Apostrophes and Me

I taught college writing for over 41 years—years that were rewarding and joyful. However, the experience did leave me with one huge question: Why can’t people use apostrophes correctly? And more specifically, why is it so hard to know when to use its and it’s?

Now I know that this is a small problem. Compared to poverty, crime, and running out of Tillamook Utterly Chocolate ice cream, apostrophes don’t even matter. Smart, capable people have trouble with its and it’s—the other day I saw a tweet from Hillary Clinton in which she wrote: “I believe in this country and it’s future.” (If you go look that up, it’s been corrected now.) People I love and respect make apostrophe errors and other errors, and I still love and respect them. In fact, my love and respect for you have nothing to do with whether you use apostrophes correctly.

It just bugs me. After reading thousands of student papers and correcting millions of apostrophes, maybe I just have PTSD.

Thank goodness, auto-correct is getting pretty good at fixing apostrophes. Maybe, some happy day in the future, writing teachers will not even have to worry about apostrophes. Or maybe we will just quit using them.

Until that day, though, we will have “Auntie Beth’s Grammar Songs.”

What’s that, you say? Well, one day I was driving to school with a stack of papers I had just finished grading. Misplaced apostrophes had been rampant in that stack, and I was feeling frustrated. Stopped at the traffic light near McDonald’s on Bulldog Boulevard, I screamed, “I can’t stand to see another its/it’s error!”

Then I had a revelation. I would write a song. A clever, catchy song that would stick in my students’ heads and they would never again use either its or it’s incorrectly.

By the time I pulled into the BYU parking lot, I had the tune and the words. Walking to my office, I polished it, and by the time I met my class I was ready to perform.

Here is the song—now you will never again mistake its for it’s. You’re welcome.

It’s and Its

(To the tune of “Row, Row, your Boat”)

I-T apostrophe S

Always means it is.

I-T-S means ownership

Like their and her and his.

My students loved it. Best of all, I wasn’t screaming anymore. We were all laughing. In the next week or so I made up some more little ditties on other perennial errors. Hence, “Auntie Beth’s Grammar Songbook” was created.

I think this songbook is one of my major contributions to the discipline of college composition. My students loved it. They shared it with friends and former teachers. I had strangers contacting me and asking for permission to use it. I presented the songs in a national composition conference. All the handouts were snatched up, and on my hotel phone were messages asking for copies.

One time, when I was about to teach it’s/its to my students, one of them raised a hand excitedly. “Oooh! My high school teacher had a great song about this!” Yes, it was my song. I was so proud. I had entered the world of folklore.

So here, on my blog, I am offering you the definitive, original, “Auntie Beth’s Songbook,” copied below. Hope you enjoy it.

But remember, I will be your friend even if you don’t use its/it’s correctly. As long as you share your Tillamook Utterly Chocolate ice cream.

PS I know that my blog URL is missing a crucial apostrophe. Love me anyway.

Auntie Beth’s Grammar Songbook

Beth Hedengren, 2010

These little ditties are not a substitute for teaching writing conventions.  They do serve as a brief reinforcement, and (usually much needed) comic relief.  I introduce these a song at a time when the need to teach the concept arises.  Every so often we have a five-minute sing-along to review.  Students tell me the songs stick in their heads, and they can call back the rules when needed.  (My daughter hummed through the “I-T-apostrophe S” song to help her on the ACT.)  Notice that, like all songs, these tend to over-simplify.

 

It’s and Its

(“Row, Row, your Boat”)

I-T apostrophe S

Always means it is.

I-T-S means ownership

Like their and her and his.

Possessives

(“London Bridge”)

If the owner ends in S,

            Ends in S,

            Ends in S,

If the owner ends in S

Just add apostrophe.

If the owner ends not in S,

            Not in S,

            Not in S,

If the owner ends not in S

Add apostrophe S.

(Note: If the owner is a singular noun ending in S, you can add apostrophe S.)

Semicolons

(“Are You Sleeping?”)

Semi-colon, Semi-colon:

Balance act, Balance act.

Main clause in the front-o,

Main clause in the back-o,

Thoughts connect,

Thoughts connect.

Note: Semi-colons can also be used to connect items in a series when the items have internal commas.  Notice though that they still “balance” two grammatically equal items.)

