Sunday night, a few people mentioned their desire to improve their knowledge and understanding of grammar. I thought I'd post a few rules that are easy to remember and hopefully will be easy to apply.
1. Punctuation inside quotation marks = ALWAYS put commas and periods inside quotation marks. All other punctuation depends on whether the text inside the quotation demands its use inside or outside. For example, a question mark goes inside the quotes if the quoted material is a question, but the question mark goes outside the quotation marks if the material inside the quotes is not a question (i.e., Did the girl say, "We want to go home"?)
2. Only use a colon if you could put a period in place of the colon.
We went to the store for three items: eggs, bread, and milk. (correct)
She asked for: eggs, bread, and milk. (incorrect)
3. Active voice is preferred by most editors.
Cain killed Abel. (active voice)
Abel was killed by Cain. (passive voice, not preferred)
4. The serial comma seems to be preferred, though this changes over time. The serial comma is the comma after "and" in a list.
While on vacation, we went shopping, ate at restaurants, and played games. (preferred)
While on vacation, we went shopping, ate at restaurants and played games. (not preferred)
5. Introductory adverbial clauses take a comma.
When we go to the movies theater, remember to bring a blanket. (correct)
When we go to the movies theater remember to bring a blanket. (incorrect)
If you find this to be helpful, let me know, and I'll see what other rules I can share.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
July 22 Meeting Agenda
JULY 22 Agenda
Open Sharing
Accountability check-in
Assignment review
Advent Devotional
We discussed writing a daily advent devotional, possibly to be distributed through the Women's Ministry.
*Discuss and plan the advent devotional schedule.
*Make assignments.
*Brainstormed ideas (so far): Jewish background, stress, traditions, difficulties, aspects of the nativity
*Action: Sarah talk to Jenifer about devotional (printing, distribution)
Prayer
Open Sharing
Accountability check-in
Assignment review
New assignment:
In 1500 words or less, use the following elements in an essay (fiction, non-fiction or poetry): Cruise ship in the setting, Freedom as a theme and incorporate the phrase "Dance like no one is watching." I liked how we did it before, if that's okay. Post it on the blog by midnight, Saturday, July 21. In the labels, include your name, "assignment" and any other labels you want to add.
Advent Devotional
We discussed writing a daily advent devotional, possibly to be distributed through the Women's Ministry.
*Discuss and plan the advent devotional schedule.
*Make assignments.
*Brainstormed ideas (so far): Jewish background, stress, traditions, difficulties, aspects of the nativity
*Action: Sarah talk to Jenifer about devotional (printing, distribution)
Prayer
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Summer in Somerset
I was about ten years old when Granny invited me to spend two weeks of the summer with her. My brothers weren't invited, nor my parents, just me. Given the throng of our cousins and large family that typically gathered at the South Texas ranch, to be there by myself and have Granny's undivided attention was a real treat.
I'm sure we ate beans and tortillas every meal, I really don't remember. But I would remember if it had been something different, as that's the only meal Granny seemed to serve, period. And we all loved it. I especially loved the tortillas... big surprise.
Each day we walked up and down the dirt road from the house to the big oak at the highway. I forget how many laps made a mile, but Granny knew, and we walked 3 miles every day. I don’t remember constant conversation on those walks, though we would not have been at a loss for words. Being outside in nature was soothing for her, therapeutic, and she simply appreciated a slight breeze, the tall green grass that didn't have to be mowed, and swaying mesquite trees that provided pockets of shade in the sprawling front lawn.
We swam in the pool each evening and performed water ballet routines under the watchful eyes of cattle and horses grazing just beyond the barbed-wire fence. Granny's long, slender body every bit as agile as mine, I thought of her as a modern day Audrey Hepburn. Hair pulled back from her face, cheekbones prominent even without rouge, I can still see her sitting gracefully on the side of the pool with the silver Somerset water tower and huge oak trees framing her silhouette.
Granny told and retold stories, and I listened with delight, even when I already knew the ending. I’m sure I told my share as well. Granny appreciated stimulating conversation, so much so that she could dialogue with, laugh with, and even argue with animals out of necessity to keep her mind sharp. Even though I offered a mere decade of insight, she was interested in my thoughts and opinions on things like politics, relationships and movie stars.
