inthelouvre.org

Notes from My Mother

Born in Cleveland Ohio to James and Faith Hartshorne, 2 sisters and 1 brother. Family moved to Columbus Ohio, where Barb graduated from Ohio State University with a degree in Home Economics.

Mom was married in 1957, and a year later had the twins, Mike and Chris. 19 months later, Terri was born, and a little more than a year later, Mom found out she was pregnant with triplets – Paul, Mary and Debbie. Paul and Mary were too little to survive. Susan and Joe came a few years apart, and then Dorothy in 1968.

The family lived on one income and Mom’s creative talents and hard-working spirit were in evidence. She took on odd jobs to make money, but mostly applied her skills to making a home for our family. Mom knew how to stretch a dollar (something that may or may not have passed on to the next generation successfully!). She sewed many of the children’s clothing – even winter coats one year for the girls. She bought in bulk before bulk was “the thing to do”, although there was always “mom’s drawer” in the refrigerator. It was supposed to be hands-off, but rarely ended up that way. Something about forbidden fruits, I suppose!

She was a good mother. Involved in our activities when we were young – she did her time as a girl scout leader, den mother, was involved in the PTA, ferried 7 kids around to various piano and accordion lessons, and other activities. Mom was a quiet role model to her children. She never had a negative word to say about anyone, she lived the adage that “if you don’t have something good to say about someone, don’t say anything at all.” As we got older, Mom understood the wisdom of stepping back, though she was always ready with a hug or some advice if needed. She encouraged us kids and instilled confidence in us. When we would talk about decisions they made, she’d say something like, “I knew you’d make the right decision”. Mom taught us girls to be strong, independent women. (Some may say she did too good a job on that score!).

Mom was a loyal person with a generous heart. She was there for her friends, enjoyed cooking for them, and taking care them. She was cheerful and fun-loving. Throughout her life, Mom gave back to the community. She was involved in several community organizations and could always be counted on to do more than her share. From making candles for the Reynoldsburg Tomato Festival to keeping the books for the Bowling League, she pitched in and did whatever needed to be done. Her heart for others showed through her community spirit.

Mom loved reading, crossword puzzles, crafts, jigsaw puzzles, gardening, angels, and George – though not necessarily in that order! Married in 1992, Mom and George have been part of the Leesville community and she will be very missed by her family and friends. 2008 has been a difficult year for our family, with the passing of Dorothy in January, but some comfort can be gained from knowing that Mom is with her and they are both in God’s hands.

Blogging vs. Language

I know that you can find this exact same article in so many words on any other website; in fact, a Google search will get you more than 2 million results. Despite that, however, I’ve found that the most effective way to tell people who live on the Internet (also known as bloggers) how stupid they sound is by writing a post. You know that silly little myth that says you only use 10% of your brain? I sort of feel like we only use 10% of the Internet. (I was going to say something about the availability of valuable educational resources that we ignore while trying to find, successfully, every possible type of porn, but I thought that might be a bit graphic.)

Now, we’re not perfect even though we strive to be so. I’m not perfect all the time, even though I’m clearly Princess of the Universe and thus have no faults. Simple mistakes, though, are sprinkled everywhere; I’ve seen so many just this afternoon while blog-hopping that I can’t help but want to address a few things.

For example, when you’re trying to continue a list, say, perhaps, by using an abbreviation for “et cetera,” please understand that the correct form is etc., not ect. Where do you get this “ect”? Does that mean something else of which I am unaware? (It reminds me of electroconvulsive therapy.) Let me break it down: the expression is Latin, and et means “and” while cetera means “the rest.” It is also redundant to say “and etc.,” sort of like how saying “ATM machine” or “CSS stylesheet” makes you look like you don’t know what you’re talking about.

If you are listing people, you do not use “etc.” You use “et al.” Again from the Latin, et is still “and;” alii means “the others.” This one might look familiar as I’m sure your textbooks use it, but you weren’t really paying attention in school were you?

