I like...
... the way the colors of the sky and trees come alive before a thunderstorm.
... the way the wind gusts hot and cold as the storm approaches.
... sitting in the sun and feeling the heat radiate down to my bones.
... the sticky humidity... up to about 70%. After that, it gets obnoxious.
... feeling chilled and reaching for a sweatshirt when the evening temperatures dip below 70 degrees.
... chasing fireflies and swatting mosquitoes intermittently.
... sitting on the front porch in the evening, watching the stars and smelling citronella.
... the way spray sunscreen chills my skin in 95 degree heat.
... the mingled tastes of cold Diet Dr. Pepper and honey mustard pretzels.
... lining up seashells across the porch railing.
... impatiens.
... fresh cucumber sandwiches on white Wonder Bread with Kraft Real Mayonnaise. (sorry HLo)
... fresh tomato sandwiches on white Wonder Bread with Kraft Real Mayonnaise.
... homemade ice cream with fresh fruit mixed in.
... sand between my toes, but NOT sand in my shoes or swimsuit.
... the smell of sunscreen-soaked laundry.
... changing out the cushions on the front porch and back deck chairs.
... reading a good book by the pool.
... reading a good book on the beach.
... walking on the beach and making up the back stories of the people we pass.
... eating ice cream outside.
... eating pizza by the pool and swimming until sunset.
... flip flops.
... not setting the alarm clock... and waking up when I ... wake up.
... long quiet times.
... SBS.
... sparklers and fireworks.
... watermelon.
... edged driveways and walkways.
... listening to beach music and making a good beach music playlist on my iPod.
... eating lunch and dinner on the back deck.
... staying up late making lists of the things I like about summer.
So... what do YOU like about summer?
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Missing the village...
When I grew up we went to church on Sunday morning and Sunday night. After worship on Sunday morning, we always went out to eat with a big ol' bunch of people from church. After the service on Sunday night, we'd have a big ol' bunch of people from church over for dessert.
On Wednesday nights, we'd have supper at church (they were Wednesday night suppers, not Wednesday night dinners... love the South!) followed by Bible study for the kiddies and youth and prayer meeting for the grown ups. On Saturday nights the youth group would head to New Life Camp for their Saturday Night Specials.
Periodically we'd have a lock-in. OK, rarely. I think we exhausted the youth leaders. The youth would go on a weekend retreat here and there. We had hayrides and movie nights and skating. And we were at Bible study AT LEAST once a week every week.
There was a sign up list for altar flowers and nursery duty got assigned to everyone in the church who could hold a baby or chase a toddler. The same men had been ushers since Methuselah's day, I suppose. I never remember anyone else ushering.
A large brick wall separated the front churchyard from the street. We'd walk across the top of the wall, but if anyone dared jump from the wall to a tree branch, their momma'd hear about it in less than a minute and there'd be a humdinger of a talkin-to on the way home in the car. Not only did everyone know each other and each other's kids and each other's mommas and daddys, but also each other's grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who visited from out of town periodically.
If we weren't at church on Sunday, people knew we were sick or visiting relatives. We always took Sunday clothes to the beach and felt like we'd sinned if we didn't go to some sort of service on Sunday morning.
Church and our church family were central to our lives.
Not now. And that makes me sad.
Church is huge and well-run. As our pastor said on Sunday, we have flow-charts and ministry models to rival major corporations. What we don't have, though, and what I miss most is the feeling of family.
We do, however, have one particular family we've gotten to know over the past couple of years through, of all things, school sports. Known them for years at church, but not like we know each other now. Our younger children play together while our older children compete together. One day our little guys disappeared and we caught a glimpse of them trying to scale a chain link fence. The dad of that family started walking (briskly) to investigate. As he walked he said, "They better not be ... or they'll be in trouble." I yelled, "Hey, be my village. Whatever you tell your boys, let mine know he's in for the same." It was a vague reference to the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child." A little funny because that is also the title of a former first lady's book. Even more funny since we're not particularly fans of hers. And yet it is oh-so-true.
Their family and ours, we joke about it now. Anytime one of us is watching the other's kids, we say, "Be my village." Sometimes that means one of us will call down a little one for misbehaving. Sometimes it means we will cheer our lungs out at the finish line for each other's kids. Always it means we will come together and care about people even though they don't live under our roof.
I'm grateful for our small "village," and I wish it were bigger. I wish our church now could be a family like our church was when I was growing up. Of all the things I miss from childhood, I think I miss the "village" most.
On Wednesday nights, we'd have supper at church (they were Wednesday night suppers, not Wednesday night dinners... love the South!) followed by Bible study for the kiddies and youth and prayer meeting for the grown ups. On Saturday nights the youth group would head to New Life Camp for their Saturday Night Specials.
