In my last post we were going to talk about when to use less and when to use fewer. But we never got around to it. Pity. At this point, that’s water under the bridge.
Sometimes I think I am a grammar nerd. (I can hear my daughter saying, “Sometimes?” But I digress.)
Take quotation marks, for instance. (I am suddenly reminded of the old one-liner by comedian Henny Youngman, “Take my wife -- please.” Oops, I did it again.)
I digress a lot. Any little thing and my mind flits off in another direction entirely. For example, on a Christian blog I read quite often, there was a small discussion going on a few days ago about the communion of saints (which phrase occurs in the last paragraph of the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.”) and I was suddenly off on another subject because of some quotation marks that I felt were unnecessary. I mentioned it in a comment and a short exchange ensued:
been there, done that (formerly rhymeswithplague) says:
November 6, 2015 at 9:08 am
I believe in the communion of saints. I didn’t use to, but I have come to as more and more friends and family depart this life. But something else about this post alarms me.
I am concerned about the increasing use of quotation marks on this site. Quotation marks are funny things. They can mean This Is Exactly What Was Said (Or Written) or they can mean Not Really, I’m Just Being Symbolic, Don’t Take Me Literally. A few days ago, the Trinity was described on this site as God in three “persons” and I took exception to it. I believe God exists in three persons, not in three “persons”….In today’s post it happened again. Twice. First in describing God’s realm as “heaven” and then in saying Jesus will “return”…perhaps I’m being overly pedantic and semantic, but God’s realm is real — heaven (not “heaven”) — and Jesus will return in actuality (not “return”).
Flannery O’Connor’s famous reply when Mary McCarthy said that the Eucharist was symbolic, “Well, if it’s symbolic, to hell with it.”, applies here. Heaven, God in three persons, and Jesus’ return are not symbolic. They are an actual place, an actual state, and an actual event. I am not Roman Catholic (actually, I’m Methodist) — you would have a hard time getting me to accept that Mary was assumed bodily into heaven or that she is the co-mediatrix of all grace or that the pope is infallible when speaking ex cathedra — but I agree with Flannery on this one. If you want me to believe in “heaven” instead of heaven, in Jesus’ “return” instead of His return, I say “to hell with it.” And you can quote me on that.
I know this was off-topic, but I needed to get that off my chest.
Chaplain Mike says:
November 6, 2015 at 9:22 am
Bob there is a difference between the reality and our conceptions of it. When I use quotation marks, as in this post, it is to highlight the fact that we have words from scripture that name what is in fact inconceivable and indescribable. I do not mean to question the reality of these things, merely to point out that the realities we are trying to describe are above our pay grade.
This is an attempt to show humility, not deny reality.
been there, done that (formerly rhymeswithplague) says:
November 6, 2015 at 9:40 am
Understood. Thanks, Chaplain Mike, for clearing that up.
Mike H says:
November 6, 2015 at 9:35 am
I think that “quotes” are often used in recognition that some terms have a certain deeply ingrained popular usage, and that those ingrained definitions can derail a conversation if we aren’t conscious of how they’re being used. “Heaven” as fluffy cloud heaven in the sky, for example. Using quotes isn’t a sign that something isn’t real; it draws attention to the deeply ingrained ways we have of thinking about them.
That’s how I often use quotes anyways.
(end of cited material)
There are several wildly hilarious websites with examples of misused quotation marks. I will let you look them up for yourself. Far be it from me to force you to do anything.
But to repeat what I was trying to say at the beginning, anyone whose mission is to explain to others the difference between less and fewer or to straighten out the world’s insistence on using quotation marks inappropriately is definitely a grammar nerd.
I plead guilty and I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.
Perhaps you can discuss appropriate punishment in the comments.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Scientia potentia est*
The two major American political parties have begun the long, arduous road to the 2016 presidential election by holding a series of so-called debates at which potential candidates can put forth their views so that the general public, or at least the party faithful, can narrow their choices from five or 10 or 16 (yes, 16) to three or four before the individual states hold their primaries after the first of the year. The Republicans are holding nine debates and the Democrats are holding six.
