Monday, May 31, 2010
The Thunder Rolls
This post has been moved to http://ironhorsemusing.blogspot.com/2010/09/thunder-rolls.html
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Writing Pet Peeves: "Despite of"
First, an apology to my readers, all three of you, for not posting in so long. My writing skills were required elsewhere for the larger part of this month. I will endeavor to produce more on the blog in the future, with fewer breaks between postings.
Now on to the latest writing pet peeve. This one comes courtesy of a local restaurant. There is construction going on next door to them, so they posted a sign that read, "Despite of the construction next door, we are still open."
My inner Grammar Nazi cringed when I saw it. The incorrect grammar on display is a combination of two grammatically correct ways to say the sentence.
Correct: 1: "Despite the construction next door, we are still open."
Correct 2: "In spite of the construction next door, we are still open"
We have a redundancy of prepositions. "Despite" is a preposition. So is "of". The purpose of a preposition is to show the relation between a noun or a pronoun and another word. Despite relates the openness of the business with the construction next door. The "of" has nothing to do with it.
The phrase "in spite of" means "notwithstanding".
I am sure the writer of the sign had good intentions. I see signs such as this one as a product of poor education in the English language. These things were once taught in elementary and middle school English class. It makes me wonder what they are teaching in English class these days. Grammar does not seem to have a high priority.
I suspect that it also has to do with time spent reading. Today's students spend more time on other pursuits, so there are fewer opportunities to see correct grammar used in context.
Ah well, poor grammar notwithstanding, I shall continue to eat at the restaurant.
Now on to the latest writing pet peeve. This one comes courtesy of a local restaurant. There is construction going on next door to them, so they posted a sign that read, "Despite of the construction next door, we are still open."
My inner Grammar Nazi cringed when I saw it. The incorrect grammar on display is a combination of two grammatically correct ways to say the sentence.
Correct: 1: "Despite the construction next door, we are still open."
Correct 2: "In spite of the construction next door, we are still open"
We have a redundancy of prepositions. "Despite" is a preposition. So is "of". The purpose of a preposition is to show the relation between a noun or a pronoun and another word. Despite relates the openness of the business with the construction next door. The "of" has nothing to do with it.
The phrase "in spite of" means "notwithstanding".
I am sure the writer of the sign had good intentions. I see signs such as this one as a product of poor education in the English language. These things were once taught in elementary and middle school English class. It makes me wonder what they are teaching in English class these days. Grammar does not seem to have a high priority.
I suspect that it also has to do with time spent reading. Today's students spend more time on other pursuits, so there are fewer opportunities to see correct grammar used in context.
Ah well, poor grammar notwithstanding, I shall continue to eat at the restaurant.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
What Illegal Immigrants and Unruly Children Have In Common
My friends and relatives who have or have had small children know this about me: I have a house rule. I don't tolerate bad behavior from unruly children, especially not in my own home. I didn't tolerate it from my own children when they were living under my roof, and I certainly will not tolerate it from any other little visitors who come to my house, whether a friend of my child's, a young cousin or the child of a friend. The house rule is: If you don't make your child behave in my house, I will. And I really don't much care if you're sitting right there next to me or not. If you fail to act, most assuredly I will deal with the situation. The caveat to that is, if you don't like it, leave your children home until they learn to behave better, or don't come to my house at all if they must come with you.
Now, having said that, I was one of those mothers bucking for the title of "Meanest Mother In The World." Just ask my now grown children. They will also tell you that I will not hesitate to deal with any errant grandchildren should the need arise. But having seen both of them as babysitters, I expect that I will not have to be the "Meanest Grandmother In The World" because my children will both be in the running for the "Meanest Parent" awards in their respective categories. Their tolerance for unruly children is about the same as mine.
As the Meanest Mother, I did not take my children out to dinner in public until they had acquired some manners. They knew that I expected them to be on their best behavior at other people's houses, and if they got out of line, I corrected them on the spot, and burdened my hosts with neither having to do my job for me nor enduring any wild hellions that belonged to me while wondering when we would finally leave them in peace.
