So I don’t know about how the rest of you are, but personally I like a clean and orderly house. This is by no means saying that that is what I have, but it is what I like. I work for it, daily sweeping what must be pounds of debris off of my floors, struggling with an unearthly amount of unmatched socks, and surveying under beds for ancient sippy cup/ bottle carnage. Sometimes we go for almost a whole week with a pretty clean house! But occasionally something happens and everything collapses -  Continue reading ‘Fire Alarms’

So the sneak peek preview sale has officially begun, and you can click yourselves on over to Amoretti to see the new line and the fun new webpage! The sale lasts until the 17th . . . and these items are all produced in limited quantities. So get your order in early for the best selection and the best price!

Note: Make sure that you notice before you order . . . this is a pre-sale, and your items will be shipped in early March. Just so’s you know not to be dashing anxiously out to your mailbox every day from now until then!

Since I was asked to mention its and it’s, I feel it my duty to mention away. Possessive pronouns (unlike nouns) do not require an apostophe. They possess all by themselves and need no help, thank you very much.

My, mine, Your, yours, his, hers, its, our, ours, their, theirs.

Its without the apostrophe signifies possession: The snake shed its skin. The team lost its last game.

It’s with the apostrophe is a contraction, and it’s always means it is. No exceptions. It’s raining!  In fact, it’s pouring here in Monroe, Louisiana. In fact, I am going to go to bed.

And I wish you all well with your its and it’s.

Though I usually behave myself, today I reached the tipping point when I read the address on a bank statement that came in the mail. It is addressed to the Merkles in care of “The Wilson’s.” So which Wilson is this referring to? And this Wilson’s what? His house? His mail box? It should simply say Wilsons. That’s we. No apostrophe needed.

I adore grammar. Desiring to be a good citizen, I normally suppress any desire to correct others without an invitation. But this time I was sorely provoked. If you look around on advertisements, addresses, house signs, invitations, and any other place where people write words without an editor, you will see the careless misuse of the apostrophe.

My eighth-graders used to have a contest in the spring where they searched for typos of all kinds all over town. They found dozens of appalling mistakes, and the apostrophe was one of the big offenders. Once you start noticing, you will spot their misuse everywhere.

Okay, so here is the rule. Plural is not the same thing as possession. The apostrophe is not used to indicate plural except in the case of numbers, letters, and words used as words. Do you know your ABC’s? How many 9’s are in your phone number?  Your sentence has six me’s in it.  But years do not need the apostrophe: Was your dad born in the 1920s?

Names bring lots of confusion to this game called grammar. If your last name is Smith Continue reading ‘A Little Grammar Rampage’

My mother-in-law Bessie is a long-time fan of the writings and life of Amy Carmichael, the missionary who served in India from 1895 to her death in 1951. She started a rescue mission for little girls who had been sold into temple prostitution, a ministry that became known as the Dohnavur Fellowship of South India.

When I was first married, Bessie gave me a copy of Edges of His Ways which is a collection of daily readings written by Amy Carmichael. And I also have from Bessie a collection of her poems, called Mountain Breezes. Bessie marked her all-time favorite poems, and I will give you one of them here (she can recite from memory) called “Make Me Thy Fuel.”

From prayer that asks that I may be
Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,
From fearing when I should aspire,
From faltering when I should climb higher,
From silken self, O Captain, free
Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

Give me the love that leads the way,
The faith that nothing can dismay,
The hope no disappointments tire,
The passion that will burn like fire;
Let me not sink to be a clod:
Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God.

Here’s a little something I wasn’t expecting. Is it just me, or does Hero (on the right) look remarkably like Minerva there on the left? I mean, shove some little piggy tails into Minerva’s hair and we’d have two peas in a pod.

We have Ben’s mom staying with us for Christmas, and she has never been to Bath. So last week we tromped on down there to show her the Pump Room and take the waters and tour the Roman temple. All in all a festive little afternoon. But as we were touring through the Roman bath and temple complex, we came across the head of the goddess whom the Romans worshipped here. She was actually a rather syncretistic goddess named Sulis-Minerva. Apparently the Celtic tribe which was here before the Romans arrived worshipped the goddess Sulis at the hot springs, and believed the healing waters to be sacred to her. When the Romans arrived they thought that Sulis sounded pretty much the same as Minerva, and so they melded the two and came out with Sulis-Minerva. But whatever her name, and however she came to be called that, I think she looks a lot like my five year old. Possibly this is due to the fact that we gave Hero a name from a Greek myth . . . we must have thrown a little classical spin onto that ball!

PS - charge on over to The Fortnightly Purse for a shot at winning one of our Bath souvenirs!