Three Things, with Gifs

• It's mid-January, so I finally feel safe in saying congratulations, friends:  we have survived another season of unnecessary apostrophes!  We can at last turn our gazes to the contents of our mailboxes without fear.  I love Christmas cards and newsletters so much, so I've more or less made peace with the trauma I'm dealt each holiday season as my eyes are repeatedly assaulted with good-intentioned missives from "The Smith's" or "The Jones'."  (IT PAINED ME SO MUCH TO TYPE THAT LAST PHRASE.)  Now we're back to the standard fare of bills, ads, and scams every day!  ...yay? 

Is this helpful?

• We've reached the time of year of Late Starts.  Schools around here will do just about anything to keep from outright canceling (and the parents are guh-RATEFUL) because we don't want to send our kids to school through July.  Enter:  the two-hour delay!  -30 degree wind chill?  Two hour delay!  Slick roads?  Two hour delay!  Blowing snow causing low visibility?  Two hour delay!  We have one today, which is why I am writing this rather than packing endless lunches for our kids (someone remind me to write a post regarding how much I loathe packing school lunches).  I'm not really sure why there is a two hour delay on this particular day; we had a full day last Friday and I'm pretty sure the temp was almost exactly the same as it is this morning- like, to the degree.  Expected temperature of -4 at 8 a.m.?  Check.  Wind chill of -22?  Check.  Lightly snowing?  Check.  This also means I have to sign off social media for extended periods of time as I get unreasonably bitter toward people who live in warmer climates but still complain about the cold.  "Brrr! It's thirty degrees out today!  I searched everywhere and finally found my gloves lololol.  #cold #winter #socold."   Me:  

• A while back I went on a field trip with Caedmon's class to the Science Center of Des Moines.  I'm pretty sure that, in addition to keeping all the children in your group alive, chaperones are supposed to help keep the kids engaged and point out interesting things they might learn.  I would have done that (the latter, I mean, not the former; all my kids made it back alive, thank you very much), but I got distracted by how much these conceptions of dinosaurs on display there

resemble these.

And does that mean this

was actually this?

Something to ponder.

Stop The Madness!!!!!

We're all friends here, right?

Well, friends, it's time for some tough love.  Because I've kept my mouth shut for a long time, hoping this little problem would get better or solve itself, but it's just not happening.  Time for an intervention.


Let's start with a quick review:

What, boys and girls, do you call this little thingamajigger, in between the brackets? ------>     {   .   }

Very good!  That is a period.  A period is used to indicate the end of a declarative sentence.

Question #2:  What is this thing here, again between the brackets?--------->      {   !   }

That's right!  It's an exclamation point.  It is used to indicate not only the end of a sentence, but also to express intense emotion or loudness.  You're so smart.

Here's my beef:  I have noticed a certain tendency- among internet users in particular- to overuse exclamation points.  It ends up looking something like this:

"I went to the mall today!!!  It was so great!!  I got some blue suede shoes!!!  Now I look just like The King!!!!!"

When you use exclamation points over and over and over again, they start to lose their value.  But that's not my real problem.  What really bothers me is several exclamation points in a row.   {!!!!!!!}

I'm going to be real honest here:  Don't do this.  It makes you look dumb.

I'm saying this out of love, people.  My intention is not to alienate, but to educate.  So let's discuss a few alternatives to this increasingly common error:

• Broaden your vocabulary.  Don't just tell me that your red velvet birthday cake was so great!!!!  Tell me what you liked about it; it was rich, decadent, flavorful, sinful, moist, whatever.  Be descriptive.  Adjectives and adverbs are your friends.

• Try a comparison.   Don't just say, "I'm so happy!!!!!!"  Give me a basis for comparison.  "I'm as happy as a pageant contestant who's arch-rival discovered Nutella two weeks before the swimsuit competition."  This gives me a far better barometer to your emotions than five exclamation points.

• I don't have a third idea.  But to my mind, a list should have at least three items, and I was bound and determined to have a bulleted list today.

Even I honestly don't mind multiple exclamation  points every once in a great while, especially if you have some truly superior news to share:  "My wife is pregnant with quadruplets!!"  "I just nailed my interview and landed my dream job!!!"  "We're going to Dollywood!!"  

It's the repeat offenders that get me.  It's hard to take what you say seriously, or believe your news is really that exciting, if everything you write ends with this!!!!!!

In other news, Spring is almost here!!!!  