I'll bet you're wondering what this has do to with illegal immigrants. I'm so glad you asked.
Arizona is the host of a rather large group of unruly children in the form of illegal immigrants. The parent who needs to be slapped in this situation is the Federal Government. They may have laws governing illegal immigrants and their disposition, but they are loath to enforce their own laws. These illegal and unruly children are running amuck and out of control, and finally the weary host has had to say to the indulgent parent, "Enough is enough! Since you are unwilling to deal with your unruly children and make them behave," or in this case make them reap the consequences of being in this country and in the state of Arizona - Arizona's house - illegally, "I will." As can be expected, Father Obama and Mother Congress are crying foul. And what horrible people the good folks from Arizona are who do not want to endure the illegal behavior of the unruly children for one minute longer.
Well, I for one say it's about time. This is not about race, it is about coming in the front door like my immigrant grandparents did, and not sneaking in the back door like thieves. For make no mistake, those who are in this country illegally are thieves. They are stealing form the American taxpayers and their figurative parents are helping them do it. Those who would play the race card with regard to this issue are doing the exact thing they accuse those of us who are fed up with the illegal immigrants. They are the ones stirring up hate for political gain.
I find illegal immigrants just as distasteful as unruly children. I find well behaved children a delight to be around just as I find legal immigrants to be the bedrock upon which this nation was built, and some of the greatest contributors to our society and our country. Those who come in the back door are hyphenated Americans. Those who come in the front door fully embrace America and all she stands for, and they assimilate. They are a delight to have as friends and neighbors.
Now, having said that, I was one of those mothers bucking for the title of "Meanest Mother In The World." Just ask my now grown children. They will also tell you that I will not hesitate to deal with any errant grandchildren should the need arise. But having seen both of them as babysitters, I expect that I will not have to be the "Meanest Grandmother In The World" because my children will both be in the running for the "Meanest Parent" awards in their respective categories. Their tolerance for unruly children is about the same as mine.
As the Meanest Mother, I did not take my children out to dinner in public until they had acquired some manners. They knew that I expected them to be on their best behavior at other people's houses, and if they got out of line, I corrected them on the spot, and burdened my hosts with neither having to do my job for me nor enduring any wild hellions that belonged to me while wondering when we would finally leave them in peace.
I'll bet you're wondering what this has do to with illegal immigrants. I'm so glad you asked.
Arizona is the host of a rather large group of unruly children in the form of illegal immigrants. The parent who needs to be slapped in this situation is the Federal Government. They may have laws governing illegal immigrants and their disposition, but they are loath to enforce their own laws. These illegal and unruly children are running amuck and out of control, and finally the weary host has had to say to the indulgent parent, "Enough is enough! Since you are unwilling to deal with your unruly children and make them behave," or in this case make them reap the consequences of being in this country and in the state of Arizona - Arizona's house - illegally, "I will." As can be expected, Father Obama and Mother Congress are crying foul. And what horrible people the good folks from Arizona are who do not want to endure the illegal behavior of the unruly children for one minute longer.
Well, I for one say it's about time. This is not about race, it is about coming in the front door like my immigrant grandparents did, and not sneaking in the back door like thieves. For make no mistake, those who are in this country illegally are thieves. They are stealing form the American taxpayers and their figurative parents are helping them do it. Those who would play the race card with regard to this issue are doing the exact thing they accuse those of us who are fed up with the illegal immigrants. They are the ones stirring up hate for political gain.
I find illegal immigrants just as distasteful as unruly children. I find well behaved children a delight to be around just as I find legal immigrants to be the bedrock upon which this nation was built, and some of the greatest contributors to our society and our country. Those who come in the back door are hyphenated Americans. Those who come in the front door fully embrace America and all she stands for, and they assimilate. They are a delight to have as friends and neighbors.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Write That!!