Colons

(“Twinkle, Twinkle”)

Colon, colon, little dots

How I wonder what you’re not:

You direct us to a list,

Or to quotes or appositives.

Colon, colon, little dots,

You tell us to listen up.

 (Note: Colons are also used to show time [8:30], ratios [2:1], subtitles, and salutations. You probably know that.)

A Lot

(“Pop Goes the Weasel”)

A lot means “many”;

It sometimes means “much.”

It’s better not to use it at all,

But if you must

It’s

                   TWO WORDS!

Affect/Effect

(“The More We Get Together”)

Affect is an action

            (A verb)

            An action

Affect is an action

They both start with A.

Effect is a noun

            A noun

            A noun

Effect is a noun

It doesn’t start with A.

(Note: Of course, affect can be a noun, and effect can be a verb, but rarely, in fairly specialized situations.)

Lie/Lay

(“Lullaby and Goodnight”)

Now I lie down to sleep,

Lay my head on my pillow.

Now I know that I lie

‘Cause it means to recline.

I lay down my face

Because lay means to place.

Or to put something down.

Now I think I’ll sleep sound.

But last night, I lay down,

That’s the past tense of lie.

It still means to recline;

It’s confusing but fine.

And my head, that I laid

That still means put or placed.

So in the past lie is lay

And lay is laid.

Commas

(“On Top of Old Smoky”)

Sometimes in a sentence,

We just need to pause.

That’s why we need a comma

After an introductory clause.

(Spoken: A long one that is.)

All punctuation

The reader must serve,

So don’t let those commas

Divide subjects from verbs.

Between things in a series,

A comma should stand.

Don’t forget the last comma

Before the “and.”

When main clauses are linked by

And, but, or, nor, for, or yet

A separating comma,

You cannot forget.

After some interjection,

Or noun of address,

What sets these words off?

A comma, we confess.

If a phrase isn’t needed,

Then let us know that,

Put a comma before it,

As well as in back.

He said, “A comma

Sets off a real quote.”

She said that no comma

Goes with an indirect quote.

Of course, commas are needed

For dates, titles and such.

And for absolute phrases,

Which you may not use much.

So now you know commas,

Those useful little hooks.

You’ll use them with pleasure

In essays, poems, and books.

Note: Of course, many of these guidelines have been simplified. See a handbook for detailed advice.

January Resolutions: Making and Breaking and Trying Again

My 2016 "Vision Board"

Fresh starts are great and what is better than starting a whole new year? So every January, as a culture, we celebrate the resolution season. Gone is the excess of Thanksgiving. Forgotten the festivities of Christmas. Now it is time to settle down to serious stuff. This is the year We. Will. Become Organized.

Or thin.

Or fit.

Or patient.

Or generous.

Or selfless.

Or humble.

Or--probably—possibly—maybe--all of the above.

I love making resolutions in January. I also make them on my birthday, with the start of each season, with each LDS semiannual conference, and with the beginning of school in the fall. Hope springs eternal for me and with each new beginning I hope I can become a better person.

So I make lists of resolutions and goals. I stick post-it notes to my mirror. I make a vision board. I have 3-5 cards on the fridge. I put appropriate scriptures on my phone wallpaper.

I mean so well. And I do pretty well for a while. I count calories and eat veggies. I clean out some cupboards. I go to the gym and get my steps in. I pray, and I study the scriptures, and I hold my tongue when it needs to be held.

And then I mess up. Always.

But I keep trying. Because, as I look back, I am maybe getting a little bit better than I used to be, in small increments, maybe.

And we have to keep trying. And praying.

I found this quote recently. George Q. Cannon (counselor to four LDS church presidents in the 19^th century), once said:

 “. . . If any of us are imperfect, it is our duty to pray for the gift that will make us perfect. Have I imperfections? I am full of them. What is my duty? To pray to God to give me the gifts that will correct these imperfections. . . .No man ought to say ‘Oh, I cannot help this; it is my nature.’ He is not justified in it, for the reason that God has promised to give strength to correct these things, and to give gifts that will eradicate them.” (President George Q. Cannon, Millenial Star, 23 April 1894, 260)

A big part of trying to become better is praying for help. But though we would like to be immediately changed, that is not often what happens. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could become better just for the asking? One of my favorite fairy tales told of a girl who was put into a magical sleep from the age of 8 until 16. When she awoke, she had every ability an accomplished young lady of the 18^th century should have: she could draw and paint, play the piano, sing, write beautifully, and she had read hundreds of books. She had been taught magically in her sleep, without any effort on her part. This seemed like a great idea when I was young. Who would ever want to suffer through figuring out a geometry proof or writing a research paper or practicing an instrument if the end product of being skilled could just be magically bestowed?  