We stayed up until wee hours of the night, and I mean really wee hours... we read aloud to each other from her stash of books filled with quotes, quips and jokes. She laughed loud and long at the jokes I read... as I would come across ones that amused her, I read them over and over again, her laughter never subsiding. She loved the written word, and in those midnight hours we celebrated the beauty of poetry and prose alike.
Granny told me later the highlight of our time together that summer was when we went to her weekly painting class, and her teacher recognized me as her granddaughter. "You must be here with Gladys," he said when he saw me, though I’d never met him before. Granny got a kick out of the fact that our resemblance was so strong.
I look back on that summer with great tenderness, grateful for the time Granny poured into me, and for the intimacy that comes with shared interests. And grateful for a strong resemblance...
I'm sure we ate beans and tortillas every meal, I really don't remember. But I would remember if it had been something different, as that's the only meal Granny seemed to serve, period. And we all loved it. I especially loved the tortillas... big surprise.
Each day we walked up and down the dirt road from the house to the big oak at the highway. I forget how many laps made a mile, but Granny knew, and we walked 3 miles every day. I don’t remember constant conversation on those walks, though we would not have been at a loss for words. Being outside in nature was soothing for her, therapeutic, and she simply appreciated a slight breeze, the tall green grass that didn't have to be mowed, and swaying mesquite trees that provided pockets of shade in the sprawling front lawn.
We swam in the pool each evening and performed water ballet routines under the watchful eyes of cattle and horses grazing just beyond the barbed-wire fence. Granny's long, slender body every bit as agile as mine, I thought of her as a modern day Audrey Hepburn. Hair pulled back from her face, cheekbones prominent even without rouge, I can still see her sitting gracefully on the side of the pool with the silver Somerset water tower and huge oak trees framing her silhouette.
Granny told and retold stories, and I listened with delight, even when I already knew the ending. I’m sure I told my share as well. Granny appreciated stimulating conversation, so much so that she could dialogue with, laugh with, and even argue with animals out of necessity to keep her mind sharp. Even though I offered a mere decade of insight, she was interested in my thoughts and opinions on things like politics, relationships and movie stars.
We stayed up until wee hours of the night, and I mean really wee hours... we read aloud to each other from her stash of books filled with quotes, quips and jokes. She laughed loud and long at the jokes I read... as I would come across ones that amused her, I read them over and over again, her laughter never subsiding. She loved the written word, and in those midnight hours we celebrated the beauty of poetry and prose alike.
Granny told me later the highlight of our time together that summer was when we went to her weekly painting class, and her teacher recognized me as her granddaughter. "You must be here with Gladys," he said when he saw me, though I’d never met him before. Granny got a kick out of the fact that our resemblance was so strong.
I look back on that summer with great tenderness, grateful for the time Granny poured into me, and for the intimacy that comes with shared interests. And grateful for a strong resemblance...
The Toddler’s Guide to Summer Vacation: The Bathroom Amusement Park
Summer is here! All the Blue’s Clues are reruns and it it’s too darn hot for Mommy to drag herself off the couch and play with you outside. So as a healthy, active toddler you need to have options. Your parents may be planning a summer vacation for the family, but it will probably be filled with long rides in the car, pinchy-cheek family reunions and other things that are “good for you” and not any fun. What’s more fun is creating your very own playland, all from the comfort of your own bathroom.
First, there’s the “big potty” itself, with all its cold, splashy water. It’s a perfect home for your rubber duckies or Mommy’s cell phone. For added fun, make sure the big potty is unflushed before stirring it with your toothbrush. The big potty is also ideal for sticking any body part into. You can wash your hands in there. When your Mommy no long finds that quite as horrifying as she did the first time, you can stick your leg or face into the bowl. But there’s more to the bathroom than just the big potty.
There’s also the toilet paper, all glorious and white on its easy-to-use roll. What better way to spend a hot summer day than unrolling the paper as quickly as possible? While you’re at it, go ahead and wrap it around your feet a few times so that you fall when you try to walk and hit your head on the bathroom floor. If falling down and getting a little sympathy lovin’ isn’t your thing, you can always settle for eating the toilet paper or seeing how much of it will fit into the toilet bowl and then retrieving the wet, sopping mass and throwing it on the floor.