Mitchell and Webb are two of the best British comics ever. They have done one of the funniest skits I have seen on YouTube. It speaks to the frustration of writers trying to please editors, publishers and agents. I watch this every now and then to maintain perspective and a sense of humor. Write That!! For all of my writer friends who could use a good laugh. Enjoy!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Mountain Meditation
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today, yes and forever. Hebrews 13:8
In four years that I lived in Bavaria in the foothills of the Alps, I spent much of my prayer and meditation time walking on a path that took me through the woods and on narrow lanes between cow fields and finally through a small village before I made my way home. It was my daily ritual. From almost any point on that walk I had a view of the local mountains.
Each year I watched the seasons unfold upon the face of those mountains in four stanzas. In the springtime, the forest trees burst into pastel color on the side of the mountains, and then came the greening of the spring leaves in a verdant carpet up the side of the mountains to the top of the tree line.
There were many spring days when clouds covered the craggy faces of the mountaintops. There were other days when the fog was so thick I couldn’t see the mountains, yet I knew they were there. That was a great comfort to me on those days.
Summer brought cloudless indigo skies against the mountaintops and the deepening of the deciduous trees on the mountainside. One of my favorite times of the day to walk was daybreak, when the morning air still carried a dewy chill. I usually began just before the first rays of morning sun lit the peaks in pink flame. As I walked, I watched the sunbeams creep down the side of the mountain until they warmed my way.
Sometimes I walked at twilight and watched the shadows climb the steep faces until at last the mountains were overtaken by darkness. I couldn’t see the mountains, but it was a comfort to me to know they were there in the darkness.
Summer waned and I watched the mountains don the golden vestments of autumn. More and more often I could see my breath as I walked and the dew became frost in the morning. The mountainside grew more gray as the trees shed their leaves. Even the evergreen trees took on a gray hue.
By this time of year I began watching for the first snow to fall on the mountain. At first it looked like a powdered sugar dusting close to the top, then there would be more white as the snowline marched its way down to the tree line and then into the valley. Often in the winter I woke up to snow coming down in big fluffy flakes. On those days, I could not see the mountains, but I knew they were there. It was a great comfort to me.
On other days the sky itself was a white reflection of the mountains beneath it. But for their rocky faces, it was hard to tell where the mountains ended and the sky began. On sunny days, the crisp air sparkled from the mountain snow.
I saw those mountains almost every day I lived in their foothills, and every day they were different, yet always the same. Every day there was a new aspect of those mountains to see. They were always there, even when I could not see them.
The more I thought about it, the more I saw that those mountains were an illustration of my relationship with God. Every day is a new day, with new aspects of God revealed along the way. He never changes I am learning new things about Him every day. He is there on the rainiest and darkest of my life’s days, in the morning and at the twilight of my life. I know He is there even though I cannot see Him, and that is a great comfort to me.
Lord, thank You for being the same yesterday, today and forever, and for being there when I cannot see you. Amen
In four years that I lived in Bavaria in the foothills of the Alps, I spent much of my prayer and meditation time walking on a path that took me through the woods and on narrow lanes between cow fields and finally through a small village before I made my way home. It was my daily ritual. From almost any point on that walk I had a view of the local mountains.
Each year I watched the seasons unfold upon the face of those mountains in four stanzas. In the springtime, the forest trees burst into pastel color on the side of the mountains, and then came the greening of the spring leaves in a verdant carpet up the side of the mountains to the top of the tree line.
There were many spring days when clouds covered the craggy faces of the mountaintops. There were other days when the fog was so thick I couldn’t see the mountains, yet I knew they were there. That was a great comfort to me on those days.
Summer brought cloudless indigo skies against the mountaintops and the deepening of the deciduous trees on the mountainside. One of my favorite times of the day to walk was daybreak, when the morning air still carried a dewy chill. I usually began just before the first rays of morning sun lit the peaks in pink flame. As I walked, I watched the sunbeams creep down the side of the mountain until they warmed my way.
Sometimes I walked at twilight and watched the shadows climb the steep faces until at last the mountains were overtaken by darkness. I couldn’t see the mountains, but it was a comfort to me to know they were there in the darkness.
Summer waned and I watched the mountains don the golden vestments of autumn. More and more often I could see my breath as I walked and the dew became frost in the morning. The mountainside grew more gray as the trees shed their leaves. Even the evergreen trees took on a gray hue.