But maybe the end product is not the point. Maybe that is why President Cannon refers to God giving us the gift of strength. Maybe what matters more than what we become is what happens to us as we strive toward a goal. This is suggested by a recent study of “superagers” reported in the New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/31/opinion/sunday/how-to-become-a-superager.html?_r=0  When the researchers compared brain scans of those who remained mentally nimble into old age with those of those who had not, they found significant differences in the limbic section of the brain. And how to do this?

We’re still studying this question, but our best answer at the moment is: work hard at something. Many labs have observed that these critical brain regions increase in activity when people perform difficult tasks, whether the effort is physical or mental. You can therefore help keep these regions thick and healthy through vigorous exercise and bouts of strenuous mental effort. (Lisa Feldman Barrett, “How to Become a Superager,” New York Times, December 31, 2016)

Barrett continues with the bad news.

The road to superaging is difficult, though, because these brain regions have another intriguing property: When they increase in activity, you tend to feel pretty bad — tired, stymied, frustrated. . . .Superagers are like Marines: They excel at pushing past the temporary unpleasantness of intense effort. (Barrett)

So in order to become better, more capable, more skilled, maybe even more kind, we need to be willing to work hard, even when we don’t want to.

And that is probably why God does not often answer our prayers by changing us outright. Instead, His gift is usually in the form of tuition, a series of lessons. This gives us a chance to work hard, to push past the pain and the frustration, and change our very nature. As we make and break and make again our resolutions, it is good to remember it is not the product that matters, but the process of trying and becoming.

Cold Times in Minnesota

Beth and Karen, skating at the park, 1961

This past week we’ve had snow almost every day, and it is currently piled high all around, maybe 8 inches on the patio table, and clustered beautifully along the branches of each tree. As I was outside the other morning helping to shovel, the muffled stillness of the snowy landscape brought back memories of my childhood winters in Minnesota.

Mornings would often start with the sound of my dad’s snow shovel scraping up the snow. As winter wore on, the pile by the driveway would be higher than his head. My mom and sister and I would stay warm inside. If the snowfall was extra deep, I would stand by the turquoise plastic kitchen radio, straining to hear the words “Highland Elementary” on the school closings list.

Beth in snow gear, c. 1961

Usually, the schools didn’t close, though, because, after all, this was Minnesota, land of hardy Swedish settlers. A little snow didn’t stop them. So I would bundle up with my lined woolen slacks under my plaid skirt (dress codes in the 60s still required girls to wear dresses), pull on the fleece lined boots, don the heavy woolen coat (evidently down parkas hadn’t been invented), and the knitted hat and mittens and scarf. Sometimes I would wear gloves under the mittens, to be warmer. The scarf would tie around my nose and mouth, the hat would be pulled down to my eyebrows, so only my eyes were narrowly exposed. I would walk on freshly shoveled paths to the corner bus stop and stand to wait. The cold would find its way through my layers and as the warm breath wafted up from my scarf, my eyelashes would frost up.

School recess was mandated by the hardy Swedes. If the temperatures were above zero (as I remember it) we all went outside for recess. This was required. In fact, in 6^th grade when I was given the honor of being a school patrol girl, one of our responsibilities was to stand by the door at recess and not let anyone in. We were a sturdy bunch.

Not that it really bothered us. We were all bundled up and we played hard. Not snowballs or snowmen, because in Minnesota the snow if too powdery to pack into balls. But snow forts and fox and geese and king of the hill on the giant mountain of snow left after plowing the school parking lot.

The snow and ice were fun outside of school too. Every park, it seemed, had a small skating rink where we could skate for free. In fact, many families flooded their backyards for their own personal rinks. All the kids had their own skates and we would go to the rink often. Nothing fancy—just around in circles, and sometimes we would form a chain and play crack the whip. At the park, there was a shelter nearby where we could get out of the cold a little.