Finally, and most importantly, is the potty chair. Which brings us to the only rule in your bathroom wonderland: You must never, ever go pee pee on the potty chair. A lot of fun can be had telling Mommy that you need to go potty. You can even mean it sometimes (but really only sometimes or it’s not quite as amusing). The important thing to remember is to hold the pee pee inside until Mommy gets your diaper off and sets you on the potty. But don’t go yet. Make sure to find a reason to get off the potty before you go pee pee. Perhaps you can cry because last time you used the potty chair, it played music and scared you. Or maybe you can simply get distracted, wander off and refuse to sit back down, thus turning potty time into a prime opportunity for power struggle, which you know Mommy doesn’t want for fear of scarring you for the rest of your life. Possibly the most effective way would be to have Mommy’s phone ring while you are on the potty chair so that she turns her back, thus giving you ample time to get off of the potty chair and go pee pee on the newly-mopped bathroom floor. A word of advice: It is always a good idea to go pee pee near the potty (but never on it unless the lid is closed), so as to give Mommy the impression that you understand enough about the potty chair for her to keep scooping you up and scurrying you in there every time you coyly call out “Potty.”
Options for the bathroom are myriad, don’t forget about the laundry hamper, the scale and, of course the trash can. The important thing to remember is that the amount of fun you have will be in direct proportion to the havoc you can wreak.
It is our hope that this guide will provide you with all the information you need to begin your summer of fun.
Stay tuned for Chapter Two:
The Under-the-Sink Chemistry Set (You can eat it, too!)
First, there’s the “big potty” itself, with all its cold, splashy water. It’s a perfect home for your rubber duckies or Mommy’s cell phone. For added fun, make sure the big potty is unflushed before stirring it with your toothbrush. The big potty is also ideal for sticking any body part into. You can wash your hands in there. When your Mommy no long finds that quite as horrifying as she did the first time, you can stick your leg or face into the bowl. But there’s more to the bathroom than just the big potty.
There’s also the toilet paper, all glorious and white on its easy-to-use roll. What better way to spend a hot summer day than unrolling the paper as quickly as possible? While you’re at it, go ahead and wrap it around your feet a few times so that you fall when you try to walk and hit your head on the bathroom floor. If falling down and getting a little sympathy lovin’ isn’t your thing, you can always settle for eating the toilet paper or seeing how much of it will fit into the toilet bowl and then retrieving the wet, sopping mass and throwing it on the floor.
Finally, and most importantly, is the potty chair. Which brings us to the only rule in your bathroom wonderland: You must never, ever go pee pee on the potty chair. A lot of fun can be had telling Mommy that you need to go potty. You can even mean it sometimes (but really only sometimes or it’s not quite as amusing). The important thing to remember is to hold the pee pee inside until Mommy gets your diaper off and sets you on the potty. But don’t go yet. Make sure to find a reason to get off the potty before you go pee pee. Perhaps you can cry because last time you used the potty chair, it played music and scared you. Or maybe you can simply get distracted, wander off and refuse to sit back down, thus turning potty time into a prime opportunity for power struggle, which you know Mommy doesn’t want for fear of scarring you for the rest of your life. Possibly the most effective way would be to have Mommy’s phone ring while you are on the potty chair so that she turns her back, thus giving you ample time to get off of the potty chair and go pee pee on the newly-mopped bathroom floor. A word of advice: It is always a good idea to go pee pee near the potty (but never on it unless the lid is closed), so as to give Mommy the impression that you understand enough about the potty chair for her to keep scooping you up and scurrying you in there every time you coyly call out “Potty.”
Options for the bathroom are myriad, don’t forget about the laundry hamper, the scale and, of course the trash can. The important thing to remember is that the amount of fun you have will be in direct proportion to the havoc you can wreak.
It is our hope that this guide will provide you with all the information you need to begin your summer of fun.
Stay tuned for Chapter Two:
The Under-the-Sink Chemistry Set (You can eat it, too!)
Ok everyone, the code to my blog identity is broken! I posted under my blog name and its out there. It's my first post to someone else's blog and Tina told me how to do it anonymously, but I thought I might as well get it out there. And who am I kidding anyway, I only have 3 posts to my blog! And yes, I realize my 10 post goal was very ambitious...but I'm sure we'll talk about that at our meeting. And also, I'd like my name and not my blog name to post at the bottom sometimes - how do I do that?
