The Suburban Princess has posted a grammar lesson today on when to use "I" and "me" in a sentence. It has inspired me to offer up a lesson on my own grammatical pet peeve.
Rest assured, I am not reading all your blogs and even noticing errors, let alone mentally correcting them with my imaginary red pen. I don't expect bloggers to follow the rules of grammar, and I'd rather enjoy the blogs I love sans judgement. But if you're interested, I figure I'll (finally) make minimal use of the English degree I got 15 years ago and share this little tidbit.
The one grammar error I see more than any other in my local newspaper looks something like this:
"The people that cause the problems in our community don't want to fix them."
or this:
"Mr. Brown is the person that people should see if they want gardening information."
So here's a very basic, very simple rule to remember: if you're writing about a person, you want to use the word "who" (ie. "The people who cause the problems in our community..."). For anything else, use "that"( ie. "Bobby has a toy car that runs on batteries.").
The only area where this could possibly be confusing is if you're writing about a group or a team of people, in which case you'd go with "that" (ie. "The Greendale Jets were the basketball team that our school needed to beat this weekend.").
Basic? Absolutely. But I think it must be one of the most frequently ignored grammar rules in our language. I could get into essential and nonessential clauses next, but I think you've all been punished enough.
NOW, the first person who can read through this post and find a spelling or grammar error wins a Ferrari*! Go!
*Disclaimer: Ferrari is figment of blog author's feverish imagination. She has flu.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Drabby Pic and Recap
First, here's a drabby pic of me breathing a sigh of relief that my children have gone to bed:
'Nuff said!
Now, onto my Remembrance Day recap.
I fought with myself for a few days about whether or not I'd go to our small town's annual ceremony. As the only military family in town with someone currently serving overseas, it'd look good for me and the kids to show our faces. And there was about an 8% chance of us getting through it quietly and without incident. On the other hand, that meant that there was a 92% chance of Rosemary's Baby ruining everyone's moment of silence by breaking free and noisily climbing the town war memorial while I frantically stage-whispered at him to get down. So in the end, I decided it was just safer to stay home. Small townsfolk remember these things and talk about them for years.
But I wasn't going to sit around the house in my pyjamas, acting like it was just another day off. Firstborn and I had talked about the meaning of Remembrance Day, and I'd told him we'd be watching the big ceremony from Ottawa on TV and having a moment of silence at home to remember those who had fought to protect our freedom. So, at 10:00, I turned on the TV.
We don't have cable, and our local CBC station was recently shut down, so we are now down to one channel, CTV. I'd assumed all along that CTV would have the common decency to be recognizing this solemn occasion and would broadcast the ceremony happening in Ottawa, or at least one from the capital of our own province. I was wrong. CTV had apparently decided that they had a choice. They could take ONE LOUSY HOUR to recognize and remember the many selfless people who have sacrificed their lives and served our country in the last 110 years, or they could continue their proud legacy of crap and run today's episode of The View. I don't think I need to tell you which one they picked.
So, first I got up on my soapbox and lectured a bewildered Firstborn and Rosemary's Baby about the complete lack of respect for our veterans. Then, I stomped over to the computer, muttering something about Elizabeth Hasselbeck and her incessant chatter under my breath, and found the CBC website, where there was a live feed of the ceremony available for us to watch. 5 minutes of chopped-up internet viewing later, Firstborn declared the whole thing boring and wandered off to play lego. Rosemary's Baby had long since left the room to go press buttons on the washing machine, and I was left to try to pick Charles and Camilla out of the pixellated mess that was the video.
I watched the whole thing on principle, only stepping away a couple of times to make sure Rosemary's Baby hadn't gotten trapped in the dryer. The highlight for me was when the reporter talked to a 90 year-old World War II veteran in a wheelchair. He told her this would likely be his last time coming to Ottawa for the ceremony because he'd decided to sell his house and move into a retirement home. Adorable! I wanted to reach through the screen and give him a hug, and I spent the remainder of my morning blubbering.
Next year, I think braving the town Remembrance Day ceremony with my wicked children might actually be less infuriating!
'Nuff said!
Now, onto my Remembrance Day recap.
