National Grammar Rodeo

I made myself laugh just now, from something I wrote four years ago. It was a response to an e-mail I got from a co-worker... truth be told, a boss. It said exactly this:
bcbs-omni?????????????

My reply was:
Wow, thirteen question marks and I still have no idea what you are asking me. Can you add some more question marks, please?  I'm sure I get it then.

I didn't much care for the person who wrote this to me and I am glad she has been gone for quite some time now. The company, at least my life within it, has been much to the better for her absence.

Emily's blog, is about a proposal she is reading for a project committee she is on. It is terrible. It is clearly schlocked together and was not proofread, or even really given a once-over before it was turned in. A large part of my job is putting out proposals, so this is something that really sticks in my craw.

On top of that, I am considered a bit of a snit when it comes to usage, grammar and speaking. This is not to say I am perfect... I make plenty of mistakes and I can't diagram a sentence to save my life. The fact remains I put more than a little thought into my professional proposals and in my regular writing. I try to speak and write with clarity and precision, following the rules that have been lain out before me.

Except, I don't know whether I just used "lain" right, so I looked it up. I found this handy chart, courtesy of The Grammar Girl Website at www.grammargirl.com:

It made my head hurt. I may have to lay down. Lie down? Ugh... I don't know. So I took a quiz, also on The Grammar Girl website. Somehow, I got 5 out of 6 correct. "Congratulations!", she said, "You have mastered lie lay lain."

Could've (could have) fooled me. I don't (do not) feel any smarter or more prepared now than I did before. All I know is that I have a better than 80% chance of guessing correctly if you write a sentence with a blank in it and ask me to guess which word I should use.

I make that digression so you know I am not wallowing in my pomposity and do not believe I am holier than thou art. That being said, I would like to turn on the "Rant Button" for a few moments.

When did the apostrophe (which looks like ' for my truly lost friends) come to rule the world? I don't remember when people started putting an apostrophe in all words ending with the letter S. Do they put it in because they can't (cannot) remember when to put it in or take it out so they put it in just hoping it is right? And then does the person reading it say, "Oh, crap... I don't (do not) remember if I'm (I am) right or not, so I won't (will not) say anything so I don't (do not) look like a douche."? And then the apostrophe scattering mad man says, "Whew... apostrophes everywhere from now on!"?

Let's (let us) review
You have a singular word: Phone
The plural of which is: Phones
Never: Phone's

When you write Phone's, what you mean is a contraction of "phone" and "is", like in, "Honey, the phone's ringing."

Now, just because we are lazy and fat and stupid and say things like "Honey, the phone's ringing" doesn't mean we should write it that way. There are a few contractions that are acceptable and I don't (do not) want to get into them now, but I will say that some people go way too far out of their way to make a contraction.

What is this powerful evil draw the apostrophe has upon Americans? I  wikipedia lists "shouldn't've" as an acceptable contraction. It is not an acceptable contraction. If you are contracting more than two words, you are spending more time being lazy than if you just typed them out!

Ok, I am experiencing a little topic drift here... back to the basics of singular, plural, possessive and possessive plural. Please jot down, in your own words the following sentences. Go ahead, this is all prerecorded. I will be here when you are done. You won't (will not) be left behind, (though perhaps someone in third grade should have pondered doing just that).

A man, whose name is David, has a phone. The phone is ringing.

First of all, notice I did not write "A man, who's name is David. Why? Because if anyone on the street caught you saying "A Man Who Is Name Is David..."  would shoot you and it would be justifiable homicide. That's (that is) why!

Now, whose (not who's) phone is it?
A. David's
B. Davids
C. Davids'
D. David's'

If you answered A, you are correct. If you answered B or C you may still read on to discover the error of your (not you're) ways. If you answered D, please pin some mittens on your jacket, go to the street, wait for the shortest bus you see and hop on. You have found your people! Be free, perpetual field tripper, the world is your oyster!

What if David has more than one phone? David has:
A. Phones

That's (that is) the only answer. Stop being so complicated. It a simple plural word. Phones. Leave it.

How many of you wrote sentences that looked like this?

David's phone is ringing.

You are my people.

How many of you wrote a sentence that looked like this?

Davids' phone's ringing.

First, there are a lot of Davids in that sentence and we already talked about "phone's" as being lazy and inappropriate unless you are Mark Twain. If you're (you are, not your) Mark Twain, you can write any old thing in quotations, because you are brilliant and aren't (are not) to be questioned.