One of the Republican candidates, Senator Marco Rubio of Florida, was applauded at Tuesday’s fourth Republican presidential debate when he called for easier access to vocational schools. Then he made the following remarkable statement: “For the life of me I don’t know why we have stigmatized vocational education. Welders make more money than philosophers. We need more welders and less philosophers.”
As you might expect, philosophy majors and professors all over this great land of ours were appalled and have been expressing their disagreement with the Senator.
I am appalled as well, but not for the same reason the philosophers are.
We may need more welders -- I really don’t know -- but Senator Rubio should never have said, “We need more welders and less philosophers.” Clearly, what he should have said was, “We need more welders and fewer philosophers.”
Obviously, what we really need are more English majors.
*Knowledge is power
One of the Republican candidates, Senator Marco Rubio of Florida, was applauded at Tuesday’s fourth Republican presidential debate when he called for easier access to vocational schools. Then he made the following remarkable statement: “For the life of me I don’t know why we have stigmatized vocational education. Welders make more money than philosophers. We need more welders and less philosophers.”
As you might expect, philosophy majors and professors all over this great land of ours were appalled and have been expressing their disagreement with the Senator.
I am appalled as well, but not for the same reason the philosophers are.
We may need more welders -- I really don’t know -- but Senator Rubio should never have said, “We need more welders and less philosophers.” Clearly, what he should have said was, “We need more welders and fewer philosophers.”
Obviously, what we really need are more English majors.
*Knowledge is power
Monday, November 2, 2015
The first shall be last, and...well, you know.
And if you don’t, the full statement is that the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.
I’m sure I do not understand all the ramifications of that statement of Jesus Christ’s, but it has special meaning for me because -- full disclosure here -- I was always first in my class academically but on the athletic fields of my youth I was always chosen last. And when I say always, in both cases I mean ALWAYS.
Don’t get me wrong. Over the years, I’ve learned that I am not nearly as bright as I once thought I was. There is obviously a great deal about which I haven’t a clue (British: klew) . I’m no Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein. I’m not even Malcolm Muggeridge. Far from it. I did manage to earn a decent living working for both IBM and AT&T, but so did thousands of others. Smarter replacements arrive all the time. I am well down the list in the brains department. My athletic abilities have not improved one whit. The fulfillment of that particular prophecy/wish of last becoming first is apparently still in the future.
Life is funny (not funny ha-ha, funny peculiar) and things often have a way of working out. Hopes and dreams have a way of coming to pass. For example, Mrs. Janet Baines Brockett, my high-school math teacher, neighbor, and friend, thought I should go to Duke University. I didn’t, but one of my grandsons is a student there now. Miss Sally Pearce, my first band director, wanted me to spend a summer at the famous music camp in Interlochen, Michigan. I didn’t, but that same grandson did. I always loved baseball and longed to be able to play better. So far it hasn’t happened, but another of my grandsons was recruited to play on his college’s baseball team. Two grandsons have excelled at basketball. One actually played three different sports. All of the grandchildren are excellent students; there’s not a ringer in the bunch. One is an excellent trumpet player. One is an excellent French Horn player. Two are excellent dancers. And since these young people are extensions of me and have my blood coursing through their veins, I participate vicariously in their successes and revel in their accomplishments. It’s almost as though I’m right there too.
Please don’t try to disabuse me of this odd notion or tell me that’s not what Jesus meant. Some days it’s all I have.
I’m sure I do not understand all the ramifications of that statement of Jesus Christ’s, but it has special meaning for me because -- full disclosure here -- I was always first in my class academically but on the athletic fields of my youth I was always chosen last. And when I say always, in both cases I mean ALWAYS.
Don’t get me wrong. Over the years, I’ve learned that I am not nearly as bright as I once thought I was. There is obviously a great deal about which I haven’t a clue (British: klew) . I’m no Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein. I’m not even Malcolm Muggeridge. Far from it. I did manage to earn a decent living working for both IBM and AT&T, but so did thousands of others. Smarter replacements arrive all the time. I am well down the list in the brains department. My athletic abilities have not improved one whit. The fulfillment of that particular prophecy/wish of last becoming first is apparently still in the future.
