Denim!

denim
Originally uploaded by katzeye

The word denim comes from the phrase "de nime" because that is where they first began to create and indigo-dye denim fabric, which was then made into jeans in SF by Levi Strauss as a pant that miners' could wear comfortably, and that didn't wear out as fast as whatever else they were wearing.


I have loved denim since I was a little girl, and jeans were called "dungarees." And I also love that they were created by the people of France and San Francisco, along with sourdough baquettes! And indigo is my favorite color, and not just because it matches my eyes!

I remember coming home from Kindergarten, where I was required to wear a dress or jumper, and socks and maryjane shoes, or tights, and changing immediately into a pair of jeans.

In fact, I recall being in HS and coming home and changing from my dress or skirt into jeans. (Just imagine, my entire educational career from K-college required that i wear dresses and skirts to class albeit, on many a frigid winter morning, I wore a pair of jeans under a long skirt that I whipped up the night before on the apartment sewing machine, and a wool maxi coat over that!)

So, it is not at all surprising that jeans are still my uniform of choice. I have been wearing jeans for at least 60 years!

I find that they are comfortable, durable, and that if I wear a darker wash, I can dress them up, even! I can wear skinny ones tucked into boots, I can wear bootcut ones over boots, and I can wear wide ones over platform sandals, and I can wear any kind with ballet flats, toms, converse, or flat sandals. And they don't get stained as easily as other pants, and the older ones are like old friends.

So, it shouldn't be surprising that they are my favorite travel pants as well. I like to wear a fairly bulky, comfortable pair of boot cuts on the plane, train, bus, or in the car because i find that comfortable. But having discovered the newly reformulated knit jeans, I am in heaven! I used my ll bean bonus coupons on a pair of knit boot cuts that feel like jammies but look like jeans. I will wear those to travel in FOR SURE!!

But, a while back I began a search for jeans that don't take 48 hours to dry. I want jeans in my suitcase, but with our being on the move as much as we will be on this trip, they need to pack well and dry well if I feel a need to rinse them in a sink! I recall, when we were in Swtizerland, that I did wash a couple of pairs of jeans, but they did take 48 hours to dry. Fortunately, we were staying in one place for the most part. Unfortunately, those jeans were hanging around on the radiator for two full days!

So, I found some places that have jeans that pack up light and dry overnight. OVERNIGHT?? That would mean I would wear one pair of jammie-like knit jeans for flying, and pack a pair that I could wash once or twice. But, alas, these jeans were costly. One pair costs about 125.00. My favorite ones (because they look the most like jeans) are about 100.00 but they would be 135. with shipping because they are made and sold by a company in, wait for it, wait for it, Scotland! They have a store in Edinburgh that I would love to visit! (they have stuff for adventure travel, rugged looking, but nice, stuff that is durable and dries overnight, etc.)

Some would argue that regular jeans, if they are any good, cost that much or much, much more, so what is the big deal? Yeah, I've seen jeans that cost 800.00 and up. But I am on a budget. I don't want to pay over 100. for a pair of jeans unless they are the only jeans I will need for the rest of my life! (or pretty close to that.)

So, in my DIY spirit of experimentation, I have been hand washing various jeans that I own to see how long it takes for them to dry. 48 hours for most of them.

I went back to see what the quick dry ones were made of. They were cotton denim, but only about half or less. The rest of the content was made up of other things, usually synthetics similar to polyester. The ones in Scotland are made up of mostly a high-tech fabric of their own creation. And they have a secret zipper pocket, too!

So, that is the secret to jeans that dry overnight then. The content needs to include a large enough portion of a fast drying high-tech synthetic. I began to read the labels on the jeans that I own. The ones that I always reach for the most are all cotton. Some have a touch of spandex and other synthetics.

The ones at the other end, the ones that I haven't worn as much had a higher content of synthetics. I rinsed a couple of them in the sink yesterday and they are almost dry now, already wearable, but they have a couple of hours to go before it is 24 hours.

