A Tee Shirt Vendor Hero in New York

Truly he is a a good model...for how often do people see things and figure it isn't their business to attend to or rationalize that someone else will take care of it, or maybe it isn't really a big deal anyway.  Just walk on by...

I hope New York finds a way to thank the man who the news reports that I have read currently only identify as a Viet Nam Vet who is a Tee Shirt Vendor in Times Square.  

I'd be glad to buy a tee shirt from this man. 

Doing what had to be done...

There is no other way than to just plunge in, past the mundane clutter and the meaningless chatter of it all and press forward feeling the seemingly blank walls for the longed for egress and proclaim the time of the eclipse to be over.

Where Do You Put Punctuation, Inside or Outside Quotation Marks?

I try to know and use the rules of language as consistently as the firing of my neural synapse patterns will allow during the prime wakeful hours of any day, but I am easily led astray.

In my years of professional listening I knew that unless I internally corrected some of what I heard, I might absorb it unconsciously.

“But me and her had been planning to get married,” said a man, explaining that his intended had left town with a man she had met at a pizza parlor. (This is a fictitious example. All actual men I have known either had different problems or their losses involved no pizza parlor Romeos.)

Grammar is clearly not an appropriate focus for such an hour of difficulty, but I try to set apart no more than the mental wattage requirements of a small night-light to translate in my own mind the “hims” and “hers” into the proper personal pronouns. If I don’t, what guarantee do I have that I won’t soon forget their proper use myself?

I find I have the same problem with reading unedited material. How many creatively punctuated essays or short stories can I read without becoming uncertain as to the standard use of those helpful little marks?

Reading otherwise engaging self-published material on the Internet does expose us to many problems of English grammar and usage. I once encountered an announcement that looked something like this:

"Don’t Worry, Be Happy",  is the title of my new …

That lost and lonely comma lit a flame and inspired a question in me.

THE QUESTION: In American usage, where does punctuation go, inside quotation marks or outside of them?

THE ANSWER: I knew the answer would not be completely straightforward, didn’t you? The answer is, it depends.

INSIDE: Generally speaking, periods and commas go inside the quotation marks.

“I worry I will never be happy,” the jilted man said.

I have a great recipe I’ll share with you called “Mash-Mush.”

OUTSIDE: Semicolons and colons generally go outside quotation marks.

Her favorite writing manual is “The Elements of Style”; she refers to it often.

There are two reasons she hated being called “Sweet Pea”: it is diminutive and it is cloying.

INSIDE or OUTSIDE: The question mark is of course willing to bring up extra questions. In most cases, a question mark should be inside the quotation marks.

“What do you worry about?” he asked.

However, if the question mark is not part of the actual quotation then it must go outside the quotation marks.

Have you read “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”?

No, but I did read “What Me Worry?”

This general rule also holds for exclamation points. If the exclamation mark is part of the quote, include it within the quotation marks. As it has been suggested that any author probably needs to use no more than one or two exclamation marks per lifetime, if the exclamation point is not part of a direct quote you could always solve your doubt or indecision by omitting the exclamation point altogether and then you can follow the more straightforward rule for periods and drop that little baby right inside the quotations marks.

In addition to Strunk and White's classic The Elements of Style, one easy reference for questions such as this is Patricia T. O'Conner's book, Woe Is I  The Grammarphobe's Guide to Better English in Plain English. I hope my review will help me keep these particulars straight. And if perchance it has helped you that will help me too, because chances are that I have been reading something you have written and as I said earlier, I am easily led astray.

The mere edges...whispers....who can understand?

As the sun begins its daily descent  where it will sink
behind the horizon of





my eye's perspective,
the golden red rays light up the California wild lilac on the path to the edge of the cliff above the waters. 

I have been reading "The Book of Job," slowly, and not for the first time, but it always feels like the first time.  Sunsets feel that way too.  I see them...then I see them. 

 When reading "Job"  it is important to keep track of who is speaking...his counselors really weren't helpful.

The book of Job is such poetry...majestically written. 

In Chapter 26 Job is answering his friends and speaking of  the Creator:

26:7  He stretches out the north over empty space;

         He hangs the earth on nothing.

     8  He binds up the water in His thick clouds,

         Yet the clouds are not broken under it.

     9  He covers the face of His throne,

         And spreads His cloud over it.

  10   He drew a circular horizon on the

         face of the waters.

         At the boundary of light and darkness.
                      

 11 The pillars of heaven tremble,

      And are astonished at His rebuke.

 12 He stirs up the sea with His power,

      And by His understanding He breaks up the storm.

13  By His Spirit He adorned the

      heavens;

      His hand pierced the fleeing serpent.

14 Indeed these are the mere edges of

    His ways;

    and how small a whisper we hear

    of Him!

