Friday, April 29, 2011

ODE TO ENGLISH PLURAL

The London wedding of the century takes place as this is posted.  Kate Middleton goes from middle class to royalty as William's bride.  So with a tip of the top hat, I offer this ode without duplicity.
For all you English experts...
An Ode To English Plural
We'll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You  may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and there would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine: she, shis and shim!


Let's face it - English is a crazy language.  There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple.  English muffins weren't invented in England.  We take English for granted, but if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write, but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the folks who grew up speaking English
should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other language do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship.
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a driveway and drive in a parkway.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language
in which your house can burn up as it burns down,
in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and
in which an alarm goes off by going on.

And in closing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother's not Mop?
  



Thanks to Marilyn Pritchard for this blog!
Kathy

Friday, April 22, 2011

I'M ALLERGIC TO SPRING CLEANING (Not dust, just spring cleaning!)


I agree with
~~Maxine on Domestic Chores~~

I hate housework! You make the beds, do the dishes and 
six months later you have to do it all over again!! 





                                                    
                                                     If you can't stand the heat, go in my kitchen!
                                                 It's a pretty safe bet I won't be cooking!



Thought about cleaning the house but thought, "What's the house done for me lately?" 










Smoke detectors need to be tested from time to time, so once in awhile I cook something.


I understand the CONCEPT of COOKING AND CLEANING,
just not as it applies to me.















The only thing DOMESTIC about me is that I live INDOORS!



So tackle your spring cleaning if you like, invite me over and I'll brag on you.  But Maxine and I share a view on dust:

Leave it be. 
One day it'll be me.
K.H.

Read more from an old blog on the subject:

Friday, April 15, 2011

MY TITLES

The womens' movement was blossoming as I entered my adult years.   Many women married but refused to take on their husband's name.  Liberation meant no bras and no titles that bound you to anyone.  Guess it smacked of slavery remnants.


Through the years, however, I've held several titles because of someone else.  I was Elbert Tippett's daughter.  When he dressed up in his Navy whites with all his officer's medals, I was proud to be his kid.



I graduated from college on Thursday and was granted my BA then three days later was presented with my Mrs. title.  Even before that wedding day I tried on the wife title.  Doug and I went to hear a debate between Madalyn Murray O'Hair and the preacher of Bourbon Street, Bob Harrington.  We filled out visitor cards and although I was engaged, I penciled in my upcoming title, MRS. DOUG HENDERSONjust so I'd receive junk mail with my new name on it.  It felt good to write it.


When we moved to Kinston, NC, it actually shocked me when a church teenager from our first youth group called me, "Mrs. Henderson."  I forgot to answer for awhile.  They were only a few years younger and I'd been Kathy, Tip's daughter, all my life.


Ah, then came my coveted title, Mama.  I earned that one three times.  You know anything beginning with labor ain't gonna be easy.  I wore that title like a World Federation wrestler, a badge of survival.  


The reward for that was my next title, Nana.  I fought for that one too.  "I want to be called Nana, to distinguish me from J.D.'s grandma on the Grainger side," I informed Kimberly before the birth of our first grand.


"Mama!  It sounds like BAnana to a kid.  They'll be confused, thinking you're a fruit!" she chided. It didn't change my mind.  If they were confused, it wasn't over my Nana title.


When my mother met her first great grandchild, her grandson, Brian, smiled proudly, proclaiming her new title, "Now you're a GREAT grandmother!"


"I always was," she smiled right back.


Our church daycare kids treat my husband like a rock star when they see him walk down a hall.  "HE-EEEEYYYYY, Mr. Doug!" one starts.  Then a chorus chants along, "Hey!  Mr. Doug!" over and over until he stops and hugs or high-fives the little knee-clingers in his very own mosh pit.  My face is not as familiar to them.  But recently I was in the fellowship hall with him and his chorus line started.  They realized I was his wife and as I left, one little girl handed me this:
"I LOVE YOU, MRS. DUG"
     
It earned a coveted position on our refrigerator gallery, with the grandkids' artwork.
                       
Now that I think about it, this is my favorite title.   Mrs. Dug, without an o.   It's the one that lasts a lifetime, til death do us part.  She didn't know my name but she knew I belonged to my beloved.


Rather than ownership or loss of identity, I find my titles through the years signify my relationships.   At the end of this journey I believe I'll be glad I invested my life in people over job.   People who call me sister, friend, mama, encourager, Nana, Honey.  I'll take that over CEO any day!


