Grammar's Underwear

           It’s been a while since I’ve griped about grammar, so I’m going to share some of my biggest peeves with you. See if you share my same sighs. Or size.

          First, it’s the lend and loan confusion that seems to be increasing. “Can you loan me ten bucks” should really be “lend me ten bucks.” (Although with today’s inflation, you should probably ask for twenty, not ten.)

          I loaned her my book, you can loan him a pen, here—I’ll loan you my car, my brother loaned me this jacket… on and on.  People act as if the word, “lend” is nonexistent. But lend is the verb and loan is the noun. You lend a loan.  And sometimes I guess you lend alone as well.

          This sign reminds us to add "ly" in such situations. I must admit to defacing a few signs with my black Sharpie, in similar fashion.          

          Next is the less and fewer problem.  I was in Sephora the other day and saw a makeup brand that claimed less wrinkles. Sorry, I will never buy that brand. It should say “fewer wrinkles.”  Less describes an adjective. Less expensive, less difficult, less colorful, less bulky, less exciting.

          Fewer is the word so many people really want, when they’re using “less.”  Fewer minutes, fewer people, fewer miles, fewer problems, fewer costs, fewer pounds, fewer years.  Fewer modifies nouns.  Fewer wrinkles, unless you worry about grammar like I do.

           There, their, and they're. We see these used incorrectly on social media posts, billboards, just about everywhere:

            But on an ad for educational software? C'mon.   

            Your and you're still stump some folks. But again, on a junior high sign? We live in sad times.

    

            Finally, I still cringe when people put “at” at the end of a sentence. Let's see where we're at. Where should I call you at?  Where is your car at? These should all become “Let's see where we are.” “Where should I call you?” and “Where is your car?”  The at is already implied by the word, where, so adding it to the end of the sentence is redundant.
          I have considered opening an email account called neverendwith@ but can’t decide if all the explaining will be worth it.

          Okay, I have vented. Thank you for lending me your ear; I now have fewer worries and less stress.  We can all have more peace, wherever we are.

          Time to order Christmas gifts—my book, “A Little Christmas Prayer” is ideal for everyone. And inexpensive, too. Find it right here.

Cake Mistake

           Oh my gosh. Just last week I showed you how to make a great fake cake, and now I’m showing a ghastly real one.

                  Seriously, if I hadn’t told you it was a cake, you’d have thought it was some kind of geode, right? Or maybe some winter sludge under someone’s car.

          But no. It’s a German chocolate cake for our eldest son’s birthday. Actually the cake turned out fine. But I couldn’t leave well enough alone, and decided to write “Richie” on top. 

          I promise my house is not a furnace, yet the lettering melted as if I’d held a blow torch on it. Nicole asked if I had used glue.  Yes, I said. White Elmer’s Glue. (!!!)                                                                         

          St. Bob wondered if I was grouting the cake. 

          But our son is a great sport and was happy to blow out candles and enjoy it anyway.

          And, just so this post isn’t completely devoid of information, I will tell you that German chocolate cake isn’t even German. It was invented in 1852 by a U.S. baker named Samuel German (with a hard G). But once printed in the newspapers, everyone pronounced it like the nationality.

          So… Happy Birthday, all you November folks. Eat up!

And it’s time to grab 10 or 15 inexpensive gifts for teachers, friends, hairdressers, you know the drill. My book, “A Little Christmas Prayer,” is perfect for everyone (and perfect for any budget)!

Fake Cake

          Yes, this is exactly as it sounds. I’m going to show you how to make a fake cake. It’s so easy you’ll be stunned. In fact, you can also watch me demonstrate it on one of my short Youtube Mom videos. 

            No, I am not a diabolical prankster who wants to torture my guests with a yummy-looking cake they can’t eat. I simply want a showy centerpiece to go under the tall cake stand I bought.

            I made mine white so that I can decorate it for every holiday, but you could also tint it brown to look like chocolate frosting, or pink, or whatever color you like.

             So how do you do it?  Basically just two ingredients. Start with a cardboard or plastic bucket. Dollar stores are great for this.  Make a lid from other cardboard, and glue it on the top.  Now purchase some Drywall Joint Compound from the hardware store. This will be your “frosting.”

            I might add that you’ll want to take the compound home in your trunk, because when I put it on the passenger seat, it was so heavy that my car thought it was an unbuckled person, and it went ding, ding, ding all the way home.

            When you open the bucket of white compound, you’ll see that it looks and feels exactly like frosting!  Just slather it on, make swirls, pipe it, or whatever you choose. Now let it dry and voila! You have a fake cake. You’re welcome.

            But enough of this fakery. My books are absolutely real and can all be found right here.