Periodically we'd have a lock-in. OK, rarely. I think we exhausted the youth leaders. The youth would go on a weekend retreat here and there. We had hayrides and movie nights and skating. And we were at Bible study AT LEAST once a week every week.
There was a sign up list for altar flowers and nursery duty got assigned to everyone in the church who could hold a baby or chase a toddler. The same men had been ushers since Methuselah's day, I suppose. I never remember anyone else ushering.
A large brick wall separated the front churchyard from the street. We'd walk across the top of the wall, but if anyone dared jump from the wall to a tree branch, their momma'd hear about it in less than a minute and there'd be a humdinger of a talkin-to on the way home in the car. Not only did everyone know each other and each other's kids and each other's mommas and daddys, but also each other's grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who visited from out of town periodically.
If we weren't at church on Sunday, people knew we were sick or visiting relatives. We always took Sunday clothes to the beach and felt like we'd sinned if we didn't go to some sort of service on Sunday morning.
Church and our church family were central to our lives.
Not now. And that makes me sad.
Church is huge and well-run. As our pastor said on Sunday, we have flow-charts and ministry models to rival major corporations. What we don't have, though, and what I miss most is the feeling of family.
We do, however, have one particular family we've gotten to know over the past couple of years through, of all things, school sports. Known them for years at church, but not like we know each other now. Our younger children play together while our older children compete together. One day our little guys disappeared and we caught a glimpse of them trying to scale a chain link fence. The dad of that family started walking (briskly) to investigate. As he walked he said, "They better not be ... or they'll be in trouble." I yelled, "Hey, be my village. Whatever you tell your boys, let mine know he's in for the same." It was a vague reference to the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child." A little funny because that is also the title of a former first lady's book. Even more funny since we're not particularly fans of hers. And yet it is oh-so-true.
Their family and ours, we joke about it now. Anytime one of us is watching the other's kids, we say, "Be my village." Sometimes that means one of us will call down a little one for misbehaving. Sometimes it means we will cheer our lungs out at the finish line for each other's kids. Always it means we will come together and care about people even though they don't live under our roof.
I'm grateful for our small "village," and I wish it were bigger. I wish our church now could be a family like our church was when I was growing up. Of all the things I miss from childhood, I think I miss the "village" most.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Confession...
I like Nickelodeon TV shows better than Disney TV. But I like Disney movies better than Nickelodeon. Except for maybe Jimmy Neutron. And Good Burger.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Confession...
I hate sending cards. Ironic, I know. I'm a writing teacher; I should love expressing sentiment in words. But I don't. I hate picking out and sending cards.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Things to remember...
~When God calls you to minister to someone, He never asks you to violate His commands to do it.
~If you hear a voice asking for hair-splitting details about how far you can bend the rules without technically breaking them, and if that voice says, "Did they really say..." or "Did they really mean..." then that is probably not the Holy Spirit talking to you.
~God is the Creator of everything. He knows the rules by which it's all made. He loves you more than you will ever know. He revealed those rules in His Word to keep you safely in fellowship with Him. Read it. Do it.
~If fear of God isn't a motivating factor in what you do, then you probably don't need to do it.
~God is the Most High. He is holy, holy, holy. While He is our Abba Father, He is way bigger than just "Daddy" and deserves our worship, not just our "to do" list.
~If you hear a voice asking for hair-splitting details about how far you can bend the rules without technically breaking them, and if that voice says, "Did they really say..." or "Did they really mean..." then that is probably not the Holy Spirit talking to you.
~God is the Creator of everything. He knows the rules by which it's all made. He loves you more than you will ever know. He revealed those rules in His Word to keep you safely in fellowship with Him. Read it. Do it.
~If fear of God isn't a motivating factor in what you do, then you probably don't need to do it.
~God is the Most High. He is holy, holy, holy. While He is our Abba Father, He is way bigger than just "Daddy" and deserves our worship, not just our "to do" list.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Britt's for breakfast...
We've had our little CB place for five years. It will be five years this coming weekend, actually. Yet, we've just now managed to relish the goodness of Britt's donuts. Ahhhhhh...
Better than Krispy Kreme? Yep. They are.
Don't believe me? You can read about them ...
- in the CB local blog ... here
-on About.com ... here
-in the Wilmington Star ... here
-in an N&O blog ... here
-on the local Chamber of Commerce blogspot ... here
As for our own first encounter with Britt's, here's a picture of our sweet new friend as we enjoyed an early morning stroll on the boardwalk. :)
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sweet Sixteen...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
For my daddy...