But the bra burning. . .I could still go along with that.


Truly liberated in Christ to be me,
Kathy

Friday, April 8, 2011

NO WONDER ENGLISH IS SO HARD TO LEARN!

 If you've visited my blog much, you know by now that I am intrigued with words.  I enjoy word games, etymology (word study. . .not entomology, bug study!) writing, plays on words, puns and reading.  God just wired me that way.  I also enjoy talking.  I'll blame Him for that too!

English is one of the more difficult languages to learn.  We have piano students from Japan, China and Taiwan who all agree that American idioms and quirks are sometimes confusing.  Even to us!  Consider the following examples sent to me by a friend.  You may have to say them aloud to get the contrast in pronunciations.

Friday, April 1, 2011

IT TAKES A WORRIED MAN (OR WOMAN)

Anyone else remember that old song?  You'll hear it at the end of this blog.


It takes a worried man 
to sing a worried song.
I'm a-worried now 
but I won't be worried long.

When our three children were home I worried about many things from their health to their futures.  When they entered their futures I found new worries about them, like their safety on the road traveling home for vacations.

This week I had several conversations with friends proving I'm not alone in my worries.  

"I'm worried about my job security.  This economy is tough.  It's chewed and spit out friends of mine."

"My son used to go to church.  He nearly died last week in the hospital.  I'm worried about his spiritual condition."

"I'm concerned about our church.  It all seems to be unraveling.  Everything's just coming apart."

"My daughter's being bullied.  It's hard to watch that and not want to punch someone out!"

Everyone has worries.  But one voice reminded me what to do with them.

"I started praying about this everytime it came to mind, instead of worrying or griping about it.  God answered my prayer today.  Someone who wasn't speaking to me came up and hugged me."  He knew God alone had healed a broken relationship.

A mother wrote about her worries for a son on a wrestling team who was traveling through a snow storm.  

I've struggled with this issue of worry over my children's safety since they were born. Because of my tendency to worry, I have the potential to be over-protective. However, years ago, God revealed to me that my fears were born more out of my lack of trust than a healthy concern. The truth was I believed my children were only safe when they were in my care. The reality of this fallen world is my children are only safe in the care of God.

Many of us will deal with anxiety over our children's safety, as well as countless other things. Instead of being overcome with worry, I've learned to identify the worries that come when I've misplaced my trust. It prompts me to pray more, trust more, and enjoy more of life with my children. By the way, my son and his wrestling team made it home safely that day and my prayer life has been stronger ever since.

Don't wait half a century to learn the lesson I finally did.  The choice is simple:
WORRY or PRAY

It's a habit either way and takes a conscious effort to change.  As I asked God to help me with this struggle, He did.  I'm pretty worry free now.  When I feel those old tendancies wrap tentacles around my heart, I pray.   Immediately.


Sometimes when I share this with my fellow worriers the first thing out of their mouths is, "Yeah, but. . ."
  • my problem is unique
  • this person is just so _________
  • the diagnosis was bad
  • it's been going on so many years
  • the addiction is so strong
  • I've tried everything to fix it
  • I'm just sick and tired of
To my fellow Yeah-Buts, be reminded that your problem, crisis, circumstance or person in God's hands is
  • not unique
  • redeemable
  • healable or manageable
And God 
  • is long-suffering, not limited by time
  • can break addictive strongholds or free you from enabling
  • can fix it (He's God.  You're not.)
  • is never sick or tired.  His mercies are fresh daily.  Release it!
Truth is easy to understand.  Solutions can be simple in our heads.  However, ACTION takes intention and consistency!  Start today.  Pray your worries into God's capable hands.  Then leave them there.  Shift. 


Watch Him work
  • His way
  • on His timetable (which may seem slow to you, but He's right on time)
  • without your help or interference
  • when your only words about it are in prayer (not griping, nagging or gossiping)
God is bigger than cancer, addictions, pain, financial loss, adultery, abandonment, relational problems, depression, even family traveling on interstates!  Nothing is too hard for Him.   When you hand it over, you'll feel freer, lighter, less judgmental, less critical, less burdened with worry and full of hope, joy and trust.  Pretty good swap I've found!


This old song is quite a throwback (reminds me of O Brother!  Where Art Thou?)  It's the first song Rod Stewart learned to play on guitar.  
It Takes a Worried Man by The Stanley Brothers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMJz-puzniU&feature=related

Carefree Kathy
Casting all your cares on Him because He cares for you.