I fought with myself for a few days about whether or not I'd go to our small town's annual ceremony. As the only military family in town with someone currently serving overseas, it'd look good for me and the kids to show our faces. And there was about an 8% chance of us getting through it quietly and without incident. On the other hand, that meant that there was a 92% chance of Rosemary's Baby ruining everyone's moment of silence by breaking free and noisily climbing the town war memorial while I frantically stage-whispered at him to get down. So in the end, I decided it was just safer to stay home. Small townsfolk remember these things and talk about them for years.
But I wasn't going to sit around the house in my pyjamas, acting like it was just another day off. Firstborn and I had talked about the meaning of Remembrance Day, and I'd told him we'd be watching the big ceremony from Ottawa on TV and having a moment of silence at home to remember those who had fought to protect our freedom. So, at 10:00, I turned on the TV.
We don't have cable, and our local CBC station was recently shut down, so we are now down to one channel, CTV. I'd assumed all along that CTV would have the common decency to be recognizing this solemn occasion and would broadcast the ceremony happening in Ottawa, or at least one from the capital of our own province. I was wrong. CTV had apparently decided that they had a choice. They could take ONE LOUSY HOUR to recognize and remember the many selfless people who have sacrificed their lives and served our country in the last 110 years, or they could continue their proud legacy of crap and run today's episode of The View. I don't think I need to tell you which one they picked.
So, first I got up on my soapbox and lectured a bewildered Firstborn and Rosemary's Baby about the complete lack of respect for our veterans. Then, I stomped over to the computer, muttering something about Elizabeth Hasselbeck and her incessant chatter under my breath, and found the CBC website, where there was a live feed of the ceremony available for us to watch. 5 minutes of chopped-up internet viewing later, Firstborn declared the whole thing boring and wandered off to play lego. Rosemary's Baby had long since left the room to go press buttons on the washing machine, and I was left to try to pick Charles and Camilla out of the pixellated mess that was the video.
I watched the whole thing on principle, only stepping away a couple of times to make sure Rosemary's Baby hadn't gotten trapped in the dryer. The highlight for me was when the reporter talked to a 90 year-old World War II veteran in a wheelchair. He told her this would likely be his last time coming to Ottawa for the ceremony because he'd decided to sell his house and move into a retirement home. Adorable! I wanted to reach through the screen and give him a hug, and I spent the remainder of my morning blubbering.
Next year, I think braving the town Remembrance Day ceremony with my wicked children might actually be less infuriating!
War Stories
With apologies to old hippies everywhere...
When I was a kid, we did a Remembrance Day assembly at school every November 11th. It was always the same. Our well-meaning teachers, who had come of age right at the time when Woodstock, love-ins and LSD were in vogue, yanked out the sheet music to such hippie-tastic numbers as "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" and put us to work celebrating the relative peace and freedom we continue to enjoy to this day.
I understand what they were trying to do, and I don't blame them for it. But I think those assemblies may have glossed over something very important. Remembrance Day is not about promoting peace. It's about remembering war.
On May 24, 1941, the HMS Hood was destroyed by the Bismarck at the Battle of the Denmark Strait. Some 1428 crew were killed, including my grandmother's little brother, a 21 year-old kid who, like so many others, had left the family farm to fight the good fight.
Every family has at least one story, from one point in history or another, that ends like this. So very many young lives were cut short to protect our freedom on this planet, and so very many others came home forever changed by what they'd experienced. The least we can do is to focus for one day a year on their sacrifices--ugly and unpleasant as those sacrifices were--and remember that they did that for us, and for our children and grandchildren.
Ten years ago, when I taught grade 3, I had my students ask their parents to tell them their family stories, and we made a wreath for Remembrance Day with the names of all our family members who had served in a war and what they did. I ended up hearing many stories. Every child had at least one name to put on that wreath, and I suspect some of them would never have had the stories passed down to them had it not been a homework project. I like to believe that in some way that that Remembrance Day project helped to keep those stories alive for one more generation.
This Remembrance Day, with his dad being overseas, Firstborn is showing some interest. My plan is to keep the frightening details of the Captain's work to myself for now. But I will also not be putting a daisy chain in my hair, donning a broomstick skirt, and hugging a rainbow as I croon "Blowin' In the Wind" either. Instead, I plan to tell my child the family story of my great uncle and the war in which he made the ultimate sacrifice. And I hope that one day, Firstborn will want to tell that same story to his own children.