Life is funny (not funny ha-ha, funny peculiar) and things often have a way of working out. Hopes and dreams have a way of coming to pass. For example, Mrs. Janet Baines Brockett, my high-school math teacher, neighbor, and friend, thought I should go to Duke University. I didn’t, but one of my grandsons is a student there now. Miss Sally Pearce, my first band director, wanted me to spend a summer at the famous music camp in Interlochen, Michigan. I didn’t, but that same grandson did. I always loved baseball and longed to be able to play better. So far it hasn’t happened, but another of my grandsons was recruited to play on his college’s baseball team. Two grandsons have excelled at basketball. One actually played three different sports. All of the grandchildren are excellent students; there’s not a ringer in the bunch. One is an excellent trumpet player. One is an excellent French Horn player. Two are excellent dancers. And since these young people are extensions of me and have my blood coursing through their veins, I participate vicariously in their successes and revel in their accomplishments. It’s almost as though I’m right there too.
Please don’t try to disabuse me of this odd notion or tell me that’s not what Jesus meant. Some days it’s all I have.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Just yesterday it was 1958
Where does the time go? How can it be the end of the month already? Didn’t October just begin? Why does life move at such breakneck speed as we get older?
Margaret Mitchell called her book Gone With the Wind. Maybe that is where the time went.
At the end of The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Au contraire, F. Scott, I find that I’m being borne forward ceaselessly into the future.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. But my vehicle seems to be moving faster than ever before. The telephone poles fly past my window with ever-increasing speed and the trip is nearly over. The destination is just around the next bend. It will be here before I know it.
I want to stay a little longer. I want to enjoy the autumn leaves, the smell of the sea, the grandeur of the mountains, the laughter of children, the embrace of a lover.
I don’t want it to end. But it must. It will.
Today I am beating against the current. Tomorrow is Halloween. Tomorrow night Daylight Saving Time ends in the United States. In what is a total illusion, we will all turn our clocks back and “gain and hour.”
No, we won’t.
November 1st is All Saints Day. Thanksgiving will be here before you know it. Easter. 2025.
Time marches on. I wish I could too.
I am a Christian. I do believe that a better life awaits. So what am I trying to say exactly?
Maybe just this: “To life! To life! L’chaim!”
I don’t think this post makes any sense, but I’m going to publish it anyway.
Maybe one of you can explain it to me.
Margaret Mitchell called her book Gone With the Wind. Maybe that is where the time went.
At the end of The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Au contraire, F. Scott, I find that I’m being borne forward ceaselessly into the future.
I wouldn’t have it any other way. But my vehicle seems to be moving faster than ever before. The telephone poles fly past my window with ever-increasing speed and the trip is nearly over. The destination is just around the next bend. It will be here before I know it.
I want to stay a little longer. I want to enjoy the autumn leaves, the smell of the sea, the grandeur of the mountains, the laughter of children, the embrace of a lover.
I don’t want it to end. But it must. It will.
Today I am beating against the current. Tomorrow is Halloween. Tomorrow night Daylight Saving Time ends in the United States. In what is a total illusion, we will all turn our clocks back and “gain and hour.”
No, we won’t.
November 1st is All Saints Day. Thanksgiving will be here before you know it. Easter. 2025.
Time marches on. I wish I could too.
I am a Christian. I do believe that a better life awaits. So what am I trying to say exactly?
Maybe just this: “To life! To life! L’chaim!”
I don’t think this post makes any sense, but I’m going to publish it anyway.
Maybe one of you can explain it to me.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
October! That means it must be...
...wait for it...
PUMPKIN TIME!
Long time no post.
A few weeks ago we drove to southeastern North Carolina for the funeral of Mrs. RWP’s brother at the same time that Hurricane Joaquin and a second unnamed storm inundated that part of America’s coast with mucho agua. Agua is the Spanish word for water and mucho in this case means between seven and ten inches of the wet stuff. If you are not of a scientific bent, let me just tell you that that is a lot of rain. The trip was, to put it mildly, a trip. On the way back to Georgia, the car containing my two sons hydroplaned on Interstate 95 in South Carolina, but they managed to get home unharmed.