Are you Samuel Clemens, (that's {that is} Mark Twain)? Are you? I didn't think so.

Now, smart ass, you say, what about when a word ends in S?

Here in west Michigan, we have a restaurant called Russ'. It is pronounced "RUSSESS". It belongs to Russ, (hence the apostrophe to show possession), or the Russ family, which means it belongs to multiple Russessessesss. That is expressed the same in our language so it's (it is) still Russ'.

It is not Rus's and it certainly is not Russe's or Russ'es'. Laughing? Don't. I've seen things, man... bad things.

Whose (not who's)  restaurant is it? Russ'.
Who's (not whose) the owner? Russ.

The truly astute among you, and I believe I have two or even three astute readers, will notice I've (I have) been adding a handy parenthetical guide  to contractions right in the text of this blentry. Use it.

I would get into "its" and "it's", but I have already passed an aneurism just trying to get all this out so far. I fear my body won't make it, so I'll (I will) give up.

Grammar sucks. Grammar is boring. However, all is not lost. Check out the book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves - The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation" by Lynne Truss. It is a small book, handily sized to go with you anywhere. I am sure for those of you advanced enough, you could download it to your iPad or Kindle or Nook, (Of course, I am not totally comfortable recommending anyone download anything to their nook).

Thanks (not thank's) for listening. Y'all (you all) have a great day now, y'hear (you hear)?

Friday Miscellany

TIME
The week after coming home from being out of town is always a little surreal. Time is referenced by what you were doing last Thursday at 8:20 pm and measuring that against what you are doing now on Thursday, 8:20 pm.
Here it is, Friday and I can't believe this week has gone by so quickly. Since I had to jump right into travel and meetings upon my return, the week has been a blur. This morning at oh-dark-thirty when I woke up, I couldn't believe it was already Friday.
It is now 9:48 and I can't believe it's still Friday.
My, how the gears have changed. I have finally downshifted and find my brain struggling to understand the new speed. I am moving fast and slow at the same time.
I wonder if Einstein ever felt this way and that opened his mind up to the assertion that space and time are not constant, but instead they bend and flex and speed up and slow down like water in a river.
Indeed, Dr. Einstein, it is all relative.
____________________________________________________________

SPACE
After spending a week on a gym floor with a bunch of boys, my perspective is all changed. I put some clothes on the floor of my office Monday while unpacking and they are still there. I have walked past, through and over them innumerable times since and it hasn't phased me.
Time to get back into normal. I am sure my "gym floor" organizing system is starting to get on Em's nerves. Especially since I would never let her get away with the same.
_____________________________________________________________

DAYS OF RECKONING
Friday, August 3rd is my day of reckoning.There is a tri fold brochure on my desk staring at me. It's features a happy looking elderly African American couple smiling confidently with the words "Having Surgery?" written on it.Not being elderly, and not being entirely confident, I am having a hard time relating to the brochure, which is full of dos and don'ts.
Have I mentioned I don't like being told what to do and don't do? I suppose if you know me that comes as no surprise.
One item asks, "May I shower or bathe before surgery?"
The answer is "Please shower or bathe before surgery. You may brush your teeth."
So, not getting out of that for the day.
They can't even let me know more than a day in advance when my surgery on that day will be. And I can't eat for 8 hours before. Have they met me? I am already carb loading in case I can't eat between dinner on Thursday and say, 2:00 pm on Friday. I can't stay up all night and eat later... that only makes me wake up famished. Isn't that weird? The later and bigger I eat the more hungry I am when I awake.
And what of coffee? Do they know what I am like with no coffee? Emily might need to keep a TASER handy.
I had always hoped to get through life unaltered. Now I hope to live past Friday, August 3rd. Can the bear survive minor surgery?
_____________________________________________________________

FAST FOOD
I like fast food. I have owned up to that on these pages before. Last week, I had plenty of opportunity to indulge in all manner of fast food.
Last night, we had BLTs and corn on the cob, (Em's favorite summer meal). Let me tell you, that is better than any fast food out there. Are you listening, fast food establishments? If you make it, I will come.
____________________________________________________________

AND FINALLY...
It is that time again, where the world gets together and attempts to transcend racial and political differences and compete on a purely human level. Every four years, we dust off our brightest and hope for medal counts and bragging rights.
Fat Americans ironically wedge themselves into their Barcaloungers or mount bar stools and cram deep fried somethings into their mouths and shout USA!, USA! at a TV upon which is playing a sport that in non-Olympic years exists only in the heads and hearts of the athletes and coaches.
McDonalds will hawk 2,000 calorie meals and Budweiser will tempt us into drinking too much, while Wal*Mart will brag about their low prices on China made goods. The Church of Latter Day Saints will make us feel like we have no moral character, (which they are probably right about), and the political candidates up for election in November will relentlessly pummel us with lies and negativity, statistics out of context and fake smiles.
Look closely at what you are watching and make an attempt to actually "see" our country at a glance. Then we can talk about how we can once again be proud to shout USA! USA!

