Spelling, Speling, Spelin

I can't spell... in any language.

As anyone who reads, writes, or speaks English will tell you, English spelling is a jumbled, illogical mess. Supposedly in German you spell things exactly the way you pronounce them... however, when your German pronunciation is only so-so, your spelling is also so-so. I know French too, but my spelling is no better there either.

When I was in eighth grade, my dad bought me a wonder of modern (ca. 1988) technology: The Franklin Spelling Ace. The premise is simple. You type in word like you think it should be spelled and if you are right, nothing happens. If you are wrong, it gives you a list of possible words to choose from. Sometimes if you grossly misspell a word it doesn't work, but manages it about 90% of the time. It was (and still is) a life-saver! It also happens to come in handy if you do cross-word puzzles because it has a feature where you type in something with missing letters and it give you choices... but I digress.

Now I am totally dependent on my spell checker. It is sad, but true. About half of the time when I write these blog entries I copy them into Word (mBlog has no spell check) before I ever publish them.

But the problem is, when you can't spell people may make many assumptions that are completely inaccurate. The worst assumption they may make is that you are either stupid or functionally illiterate. And while this may be true in some cases, many times it is not.

But today seven members of the American Literacy Society delivered a message by protesting at the National Spelling Bee: "Enuf is Enuf!" they say. Advocating the modernization of English spelling, they claim that "English spelling is illogical. And the national spelling bee only reinforces the crazy spellings that lead to dyslexia, high illiteracy, and harder lives for immigrants."

And I kuldn't agre more!

(Read the USA Today article .)

Tennis Anyone?

I play tennis. Not very often anymore, but I do.

I used to like to watch tennis. It started out back in high school when I first learned to play tennis. This was in the late 80s/early 90s and Andre Agassi and Pete Sampras had entered the scene. I was in love with Agassi because he had long hair (Yes, I know he is bald now, but seriously, he used to have long hair!) and was, at least for me, the ideal “tennis rebel.”

The first match I watched between Agassi and Sampras was the 1993 Wimbeldon Quarter-finals. Though I didn't know much about Sampras at the time, since he beat Agassi, I vowed to hate him forever. But the more I watched tennis, though I was loyal to Agassi, Sampras began to grow on me. I realized that he was a great player and I began to admire him. For a decade I watched as many matches with these two players as I could and inevitably, my favorites were when they played each other.

I was a tennis fan and because the women also played at the Grand Slam Events, I also started watching them too. If I had favorites, they would have been Jennifer Capriati and Lindsay Davenport. Somewhere around 1998 I noticed this energetic American woman on the scene: her name was Venus Williams. And soon after, I noticed her sister, Serena.

At this time Agassi and Sampras were slumping a little and so I started having more fun watching women's tennis. However, somewhere along the way, Venus and Serena developed attitudes I didn't like and while Agassi is still chugging along, Sampras has retired. Occasionally I will catch a match, but tennis just isn't as fun for me anymore.

However, today I happened to catch a little bit of the Quarter-final match at the French Open between Capriati and S. Williams. Capriati has really managed to turn her career around in recent years and because I used to watch her when she first turned pro, I still like her. Coupled with the fact that I am not as fond of the Williams Sisters as I used to be, I was very happy to see Capriati make it to the Semis. Good Luck Jennifer. Here's to a win at the 2004 French Open!

The Death of the Johnny Jump-ups

As my regular readers know, I have been trying to grow Johnny Jump-ups for the last 2½ months. Overall, they have done very well and I am proud to say that I have not killed them.

However...

I noticed about a week ago that one of the four plants was shorter than the other three and upon closer investigation found that the leaves were getting scraggly and beginning to yellow. A little sad at the thought I was losing one of my plants, I went out and did a little research. I learned that Johnny Jump-ups are cool weather flowers. This means when the weather heats up, the flowers naturally begin to wilt and by July they have finished their growing season.

Being that is June, I guess it is natural that they should begin to fade away. However, according to my mother, who is a real gardener, even if they finish blooming now they may come back in the fall.

In general, I'm very pleased with the success I have had with my Johnny Jump-ups this spring. Plus, my geraniums are starting to look really good. I may not yet have a green thumb, but perhaps it is not as black as I had thought...