We recently returned home from another trip. We spent a few days in a beautiful cabin in the mountains of western North Carolina. The leaves were just beginning to turn. The temperature got down to 39 degrees Fahrenheit one morning but the days were clear, brisk, and fabulous. We were about the same distance from the coastal deluge experience as Sheffield, England, U.K. is from Antwerp, Belgium, but we were still in North Carolina. (Yes, Virginia, America is a big country.) I didn’t do any posting. I just stood on the deck and gazed at this:
and this:
and this:
and this:
We left refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated, and ready to return to whatever the future holds.
I knew you would understand.
PUMPKIN TIME!
Long time no post.
A few weeks ago we drove to southeastern North Carolina for the funeral of Mrs. RWP’s brother at the same time that Hurricane Joaquin and a second unnamed storm inundated that part of America’s coast with mucho agua. Agua is the Spanish word for water and mucho in this case means between seven and ten inches of the wet stuff. If you are not of a scientific bent, let me just tell you that that is a lot of rain. The trip was, to put it mildly, a trip. On the way back to Georgia, the car containing my two sons hydroplaned on Interstate 95 in South Carolina, but they managed to get home unharmed.
We recently returned home from another trip. We spent a few days in a beautiful cabin in the mountains of western North Carolina. The leaves were just beginning to turn. The temperature got down to 39 degrees Fahrenheit one morning but the days were clear, brisk, and fabulous. We were about the same distance from the coastal deluge experience as Sheffield, England, U.K. is from Antwerp, Belgium, but we were still in North Carolina. (Yes, Virginia, America is a big country.) I didn’t do any posting. I just stood on the deck and gazed at this:
and this:
and this:
and this:
We left refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated, and ready to return to whatever the future holds.
I knew you would understand.
Friday, October 9, 2015
As Oscar Hammerstein II said back in 1945...
It might as well be spring.
Of course, it is spring in the Southern Hemisphere now (waves to Sue, Helsie, Carol, and Katherine) but here in the good old hémisphère nord it is definitely l’automne. Autumn. Fall. Clear blue skies. Cool days and even cooler nights.
But you would never know it by looking at our yard. I took this photograph yesterday afternoon with my cell phone:
Our front yard is adorned with several Encore Azaleas -- they bloom in both spring and fall, hence “encore” -- and a lovely Sasanqua Camellia bush that bursts forth faithfully every October.
The pot of yellow chrysanthemums on the wrought-iron table in the entranceway? That was my own addition.
Of course, it is spring in the Southern Hemisphere now (waves to Sue, Helsie, Carol, and Katherine) but here in the good old hémisphère nord it is definitely l’automne. Autumn. Fall. Clear blue skies. Cool days and even cooler nights.
But you would never know it by looking at our yard. I took this photograph yesterday afternoon with my cell phone:
Our front yard is adorned with several Encore Azaleas -- they bloom in both spring and fall, hence “encore” -- and a lovely Sasanqua Camellia bush that bursts forth faithfully every October.
The pot of yellow chrysanthemums on the wrought-iron table in the entranceway? That was my own addition.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me
So there I was, blogging somewhat less than in days of yore, tootling along with around 100 views per day, some days fewer, some days more, when suddenly on October 3rd a spike occurred.
Here’s how it appeared on Blogger’s chart of this week:
...and here’s a slightly longer view showing the past month:
There have been spikes before but never of this magnitude.
Specifically, this blog had 87 views on October 2nd and 108 views on October 4th, but on October 3rd it had 2,987 views. About 90% of these originated within the United States. What I want to know is:
Why?
Who?
What does it portend?
Let the speculation begin.
P.S. to Hilltophomesteader: I am going to send you a proper thank you by snail mail shortly, but I wanted to report that we found your package by our front door Monday morning after we returned home from North Carolina late on Sunday night.
Here’s how it appeared on Blogger’s chart of this week:
...and here’s a slightly longer view showing the past month:
There have been spikes before but never of this magnitude.
Specifically, this blog had 87 views on October 2nd and 108 views on October 4th, but on October 3rd it had 2,987 views. About 90% of these originated within the United States. What I want to know is:
Why?
Who?
What does it portend?
Let the speculation begin.
P.S. to Hilltophomesteader: I am going to send you a proper thank you by snail mail shortly, but I wanted to report that we found your package by our front door Monday morning after we returned home from North Carolina late on Sunday night.
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