EUREKA!! There's the secret! Get a jean with a higher content of synthetic and they dry faster! So, of course, I will try on the ones that are nearly dry now. One pair I will not take because they are very dressy looking denim trousers with no pockets. I do not travel with any kind of pants with NO POCKETS!

I went online to look at the fabric content of various jeans, but, the percentages are not given online. I will have to read labels and try on a variety to find the perfect travel jeans that can dry in 24 hours or less!

And that makes me want to just order the ones made in Scotland and be done with it. Maybe.

Oh the irony. It is because of my Scottish blood that I am thrifty, right? That is what makes me think that I may be able to find some jeans with the right content to travel with, and at a sale price of say 20-40.00!! I am confident that if I put in the time and effort, I may succeed! But the ones that are tempting me the most are from Scotland. How dare the Scots tempt me to toss aside my thrifty heritage!

(I ignore the fact that jean fitting is nearly a science, especially if one is petite, but needing an inseam around 31-32", nearly impossible to find! Petite jeans tend to be around 29-30" and the rest tend to be 33-34"!!!)

I notice that the jeans in Scotland come in a 31" inseam as their regular size!! Do women in the UK have shorter legs than women in the USA? Their petites are around 27"!!!

So, bottom line, I will definitely get out there and look for the jeans in the right fabric content to make them dry overnight. When I find them I will be in jean nirvana!

Pool or Ocean?

Curvature
Originally uploaded by katzeye

Swimming

Do you prefer to swim in the ocean, or in a swimming pool? I think most people will say, “swimming pool!” and list many reasons to support that choice.

I prefer to swim in the ocean. And I have many reasons why that is the case.

Yesterday, I spent more time in a swimming pool than I generally spend in one in years. There were the grandkids who needed to get wet. So, there was a lot of bobbing and floating and splashing mixed in with some whining, etc.

Then, last night, I thought it might be a good idea for Mark and I to take a swim, because he recently had knee surgery, and needs to exercise.

So, we dressed for a swim and wrapped up in towels and such to make our way to the pool in the rather cool breeze. The water in the pool was probably warmer than the air, but still, there was something difficult about fully plunging. I was cold and my every instinct told me, in every cell of my body, that to be wet would be colder.

While some might say, “I want my mommy!” I was saying, “I want my wetsuit!”

But no one wears a wetsuit in the pool. It was probably freakish enough that I was wearing a tank top and board shorts. Hey, if guys can do that, who says that I am required to wear the female equivalent of a speedo anyway? Especially after 60. I just want to be comfortable. And in any case, the tomboy in me totally favors the comfort of a pair of board shorts.

Mark simply jumped in feet first, which is usually the best choice. But it’s a shallow pool. It only goes as deep as 5 feet. I can stand in the deep end and my hair can remain dry on top, which makes me feel absurdly tall, as if at a pool at Legoland.

So, Mark’s feet hit the bottom, hard, when he jumps in and that sets his knee rehabilitation back about six weeks. So he goes and gets into the Jacuzzi.

Meanwhile, I am still getting used to feeling cold, and still determined that I will swim laps. Or something.

While Mark is saying, “Ahhhh….” I am doing a sidestroke across the pool. Then I do a backstroke. Then I do a dog paddle. I am feeling strangely winded, and that is quickly followed by intense boredom.

I try getting across the pool in any kinds of strokes that I can invent. I would like to just do a deadman’s float and lightly kick my feet until I reach the other side, but I don’t want that much chlorine in my soft contacts. Then I realize that it is the chlorine that is making me feel winded. I am allergic to chlorine. Duh. I try to limit my exposure to it. We have filters on our showers to eliminate it so that I can go all year long without a breathing treatment. As a kid, I would get asthma after a swim in someone’s pool, every time.

Okay, so now what? I float on my back. I try to see stars in spite of the intensely bright pool lights.

I finally get out, feeling like a popsicle and sink into the Jacuzzi with Mark. In the Jacuzzi, I continue to swim, albeit, with much less room, because, unless I am reading, I am not that good at just sitting there. Soon another couple joins us, and then another, so it’s rub-a-tub-tub, three couples in the tub. And I am no longer even remotely swimming, but just sitting and trying to act like a grownup and stop playing with the bubbles.