Another Week to Remember

Under most circumstances, I have the ability to communicate my thoughts via the written word rather capably. I mean, sure, I am not Tolstoy, but I think I am at least as good as say, Dave Barry. That's good enough for me. Yet, for this entry, I find myself having great difficulty.

This is because I am typically an observer. As such, I am able to turn my observations into words and therefore into a story or what-have-you. I had a premonition months ago that this workcamp, my fifth from which I returned last Saturday, would be something different. I was right. And I am having difficulty writing about it because I did not observe it so much as I experienced it.


REACH Workcamps is an organization that works with community organizers and residents to identify people in need of home repairs and handles all the logistics and organization involved with bringing 250-400  mostly high school students and adult chaperones to a given area. There are typically two camps going on in two sections of the country at any given time over 8-10 weeks of a summer.


The project homes and to-do lists range from fairly simple, like painting, to very complex. For instance, in the past my projects have included replacing an entire subfloor in a kitchen and ripping out and rebuilding a porch. This year, our project was to drywall a ceiling and lay a laminate wood floor. I don't do all the work, of course. This week I was one of two adult leaders of a group of six amazing high school teens.


Our project came with an unexpected level of emotional baggage as our homeowner, (to which we refer as our "neighbor"), had REACH install a roof in the recent past that failed. The failure of the roof was remedied by another camp the week before we were there. Our crew was there to fix the water damage inside.

On day zero, we receive a project description and some background and meet our fellow adult, if there is one. Last year I lead a crew on my own. I was happy to see our projects would all be interior and that our home had air conditioning. I thought we were rolling in clover since the house looked really nice in the pictures and with the high heat and high likelihood of rain, we wouldn't be stymied by the vagaries of weather. And I had a co-leader who seemed very likable and ready to go. It was going to be a good week!

The first, 'first' was that the home was a full 40 minutes from base. Ugh. That's a lot of time lost each day just driving. Walking in to the trim and tidy house in a nice neighborhood only a minute's walk away from my REACH 2010 house, we saw immediately that the job had been undersold in the description provided. That was the second, 'first' - as the project descriptions typically make the scope of work sound much more difficult than they bear out to be in real life.

The third, 'first' was that our neighbors, weary from the previous week's camp and not entirely trusting of us since the reason we were coming back was bad work done by a previous workcamp crew. To say they were not totally happy to see us would be an understatement.

Our neighbors also smoked. A lot. I was already nursing a sinus infection. That was oddly not a 'first' as I had  a sinus infection last year, too. But the smoking really put me over the edge and the sinus infection quickly descended and became an upper respiratory infection within 24 hours. I would be spending the week with a fever, a cough and sotto voce. You know, just to make things interesting.

Crew 24 was Ashton, Emma, Zach, Zach, Frank, Ryan and co-adult Laura. To keep the Zachs apart, we needed to nickname them. So one got the name "Big Zach" and the other, originally got the unfortunate sobriquet of "Not Quite As Big Zach." Both Zachs, you see, were big guys. As we were holding up drywall over our heads, I just started to say "Big Zach" and "Back Zach", since "Back Zach" was behind me. Too bad for "Back Zach", but it stuck.

I was given the humble monicker of "Big Daddy Steak Homes", and I did not argue since I have long maintained that nicknames are bestowed... not necessarily earned. Besides, I like steak, Homes...


Crew 24 was amazing. And were it not for the incessant positivity and willingness to keep going until the job was done, we never would have made it. What crew 24 doesn't know is that by Thursday, I was pretty much past it. I had no idea how to finish and was pretty sure we wouldn't finish.While my words tried desperately to convey positivity and can-do spirit, I was panicking inside.