    But the thunder of His power

   who can understand?

~~~
( NIV translation)

Dedicated to the grieving... Haiti's unhoused are about to meet the rainy season.
... May we  remember to give what we can to active aid agencies ...

The Endless Potential of What Was, Is and Will Be

The word that comes to mind in the town of Moss Landing is mouldering. To crumble into small particles; to turn to dust by natural decay; to lose form, or waste away, by a gradual separation of the component particles, to crumble away. But mouldering is a form of art in this coastal village....the ribs of the once seaworthy boat and the fishing nets still speak.

Yes,  the horse is on the second story...it is all second story in this town...the story of what was lays about and attracts people to wander out of their city abodes and think of slower, perhaps simpler life styles that are fast fading.  Or maybe it makes  our lives look  neat and new after wandering around the town's strategically placed relics. Some relics of the past have more to give the future than others.

A work horse of the past...

"Tradition,"  said G. K Chesteron  back in 1908 , "means giving a vote to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead."  He goes on to say:

Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. Democracy tells us not to neglect a good man's opinion, even if he is our groom; tradition asks us not to neglect a good man's opinion, even if he is our father.

(From  Orthodoxy The Romance of Faith   Chapt 4 The Ethics of Elfland p.48 Doubleday Image)

The Real Estate flyer for this crumbling shack and rain sodden roadside field  made me laugh, and yet it is true...there is endless potential...

And this sign made me think of my grandmother, who often referred to God the Creator as "The Man Upstairs." 

But we all know that not everything passes away slowly.  We are witnesses to catcalysmic upheavel and destruction of life and property...before we can comprehend the devastation in Haiti,  Chile is also struck with earthquakes, and tsunami waves.  Destruction can come upon us in a flash,  not just the slow mouldering that we see in old barns and aging docks. 

And doubts surface, as if such events were new to earth's history, what  does the Man Upstair have in mind? Is he even home? some ask, and if he is, does he care?  C.S. Lewis penned this age old question succinctly  in The Problem of Pain:

"If God were good. He would wish to make His creatures happy, and if God were almighty, He would be able to do what He wishes.  But the creatures are not happy.  Therefore God lacks either goodness, or power, or both."

That is the question Lewis is addressing, not his conclusion. Lewis reminds us how careful we must be using terms like "good" and "almighty" without keeping all the intrinsics of creation in mind.   Nature is relentless.  Man cannot  permanently persuade, move, or entreat "nature."  It is "Nature" that  is inexorable.

The inexorable "laws of Nature" which operate in defiance of human suffering or desert, which are not turned aside by prayer, seem at first sight to furnish a strong argument against the goodness and power of God.  I am going to submit that not even Omnipotence could create a society of free souls without at the same time creating a relatively independent and "inexorable: Nature. (chapter 2 Divine Omnipotence)

Well, it is a huge subject, and not one I can pretend to explore in depth.  I must get back to work. But it is on my heart and I ponder it.  One of my friends who survived Nargis in Burma shared some of her struggles of faith in the face of tremendous loss, but her heart is strong and as she has continued to dedicate herself to helping others, her doubts have waned.

 We aren't all given to traveling to physically help on location of distant disasters, we can't all travel to where the eye of the storm has just passed, but we can reach out with what we have and give help through goods and services and the hands of those who are deployed.  I noticed that two of the first active on site relief agencies mentioned in the Chilean quake news stories were the tried and true Red Cross and World Vision. 
Another organization that is proactively ready to help is known as Shelter Box.  They create ready- to- deliver boxes with large tents and  new survival items customized for the terrain and type of needs likely to be faced by homeless survivors.
 I know there are many viable organizations and individuals and I thank those who are reaching out to strengthen what remains, living in faith and celebrating the endless potential...
much of which is hidden from plain view.

~~~

Hello Anonymous Commenter and Lurkers, This Post is for You

Dear Anonymous,

 I wonder if you are one return visitor or if several students studying English have visited.

Even though you don't have a profile, you could sign your first name to your comments and maybe even tell what country you reside in, or where you are visiting from.  It would be interesting to know what your main course of study is.   It would make your comments more meanful and personal for me.

I would be curious to learn how reading a  blog helped you accomplish an assignment  for college?  Are you searching for particular subject matter?  Is leaving a comment part of the assignment?  Notice the spelling of the word  a s s i g n m e n t.  One reason I wonder if "anonymous" is one  return reader is because this word is always misspelled in the comments the same way and I get comments with almost identical wording.  I should have saved all the comments I haven't published, I could have done a whole post with them.

I mean to post more of my writing here on WRITE PURPOSE but then I have second thoughts.  When my children were small I did not let them play out in the street  where they might be run over or stolen.  That's a little bit how blog land feels.  In some ways, anonymous readers  are part of that feeling. So maybe if the lurkers and anonymous commenters say hello it will help me risk more in this public place.   What do you think?

Words for pictures

The temperature dropped suddenly, maybe the rains are over for a few days.  The sky has been toying around with so much water it's been  hard to tell where the sky starts and the ocean ends. 
But some days there is no question as to where the waters of the earth end and the sky begins. That's how the sun set tonight.  The horizon, which I have not been able to see of late, was suddenly a commanding sure line of  tourqouise in the fleeing light and the sky a softeness of blue I'd almost forgotten.  The clouds, not as heavy as they've been, float with golden light from the day's final rays.
 
I could take a picture of it with a simple aim and a click but somehow today that feels like it would be a lazy choice.  You may have heard the popular parenting encouragement given to frustrated or tantrum bound children, "use your words."  That's what I told myself tonight.  "Use your words. Maybe you'll see more or differently if you'll use your words."
 
I mean to co-operate with myself, to listen, to let the words sail toward the inner horizon, but winter time is often a quiet time. The sky and the waters within have been defying distinctions and guidance of the stars is hidden.
 
Yesterday a man told me that he doesn't know what will become of all the digital images that people take anymore.  His parents' generation, he said, they had maybe one or two portraits taken and a few  family shots per year.  A family's photographs could all fit in one album.  "Who will look at all the pictures? " he asked.  Yes, and who will read all the words that are written?
 
Subtle sepia and framed on heavy black paper, I have some of those photographs.  It is true, there are very few of them and they are precious. 
 
Today two stray buttons made me cry. Mother of pearl, an inch and half diameter, two holes to run the thread through, they made me cry. They were my mother's, that's all it took.  I'd look at the pictures. I would read her words.

 Write the words, use your words.  No, I'm  buttoning up.  I have seen my shadow. It's still the dead of winter.