-Andrea
-Andrea
Me & My Hoe
“You’re going to pay me what?!” I was upset my Dad was going to pay me, his own daughter, the same wage as his hired hands. There were absolutely no jobs to be had in my small town that summer and I was left to my last resort – my Dad’s cotton farm. The only bright side was that I was off to camp the second half of the summer. Until then, it would be my sucker-for-a-best-friend, Casey, (how I convinced her to work too is still a mystery) and our enemies – the weeds.
The job consisted of driving down row after row of cotton and killing weeds. If we were lucky, we only had to shoot the weeds with our spray gun, but depending on what kind of weed it was, we would have to hoe it. And of course we didn’t have to hoe the small weeds, just the ones that were taller than us.
The first day my Dad issued us each a hoe and a 3-wheeler. Naturally Casey being “company” got the better of the two, but that wasn’t saying much considering they were both well over 12 years old. My Dad had a knack, or so he thought, for rigging things to make them last longer, and both had no doubt seen his barn’s operating table more than once.
My 3-wheeler had a 1970’s style logo on the side that read “The Avenger.” I had met this beast before. I was four years old and my eight year old sister took it upon herself to let me drive The Avenger…by myself. I suppose she assumed I knew what I was doing because she failed to mention the basics, for example the brakes. I took off down the long, dirt road that led up to our house and as I panicked, I went faster. My joyride ended with a crash into the parked cow trailer and The Avenger directly on top of me. I managed to survive that encounter, but would I be so lucky this time?
As it sat before me with its handlebars stretched out like ears of metal ready to bake in the afternoon sun, I knew it was going to be a long 6 weeks. And did I mention that at this point it had no brakes and a turning radius of a semi? It was not my vehicle of choice, for sure, but it was better than footing it through the field with my hoe.
Days turned into weeks and we soon got into a routine on the farm. When a good song would come on our walkmans, we took dance breaks in the rows of cotton. Each day we had beanie weenies and a sandwich under the only tree in sight. We’d fill our water jugs and have water fights with the hose from Dad’s trailer tank until we found out it previously contained pesticide. Yikes.
All in all, it was a good experience for me to learn about this part of my Dad. But brainpower for me was lacking on the farm. As Dad put it, “Andi, you’re a smart kid, but out here you’re an idiot.” And he was right. That summer I managed to lose three hoes, run into the tractor with my 3-wheeler and run out of gas in the middle of nowhere on more than a couple of occasions. But at 16, this poor track record couldn’t keep me down because I was off to be a camp rat for the rest of the summer to make mischief of one kind and another…
The job consisted of driving down row after row of cotton and killing weeds. If we were lucky, we only had to shoot the weeds with our spray gun, but depending on what kind of weed it was, we would have to hoe it. And of course we didn’t have to hoe the small weeds, just the ones that were taller than us.
The first day my Dad issued us each a hoe and a 3-wheeler. Naturally Casey being “company” got the better of the two, but that wasn’t saying much considering they were both well over 12 years old. My Dad had a knack, or so he thought, for rigging things to make them last longer, and both had no doubt seen his barn’s operating table more than once.
My 3-wheeler had a 1970’s style logo on the side that read “The Avenger.” I had met this beast before. I was four years old and my eight year old sister took it upon herself to let me drive The Avenger…by myself. I suppose she assumed I knew what I was doing because she failed to mention the basics, for example the brakes. I took off down the long, dirt road that led up to our house and as I panicked, I went faster. My joyride ended with a crash into the parked cow trailer and The Avenger directly on top of me. I managed to survive that encounter, but would I be so lucky this time?
As it sat before me with its handlebars stretched out like ears of metal ready to bake in the afternoon sun, I knew it was going to be a long 6 weeks. And did I mention that at this point it had no brakes and a turning radius of a semi? It was not my vehicle of choice, for sure, but it was better than footing it through the field with my hoe.
Days turned into weeks and we soon got into a routine on the farm. When a good song would come on our walkmans, we took dance breaks in the rows of cotton. Each day we had beanie weenies and a sandwich under the only tree in sight. We’d fill our water jugs and have water fights with the hose from Dad’s trailer tank until we found out it previously contained pesticide. Yikes.
All in all, it was a good experience for me to learn about this part of my Dad. But brainpower for me was lacking on the farm. As Dad put it, “Andi, you’re a smart kid, but out here you’re an idiot.” And he was right. That summer I managed to lose three hoes, run into the tractor with my 3-wheeler and run out of gas in the middle of nowhere on more than a couple of occasions. But at 16, this poor track record couldn’t keep me down because I was off to be a camp rat for the rest of the summer to make mischief of one kind and another…
Greyhound Goes To Disney World
All teenagers go through phases, and during the summer of 1988, I happened to be going through my no-flying phase; I refused to fly on airplanes because of a bad flight I had endured on a previous vacation.