By this time of year I began watching for the first snow to fall on the mountain. At first it looked like a powdered sugar dusting close to the top, then there would be more white as the snowline marched its way down to the tree line and then into the valley. Often in the winter I woke up to snow coming down in big fluffy flakes. On those days, I could not see the mountains, but I knew they were there. It was a great comfort to me.
On other days the sky itself was a white reflection of the mountains beneath it. But for their rocky faces, it was hard to tell where the mountains ended and the sky began. On sunny days, the crisp air sparkled from the mountain snow.
I saw those mountains almost every day I lived in their foothills, and every day they were different, yet always the same. Every day there was a new aspect of those mountains to see. They were always there, even when I could not see them.
The more I thought about it, the more I saw that those mountains were an illustration of my relationship with God. Every day is a new day, with new aspects of God revealed along the way. He never changes I am learning new things about Him every day. He is there on the rainiest and darkest of my life’s days, in the morning and at the twilight of my life. I know He is there even though I cannot see Him, and that is a great comfort to me.
Lord, thank You for being the same yesterday, today and forever, and for being there when I cannot see you. Amen
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Correct Grammar is Not Politically Correct
This is another pet peeve of mine. Grammar and gender. English is already one of the most gender neutral languages, and yet the PC police continually endeavor to gender neutralize it even more. I chalk this up to a poor education in the area of language arts. Many high school graduates cannot pass a grammar test these days; a deplorable state of affairs, if you ask me. But then most people who use poor grammar do not speak a foreign language.
What do grammar skills have to do with speaking a foreign language? I'm so glad you asked.
As a student of several foreign languages, I was surprised to discover that the best grammar class I ever took was my French class in high school, and then my German and Spanish classes. Surpassing all of them was the Russian course I took at the Defense Language Institute. In matters of grammar, foreign languages assign gender to every single noun, animate or inanimate.
English only assigns gender to animate objects based on actual gender. Rarely is the gender neutral "one" used , usually to make generic statements: "One should never make assumptions." French also uses the generic "one". In most other instances, a noun is either male or female. Groups of people are masculine if only one member of the group is male. The pleural masculine pronoun is used. If all members are female, then the group is feminine and uses the pleural femine pronoun. Never once have I heard of any French speaking feminists getting all hot and bothered about sexist grammar usage, but I have heard many American English speaking feminists decry sexist language.
Correct grammar is sexist and not politically correct. In my opinion, trying to force grammar into today's politically correct social mores shows a lack of proper education in the English language. But it surely makes one more acceptable with the "in"crowd of educrats, politicos and glitteratti who are currently running our country into the ground.
Russian and German both have a neuter gender to keep track of. But the grammar rules regarding the masculine and feminine genders of both languages are the same as those in French. Speakers of these languages have no problems with their politically incorrect and sexist grammar rules. Once again, it is only American English apeakers who get into grammatical gender bending to satisfy some political or social agenda. If they only knew how ridiculous they sound, they might be motivated to learn English and quit mistaking their supposed enlightenment for a decent education.
What do grammar skills have to do with speaking a foreign language? I'm so glad you asked.
As a student of several foreign languages, I was surprised to discover that the best grammar class I ever took was my French class in high school, and then my German and Spanish classes. Surpassing all of them was the Russian course I took at the Defense Language Institute. In matters of grammar, foreign languages assign gender to every single noun, animate or inanimate.
English only assigns gender to animate objects based on actual gender. Rarely is the gender neutral "one" used , usually to make generic statements: "One should never make assumptions." French also uses the generic "one". In most other instances, a noun is either male or female. Groups of people are masculine if only one member of the group is male. The pleural masculine pronoun is used. If all members are female, then the group is feminine and uses the pleural femine pronoun. Never once have I heard of any French speaking feminists getting all hot and bothered about sexist grammar usage, but I have heard many American English speaking feminists decry sexist language.