When I was a kid, we did a Remembrance Day assembly at school every November 11th. It was always the same. Our well-meaning teachers, who had come of age right at the time when Woodstock, love-ins and LSD were in vogue, yanked out the sheet music to such hippie-tastic numbers as "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" and put us to work celebrating the relative peace and freedom we continue to enjoy to this day.
I understand what they were trying to do, and I don't blame them for it. But I think those assemblies may have glossed over something very important. Remembrance Day is not about promoting peace. It's about remembering war.
On May 24, 1941, the HMS Hood was destroyed by the Bismarck at the Battle of the Denmark Strait. Some 1428 crew were killed, including my grandmother's little brother, a 21 year-old kid who, like so many others, had left the family farm to fight the good fight.
Every family has at least one story, from one point in history or another, that ends like this. So very many young lives were cut short to protect our freedom on this planet, and so very many others came home forever changed by what they'd experienced. The least we can do is to focus for one day a year on their sacrifices--ugly and unpleasant as those sacrifices were--and remember that they did that for us, and for our children and grandchildren.
Ten years ago, when I taught grade 3, I had my students ask their parents to tell them their family stories, and we made a wreath for Remembrance Day with the names of all our family members who had served in a war and what they did. I ended up hearing many stories. Every child had at least one name to put on that wreath, and I suspect some of them would never have had the stories passed down to them had it not been a homework project. I like to believe that in some way that that Remembrance Day project helped to keep those stories alive for one more generation.
This Remembrance Day, with his dad being overseas, Firstborn is showing some interest. My plan is to keep the frightening details of the Captain's work to myself for now. But I will also not be putting a daisy chain in my hair, donning a broomstick skirt, and hugging a rainbow as I croon "Blowin' In the Wind" either. Instead, I plan to tell my child the family story of my great uncle and the war in which he made the ultimate sacrifice. And I hope that one day, Firstborn will want to tell that same story to his own children.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Moderation
Well kids, the time has come. Because I'm now so popular--or possibly because my profile picture is so sad and creepy--I'm starting to get a fair bit of spam offering to improve my sex life with Viagra and/or enlarge my penis. For the record, I'm happy with my penis just the way it is.
So, just so you don't think something's wrong when your comment doesn't immediately pop up, I'm enabling comment moderation. Bear with me here. This constitutes new and confusing technology for me and it may take a day or so to figure out. As long as you're not offering me sex toys, being blatantly abusive, or threatening terrorism, your comment will (eventually) appear.
William Shatner, this is your cue.
Comment Moderation...The Final Frontier...
So, just so you don't think something's wrong when your comment doesn't immediately pop up, I'm enabling comment moderation. Bear with me here. This constitutes new and confusing technology for me and it may take a day or so to figure out. As long as you're not offering me sex toys, being blatantly abusive, or threatening terrorism, your comment will (eventually) appear.
William Shatner, this is your cue.
Comment Moderation...The Final Frontier...
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Real vs Fake
The Captain has only been gone 2 weeks. Already I've committed the ultimate marital sin.
You hear stories about the things wives get up to while the husbands are serving overseas. The wife who moves a new guy in the minute her husband's gone. The wife who clears out the bank account and does a runner. The one who takes all his extra tour money and spends it on new shoes. I never thought I'd become one of those nuts who does something crazy while he's away. But I have.
Yesterday, I bought one of these:
Okay, fine. For the average marriage, this is not the ultimate sin. But when the Captain finds out, things may get a little heated.
You see, the Captain grew up with a real Christmas tree in his living room every year. It's a tradition that is important to him, and one on which he will not compromise. I grew up with a fake one, so the idea of a real tree doesn't bother me too much. I admit, I like the gorgeous, fresh pine smell that fills the room when you bring it in. But since I'm on my own this year, listening to Firstborn whine every waking minute he's not allowed to be on the computer, chasing Rosemary's Baby out of every forbidden cupboard in the house, and yelling at Rusty and Jerome every time they bark at a passing squirrel, that lovely smell is not worth the extra stress of having to go out, pick a tree, lug it home, saw off the bottom, set up the stand, water it daily, watch for fire hazards, untangle strings of lights, and lug it back out when we're done with it. Ordering a fake, pre-lit tree online that will end up costing about the equivalent of 2 real trees, and that comes with its own stand and no need for watering is well worth a lecture from my husband this time around.