Not exactly my idea of getting exercise: doing a slow roast in a Jacuzzi while talking for hours about the HOA, and politics, etc.

So, here are the reasons why I prefer to swim in the ocean:

I can wear a wetsuit and not look like a dork, unless the water temp is 75 and the air is 113, but in that case, I would probably be lying on the kitchen floor with a wet towel placed over my head and shoulders. The wetsuit, after the initial plunge which is usually taken care of at the first powerful wave, keeps my body temp better regulated. And the wetsuit helps keep me from getting sunburned.

I am a native of Cali, and have lived in Huntington Beach for about 35 years (and Newport Beach before that, and Seal Beach in between), but my ancestors come from places not known for getting tans.

My dad’s Scottish ancestors intermarried with the Norse invaders, and so that line is Scandinavian/Scottish from way back. Add to that that an Irish woman married one of these norse/scots and you get pale skin that freckles for all who come from this line.

My mother’s ancestry is Dutch, Danish, Scottish. I got my blondish/light brownish hair from her, but my skin from my dad. I can tan, if I am willing to make it a full time job. It takes at least three months of daily hours holding still on the beach to get one. And in two days of not doing that, it fades in a hurry. And for the first month, it will mostly be peeling and increasing the freckle count.

When I swim in a pool, I am dressed differently and parts of me that are not used to sun instantly burn, sunblock or not. And I think all that reflection there just increases the entire effect. So, in order to swim in a pool, I either need to wear a wetsuit, put on prescription strength sunblock that looks like clown white face, all over exposed skin. Or work on getting a protective tan.

None of those are all that enticing, so, board shorts, rash guard, etc. Anyway, what do you do in a pool? Especially one that is only 5 feet deep? Back stroke, side stroke, dead man’s float?

I prefer to swim in the ocean because there are always things you can do there. You can swim, paddle, or, run like mad toward a fresh set that is coming in. You can dive under a wave. You can float on your back up the slope of a slick wave, and down the other side. You can be pummeled to the point that you are eating sand and telling yourself that you WILL find the surface again if you just relax.

You can watch dolphin swim by. You can dodge a surfer. You can catch a wave that takes you on a long and exciting, or long and pleasant ride. You can share a wave with your buddy, or a seal, or both.

You can stay out as long as you are not turning blue, and you don’t get winded from breathing chlorine fumes. You can burn a lot more calories than you will doing a half-hearted sidestroke in still water.

My parents loved to swim in the ocean, and we did it often. I can’t recall the first time they took me into the Pacific. And I do recall my infancy (see a previous blog). It had to be when I was just a baby. I do have some memories of being held in their arms while they rose up over waves and down the other side, and their responses to these experiences were positive, so, I am certain that I began to love being in the ocean as a baby.

As children, we would often stay in the water for 8 hours at a time. We were blue prunes! As a teen, I would borrow surfboards, until I had my own, and ride waves for as long as I could.

So, what can you do in a pool anyway? To me, with my expansive experience in the vast pacific, a pool seems like a bathtub.

I guess I’ll just take a good book the next time I go to the pool. That is what I do in a bathtub.

Either that, or I will wear a wetsuit to the pool, bring a body board, and yell KOWABUNGA as I throw myself into the water. Acting like a grown-up is so overrated, anyway.

Mocassins

Gather 'round
Originally uploaded by katzeye

Moccasins

We’ve all heard the saying about not judging another human being until we have walked a mile in his or her moccasins. It is so very true.

Recently I was at a social event where a group of people were labeling a woman as being crazy. I patiently heard them out, and they all got a good laugh out of it, but inside I was experiencing turmoil.

You see, I have known this woman for quite some time. So, on the one hand, I was experiencing some pain because I know what is good about her and hated to hear her being judged so harshly.

And on the other hand, I also wondered how many times I have been with a group of people who were dissing someone that I did not know, or barely knew and I accepted what they were saying as being unbiased truth.

