Don't Work Too Hard

My in-laws, especially my mother-in-law Gudrun, are fond of saying "Don't work too hard," often in lieu of a farewell greeting. I've always thoght this was peculiar to Mike's family, and particularly endearing, since it goes completely against the grain of my own family upbringing. My father and all his relatives are certifiable workoholics, and my siblings and I often comment on the impossible guilt we feel at idleness, the difficulty we have with being still.
Since coming back from my last trip, from which I brought back yards of fabric for the house, I've been working up a storm, sewing in a frenzy and arranging the house. It makes me wish for a job ever more fervently, since it would surely be respite from the level of activity I currently keep. Last week, I went into the lumber store to get some, duh, lumber, and the clerk surprised me by saying "bah nahw, don't work tew haard." I had to ask Mike if all along this greeting had been a Southern thing. Mike said (rather enigmatically I now think) that it was a "local thing". This would make an interesting research project. In any case, it fits well with the overall slower pace people keep and nurture here. Which is great when you're looking for conversation from store clerks, not so great if you apply Californian (/French) driving habits and need to get across town.