What crew 24 showed me was that all things are possible if you want it. These teens were supposed to be having fun first and foremost... it is rule number one that relationships and spritiual growth in faith are the objectives and the projects are secondary. Here I was working through lunch devotions on Thursday and we all skipped lunch devotions on Friday just to get a leg up. REACH would not approve. Crew 24 made some of their own fun, but I guarantee they didn't have as much as they should have. We were first to leave base in the morning. We were last to come back at night. Every day. Every night. Friday, we rolled in a full two hours after everyone else.

These kids worked. Hard. What they did not do, is complain. What they did not do is goof off. What they did not do is fight or waste materials. The did not wallow or despair. They just worked. And sometimes sang. I shared with them that one of my many quirks was I have "Yellow Submarine" on repeat in my brain, in full Ringo Liverpudlian twang, when I am under pressure. It's what I do. When things got tough, the kids would just sing "Yellow Submarine", butchering the lyrics all the way. It made us laugh. We needed to laugh.

We had to get help the last day to finish. One of the other adults and a student from our youth group came, and so did a couple others and so did our "Troubleshooters". And we did finish. We can legitimately be proud of the work we did  and the final product. We were thankful to experience what is commonly referred to as "Miracle Friday." I never needed a miracle before. My groups have always been done in the morning on Friday. The reward is sitting with out neighbor, building community and me giving what I call my REACH speech. Then we all go out to lunch, have a good time, get back to base early, take showers and await the rest of the crews coming in weary to give them high fives and revel in their miracle.


That's how I like things to be. This year, it was not to be. And I had been conflicted about it. I felt like I owed so much to the kids who did the lion's share of the work, and yet I didn't feel I got to know them well enough. I feel closer to them than I did to previous crews because of the resolve they showed and the attitude and the work and the camaraderie, but I wasn't sure if there was a lasting connection. I didn't know if we actually accomplished what we were sent to accomplish.


After some time removed, I realize I can't second guess the circumstances. I... we, were not in charge. And we made it work and made it successful because we gave our problems and concerns up. We recognized we were in stronger hands.


So, that is the nutshell version of an amazing and "great" week. I put "great" in quotes because I don't mean it the way people often mean when they say they had a great time. I did not have a great time and I reckon that the others didn't either. Not on the worksite anyway. But I believe we all had a "great" time, as in a time that was simply extraordinary and out of the bounds of normal.

Great things are not easy things, nor are they always fun things. But I would bet that if we were given a chance to work together again and go though adversity again, Crew 24 would elect to stay together and do it all again. I know I would. And even though this project was by far the most difficult in broad terms, I can't imagine doing anything different with any different people.

I have been reading a book, much of which is predicated on the 23rd Psalm. And boy, what a perfect read for the struggles of the week.

Ups and downs, hope and despair, celebrations and thanks. And none of us were in control of any of it. We simply placed our faith that we would be led as we needed to be lead and reminded ourselves that we are not given anything we cannot handle.

At the end, having walked through the dark valley, feeling the cold shadows upon us, we did not feel alone. Only for a short time did I feel helpless and defeated. And when I did, the angels of additional assistance came willingly and injected new energy and life into us, and into our project.

The difficult homeowners, once adversaries became friends. The eight strangers that made up Crew 24, were now brothers and sisters in arms, undefeated and indefatigable. I would venture we will not forget each other or our triumph easily.

And that, among so many other things, made this past week "great". In that I was not just a spectator of the glory of faith and trust in something we cannot see and do not understand, but I was a recipient of the grace and kindness that the universe has to offer. It is there for us if we want it, no matter what we call it. No matter how we attempt to quantify it or explain it, or deny it and turn away from it.


After a long last day, we took the crew to eat. It was the first time they had seen a TV all week... and the TV was dominated by the story of a crazed and helpless man who took his confusion and frustration and anger and angst and turned it against so many people in a theater in Colorado.


What a bookend to the week we just had. And it teaches us that there will be no end to evil. There cannot be good without evil. We can choose to focus on the story of a criminal mind who acted horrifically and inexplicably, or we can focus on the hundreds who helped, who called for the wounded, who evacuated the and protected the injured under extreme danger to themselves. We can focus on that which fractures our minds and leads us to derision and hate, or we can turn our attention to the church groups who were immediately on hand to pray, to the community organizations who were there to counsel and heal.


You see... you will always find what you are looking for. In a difficult project, you may find challenge and ultimate victory, or you may find despair and defeat.


Crew 24... a bunch of kids, taught me in a very real way that the bright side of things is where the action is. And for that, I am eternally grateful!