Father's Day is in a couple of days, so I want to take a minute to say "Happy Father's Day" to my dad.
Aside to Dad: Your card is in the mail. The USPS rather unceremoniously came earlier than usual yesterday. Grrr... Because you know I'd never wait until the last minute to do anything or be late getting to anything. Huh uh ... not me! ;-) P.S. There's also a package that'll be there at a date thus far undisclosed by the company that's shipping it.
My dad is an entreprenuer, an inventor, an engineer, and a researcher. He keeps an old school drafting table set up in his dining room, and although it has been a while since we have been there, I'd be willing to bet money that he's working on a plan for something -- a non-gas-powered car engine, a subterranean house, a plan for harvesting timber -- I have no idea what it is, but I'm confident that something is in the works. He is a visionary.
Dad loves watching sports, day and night, but never has had much of an affinity for playing them. He eats a diet consisting largely of vegetables, most of the time uncooked, and nuts. That self-invented diet, combined with some internet-researched supplements and a little conventional medicine, helped my dad survive a rather ugly bout with cancer and a still-unknown pulmonary illness. Three times I had ER doctors pull me aside to tell me that my dad's x-rays showed that he likely would be here only a few more weeks, if that long. That was three years ago.
Probably the single greatest lesson I've learned from my dad is to keep learning. Keep asking questions. Keep researching. Keep dreaming. Keep working. Keep pursuing. Keep going.
Love you, Daddy! Happy Father's Day!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
My momma...
We women have a thing. We either get along great or we don't. If we do, then woe be to anyone who tries to step in the middle. If we don't, then... woe be to anyone who tries to step in the middle.
As I parent my own teenage daughter, I am aware that my mom was a WAY better mom than I am. I both love that and hate that. I love that I have such an amazing mom. I hate for Kelsey that I often fall short of what I know good parenting to be.
No matter how each little event shakes out, this I do know... My momma was right... there was no way I ever could have known until I had one of my own.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Ode to a head cold...
Nah. It's not really an ode, but it does make a catchy title.
I think I have a head cold. Either that or I've developed an allergy to leather. When I sit in my chair in the family room or drive my car, my nose gets all stuffy. I went outside this afternoon and sat by the pool and sweated profusely (ew), but felt much better. Then I came inside. I've felt pooey ever since.
AANNNYYYWAAYYY... Jimmy is watching World Cup soccer. In itself that's pretty funny because he hates soccer. Yet, he is sitting there watching a game between Brazil and North Korea, talking about how impressive it is when soccer players ... hmmm ... kick a curve ball? I don't know. I've never been able to watch the sport before, so ... yeah ... whatever you call it.
So, we're watching this soccer extravaganza and I see that one of the teams is PRK. PRK? I don't remember a PRK in the geography category. Then PRK scores and the announcer says North Korea scored. North Korea?! So Jimmy's trying to explain to me how PRK is the People's Republic of Korea. OK.
And now I'm off to other thoughts, as my stuffiness has apparently affected my ability to concentrate, too. Speaking of my concentration ability, about three weeks ago Mr. Mack from school suggested that I take Gingko Biloba to help improve my concentration. He estimated that it would take about three days to build up in my system to the point where I would notice a difference in my ability to concentrate. I bought some right away. Does it work? I'll get back to you on that one. So far I haven't remembered to take it more than two days in a row.
So now we're watching the NBA Finals (which evidently are so special that the word Finals has earned a cursive font from the graphics whizzes at ABC). Rasheed is still playing. Amazing.
I watched Underdog for the first time today. I've watched Meet the Robinsons (bits and pieces of it) twice in the last 36ish hours.
I think the funniest thing about this World Cup soccer thing is the big brouhaha over those horns. Speaking of horns, if you ever have any of the Great Value (Walmart store brand) hot dog chili, keep some antacids handy. Just sayin'.
Well, I'm really missing breathing right about now, so I think I might go and get two of those popsicles I forgot to serve last night at Bible study and shove one up each nostril and see if the cold helps my cold.
I will leave you with this picture of Pepper. It has nothing to do with anything above, but the stuff above doesn't really have any coherence anyway, so I guess it fits in perfectly.
I think I have a head cold. Either that or I've developed an allergy to leather. When I sit in my chair in the family room or drive my car, my nose gets all stuffy. I went outside this afternoon and sat by the pool and sweated profusely (ew), but felt much better. Then I came inside. I've felt pooey ever since.