All too often, we judge people on the most superficial things, such as appearance, mannerisms, etc. And we also judge too quickly based upon gossip, rumor, and distortion.

Don’t we also harshly judge those who wrong us? The ultimate in compassion is to strive to understand those who are unkind to us, and to forgive them.

As a photographer, I do a lot of editing. I look at a lot of faces up close. Sometimes I edit a photo wherein a smiling, seemingly happy person, is not looking that happy up close. Sometimes I see the sadness, rough experiences, disappointments in people’s faces, when I see them much closer.

My daughter and I, from as far back as I can remember, have shared heart pangs with each other. For us, heart pangs are when we see a human being, usually a stranger, who is experiencing loss, confusion, humiliation, pain, or any of the human emotions and plights that make us feel vulnerable: the experiences and situations that we usually keep to ourselves.

When we see something like this, we call it a heart pang. Our hearts are tugged. We experience compassion and the pathos of being a human being.

Every human being has had, or will have some really rough experiences, things that will bring us to our knees, things that will test us, make us sob, make us feel abandoned, alone, hurt. We all experience harshness, adversity, troubles. We are all vulnerable.

Every human being has a story to tell. Stories that break our hearts. We need to pay more attention. We need to look more closely. Behind every smile there is a sad face. We pick ourselves up, and we move on, and we keep trying. We smile ‘though our hearts are breaking.”

As for that conversation about the woman deemed to be crazy. Sure, she might be a little bit. But I stuck my neck out and told them what I knew about her. About her triumphs and her sorrows. And afterward, there was a quiet moment. The laughter ceased. I think and I hope that they understood her a bit more, and have some compassion for her now.

I know that I am determined to withhold judgment more often and to have compassion more often, and to want to hear others’ stories more readily. Knowing people’s stories is a way to walk in their moccasins. And once we have, we will have compassion and love for them.

And isn’t that what it is all about?

The Joys of Being Sick!

Leah2
Originally uploaded by katzeye

Mark's son came down with something evil about a week ago. It may be a flu, but he is sick, sick, sick, and coughing non-stop.

I was down to only getting sick twice a year. It would happen in the fall-winter, and in the spring. That was it. Twice a year. It would be just a minor cold, a lot of the time, but sometimes as much as pneumonia, occasionally. Rarely.

But since Mark's son moved in a bit over three years ago, I have gotten sick about every other month. It's not all that surprising. Kids are often carriers of germs, and I need to wash my hands more often, clearly.

But, I have only been getting colds. They just slow me down for a day or two, more or less, and then I get over them. Knock on wood. But, I do have to be careful, because I am allergic to antibiotics, and due to other respiratory allergies, I am at risk for lung infections with any cold. If it gets worse, it can turn into bronchitis or pneumonia.

Also, I have no medical insurance.

So, any cold, even a mild one, has to be treated as if it is a bad, BAD case of the flu.

Which means that if my cold is not making me terribly miserable, just tired, a bit achy, a bit stuffy, I get the bonus of found time.

I love found time. It gives me a chance to catch up on emails, figure out how to do techno things that I might be in too much of a hurry to figure out during regular kinds of days, and work on my photos.

Also been creating some new promos for my business and thinking about ways to retool my business model to make it work better for my clients some areas.

Mark says that is when I find the time to think, ponder, write, and be creative. He is right.

If I were coughing as much as his son is even as I write this, I would not be able to do any of that so much. But being mildly sick makes it possible.

(Don't worry, he has been taken to the doctor, has meds, and I even went out and bought him orange and apple juice, so he is taken care of.)

And in a couple of days, when I have my sea legs again, I can dive into the fray once more (was that a kind of mixed metaphor oxymoron?), refreshed and ready to take it all on.

Well, maybe not all of it. My downtime often makes me rethink the quantity of things that I always seem to try to do, and revise that, too.

Less is more.

Time for another nap.

I have to learn all of THIS?

Originally uploaded by katzeye

It’s been a while since I went back to school.