You Sure Talk Funny

One of my favorite classes in college was a certain literature class taught by a certain eccentric professor.  One of the random things I remember him saying was that the most proper and correct American English is thought to be spoken in the central to northern region of Iowa; not so much in terms of grammar, but properly spoken words, the language unhampered by accent or regional dialect.

I remember taking him for his word at the time, but also believing that the English spoken around my home probably wasn't so different from this "proper and correct" version that is supposedly spoken in Iowa.  I had spent almost all my life in Southern Kansas, and couldn't hear a trace of an accent in most of my fellow residents.

Then I moved to Connecticut.  For the most part, I worked with people who were native to that state, with the exception of a girl from Arkansas.  Some of our co-workers determined that she sounded like a Southern belle and I sounded like a cowgirl- never mind that most of these people had probably never seen an actual cowgirl in their lives.  Besides, they were the ones with the accents- New England/ Yankee accents, with a few easily recognizable dialects like those from Boston or Maine.  I, of course, spoke proper English.

Since moving to Iowa, I haven't gotten nearly as many "Where are you from?  I can't place your accent," comments, cementing my belief that I am speaking properly and correctly.  After all, isn't this the place where perfect American English is spoken?

We traveled to southern Kansas a couple weeks ago, visiting family.  Not for the first time since moving away, I was able to detect a kind of rural twang in the speech of the people around me, whereas a few years ago, I was all but deaf to this accent.

So fine.  Maybe I was wrong in college.  But I'm not wrong now.

One of the people I saw was my dad.  I have been aware of his accented way of speaking since he had me practically in tears, going over my first grade spelling list, insisting that I was misspelling the word "hoe."

"Spell 'hoe.'"

"H-O-E."

"No, 'hoe.''

"H-O-E."

"Kristy, that's not right!  Now, try again."

"H-O-E!"

Finally, my mother came along and said in her mercifully un-accented voice, "Kristy, spell 'hole.'"

"Oh.  H-O-L-E.  But Dad was saying 'hoe'!"

Given a lifetime of hearing these kinds of things from him, it wasn't surprising in the least to hear words like "coon huntin'" come out of his mouth.  I've learned to let conversations about things like how high in cholesterol squirrel is just wash over me, nodding along like I agree:  Tell me about it.  I hardly ever get squirrel or ranch dressing on my salads anymore; I mean, what's the point of eating salad if it's going to be bad for you?


It further wasn't too shocking to hear land descriptions like, "Well, I believe that house used to be pert'near to that ol' crick..."  from my grandparents.  So, yes.  Certain members of my family have an accent.

I, however, talk like my mother.  She does not have an accent.


I truly believed this, right up until we were at my sister's baby shower, and I overheard my mom in conversation and she exclaimed, "Well, bless her little pea-pickin' heart!"

I have heard her say this many times, but it wasn't until that day that I realized this is not the kind of thing I ever heard in Connecticut.  Nor have I ever heard it in Iowa.

A memory then floated to the surface of my mind of several of my friends in Connecticut laughing at me for saying, "She was as happy as a pig in mud!"  Another of my mom's little expressions.

Apparently my mother is in possession of several of these little colloquialisms.  Which means I may just be, too.

It wouldn't be the first time I've been wrong.

Hypocrite

"I don't think that's right, Mommy."

"Trust me, it's right."

"No, you're actually wrong."

"I'm actually right, Adelaide."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken.  I KNOW that you are wrong."

"Adelaide.  You have been on this earth for all of five years.  I've been here for nearly three decades.  I think I know what I'm talking about."

(sing-songy) "No, you don't."

At this point in our daily conversation/argument I start grinding my teeth and remind myself that I am the adult here.  I do not need to allow myself to get sucked into these pointless debates over where Laura Ingalls Wilder was born, the best way to sew a simple skirt, or if the carton contains butter or margarine.

This works for close to five seconds, then I get frustrated because I have yet again allowed myself to become distracted from our original plan of reading a book together or cooking supper.  I then remind Adelaide that it does not do well to focus on the minutiae of our lives; we should be concentrating on a much bigger goal.  Oh, and by the way, I'm still right.


At some point after these interactions, my words turn inward and I mentally wince for scolding Adelaide because she sometimes does what I do all the time:  Get hung up on the little things, to the point that I miss the big picture.  In my case, the catalyst is grammar.

First, let me say that I'm not bad about this in everyday conversation with other people.  If they misuse/mispronounce/make up a nonsensical word, my brain might stutter momentarily, but I am able to move on almost immediately.

The problem is more when I am listening to a teacher.  This was a problem at times in school (depending on the teacher), but as I am no longer a student, I now generally find it happening at church.