AANNNYYYWAAYYY... Jimmy is watching World Cup soccer. In itself that's pretty funny because he hates soccer. Yet, he is sitting there watching a game between Brazil and North Korea, talking about how impressive it is when soccer players ... hmmm ... kick a curve ball? I don't know. I've never been able to watch the sport before, so ... yeah ... whatever you call it.
So, we're watching this soccer extravaganza and I see that one of the teams is PRK. PRK? I don't remember a PRK in the geography category. Then PRK scores and the announcer says North Korea scored. North Korea?! So Jimmy's trying to explain to me how PRK is the People's Republic of Korea. OK.
And now I'm off to other thoughts, as my stuffiness has apparently affected my ability to concentrate, too. Speaking of my concentration ability, about three weeks ago Mr. Mack from school suggested that I take Gingko Biloba to help improve my concentration. He estimated that it would take about three days to build up in my system to the point where I would notice a difference in my ability to concentrate. I bought some right away. Does it work? I'll get back to you on that one. So far I haven't remembered to take it more than two days in a row.
So now we're watching the NBA Finals (which evidently are so special that the word Finals has earned a cursive font from the graphics whizzes at ABC). Rasheed is still playing. Amazing.
I watched Underdog for the first time today. I've watched Meet the Robinsons (bits and pieces of it) twice in the last 36ish hours.
I think the funniest thing about this World Cup soccer thing is the big brouhaha over those horns. Speaking of horns, if you ever have any of the Great Value (Walmart store brand) hot dog chili, keep some antacids handy. Just sayin'.
Well, I'm really missing breathing right about now, so I think I might go and get two of those popsicles I forgot to serve last night at Bible study and shove one up each nostril and see if the cold helps my cold.
I will leave you with this picture of Pepper. It has nothing to do with anything above, but the stuff above doesn't really have any coherence anyway, so I guess it fits in perfectly.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Oh, the humanity...
That was the catchphrase of this week's trip to our beloved beach. It was a little bit of a sight to behold. You see, they (the town council and the area merchants' association) have decided that what the little beach town needs to breathe life into the faltering Boardwalk is a carnival. Yep, nothing says "Classy Beach Town" quite like a carnival full of overpriced rides, screaming kids, and grease-covered carnies.
Yep.
It was quite an eclectic gathering of folks, the oceanfront carnival.
I think our little beach town is trying to be Myrtle Beach. The last afternoon we were there, a chick rolling a flavored-ice kiosk made her way down the beach. Not quite the Lemon Quench girl of MB and NMB, but a nice try.
The pinnacle of our journey east, though, was the lady at the Exit 364 Rest Area. She took the opportunity to place her dentures on the side of the sink and re-apply Fixodent. There are lots of things we'd expect to see at a public rest area. That wasn't one of them.
Oh well, as we drove west, homeward bound, the whole car broke out into the chorus of "Ain't that America."
Ain't that America, indeed.
Yep.
It was quite an eclectic gathering of folks, the oceanfront carnival.
I think our little beach town is trying to be Myrtle Beach. The last afternoon we were there, a chick rolling a flavored-ice kiosk made her way down the beach. Not quite the Lemon Quench girl of MB and NMB, but a nice try.
The pinnacle of our journey east, though, was the lady at the Exit 364 Rest Area. She took the opportunity to place her dentures on the side of the sink and re-apply Fixodent. There are lots of things we'd expect to see at a public rest area. That wasn't one of them.
Oh well, as we drove west, homeward bound, the whole car broke out into the chorus of "Ain't that America."
Ain't that America, indeed.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Candy you just don't see anymore...
... in most stores, anyway. There are online vintage candy sellers, though. I can remember going to the Grocery Boy, Jr., when I was a little girl and getting this candy.
How perfectly scandalous!
I also loved atomic fireballs, but you can still get those just about anywhere.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Grammar book...
I don't hate grammar. I really don't. I hate when grammar supersedes writing.
Grammar is a tool. It should help us be better writers. Studying grammar to the exclusion of actually writing is like studying a hammer without ever letting it hit a nail. What's the point?
But studying grammar as a tool allows writers to learn all the amazing things the language can do. Then they can venture into more ornate writing projects.
If you want to become a better writer... write! And read. Once you've conquered reading and writing, you can work on your "grammaring" skills so that you don't [metaphorically speaking] pound your thumb or bend the nail.
[Many thanks to Chandler for loaning me the picture.]
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
May I rant about language... just a little?
I guess by definition a rant isn't "just a little" anything. Oh well.
This is purely an English teacher rant and has NOTHING to do with my school. NOTHING.
It does have everything to do with a linguistic approach to grammar, though. At my beloved alma mater, I had THE linguistics professor as my grammar teacher for both undergrad grammar and grad school grammar. I loved her.
