside the point because I have never been to a big family dinner where someone isn’t drowning their mashed potatoes in a pool gravy.
I twittered about it and someone from South Carolina said she had never had gravy until she was an adult. No wonder our Canadian poutine sounds so entirely crazy.
And then there’s the whole Canadian accent thing, which is silly really, because just like there are different accents throughout the US, there are different regional accents in Canada, too, but to be honest, no matter how hard I try, I totally cannot distinguish my own accent. I just can’t hear myself saying about aboot. I’m actually talking out loud to myself as I type this and I swear I am saying Ab-Out. Not A-Boot. And I’m pretty certain I’m not saying anything that sounds like something one wears on their feet in the winter.
For the most part, at least in New York, no one could tell I was Canadian, but while I was alone with the bride and her eight (EIGHT!) bridesmaids shooting her getting her dress on, she mentioned she finally heard my accent and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what, exactly, I said that instantly distinguished me as Canadian.
But then on the way home, my husband and I were talking and you know, I guess there are some words we say a bit differently, but there is one word I think I say very differently and let me ask you this, as a Canadian, how do say Toronto? Because I say Torono, or Tronto. It’s just kind of the way it rolls off my tongue. I tried actually pronouncing every consonant and vowel and it just doesn’t sound right. Yes? No?
Seriously though, I’m pretty much oblivious to my accent, but my favourite Canadian funny man, Russell Peters begs to differ (comedy routine on Canadian white people starts at about 2:26.)
(Warning, content of this video is not suitable for work or children.)
This is an original post to Canada Moms Blog. Karla Cadeau also writes on her personal blog Untangling Knots.
