Archives for December 2017

Comma Before the Storm

December 12, 2017 By admin

E S S A Y I was an English major, which qualifies me to do just about anything…at least that’s what English majors proudly maintain. But the brouhaha (just had to work that in) over commas is just the tiniest bit absurd.

There are a lot of bad things happening in the world at this moment in time, enough so that a debate over the placement of a comma pales by comparison. If you are not familiar with the issue, here is the lowdown. You could write “We invited the rhinoceri, Washington, and Lincoln.” That would mean you invited more than 1 rhino, Washington, and Lincoln. Without the Oxford Comma, the meaning could be construed to mean that you invited Washington and Lincoln who are both rhinos.

I told you this was a stupid debate.

By the way, it’s called the Oxford comma because it was used by editors at Oxford University Press. The Associated Press and the New York Times style guides prefer no comma before the word “and,” however the Chicago Manual of Style and the U.S. Government Printing Office style manual do not. Even some British style manuals are coming down on the side of dropping the comma.

The argument for keeping the serial comma is that it reduces ambiguity, but diehard “no serial comma-ists” counter that the serial comma can have its own ambiguity and there are ways to rewrite a sentence to remove any ambiguity.

I have to admire the Chicago Manual of Style for the fact that they keep the door open just a smidge:

“When a conjunction joins the last two elements in a series of three or more, a comma … should appear before the conjunction. Chicago strongly recommends this widely practiced usage.” In answer to a reader’s query, however, The Chicago Manual of Style Online qualifies this, saying “the serial comma is optional; some mainstream style guides (such as the Associated Press) don’t use it. … there are times when using the comma (or omitting it) results in ambiguity, which is why it’s best to stay flexible.”

So let us bend and stretch as we move on to much more important issues of the day, such as the shredding of the Constitution.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept . His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle . You can also visit his author page here .

All Fall Down

December 12, 2017 By admin

E S S A Y This is my little grandson’s favorite game. The song goes Ring around the rosy, Pocket full of posey, Ashes, ashes, All fall down. But he prefers to start with the word ashes. Then he can get to the all fall down quickly and require those holding his hands – me and whoever else he might round up – to jump down to the floor and laugh. Getting up is no laughing matter for us old folks, but he just pops up and is ready to start again. The first thing he says when we’re finally all up and holding hands again is “ready?”

And off we go.

But to me, ashes ashes feels like my life at the moment. And all fall down is what everyone around me is doing. Gary is on death’s door. His mother is halfway through the door. Francis is better than he wants to admit and just wants someone to fuss over him. Dagmar had a stroke and can’t see. Jim died and Cynthia is not too sure what happened to him. Francis can’t remember who Jim and Cynthia are. Marge fell and wasn’t found for two days and is now in a Beehive home. Bob needs a heart procedure of some sort. Diane died of MS and Jane of a brain tumor, both in the same week. It seems like you either die or you watch everyone fall down around you. I don’t think I like the choice.

But – ha ha – it doesn’t matter if I like it or not. I wasn’t consulted. And why should I be? We are among the luckiest, the richest, the healthiest people who have ever lived on this planet. We have nothing to complain about. If you made it to seventy or so in reasonably good health you did great. You’re ahead of the game; all the rest is gravy.

My high school reunion committee decided to start having reunions every five years instead of every ten. It’s getting too hard to keep track of the dearly departed page. Well, that’s the spirit, I guess. We can sit around in ever smaller circles and tell each other how lucky we are and shed a few tears for the less lucky ones. And look around at the group and wonder whose luck will hold out and make it to the next reunion. But that’s good stuff at this point. I’ll mention another cliché to add to the ones I’ve already used: No one gets out of here alive.

So enjoy what you’ve got. Don’t bemoan what you’ve lost; just be glad you had it for a while. We’ve all had a lot more than most people could dream of having. And think about little Miles who laughs when he says “All fall down.” Cheers!

Norma Libman is a journalist and lecturer who has been collecting women’s stories for more than twenty years. You can read the first chapter of her award-winning book, Lonely River Village, at NormaLibman.com.

Camper Fever

December 12, 2017 By admin

E S S A Y We bought a camper

After my mother, aunt and uncle died last winter, my partner and I bought a camper. In death’s midst, feeling our own galloping years, we envisioned a lifeline to better times. Simple travel. Pretty vistas. Minimalist living.

Snow was falling when my partner scrolled through Craigslist posts. “Look at this,” he said, spying a sleek A-frame pop-up. “Isn’t this the cutest? Wouldn’t it be perfect for us?”

“Fun!” I murmured, expecting nothing. After all, we were lapsed tenters who’d talked for years about upgrading to a camper with real walls, a raised bed and a kitchenette.

But two days later, we rocketed ninety miles along the highway to the seller’s home. He was an engineer who got the vehicle used but didn’t use it. The wife wanted it gone.

We trudged through their icy yard. This really was the cutest camper. Though two decades old, it had good bones; the perfect fixer-upper.

The engineer had us at “Come inside; the heater works great.”

Two weeks later, we parked the pop-up on our front lawn beneath a giant maple, and Partner promptly got to work on it.

He painted and scrubbed. Made curtains. Refitted a cabinet and fixed floorboards. Every last screw, bolt, thread and pipe was soon in pristine order.

He worked while his 100-year-old dad was dying, finding solace in in the shade of the giant maple, where ferns grew as high as the hitch on our compact SUV. I offered encouragement and minty iced beverages.

The neighbors came calling. The crusty old widower reminisced about his family’s camping days. The stick-to-herself teacher behind our hedgerow stuck her head in and confided envy. Even the nurse I rarely saw anymore had an acute case of curiosity and texted, “Where r u going?”

My artist neighbor, a world-class brooder, climbed in one evening to wax poetic about the creative life. When he left, his step seemed lighter, and his brow, less furrowed.

Sometimes I nap in the camper, my eyes fluttering closed as breezes blow through the windows. Or I write. Partner reads the paper, or chats on the phone to his son or sister.

We’ve yet to take our maiden voyage, but on sultry summer mornings, Partner and I like to sit on the comfy couch cushions, drink coffee and dream about all the places we’ll go someday. I’m along for the ride, even if it’s stationery.

Tina Lincer is a writer, artist and recovering tenter who’s looking forward to her first trip in the world’s cutest camper.