I started college in the fall of 1967. Yes, this was before computers (well, at least the personal kind, before cell phones, before ipods, before mp3s and digital cameras.

I had two majors: Art and Psychology. There were some who, when they heard that I was an art student, chided me by saying that I must just be there to get my “MRS.” Luckily, I was able to throw out my other major at times like that. Yes, two majors, one is considered to be the more academic of the two. But which?

To most, it was the Psych major. Perhaps that was technically true. But the reality is that my art studio classes took a lot out of me. They were two hours long, every time. Many a day I was in art studio classes for 4-6 hours at a stretch. Art professors are very exacting. If your work is not up to their expectations, you suffer the wrath of the critique. Those classes were grueling. And it wasn’t just studio, it was lots and lots of art history classes, too. And theory, and all kinds of painting, every kind, and sculpting, and, well, I would come out of those studios with paint on my clothes, and under my nails, and stumble into a psych class, actually feel relieved to be in a class where I could take in information, ponder and formulate it, and reproduce it. It was so simple. It was a relief to have academic stuff, so cut and dried.

Since graduating from college, I have continued college on and off in many ways and forms. I’ve been in grad school a few times. I’ve taken classes here and there. I’ve continued studies in psychology, humanities, literature, etc. I love to learn.

And so, I decided that I had reached a point, artistically, where I might be stagnating. Since I was an art student, last, we hand painted, hand lettered, hand-everything, laboriously, tediously, critically. In a sense, I have jumped back in to my starting point, as an art student. Only look how much it has changed!

And look at how much technical experience I need to put in and learn. The learning curve is astounding.

But I have to say, that with all of the many changes, there are things that have not changed.

The desire to be artistic, to be creative, has never faded. Immersion in art sharpens one’s eye, so that all that is seen is seen with all of the glories of color, light, composition.

For my clients (those who hire me to do photography for them, draw and paint for them, etc.), be prepared for a fresh infusion of new light in my work.

I just looked out the window and was amazed at the colors and the way the late afternoon light is warming up the contours of all that I am seeing.

It totally reminds me of when I was 18, and would step out of an interpretive drawing class, or an oils class, and would nearly be overwhelmed by the colors, patterns and light outside, on campus.

And I remember what my parents said, “Do what you love.”

And I will, as soon as I figure out how to do all this stuff! Again.

Christmas Wish

Christmas Wish
Originally uploaded by katzeye

Christmas Wish: Pneumonia for Christmas

What did you get for Christmas? Warm and fragrant gingerbread men? New Toys? Sweaters?

I got pneumonia for Christmas.

It’s not the first time. The first time I got pneumonia for Christmas, it was so bad that I was unable to do ANYTHING. I was sucked into feverish delirium each day around 3 PM, and before that, it was feverish coughing and lying around like a pale rag doll with half the stuffing missing.

When I was not delirious, I worried that there would be no Christmas without me. I had four kids and needed to get busy creating Christmas for them. That Christmas, my daughter, who was just a girl at the time, pretty much took over and did all my wrapping and quite a few other Christmas chores.

Somehow Christmas happened even with my minimal feeble attempts. I was amazed at my daughter and amazed that it happened and on schedule, and no one was disappointed.

That was about 18 years ago. Since then, I have enjoyed many Christmases without pneumonia. I’ve had some occasional colds, but nothing to knock me off track entirely. Up until this Christmas, that is.

Let me begin with here I am and go back in time a bit. Where I am presently is mostly stopped. Mostly coughing as if my lungs themselves have gone bad and must be eradicated. Not much else. I sit around and cough, that seems to be what I am good for these days. Last week was even worse. I did attend some family events and sat like a lump, just trying to survive and breathe.

The week before that, I knew it was coming, so I was mostly slowed down.

The week before that, I started to feel like I was coming down with something, so I ran around even faster to try to get stuff done before I was no longer able to.

The weeks before that I was burning the candle at both ends, working a lot, too much. I knew I was working too much. Six days a week until midnight or 1 AM sometimes. But I felt impervious. I had had a run of many years of pretty good health, so, perhaps I could just keep meeting deadlines and catch up on sleep when I could.