Now, if you want to get really risky and take the expression “for example” out of your vocabulary (please don’t, we need that to know what you’re saying since you suck at everything else), you’ll want to learn the difference between “e.g.” and “i.e.” Just as before, both are from Latin phrases. Exempli gratia means “for the sake of example” - “for example” for lazy people. Id est means “that is.” Whoever said Latin was a dead language? We use it all the time! (Okay, I know, that’s a totally unoriginal thought. Sue me.) Use both to clarify something you’ve already said, but use “e.g.” to give examples on the subject and “i.e.” to restate your idea.

On another note, there is no reason to say “e.g., my list, of things, is, here, etc.” The use of “e.g.” implies that you’re about to follow it with a partial list, so saying “and more” on the end of that is a tad redundant for my tastes. (Now that I’ve brought it up, saying “tad bit” is also redundant. I do it all the time, but I recognize that “tad” and “bit” mean the same thing. Do you?)

Let me inform you of another conundrum: The “could’ve” and “would’ve” contractions. Oh my gosh. It has to be the single most annoying thing in the world to see the words “could of” together as if they belong together. It’s not like chocolate and milk, I promise. If you do not have any desire to write contractions, make sure you know what they mean before putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were). It’s could have and would have.

Can I make another point, while I’m at it? “Hers’s” is not a word. Neither is “his’s.” If you want “her” to be possessive, “the book is hers.”

I’m skipping the extremely well-known common errors (”lose” instead of “loose,” “its” and “it’s,” “their,” “there,” and “they’re,” “then” and “than,” etc.), because I’m sure you’ve read about them time after time. (Not to imply, of course, that anything in this post is going to stick.) In fact, I’m skipping a lot more that I wish I could address in one sitting, but for tonight I’ll have to be satisfied with the most blatantly annoying errors.

Putting all “netspeak” aside (I’m referring to those people who don’t even try to write legibly), while I was in college, my professors constantly told me that the only way to be taken seriously is to express yourself properly. I’ve seen this point made numerous times in articles online - people expect a certain level of language competence. Make use of spell check before you publish; it’s free. If it’s not built in the blog script, I’m sure you have a word processing program on your computer.

It seems that more and more I’m finding message board posts and blog entries that complain about the exact same problems I’m pointing out here*. Is it now unnecessary to write well online? I’ve found articles on websites which promote web standards, but seem to have absolutely no grammatical standards. I find it hard to take anyone seriously on “serious topics” while they are comfortable saying, “I’m going to try and make this easy for you to understand.” “Try and?” This is elementary, my dear Reader; you’re trying to make this easy for me to understand.

And yes, language evolves. Some argue that language is a tool to be morphed and used in creative ways to get a point across. It’s there for us to manipulate, even if it means sounding like a complete idiot. Honestly, I can agree with that, but only to an extent. It’s not okay to break grammar rules and then use that as an excuse. If you bend them and have good purpose for it (poetry, for example, or creative writing even), more power to you. Saying, though, that “could of” is perfectly acceptable just because you are human and it is within your right to use your language as you see fit - that doesn’t cut it.

Pray, tell me your thoughts on this matter. I can never get enough fuel for the fire, and from the other side, I’d like to know the opinions of those who disagree. Either open my eyes or boost my ego; it’s up to you. Correct my grammar for all I care; as I’ve stated, no one is perfect.

There are many complaints about post content around the “blogosphere” (I hate that word) which I won’t get into here. I’m sure you’ve heard it all before - no one wants to read a post about your daily life with names no one knows and places no one cares about. With that in mind, all one would have to do is embrace the full restraints and complexities of the English language to make his/her posts interesting. One could theoretically update about a miniscule event in his/her life, mentioning an unknown Jason or Betty, and gain a plethora of readers who perhaps at one point complained about “uninteresting day-to-day posts.” The post wouldn’t say, “I did this and she did that,” “then they did this,” or “then this happened.” It would speak to the reader in a way foreign to them; we are too used to unoriginal, uninteresting, straight-forward posts with no thought, no connecting idea, and tens of errors.

