Pet Peeve No. 1

Grammar.

I'm an English major and an admirer of the English language (all language, in fact). I twitch when I hear people mispronouncing common words or read a

phrase that is clearly incorrectly written. I have a list that I keep on my fridge of words that I do not want to hear in my house, and I add to it whenever I hear or see another word/phrase that makes me cringe.
Examples are:
-Excape, Expecially, Axe (Ask) These ones in particular drive me insane. How hard is it to separate your consonants? Is it so difficult to go from an 's' sound to a 'k' sound? How about "sxiing" or "baxket ball"?
- "Signage". Yes, I know it's a supposedly valid word. I also lived through the 90s, where

everything had an "age" after it. Regardless of its acceptance, I think it's a crass and unnecessary word. What's wrong with just "sign"?

- Since I used both of the correct forms in the previous sentence, let's introduce the incorrect forms: "Irregardless" and "Supposably", particularly the former. I actually got into an argument with some uneducated rube about this one. He (with his grade 10 education) insisted that if you irregard something that means you regard it, while if you are 'irreglardless to something', it means you don't. Because that makes sense at the trailer park.

- This one is more of a socio-cultural peeve than a grammatical one: (noun)-gate; used to describe a scandalous event; overused by news anchors who lost the zeal for their profession around their 100th can of hairspray. The exception to this rule is, of course, Watergate.

- In writing: "Definately" and variations, "Beutaful" and variations.

Considering the amount of time people spend in English classes in school, it shocks me how

people can still be ignorant of the language they use every day. I don't get upset about lolspeak (it's usually used ironically, so as long as it doesn't genuinely transcend into verbal use, I'm okay with it), and though I'm not fond of internet-related contractions (OMG ROFLcopter WTF!! LOL) and can see it eventually eroding language at an Orwellian rate, I try to take it in stride. I'm aware it's obsessive, but I have the benefit of being right, and really, that's what matters!

Beautiful Words

"Cellar Door" is claimed to be the most beautiful phrase or pairing of words in the English Language. First (or at least most famously) suggested by J.R.R Tolkein, and misattributed quite frequently to the likes of Edgar Allen Poe, Graham Greene, et al., it is indeed a very smooth phrase to say.
But I present an alternative; a phrase which equals in phonoaesthetic value as well as an intervisual or psychophonoaesthetic value (if you will).

Index Card.

Say it. There's something oddly pleasing about the way the 'nd' 'e's into the 'x', which stops abruptly and is quickly followed by "card", which I find to be quite a pleasant word all on its own. Then there's the .idea. of an index card. As I mentioned, cards on their own are quite nice. Greeting cards, thank you cards, business cards, playing cards, with their neat and convenient sizes, matching and colour co-ordinated little envelopes, ink lovingly handwritten, professionally embossed or even screen printed on, all intended to purvey a meaning to whomever shall receive it.
And then there's the index. Index, information, glossary, learning, always lovely. The cards are made of a heavier paper, making them seem somehow dearer or more official/important than your hilroy-filled Five Star.
And then there's the actual Index Card itself; white with blue lines and an official-looking double pink line at the top for headings, brimming with possibility! You can put anything on an index card, and because of its convenient size, you can leave it anywhere. The words to an historically important oration may be written on it, or the publication information to a much-needed book. Perhaps its the phone number of a dear friend or relative, or a favourite recipe passed down through the family. Or perhaps it's blank, waiting to be scribbled upon by someone with an urge to put pen to paper.

As lovely as a cellar door may be (and I know, I used to have one!), I argue that Index Card is just as wonderful, and should be given due credit.

In further interests regarding Geneology...

I can remember almost anything about my life. Dates, addresses, phone numbers, postal codes, and so on and so forth. When I was sitting on my own recalling the various phone numbers I've had (because I do that sometimes...) I remembered a story my mum told me when I was young: My Nana died in August of 1995, and we all miss her terribly. I still have the blanket she made for me when I was a baby (white with pink and green flowers on it and an eyelet trim. I use it to wrap my legs in when it's especially cold). A couple weeks after the funeral, my mum thought, just for kicks, that she'd call my nana's old number just to see if it had been reassigned and to hear the beeps of the numbers again, the tones a lullaby of corresponece past. There was no answer, what came instead was a recording: We're sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service, the number has changed to..." and what followed was a phone number with the same area code and three-digit exchange as the small town we lived in (several cities over). And oh, how weird did my mum feel after that!

Anywho, out of the same curiosity (and maybe boredom) I decided to google my Nana, Victoria Bodnariuk. And it worked!! My nana, who died before the internet became a household item, who never owned (maybe who never even touched!) a computer in her lifetime, can be found here: http://www.biserica.ca/Istoric/tabid/121/Default.aspx which is the history of the church where she attended since she emmigrated here from Romania (it's in Romanian, by the by).

I can be googled too, but my results are boring and predictable: facebook, political stuff, etc. Not nearly as exciting as stumbling over my great-grandmother in cyberspace!!

More reasons why I love my family

1) Grandmama
I have many, many stories of my mother's mother; the matriarch (but don't call her that) of our family has always had the first, the last, and in some cases the only word in family discussions. It is a fact that she almost never likes anyone upon first meeting, but eventually warms up to them. She has insisted, since the dawn of time, that every year for her birthday we go to this wretched park a wretched hours drive away; every year she raves about how beautiful the trees are, how calm the stream is, and how the kids (who are now all in their teens and older) like to play on the equipment. When we get there, she complains about the weather, the bugs, the other park-goers (usually immigrants, whom grandmama always suspects steal HER picnic table just to upset her), and why we bother going to the park every year. She also claims she has never made a jelly roll, despite many eye (and mouth!) witnesses to the contrary. She doesn't own an answering machine or a microwave, but she has a VHS rewinder, an air popcorn maker, and about 300 decks of cards. I love my Grandmama because her rage, innocent cluelessness, and blatant silliness are a constant source of entertainment and a sort of ironic warmth within the family.