Correct grammar is sexist and not politically correct. In my opinion, trying to force grammar into today's politically correct social mores shows a lack of proper education in the English language. But it surely makes one more acceptable with the "in"crowd of educrats, politicos and glitteratti who are currently running our country into the ground.
Russian and German both have a neuter gender to keep track of. But the grammar rules regarding the masculine and feminine genders of both languages are the same as those in French. Speakers of these languages have no problems with their politically incorrect and sexist grammar rules. Once again, it is only American English apeakers who get into grammatical gender bending to satisfy some political or social agenda. If they only knew how ridiculous they sound, they might be motivated to learn English and quit mistaking their supposed enlightenment for a decent education.
Friday, April 9, 2010
A Grateful Heart
I did it again: walked away from a blessing from God without a word of thanksgiving either on my lips or in my heart. The fact that it was not in my heart upset me more than my lack of manners. Was I grateful? Apparently not enough.
I took God for granted.
I needed to cultivate a grateful heart. The first thing I did was to ask God, the Author and Finisher of my faith, to grow it in me. Then I asked Him to show me how to cooperate with His work in me. I didn’t want to pay Him lip service; I wanted a truly grateful heart.
He showed me how quick I am to feel resentment when He doesn’t do something I have asked of Him, or when His answer is, “Wait.” He showed me how much I feel cheated when something for which I have asked Him is not forthcoming. He made me see how prone to anger I am when the hand of grace is also the hand that chastens me. He made me face the blame I have harbored toward Him for my losses. All of these emotions controlled me. They had no place in a grateful heart.
He made me understand that gratitude is an attitude, not a feeling. Was I able to give Him thanks in everything, as Paul exhorted the Thessalonians? Or was my thanksgiving limited to those things that benefited me? Could I thank Him when things do not go my way? He taught me that if I look for it, even in the direst of circumstances, there is always one thing for which to be grateful. I may not feel thankful, but it is important to thank Him anyway. I learned to say with Job, “Shall I accept good from God and not accept adversity?”
Another area that needed work was misdirected thanksgiving. I had been giving thanks to everyone but God for the blessings in my life. It is easy to thank my neighbor for a blessing of kindness, but it never occurred to me to thank God for the neighbor whose kindness blessed me.
Gratitude must be exercised in order to grow. With regular practice, gratitude grows and moves from the head, to the will, to the heart. When this happens, emotion accompanies thanksgiving, but it is not in control. Then the heart will be grateful, and out of the grateful heart will naturally spring thanksgiving, which rightly belongs to God.
I took God for granted.
I needed to cultivate a grateful heart. The first thing I did was to ask God, the Author and Finisher of my faith, to grow it in me. Then I asked Him to show me how to cooperate with His work in me. I didn’t want to pay Him lip service; I wanted a truly grateful heart.
He showed me how quick I am to feel resentment when He doesn’t do something I have asked of Him, or when His answer is, “Wait.” He showed me how much I feel cheated when something for which I have asked Him is not forthcoming. He made me see how prone to anger I am when the hand of grace is also the hand that chastens me. He made me face the blame I have harbored toward Him for my losses. All of these emotions controlled me. They had no place in a grateful heart.
He made me understand that gratitude is an attitude, not a feeling. Was I able to give Him thanks in everything, as Paul exhorted the Thessalonians? Or was my thanksgiving limited to those things that benefited me? Could I thank Him when things do not go my way? He taught me that if I look for it, even in the direst of circumstances, there is always one thing for which to be grateful. I may not feel thankful, but it is important to thank Him anyway. I learned to say with Job, “Shall I accept good from God and not accept adversity?”
Another area that needed work was misdirected thanksgiving. I had been giving thanks to everyone but God for the blessings in my life. It is easy to thank my neighbor for a blessing of kindness, but it never occurred to me to thank God for the neighbor whose kindness blessed me.
Gratitude must be exercised in order to grow. With regular practice, gratitude grows and moves from the head, to the will, to the heart. When this happens, emotion accompanies thanksgiving, but it is not in control. Then the heart will be grateful, and out of the grateful heart will naturally spring thanksgiving, which rightly belongs to God.
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