Unfortunately, the timing of this phase could not have come at a worse time. That summer, my family decided to take a trip to Walt Disney World in Florida; it was to be our first “real” vacation that wasn’t centered on visiting relatives.
After leaving me behind on several other family vacations that involved flying, my family decided that summer that they would do whatever it took to get me to Disney World. My mom has a bit of a driving phobia, so driving to Florida was not an option. We researched taking the train and quickly concluded that was not an option because it took over three days to travel each way. The only other option was taking the bus. And so we did, not knowing how adventurous the trip would be.
My mom, sister, and I boarded the bus in our small town for our first big stop in Houston. We quickly saw that a different class of passengers awaited us. We tried to avoid the prison and mental hospital escapees who seemed to abound at the Houston bus station. They were easy to spot because they were still wearing their jumpsuits and gowns. But, as much as we tried to avoid the weird people, I ended up sitting next to some pretty scary people. And the ones I didn’t sit next to still made their presence known.
In the middle of the night, we were awakened in Mobile, Alabama, during a driver change. The first replacement driver who stepped on the bus received an update from the outgoing driver--something about a guy who was high on drugs who had locked himself in the bathroom and would not come out during the ticket check. The replacement driver quickly disappeared. We then waited for hours for another replacement driver and for the police to arrive and drag the armed man out of the bathroom and off the bus, while we all sat in our seats. I don’t think that we slept the rest of the night because of how scared we had been.
On the way back from Disney World, the “clientele” seemed to improve, but we still did not sleep. We had an evangelist sitting behind us who preached all night to a non-English-speaking Vietnamese man. And the air conditioning vents leaked a mysterious red, sticky substance that was later determined to be Kool-Aid.
Somehow, despite all of this, the bus adventure of 1988 did not usher me out of my non-flying phase. Instead, that phase raged on for many years and outlasted my family’s desire to accommodate it. With the bus adventure of 1988 firmly imprinted in my mother’s and my sister’s memories, they couldn’t quite bring themselves to risk their lives on another vacation by bus just for me.
Unfortunately, the timing of this phase could not have come at a worse time. That summer, my family decided to take a trip to Walt Disney World in Florida; it was to be our first “real” vacation that wasn’t centered on visiting relatives.
After leaving me behind on several other family vacations that involved flying, my family decided that summer that they would do whatever it took to get me to Disney World. My mom has a bit of a driving phobia, so driving to Florida was not an option. We researched taking the train and quickly concluded that was not an option because it took over three days to travel each way. The only other option was taking the bus. And so we did, not knowing how adventurous the trip would be.
My mom, sister, and I boarded the bus in our small town for our first big stop in Houston. We quickly saw that a different class of passengers awaited us. We tried to avoid the prison and mental hospital escapees who seemed to abound at the Houston bus station. They were easy to spot because they were still wearing their jumpsuits and gowns. But, as much as we tried to avoid the weird people, I ended up sitting next to some pretty scary people. And the ones I didn’t sit next to still made their presence known.
In the middle of the night, we were awakened in Mobile, Alabama, during a driver change. The first replacement driver who stepped on the bus received an update from the outgoing driver--something about a guy who was high on drugs who had locked himself in the bathroom and would not come out during the ticket check. The replacement driver quickly disappeared. We then waited for hours for another replacement driver and for the police to arrive and drag the armed man out of the bathroom and off the bus, while we all sat in our seats. I don’t think that we slept the rest of the night because of how scared we had been.
On the way back from Disney World, the “clientele” seemed to improve, but we still did not sleep. We had an evangelist sitting behind us who preached all night to a non-English-speaking Vietnamese man. And the air conditioning vents leaked a mysterious red, sticky substance that was later determined to be Kool-Aid.
Somehow, despite all of this, the bus adventure of 1988 did not usher me out of my non-flying phase. Instead, that phase raged on for many years and outlasted my family’s desire to accommodate it. With the bus adventure of 1988 firmly imprinted in my mother’s and my sister’s memories, they couldn’t quite bring themselves to risk their lives on another vacation by bus just for me.
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