2) Uncle Doug
I rarely see my great uncle doug, but the stories about him are absolutely fantastic. He is the only person who has a story which begins "So he found a 20 year old roto-tiller at the bottom of a swamp" and ends "and he fixed it, and it works great!". He could hook up a turbo engine to a dishwasher if you asked him to; he's souped up ride-on lawnmowers suitable for highway travel, so I don't see why not. And then there's the ski-bike. Another fun story which ends "and halfway down the hill hurtling towards the chain link fence and ditch he remembered he forgot to install brakes".

3) Aunt Ruby
Aunt Ruby loves the following things: Cats, fudge, banana splits, jigsaw puzzles, garage sales, going to the movie theatre, wafer cookies, and old musicals. She had western-style dual hinged wooden gates in her kitchen at her apartment, and at her cottage there was a big hole (which was probably to the sewer system or something) which she said went to China.

4)Papa Mitch
Papa Mitch paints, can walk 10 miles without getting tired, and does stained glass work. He plays the accordian, and is freakishly organized: when my mum was having her flute (which was a gift from my grandparents when she was in highschool) fixed, Papa went to the basement, and when he came up he had the receipt from the original purchase of the instrument (which was likely around 1972-3). He likes Benny Goodman, Golf and Hockey, is a lifelong Leaf fan, and puts up identical trees every year at Christmas (not artificial).

Some Time to Think

Aaron was laid off in December, and since then he's been bumming around the house, looking for a job and for odd things to do. I'm a homebody, mostly, and am off of school until May. I love my husband, but I can't explain what releif I felt when he told me he was going to see his friends for a couple hours. Finally, some time to just sit on my own and think about things.

And then I remembered why I shouldn't be left alone to think about things.

I turned on some music while I was playing some card games, and Robbie Roberston came on; an album which he released in the mid-90s of Native American music. I grew up listening to this stuff, and I can still remember dancing around the cottage with my cousins Sarah and Mary to Mahk Jchi, sweetgrass braided in our hair...

This made me remember our Papa Herb Myke. He died almost a year ago, but I still feel I could go to the cottage and sit down with him for a game of crib and a cream soda on the rocks. When he burped, he would say "BRAAAP!", and he'd poke me in the ribs (a little too hard sometimes) when he was making fun of me. I can remember waking up at 6AM to the smell of coffee, tobacco, and the algae-tinged air when we'd stay over (the cottage was 50 feet from the lake), which was fine since I was a morning bird then. He would give me any book I asked for, which included a 90s edition book of lists, a critique called "Why I hate Canadians", and a small book of Canadian poetry. After he died, people scrambled to collect what they could of his to remember him by: my cousin Frances wanted his suspenders, Braeden got his old fishing boat and motor, my brother Brad is to receive his fiddle, and my Grandma saved for me his telescope, his Andy Capp comic books, and a pipe he carved years and years ago. She also gave me his old, noisy, windup clock; I won't wind it.

I miss him.

A photograph of Papa Herb as a boy with his dog.

Christmas

I've always loved Christmas. I love the music, snow, the smell of the tree and cookies, the egg nog (which I've had to limit this year, both for weight loss & because I'm lactose intolerant), the decorations, everything! I love the Christmas songs everyone is sick of, I love the snow everyone hates shovelling, and (in case you don't believe I'm insane yet) I LOVE christmas shopping and wrapping gifts.
This year, we're in a bit of a rush for the holidays. We haven't finished our renovations upstairs yet, and until we do, we can't put a Christmas tree up. Everything is such a mess, and poor Aaron hasn't had time to put up the lights outside. My mum's been stalling on bringing out the Christmas decorations which she said she'd give to me (garlands and bows and things). And also, because our TV is not hooked up (because of the renos) I haven't been able to watch any of my Christmasy DVDs (I could watch them on my computer, but it's not the same). This all makes me very sad.
Yesterday when I was driving to pick up some Christmas gifts, I came across something which made me happy.

Isn't it gorgeous? It looks so happy and warm. On my way back in the evening, its icicle lights were aglow, and it was wonderful. Of course, it holds a slight similarity to this:

Which is the house that I grew up in (look at all that snow!)

And this is the house we live in now:



I'm hoping I'll be able to get, at the very least, a glarland and the icicle lights up. I've had my little heart set on a Christmas tree in the front room since we moved here in April, but who knows if that will happen.

I'll post pictures of the reno when it's done too, hopefully that'll be soon!

Weird Sort Of Weekend

So far, I've been awake for almost 40 hours. I had a very brief sleep this morning, just 20 minutes or so when I dozed off while reading. Aaron was up all last night too, switching between working on our upstairs renovations and taking breaks to watch some DVDs on the computer (our TV is disconnected until we're finished the renos). I tried going to sleep about an hour ago to no avail; it's just one of those odd nights where nothing seems to work out. Feet feel clammy, lights are shining in from outside, mind's reeling, and just an overall misery that I can't quite seem to shake. I'm hoping this will pass in half an hour or so, I'd hate to think I have to wait until tonight (three straight days of conciousness) to get any sleep in!

Tomorrow I'm going to try and lighten my spirits: I'm going to get up at 6:30 with Aaron, have a good breakfast and take him to work, then clean up the kitchen, go to the gym, and hopefully get some baking done. Aaron's uncle is in from out west, and his grandma's households been turned upsidedown in preparations for his homecoming. We're going over there for a family euchre tournament this week, so I'll bake some cookies to take for when we go.