The other advantage of a fake tree is that I can put it up as early as I like. I'm thinking I need as much extra Christmas cheer around here as I can get this year, and having my tree up and the carols going before November is over may be a good way to get me into the Christmas spirit. I figure it's worth a try.
And if it doesn't get me tap-dancing around the house singing White Christmas at the top of my lungs, at least I'm not sweeping up pine needles.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Debt
Stephanie's Group Blog Thursday today is about freebies. I actually have very little advice to give on getting stuff for free. I do go to save.ca and print up coupons, and I do enter contests and giveaways when I can, but that's about the extent of me finding things for free. What actually made me want to post when I saw Stephanie's blog today was that she talked about her credit card rewards. And I have some very strong opinions (who ME?!) on credit cards.
When the Captain and I graduated from university and headed cross-country to find our fortunes, we were in some debt. Certainly not the kind of debt a lot of people come out of school with these days, but for two out-of-work kids with rent to pay, the $30,000 or so we did owe was overwhelming and caused us huge amounts of worry. So, when we both got good jobs that paid better than anything we'd ever had before, we set about the task of paying off that debt and acquiring some savings for the future. It was the best thing we could've done.
We lived like college students on his income, and used mine to pay down the debt and build up that nest egg. And when the credit cards and student loans were paid off, it was like a huge weight had been lifted. We rarely argued about money, and we rarely do now, and I think that is probably the biggest gift in all of this. So many marriages are bogged down with that extra stress, and frankly, marriage can be hard enough without it.
So if I was to be asked for advice on this (because giving out unwanted advice is not something anyone should get in the habit of, and I've also never dealt with $200,000 in student loans like many of you out there have, so I'm no expert on serious crippling debt), I'd tell anyone coming out of school to keep living poor, and pay down those debts as best you can. In the end, you'll appreciate the inner peace more than you would the fancy car or the leather furniture that credit card can get you.
When the Captain and I graduated from university and headed cross-country to find our fortunes, we were in some debt. Certainly not the kind of debt a lot of people come out of school with these days, but for two out-of-work kids with rent to pay, the $30,000 or so we did owe was overwhelming and caused us huge amounts of worry. So, when we both got good jobs that paid better than anything we'd ever had before, we set about the task of paying off that debt and acquiring some savings for the future. It was the best thing we could've done.
We lived like college students on his income, and used mine to pay down the debt and build up that nest egg. And when the credit cards and student loans were paid off, it was like a huge weight had been lifted. We rarely argued about money, and we rarely do now, and I think that is probably the biggest gift in all of this. So many marriages are bogged down with that extra stress, and frankly, marriage can be hard enough without it.
So if I was to be asked for advice on this (because giving out unwanted advice is not something anyone should get in the habit of, and I've also never dealt with $200,000 in student loans like many of you out there have, so I'm no expert on serious crippling debt), I'd tell anyone coming out of school to keep living poor, and pay down those debts as best you can. In the end, you'll appreciate the inner peace more than you would the fancy car or the leather furniture that credit card can get you.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
I've Got This Theory About Muppets...
Today being the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street, I've decided to share with you an insane little theory I've been working on for years. Let's see if you can figure out what it is. When I was a wee thing, I loved Bert. Bert was my favourite of all the muppets. His bottle cap collection was so awesome. And all those paper clips! WHO has that many paper clips? The answer, some 30 years later, is ME! I'm an organization nerd. I like order, and I cannot relax in my own living room if it's a mess. I'm anal. I'm bossy. I'm cranky. I'm...Bert.
Sister #1 is just a year younger than me. When we were little, she liked the Count. She ended up being the more academically inclined of the two of us, and she grew up to become an actuary, which means she has a very intricate understanding of the world of finance. She doesn't live in a creepy castle with bats (though that would be cool), and she doesn't wear a black cape, but she might have a widow's peak if I pulled her hair back (hmmm...note to self: yank sister's hair back during next visit). But she's great with numbers, and that's got to count for something. Har-dee-har-har.
Do you see what I'm getting at? There seems to be a corelation between the muppets we liked and the people we became. Did the muppets we identified with as children shape who we are now? Or were we already those people even way back then, and that's why we liked who we did? Or, is it just a coincidence?
Did anyone else out there like a muppet they ended up emulating in adult life? I think I may have finally found my perfect PhD thesis here...
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