When I open my web browser to my Wordpress admin panel with the intent of starting a new post, I don’t think, “What kind of jibberish can I put out today?” I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath, and dive into my ideas. I hash it all out, let it go free, until everything I want to say is in the tiny box in front of me. When I’m done with that, I read over the post. Yes, Reader, I re-read my post before I publish it. I correct errors, delete unnecessary strings, expand upon ideas which are lacking, and generally bring the chaos together. After I publish it, I read it again to make sure it all fits together nicely. That’s two proofreads. How many times do you proofread your posts? Each time I address you on this space, I approach my speech as if I were writing a formal paper. You deserve nothing but the best from me, and I intend to give it my best. Why, oh why, do people present themselves as uncaring, uninformed grammar misfits to the world on spaces which they pay for and then complain when others intepret them as such? Why pay if you’re not going to illustrate your life with words befitting it?

* Please don’t misinterpret my disdain for intentional misuse of the English language for a dislike of non-native English writers/speakers. I am referring to those who have grown up in a prominantly English world, without any kind of disability, and still at high school age or higher will not differentiate between “then” and “than.” It’s not that they can’t, it’s that they’re too lazy to express themselves within the proper constructs and would rather say, “well, you know what I mean,” than to actually say what they mean. And don’t tell me your “restless leg syndrome” makes it hard for you to speak proberly because I will punch you in the face.

Pipe Dreams

I was just thinking now about this time last year and the year before (and probably the year before that, too). I was full of all kinds of hopes and dreams, thoughts, ideals, commentary, and general sillyness. In 2006, I sounded smarter than I do now, but I read less and watched more crappy television. I had ambitions that extended beyond my current circumstances; I even gave myself choices for my future. I made several thoughtful online journal entries every week, instead of just the sporadic few which you see now on this thing. I’m not even sure why I have this thing anymore, except to show off my general awesomeness and write about books.

It’s a weird feeling for me not to feel stuck, not to feel like I’m not going anywhere. It’s strange knowing what I want to do and being happy with the way things are going. I feel most creative when there is uncertainty, sadness, and fear. Those Sunday Scribblings you all seem to like to read I am currently forcing myself to gut out because I don’t feel like writing anything else. I have ideas for painting and projects, but I don’t want to activate. I’d rather curl up on my green chair and read - dive into someone else’s creativity - even if it means that I fall asleep for a few minutes, waking up to see Richard’s smiling eyes, his head propped against his hand while he stares into my dreams.

When I was in college, I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do when I got out, but I knew, just knew, that I was going to go to graduate school and continue my studies in folklore. I dreamed of visiting Swettenham, England, where my family came from, and writing a book (probably self-published and of little interest to anyone but my family) about the folklore and traditions in the area. I dreamt of all-expense paid trips to Peru and Wales and Tokyo just to ask people to tell me stories so I could compare and contrast them in extensive essays. I was so lost and confused. I also wanted to be a teacher. And a copyeditor. And a bookstore owner. I sometimes found myself crying at night because I simply didn’t know what my life purpose was.

Now, however, I sometimes find myself crying at night because I’m not in that place any longer. I have hope and ambition for my future, but it’s a different feeling alltogether. It’s new and I don’t like it as much as the other one, because at least I was used to that. When I was 4 I wanted to be Bugs Bunny when I grew up. The uncertainty of whether or not that would ever actually happen was delightful.

I find my most happiness at work. Even with my nose stuck in a book, I’m secretly thinking of organizing and alphabetizing, labelling popular authors, and most often, fictitious conversations with customers about the book my nose is in. I want to read several books from each section of the store just so when people come in and say, “Hey, I like Stephen King and Michael Connolly, what do you recommend?” I can reply with a response other than, “Well, I don’t read horror or crime, but these mysteries are really good.” I get more excited when a customer asks for a book I’ve read than when I read a book a customer previously asked about. I want to share something with these people, a previously existing similarity that will tell me inside, deep down: You’re not alone in this.

It’s a weird conflicting feeling to be content with where I am and where I’m going, yet feel compelled to return to what I once was.

My mom regularly sends links to me from USAJobs.com and other such websites. She wants me to get a better-paying job, to do something with my 4-year degree. I never went to school to get a job, though. I went to learn, to experience, and to identify myself. Now that it’s over, and all those goals have been accomplished, I wish that I’d had a few more unresolved issues. Sometimes I think about applying to get into the publishing business just because of this. I don’t want to; it’s not a dream.