So, I was running around, working long hours, not getting enough sleep, not getting enough exercise, and thinking of myself as practically infallible and strong like some kind of super hero.

Pride goeth before the fall. And the bigger the pride, the more one is so involved in doing and doing, the greater the fall.


So, all Christmas preparations on my part, came to a halt, along with dishes and laundry. My focus became just getting through another night with, hopefully, a few little naps in between coughing-up-a-lung episodes.

I had a Christmas Grid that I had made for my desktop. It was so fantastic because, at a glance, I could see what still needed to be done. And there were still a lot of things that needed to be done.

Sigh.

I thought that I was strong enough, if I just do a lot of vitamin C, and fluids, and stuff, that in a couple of days, I could be off and running again, and to the store to get ingredients for Christmas cookies. YES! I would be back in action in no time, just you watch and see.

But I was wrong. And I was still being prideful, and committing hubris. I needed to let go and surrender to pneumonia. I had to pry my fingers, one by one, from their tight grip on my Christmas Grid.

I had to surrender and watch Christmas happen all around me.

Ordinarily, I have a pretty good idea about what I am getting for Christmas, but this time, I had no clue. And really, there was only one thing that I wanted for Christmas, and that was to breathe through the night, and during the day, and, if it were possible for one more thing, to be able to have my health restored.

That’s all.

Pneumonia for Christmas was very humbling for me some 18 years ago. I must have remembered that lesson for 17 years. I guess it was time for a strong reminder of a few things. For instance, Christmas, and life, is not about running around and doing so many things that there is no time to breathe. It’s not about being perpetually busy.

If one gets too busy to breathe, one might get pneumonia and suddenly not be so busy and not be able to breathe.

Christmas, and life, is about giving the best gifts, time with loved ones, savoring moments that will become memories, listening to one another, caring for one another.

Hurriedness will squeeze the life out of, well, life.

I knew that.

I guess I just forgot.

I will admit, that in my stage of being slowed down, I found some peace in what I could do. I broke out the watercolors and did a painting as a Christmas gift. I knitted some scarves for people. One can still be useful, even when holding still. And there is a great deal of peace to be found in such quiet activities.

So, for next Christmas, who wants a scarf? Who wants a watercolor? I will be building in time for quiet things even if I am fully capable of running about like a crazed creator-of-Christmas, a title that I cannot assume in any case. Whatsoever.

Reading IS Fundamental

Originally uploaded by katzeye

Reading IS Fundamental

We had company the other night, and my sister-in-law was telling me about a school district with which she is familiar (I think she said that one of her kids are in this district, and I am hoping that my memory is inaccurate on this detail), that has decided to eliminate all literature classes because the kids need to be taught the basic skills of spelling and grammar instead.

Now, I would be the first to agree that such basics as spelling and grammar have totally slid into a black hole and that it appears that illiteracy is experiencing a revival. I suspect that TV was the first hit on literacy. Some people began to watch more and read less. Computers took a hit, as they provided additional entertainment and encouraged less reading. Instant messaging and text messaging seem to have delivered grave blows to literacy.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a passion for technology, and don’t know where I’d be without texting, but I am concerned that we are losing something.

All around me, even in professionally printed signs, and professionally designed websites, I see the following:

“Your really gonna love this.” I am somewhat okay with “gonna” because it is just slang, and as long as it doesn’t start to appear in scholarly essays, I will just accept that. But “Your” is a possessive so it means, “your dog,” “your hat,” “your husband”, “your illiteracy.” It can never mean, “Your invited,” or “your so funny!” Your so funny what? Your so funny dog, hat, husband, or illiteracy?

It’s YOU’RE invited, which means, YOU ARE invited!! You are likely to appreciate this (your really gonna love this)!