Sweet Dreams

        Someday I’m going to get pulled over for swerving in the vicinity of ice cream or candy shops, and on the news it will say, “She was driving at a glucose level of 15.8, which is twice the legal limit…”

          Okay, I really have no idea what the glucose numbers would actually be, but I do know that if my blood is drawn it can double as chocolate syrup for a sundae.

          At a check-up I was telling my doctor about my face plant fall, and he said I need to turn on the lights so I don’t break something next time.  “Otherwise,” he said, “you could end up in a nursing home. And they don’t have desserts in there.”

          “I could have someone bring me desserts,” I suggested.

          “You’re missing the point of the story,” he said.

          “So you say,” I told him, “but that factor could play into my decision.”

          He sighed.

See?” I said. “We’re both patient. Get it? You’re the adjective and I’m the noun. Fine, fine, I’ll keep the lights on.”

 I didn’t tell him that when Bob and I drove up to my Seminary class door the other day, I commented that the lights in my classroom were on, and Bob said, “But no one’s home.”

Hey, lights on or not, you can watch my Youtube Mom videos here.

         

The Ultimate in Multi-Tasking

           I kid you not, I just read that a guy just played the saxophone for nine hours during his own brain surgery. This is more than multi-tasking. It’s ultima-tasking, if you ask me.

          Not only that, but he’s not the first musician to do this during the removal of a brain tumor. Six years ago a South African musician played the guitar, and ten years ago an opera singer sang the whole time.

          Wow. I must admit that I can do none of these things not having brain surgery, so kudos to these amazing musicians.

          In all cases, the doctors wanted to make sure no neurological functions were affected during the procedure, so they did “awake surgery” so they could tell.

          But it raises questions, doesn’t it? First of all, why are musicians getting brain tumors? What if some of these musicians play the timpani? Or the tuba? A violinist could put out someone’s eye with that bow.

And if it isn’t just them, how can you measure, say, a construction worker? A horse jockey? A dancer?  An electrician? A doctor himself?

I guess it could work with artists, but what if they’re realists and the team just thinks they’re modernists?  Imagine if Picasso had had this surgery.

What if it’s a comedian and he just isn’t that funny? Or he’s funnier than ever and gets everybody doubled over laughing so hard they can’t do the surgery?

          Clearly we all need to hurry and become expert as something portable. But I’m betting they’ll tell the accordion players it doesn’t work with them.

Hey—maybe you can read my books while in surgery! It’s certainly worth a try.

Mirror, Mirror

           Women have a love/hate relationship with magnifying mirrors. We all want one so we can see our faces super duper close, but then we gasp and shriek, aghast at what we see.

          You’ll have pores that look like the Sea of Tranquility on the moon. Except you won’t feel tranquil.

         
         You’ll see tiny hairs that look like telephone poles. Could a bird perch there?

          It’s like a microscope. Do you REALLY want to see the cells of your veins?  Isn’t this why skin is opaque in the first place?

          When you look into a magnifying mirror, you see things no one else will ever see.  And, if you choose older friends, they’re even less likely to see.    

This was one benefit of wearing masks during Covid. At least the bottom half of our faces was covered and we saved all kinds of money on lipstick.

 
          I say we chuck the magnifiers and see if there are minimizers. Meet up with friends on a sunny day when everyone’s wearing sunglasses and you’ve got it made. 

Put down that mirror that makes you frown, and pick up one of my books, which will make you laugh. You can find them all on my website. 😊

         

 

Tattoops

         Have you ever seen a tattoo that wasn’t there? Aha. Both St. Bob and I did this within the same week.

          We were in an elevator with a woman who had multiple tattoos on her arms and legs.  Bob turned to her and said, “What kind of snake is that on your arm?” 

         She held her arm out, and said, “That’s not a snake; it’s a ribbon.”

           Not only that, but it carried a very un-snake-like message: “Fear not, I am with thee: be not dismayed.”  (Isaiah, by the way.)

          I can’t decide if she was curt or courteous or curious, but she got off on the next floor, thank goodness.

          My mis-reading of a tattoo was even worse, however. I was in the nail salon and the woman beside me had a tattoo on the back of her hand. It was a lot of little jagged lines and I figured it must be some kind of art or maybe some writing.

           I leaned over and just as I was opening my mouth to ask, “What does your tattoo say?” I realized it was her veins!  HER VEINS!  Can you imagine how embarrassed we both would have been if I had asked that? I would have had to chase her out to the parking lot, apologizing, and buy her lunch. Not only that, but I would have had to switch nail salons. And it’s extremely hard to find someone who’s really good and never says anything stupid.

Embarrassment has launched many a story for me; check out my books and my Youtube Mom videos here.