I already have my dream job.

So what do I do now?

Notes from My Father

We are here to honor our mother but you will see that many of our comments inevitably include both Mom and Dad. They were intertwined for a majority of their 80-year lives, having grown up together in adjacent counties in Eastern Kentucky, Appalachian country.

Mom’s life was not such that she will receive major-newspaper articles at her passing, but she was indispensable in the lives of her family and her friends over her 80 years.

Mom and Dad grew up together in Elliott and Lawrence counties there in Kentucky. Mom rode a bus to school in the “big” County, so they knew each other through high school. Mom wanted to see some other parts of the country, and she decamped to California with her older brother Mark for a while. Dad stayed in the County for a while and, as could be done at the time, took a teaching position.

Shortly after that, Dad contacted Mom, and went to San Francisco as well. The wedding followed in 1947, with honeymoon at Niagara Falls.

After that, a mid-20th Century truism came into play: “read, write, and Route 23.” Mom and Dad were part of the very large migration from more Southern Appalachian areas – like Elliott and Lawrence Counties – to the booming industrial areas like Ohio and Michigan. This was in the late 40’s and the 50’s, before our current freeways, and Route 23 was the big route then.

Mom and Dad never forgot where they came from, but they knew where they wanted to go. They treasured the friendships of many people in the counties that they grew up in and visited with them throughout Mom’s entire life. Mom and Dad have contributed throughout the years to worthy charitable causes that render assistance to the Appalachian parts of our schools.

Mom and Dad first settled at Wright Patterson AFB; during that period I was born. Mom and Dad then moved to a farm in Sunbury, where Paul and David were born. At Sunbury, Dad initially worked managing a Howard Johnson’s restaurant. Somewhere in the mid-50’s, Mom noticed and pointed out a possible job for Dad with State of Ohio operating that leading-edge technology, IBM punch card computers.

Dad got the job and shortly thereafter we moved to the home we all grew up at – 3098 Lewis Road. Dan and Wayne were born there, and we all grew up there.

My parents both embodied the quintessential Judeo-Christian work ethic. Our house at Lewis Road was a constant work in progress, including a complete renovation, expansion, hook up to city services, and even replacement of the coal furnace with natural gas. Mom was there in all aspects of working the 2-acre property, from working the small farm to cleaning the vegetables for sale to Dan’s Drive In on High Street. Before Mom began teaching, she and Dad managed a large family budget on limited income; things had to last. The importance and value of a good, solid working life were instilled in all of us through Mom.

Mom had always wanted to be a teacher. In the early 60s, she went to Capitol University to earn a teaching degree. Her academic performance was at the top of the class. She began teaching at Cedarwood Elementary School in a position that was reserved for her for six months. Mom went on to a lengthy career with the Columbus Public Schools, teaching at several different schools.

Everything you read in Proverbs 31 applies to our Mother. She did everything perfectly, from everyday meals that were fantastic (including cherry pies) to things like putting a nickel under the pillow when a baby tooth came out. Since we didn’t know any better, we regarded this as our baseline. Her faith was a quiet faith, but that’s not to be confused with any faith that was less than rock solid. Her children and grandchildren learned from her example, and it is that example that we all know our faith today is in no small part a witness to Mom. Even as Mom’s strength began to fade in the last year, she had Dad read scripture to her on a daily basis.

While we were growing up, she did not wield the belt, but she was the mediating influence in our lives. When the boys had tiffs over things, such as fair play in a croquet game things always settled down back in the house. Croquet was a fairly big deal – a breach of etiquette in croquet was a pretty big deal at the time.

Mom was a voice of patience; when I was around age 9 and mowed down a tree with our Gravely, to a dog or two that declined to let the mailman deliver mail, to our experiments with M-80 firecrackers, to later years when we all bought those smog belching muscle cars of the 60s which operated at very high decibels. Mom was constantly in our presence, such as our trips to Camp Yickyami (that name is derived from nothing and none of us ever established how to spell it).