Our family had a long wooden toboggan.  On Saturday afternoons, my friend Susan and I would carry it to the top of a long gentle slope in a vacant lot around the corner. We would take our seats and sail down the hill, waving our arms and legs in various creative routines. We thought we were pretty great, and called ourselves the Tobogganettes.

Beth and friends at caroling party, 1963

At Christmas time, Susan and I would host a caroling party for the kids in the neighborhood. We would make cookies, the kids would gather at one of our houses, and then we would go out in the frosty cold night, the snow squeaking beneath our feet, to sing to each of the neighbors on our street. One time we standing on a neighbor’s porch, sweetly singing “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” when a giant icicle dropped on my friend’s head, knocking her cold.

Turning fourteen was a big deal in my life because then I was allowed to attend the regional church dances. These were held every month, and everyone went, teens and grownups. I learned the fox trot from my Sunday School teacher’s husband and the polka from my dad’s friend. The biggest dance of the year was the New Year’s Eve dance. We danced until midnight, then cheered and kissed everyone in sight. After a nice supper, everyone would head out to the parking lot to go home. One year as we came out to the parking lot, the only sound was the fruitless cranking of dozens of engines. It was so cold that all the batteries had died. Luckily, one or two cars started, and they were able to jump-start all the other cars.

These are just stories that anyone who has lived in a very cold place loves to tell—war stories of a sort. We lived, we survived. But here is the best part: we faced the cold with others. Together we made the best of a cold time. There is something wonderful about a cold evening when you open the door to friends all bundled up and smiling. They come into the warmth and light of your home, shedding coats, hats, scarves, and boots. Together you laugh and talk and eat and the cold outside only makes the inside warmer.

A New Old New Year's Goal

On New Year’s Day, my adult children and their families usually gather with Paul and me for a nice meal to celebrate new beginnings. We remember highlights of the last year. We make predictions for the next year, both political and personal, both realistic and fantastic. And we share our goals for the coming year.

Usually, my goals are predictable: exercise more, eat healthy, lose five pounds. Last January, though, I took my courage in my hands and shared a goal I had been thinking about for months. I would start a blog and post weekly.

I was inspired by a friend who had that year started a blog and posted every single day. That is EVERY day. I had followed her blog and been fed by her wisdom and understanding of how to live well. As I read her essays, I thought, I have things to say too. I could write something. I would like to share some of the ideas that have been ricocheting around in my head. I would like my children to know about my ideas. I would like to know about them myself, in a more coherent form than just “I had this thought.”

So there at the dinner table, when it was my turn to share my goal, I took a deep breath and quavered out, “I think I will start a blog, maybe.” My family was kind, supportive, and even enthusiastic. I thought, yeah—I will.

So I went to blogspot.com and figured out how to set up a blog. I got my more experienced children to advise me. I started some notes on an idea that had been knocking around in my head, then wrote it up, then revised it and edited it. Finally, on January 6, I copied it into the blank page on BlogSpot, I held my finger over the “publish” button, took a deep breath, and I posted my first entry.

I shared the link to my Facebook and friends, and then—oh what joy—people began telling me they enjoyed reading my ideas. I felt like I had entered into a conversation with others about these ideas that mattered so much to me. I felt like I had shared myself with my friends and family.

But more than that, I felt that I had shared my ideas with my self.  That may seem strange because of course the ideas were there in my own head and I knew them.  But the ideas were fragmented and incomplete until I gave them words and sentences, paragraphs and structure. Then I came to know better what I meant, to know better what I believed.

I taught writing for over 40 years. Hundreds of students—maybe thousands—have heard me extoll the power of writing. I have told them, “Each of you is unique. No one else is like you. You and only you can write what you have to write. If you don’t write it, if you don’t share, the world will be a poorer place. If you do share your experience, your understanding, you can make the world better.”

But did I do it? Not really. But now I have. Over the last 12 months, I have written about my work, my family, my faith, and my struggles. But most of all I have written what I know. And because I wrote about it, I know a bit more about what I know.

To those of you who have read my posts and shared this journey, I am incredibly grateful. Nothing makes writing more satisfying than a kindly and appreciative audience.

And now, this New Year’s Day, I know what my goal will be: I want to go on writing for my blog.