She made grammar come alive, and yes, we covered traditional grammar and diagrammed the socks out of a gazillion sentences. I have climbed Mt. Traditional Grammar and staked a flag in its peak. But it wasn't traditional grammar that made me go "Woo Ha." It was the underlying linguist's approach to teaching language.
You see, a linguist studies language as it is and not so much as it SHOULD be. Language is dynamic... growing and changing. When it stops growing and changing, it dies, like just about everything else in this world.
Latin is fixed because it is a dead language. There are no more living native speakers of the language. That's one reason it's such a great tool for teaching -- the rules don't change.
English is another story. A year ago "LOL" was cutting edge in slang. Today if you say "LOL," you're old. A month ago you said, "haha." Today, you say "LOLs" or "LOLz." A year ago "stalking" was the term you used if you visited someone else's profile on Facebook. Today you say, "creeping." If the forefront of language (slang) has changed that much in a year, imagine what the whole language has done in 400 years.
I just finished teaching Shakespeare. We read a modern translation of Merchant of Venice because my plans got a little off and we had only two weeks to read, analyze, and test on the play. Shakespeare wrote in Early Modern English. We speak Modern English. There's a gap. Are the students stupid because they can't read Early Modern English as well as they can Modern English? Not at all. Modern English is their native language. They get it.
But Shakespeare (and for that matter, the writers of our historical founding documents) was working with vocabulary and syntax that differs from what we use today. So what does that mean? Well, it means we have to do a little historical native language teaching and a little translating before we can get to the ideas they communicate.
I teach journalism. We are all about connecting with our audience. Today's writing is short. Sound bites. Sentence fragments. Conversational. It's that way because it's more accessible to more people, and believe it or not, the objective of being a journalist is to get ideas/events/news out there to the people. Getting read is a good thing.
Does that mean that thought-provoking, intellectually deep articles are a waste of time. Absolutely not. However, like everything else, there is a time and a place. Different types of writing are appropriate at different times.
It's all about connecting the message with the audience. To do that, sometimes we have to write the message in the audience's language, and other times, we have to teach a few language lessons before the audience "gets" the writer's point. And you know what? Either way, it's OK.
This is purely an English teacher rant and has NOTHING to do with my school. NOTHING.
It does have everything to do with a linguistic approach to grammar, though. At my beloved alma mater, I had THE linguistics professor as my grammar teacher for both undergrad grammar and grad school grammar. I loved her.
She made grammar come alive, and yes, we covered traditional grammar and diagrammed the socks out of a gazillion sentences. I have climbed Mt. Traditional Grammar and staked a flag in its peak. But it wasn't traditional grammar that made me go "Woo Ha." It was the underlying linguist's approach to teaching language.
You see, a linguist studies language as it is and not so much as it SHOULD be. Language is dynamic... growing and changing. When it stops growing and changing, it dies, like just about everything else in this world.
Latin is fixed because it is a dead language. There are no more living native speakers of the language. That's one reason it's such a great tool for teaching -- the rules don't change.
English is another story. A year ago "LOL" was cutting edge in slang. Today if you say "LOL," you're old. A month ago you said, "haha." Today, you say "LOLs" or "LOLz." A year ago "stalking" was the term you used if you visited someone else's profile on Facebook. Today you say, "creeping." If the forefront of language (slang) has changed that much in a year, imagine what the whole language has done in 400 years.
I just finished teaching Shakespeare. We read a modern translation of Merchant of Venice because my plans got a little off and we had only two weeks to read, analyze, and test on the play. Shakespeare wrote in Early Modern English. We speak Modern English. There's a gap. Are the students stupid because they can't read Early Modern English as well as they can Modern English? Not at all. Modern English is their native language. They get it.
But Shakespeare (and for that matter, the writers of our historical founding documents) was working with vocabulary and syntax that differs from what we use today. So what does that mean? Well, it means we have to do a little historical native language teaching and a little translating before we can get to the ideas they communicate.
I teach journalism. We are all about connecting with our audience. Today's writing is short. Sound bites. Sentence fragments. Conversational. It's that way because it's more accessible to more people, and believe it or not, the objective of being a journalist is to get ideas/events/news out there to the people. Getting read is a good thing.
Does that mean that thought-provoking, intellectually deep articles are a waste of time. Absolutely not. However, like everything else, there is a time and a place. Different types of writing are appropriate at different times.
It's all about connecting the message with the audience. To do that, sometimes we have to write the message in the audience's language, and other times, we have to teach a few language lessons before the audience "gets" the writer's point. And you know what? Either way, it's OK.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)