It had rained all night and continued to sprinkle lightly throughout the day. Our high was supposed to be in the 90s, but it never got above 80. A very nice break from the previous month.
In the morning, Rebecca said a word that I thought was French. I looked quickly to my wife, who occasionally speaks French to Rebecca. She also looked startled. But she said it wasn’t an actual French word, just a collection of three syllables in a very good approximation of a French accent.
Speaking of accents, neither my wife nor I have a strong accent. I’ve always been told that I don’t sound like I’m from anywhere; classmates in college used to be surprised to learn that I was from the south. Yet I always sound more southern if I’m on the phone with my grandmother for some reason. And my wife says I used to switch to a stronger southern accent when I interviewed certain people for the newspaper (apparently matching their accent subconsciously). I’m aware that I do this, but have never done it on purpose.
My wife was born and raised in the Bronx, yet never had a New York accent. English was a second or third language for her parents, yet she never picked up their accents either. When I first spoke to her on the phone in July 2005, I had trouble believing she wasn’t a white person from the Midwest.
And Rebecca is growing up in a town comprised of people from all over the country, so it’s a good bet she won’t end up with much of an accent either.
In the afternoon, we ran a few errands, including buying a $22 can opener. That’s not something I thought I’d ever say, but it’s the first can opener I’ve ever been happy with. See my short review.