So here's where I get hung up.: The pastor (and we are blessed with three terrific ones at our church) is talking, teaching, things are going swimmingly, but then something happens.  Yesterday, he said the word, "Fictitional."  My mind didn't so much stumble as come to an abrupt and screeching halt.  It's no wonder, what with all the screaming going on in my head:  Fictitional?  FICTITIONAL?  That's not a word!  He must have meant 'fictitious.'  Right?  He did mean 'fictitious,' didn't he?  I mean, that's the only word that could appropriately fit the context here.  He must have meant 'fictitious.'


Now, while my head is reverberating with all these thoughts, the sermon has gone on.  I surface some ten seconds later, concentration broken, lost.

I can't tell you how many times this has happened to me.


Did he just say "crisises"? The plural of 'crisis' is 'crises'!      


 Um, no.  Did he just pronounce that name "DOO-muss"?  Is he seriously talking about Alexandre Dumas, author of one of my very favorite books ever, and he pronounces it "DOO-muss"?  Say it with me people:  'Doo-MAH'!   It's freaking French!


Then I have the audacity to lecture Adelaide on the same transgression of which I am guilty:  hyper-focusing on things that honestly, don't really matter.  Who cares if the pastor can't pronounce the name of some long-dead French author (except for me, obviously).  Who cares if he can't convert singular nouns to plural?  Who cares if he completely makes up new words?  If anything, he should be getting points for creativity!

This is what I've started telling myself when my mind starts sprinting off on those unproductive grammar-Nazi tangents.

I almost believe it.

Verb Tense

You don't have a soul.

You are a Soul.

You have a body.

-C.S. Lewis

Can you think of anyone you feel like you've known your whole life?  Not neccessarily a parent or sibling; just someone who is a constant in your life and you can't remember not knowing.

That is what Teresa is to me.  I don't know how my mom met her.  Probably through work; she's a surgeon, and my mom a nurse.  They became friends, and it feels like she was just always... there.  Not really like a second mother; Teresa's not really a kid person.  Not in a way where she lures small children into her gingerbread house- more that she's never really seemed as comfortable around small humans as the bigger and supposedly more mature ones.  So not a parental figure, but more like extended family:  someone who occupies a continuous and influential space within my little bubble. 

Do you have anyone like that?  I hope you do.

If you do, I'm sure you have all kinds of memories of them stored up:

I remember Teresa bringing over her chocolate chip cookies that are more chocolate than cookie.

I remember her bringing my sisters and I the New Kids On The Block Christmas CD. (First of all, it was a freaking CD and not just a tape, and it was NKOTB:  Score!)

I remember her being at our house for my eighth birthday, watching me open a birthday present.  I had not quite finished ripping off the paper when my four-year-old sister got too excited and yelled, "IT'S A LOCKET!" effectively ruining the surprise.  I burst into tears.  Poor Teresa looked completely bewildered.  No wonder she isn't big on kids.

I remember Teresa talking to me like a was a real person when I was young, like she was genuinely interested in what I thought and had to say about things. 

I remember when Teresa married Dan, widely known to be the nicest man.

I remember how much she loved to run, and seeing her run in races alone and with one of her beloved golden retrievers. 

I remember when Dan died of cancer.

I remember finally growing big enough that those beloved dogs of hers didn't knock me flat every time I walked into her house.

I remember Teresa going on a trip to the Grand Canyon, after Dan passed away.

I remember finding out Teresa had fallen while hiking in the Canyon.  Not like, Whoops, she tripped, but Leaning-over-to-take-a-picture-of-a-bird-the-ground-crumbling-beneath-her-and-falling-80-feet.

I remember finding out she was paralyzed from the diaphragm down.

I remember all the times we've talked about books. 

I remember her dogs knocking me down, even now that I'm all grown up. 

I remember being pregnant with Caedmon, and comparing notes on heartburn.  She had recently begun to experience that fun sensation, due to all the fluid and swelling in her abdomen.  She joked that we had matching bellies.  I don't recall what all the fluid was from- probably related to the ovarian cancer riddling her body.

I remember when Teresa died, just about a year ago.

You know what I really love about the above quote from C.S. Lewis?  It allows me to talk about Teresa in the present tense.  Not Teresa was, but is.

Teresa is.

Like so much of my family and friends, it was with grief mingled with relief that we bid farewell to Teresa last year.  Grief because we'll all selfishly miss her until reunited.  

Relief that she had finally shed that broken-down old body of hers. 

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

They will run and not grow weary,

They will walk and not be faint.

-Isaiah 40:31