Mom was her mother’s daughter; they were very similar in mannerisms and faith. She grew up in a family of seven, who among other locations ended up in Michigan, California, Texas, Massachusetts and Cincinnati. Not withstanding the distance, Mom’s brothers and sisters got together regularly, including family reunions at our place on Lewis Rd and Uncle Dennis and Aunt Mary’s place in Lane City, Ohio. Mom had the closest of relations with all of her siblings and with the regular visits she enjoyed watching her nephews and nieces grow up through a period of more than two decades.

Under circumstances existing at the time, Mom became in function a mother for Jon for several years. Jon is in China and was unable to be here, but he has specifically mentioned how thankful he was of her in his first 8 or 9 years. He has eternal gratitude for her stepping in and essentially being his mother in the very early years of his life. Jon’s current successes arise in very large part from Mom’s mothering and mentoring in those early years. Jon knows and has expressed his thanks for her influence, love and care.

Mom initially had some serious surgery in 2001/2002. The doctors eventually figured out the problem and corrected it. Mom could have passed in 2002, but she wasn’t ready to go. The clock may have been running down, but Mom ran it into overtime. She came back to us in good health; Mom and Dad were able to celebrate their 60th anniversary. She was able to enjoy several more robust years including traveling without difficulty to Jon and Francie’s wedding in Las Vegas.

Mom never said a negative word about anyone. She was very generous and non-judgmental. She knew and said long before anyone dreamed up the word “diversity,” that “it takes all kinds to make a world.” Mom was an exceptionally beautiful flower in the garden of the world, one who recognized that the beauty of the garden is in the different colors, shapes and sizes of the plants.

Mom spent her concluding months at home where she wanted to be. She was in the company of all of her children and grandchildren and of course our Dad. She received wonderful hospice care and we in the family are appreciative of the outstanding and thoughtful care of the hospice providers, as well as all of the doctors and medical personnel who provided treatment and kept Mom comfortable. As Mom grew weaker, she spent more and more of her time asleep but at all times during her waking moments, she knew everyone who was with her

Lastly and most importantly, because we know that she believed we know that she is with our Lord today.

The One In Which I Impart Some News, Then Leave the State

Yes, so this is one of those posts where I’m going to write something generic such as: “Every time I open my web browser I have a brilliant idea for a post but once I get into my WP admin panel, it’s completely slipped my mind. Every word of it. It was vaguely something about pineapples or Everything Guides, or work, maybe even the bunny I’m animal-sitting and growing very attached to. I can’t for the life of me think of what I was going to say! So I haven’t said anything except my weekly memes which only appeal to half my audience.”

There you have it. I’m at a loss for words. Speechless, as they say, but not because Gerard Butler just asked me on a date - no, because I’m reading several books at once and I can’t think of anything clever to say in my blog.

I wanted to come in and tell you about how Richard recently got fired from the job which I had quit a year previous, that I once felt loyal to the company but now I just sort of hate them. After composing the entire entry in my brain while straightening books at work, I realized that it wasn’t true; I’m still loyal to them, in a way, because it was my first bookstore job. It included horrifically bad experiences, but more often amazingly good ones which will stick with me for the rest of my life. I don’t hate the company; I hate the general manager. Because he’s an idiot (excuse my French) and an asshole (excuse my English).

There, now that that’s over with, I can tell you that I’ve run out of time and sometime during the night on St. Patrick’s Day this year (that was yesterday, in case you’re unsure), my grandmother passed away. I won’t be around for a week, maybe more, and I hope you’ll forgive my absence from the Internet. I know how much you all rely on me to think of interesting posts so you can escape from your daily lives just for a few moments to step into my shoes. (Don’t lie, I know it’s true.)

A blow came unexpectedly at me while I was at work today and I began crying while I was shelving some books. A customer asked if I had a cold, and I said “Yes, sir, it’s just a cold.” An hour later, I listened to the messages declaring that she was no longer with us, and a second blow came at me, though this time it was expected and in fact welcomed. I left work, talked to my cousin on the phone for almost an hour, and decided the best thing to do next would be to watch the bunny roll around in the pine shavings lining the bottom of his cage, then clean himself off, then roll around, then clean himself, etc, until the sun went down and I could get some sleep.

What an awesome distraction.

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