"All Things Must Pass Away", or, Eligy For Saint Mary Magdalen

There is a conventional and oft-coined platitude best applied in the form of a Beatles song... "All things must pass away." For it is true that in life, no one gets out alive. Indeed some of us don't make it very far at all. Still many of us overstay our welcomes. But psychologists and theologists alike agree that humans universally struggle to achieve "symbolic immortality."

We have children to pass the family line, to be a legacy for us. They will in turn do the same, and so on. I don't have kids by choice. I revel in the upside and accept the downside as consequences of that decision. My attempts at achieving symbolic immortality are the memories of myself I leave behind with the people and places center to my life.

Whether those memories are jokes, anecdotes, blog posts, angry exchanges, or what have you, we all leave our ghosts behind in everything we do. "We may never pass this way again," goes another song, which implies we'd better do it right the first time. Or at least do it big.

One of the places I left a lot of fond memories burnt- all but to the ground- this weekend. Even though I had not attended a mass at Saint Mary Magdalen Catholic Church in Kentwood in the better part of 20 years, it was my home church. I always referred to it as "my boyhood church". It was a significant place. It was a place that elicited smiles as I would drive by all the way up to last Wednesday when I drove past it on the sunny evening in my Corvette. I smiled at the memory of playing baseball on the fields there, and of working at the concession stand. It was a place that many friends went to back then in my ever waning youth. Many friends attended church in that building even up to this weekend when an out of control fire raged for hours and destroyed the sanctuary.

 I made a lot of memories in that place. I'd like to think their ghosts survived within those walls, informing all that happened since. Now it is sure they are gone. With them, a piece of me. It was very sad to see the building, (which I was fond of anyway), as a sad empty hulk. A building once inviting, now foreboding. It died violently, spitting flame and ash and flotsam out 100 feet in each direction as it surrendered itself inch by inch to the violent, unquenchable inferno.

The charred remnants of the mighty wooden beams which soared over the sanctuary and provided much inspiration through architecture, are all that remains.

A view into the remains of the sanctuary looking northwest. This was the last place I stood watching mass from the hallway in the nave. The mass was for the commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the church in 2006. Later, we had a good time at the festival held on church grounds. I won the 50/50 raffle and donated my proceeds to the church. It was the last time I saw a favorite priest, Fr. Jim Kawalski, alive. (Photo Courtesy Grand Rapids Press)

There will undoubtedly be a new building. The parish is strong and the diocese has already committed to rebuilding. A church, after all is its people, not its location.

This is the exterior door through which the above photo was taken. The fire burned so long and intensely that the steel I beams (added during a 1980s renovation, funded in part by a generous donation from my parents), deflected. The feel was "Daliesque"

But the new building won't be the building I was baptized and confirmed in. It won't be the building where I helped reconstitute the moribund youth group, was an alter server for mass and for the funerals of many distinguished and well-loved people from the clergy and community. It won't be the place where learned about right and wrong. It won't be the building where I met some of the best friends I ever had. It won't be where we staged  "lock-ins" and played music at insane volumes all night long with weary looking adults attmepting to be cool and have fun. It won't be the place where I won talent shows and danced and flirted with girls. Church is a much better place to meet girls than any bars. I learned that, here.

After college, I lived with some great guys in the nastiest house on the prettiest street in the uber posh Detroit suburb of Birmingham. Like this church, it was a formative place in my memory. A place where many rights of passage took place. a place where memories were made. The house fell victim to "neglect by rental" and to the irrational exuberance of the real-estate market of the go-go aughts. It was razed and replaced with a lovely new home. The former school across the street suffered the same fate. Now, I drive down the street as though it were just another street. There is no need to slow down. No inexorable tug to revel in the fond memories. Why bother? After all, it's just a house on just a street. Nothing to see here.

The new Church building will not be home. For me, it will be nothing. Just another church.  I and so many other people who have moved on will regard this once important place as another building. And while it is a joy that the congregation was not hurt, and will rebuild, it is a profound sadness to me that whatever part I, my family, and so many other people dear to me played in the history of the place burned up and flew away, like so much ash and tinder, never to return.

The icon of the patron saint of the parish, Mary Magdalen, kneels at the feet of the crucifed Jesus. It remains virtually untouched in the memorial yard in front of the church.
On this day after the fire, the church marquis on 52nd street read "Behold, I am with you always".