Also, “each other” are two words, not “eachother,” and “a lot” are two words and not “alot,” and it’s “we were supposed to…” and not “suppose to,” and it’s we went “across the street,” not “acrossed the street,” or “acrosst,” It’s “I’m not used to this,” not
I’m not use to this,” and, “this just makes things worse,” not “worst,” etc.

Oh, and these ones really get me, “Me and him went to the park,” “Her and I had an argument,” “His and I’s website.” What the hey? What’s with that? I am starting to think that there is a new, emerging sub language of illiteracy.

And while I am at it, an apostrophe is not required before every “s” and quotation marks are only used for quotations or for “supposedlies.” Yes, it is okay, rarely, to make up words, and I just made that one up to describe itself. I was a teenager in the 1960s. Notice, there is no apostrophe. I buy a lot of blank CDs and DVDs. NO APROSTROPHE!!! Are these Sheila’s CDs? Notice where the apostrophe goes. It is used for possessives, contractions, and, in pairs, for a quote within a quote.

So, yes, illiteracy is on the rise. And yes, something has to be done about it. I have gone to forums online to learn how to do some technical thing, or to get some kind of information and found people writing as if they are adults who stopped learning to write in the 1st grade. I do not have the patience to try to decipher someone’s inability to write a clear sentence.

I used to work for an English professor at CSULB. He was working with seniors in the teacher ed. program, and gave me their essays to evaluate and grade. It was the most depressing job I ever had. These were students about to graduate, get their teaching credentials, and teach our children how to write. 80% of these students had trouble constructing a clear sentence. Terrifying!

So, it is true that students need to learn the basics of writing clearly and intelligibly. But do we go about that by eliminating lit classes?

As a very young child, I was surrounded by a plethora of endless books. There were floor to ceiling bookshelves, but, in addition, there were bookshelves in every room of the house, and I do not exaggerate. I grew up with the idea that books were important, that they lined the walls of homes, and that they were worth reading, regularly. My parents read daily, and they read to us daily. My dad read us Shakespeare, Milton, Carroll and The Wind in the Willows from the time we could sit on his lap. Those are among my favorite memories.

I recall longing to learn to read, and before long, I was. Fortunately, my reading habit was fairly well established prior to first grade, when suddenly I was confronted with Dick and Jane. Such a contrast to Shakespeare!

When I got to HS, I was fortunate to attend a savvy school that had majors. They saw that while my math skills might be lacking (largely due to a lack of interest), (no pun intended), that my literary skills were big and wide, and so, I was able to skip the basic English classes where they studied grammar, punctuation, and sentence diagramming (remember that?). I was declared an English Lit major and I was put into all the best, most interesting literature classes and so, throughout HS, I was able to learn Middle English, analyze poetry, write all kinds of stuff, and read a very amazingly wide gamut of literature from around the world and from many centuries.

So, one might ask. How did I learn enough basic grammar skills to be able to be a freelance editor today?

I learned it from reading. I can skim a work of text and my head and my eye, instantly spot the punctuation error, the sentence that is poorly constructed, the descriptive word that, due to its position in a sentence, is describing the wrong word, and the ungrammatical usage. It’s not because I am some kind of idiot savant, it is not because I use my computer’s spell check or grammar check (and those can be inaccurate) and it is definitely not because I have studied these basics. It is because I have been read to since birth, and because of that, learned to read at age 4, and because of that, have had a passion for books, and because of that, I have an inherent knowledge of how things are to be written.

I have never had a basic English class. Never.

I have a friend who has taught them, though, at the college level. She is very smart and has written books on Shakespeare for kids. She wrote her dissertation on how language skills affect thinking skills. Often, people think that the words that we use are a result of our thoughts. This is true at a simplistic level. But her theory is that the better our literary skills; the better we can think.

Anyone who has learned another language knows how it opens you up to the nuances of the human experience. There are words in French, for instance, for feelings, that do not translate into English. So, if you only know English, you could even be limiting your emotional experiences!

So, I wish to declare that the way to increase literacy is not through memorizing rules of grammar, it is through loving to read, continuing to love to read, and in reading as much as possible, always! It’s just that simple! And that, wonderfully complex!