Katzenzungen

In the spirit of the German Products with funny names I pointed out a while back, here is a tasty Austrian product (chocolate) with a funny name:

Katzenzungen = Cat Tounges:

He Loves Me...

Today A. and I went for a walk and I took pictures of the different wildflowers I saw. Among them were these wild daisies. Upon doing the traditonal "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not," with one I discovered that... "He Loves Me!"

Peas in a Pod

A while back I posted a picture of one of my cats, Mouse.

Today I am posting a picutre of my other two: Scooter and Harley.

I would love to post one of all three of them together, but since Mouse is a little bit intolerant of the other two, photographing them all together doesn't happen very often.

Marriage Quarks

What is it about a marriage that suddenly makes one partner helpless in the eyes of the other when they aren't together?

Both A. and I were single long before we became a couple, and we were both able to successfully care for ourselves. In other words, A. fed himself, did his own laundry, etc., etc. long before I entered the picture and for me it was the same. However for some reason, we now both have the idea that this is something that was impossible before we met each other.

Last night, A. told me that he had to go on a little last-minute business trip today and most likely wouldn't be home for supper, so I was going to have to eat alone and probably order a pizza. Now, I don't have anything against ordering a pizza, but politely reminded him that I can fend for myself and that could mean ordering a pizza or perhaps eating a liter of ice cream for dinner... either way, I would not starve.

However, I'm not any better. When I know I won't be home for dinner I always make sure that he has leftovers to eat and that I tell him where the dishes are, which ones go in the microwave, which ones don't, and how long he should warm up said food.

Is it that we have become so dependent on each other that we have forgotten how to function alone? Or is it that we care so deeply about one another that we want to believe that without the other we can not function? I guess it is just one of those mysterious quarks of marriage…

Dirty Thoughts

Spring is my favorite time of the year and after living away from Iowa for about 10 years, the time that I notice I miss home the most. Today, when I looked out my bedroom window and the saw the rocky field with brown dirt behind our apartment building, I suddenly became very nostalgic for a freshly plowed black corn field.

I spent about half of my childhood (from 12-18) growing up on an acreage. I come from “Big Farm County” where farms of thousands of acres are not unheard of. My grandpa was a farmer until he retired. But farmers never really retire. During his retirement, he bought 10 acres of land with an old farmhouse and while my family lived in the farmhouse, my grandpa planted corn, soybeans, alfalfa, or raised about 10 cattle on those 10 acres until he died as his “retirement hobby.” Today my dad, who is a police officer, still lives on that plot of land and grows alfalfa and makes hay as his hobby.

Even though I may miss it now, I was never a farm girl. I hated it when we moved from “town” (ca. 1800 people) eight miles south of town to the “country.” Even so, coming from Iowa, I can’t help but know a little bit about farming and the state which produces the most corn in the United States also has some of the most fertile top soil in the world.

Growing up, I never thought too much about the dirt in Iowa. It wasn’t until I had lived in Mississippi and experienced the red clay that may grow exquisite cotton, but stains your clothes like you wouldn’t believe that I truly began to appreciate Iowa dirt. In case you have never visited the Midwest or think all dirt is the same, let me tell you Iowa dirt is something special. It is black, loose, and stone-free. If you look into a bag of potting soil, you can get a good idea of what Iowa soil looks and smells like. It smells best after a spring rain and when I was a little girl it made the best mud-pies. It is the kind of dirt that you like to run your fingers through and when it is mud, the kind you like to squish your toes in.

My mom used to work in a “dime store” and according to family legend once some visitors from the South came into the store and wanted to know where they could buy some Iowa dirt to take home as a souvenir, only to be told that she would be happy to dig a bag of dirt out of the backyard and give them their souvenir for free!

Unfortunately, much Iowa top soil is washed down the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers every year and while farming is the life-blood of the land, it also abuses the land. However, today many Iowa farmers are conscientious of this and go to great effort to preserve the land for following generations.

For me, Iowa dirt is, and will always be, the only dirt in the world that can make me feel free and clean.

Burger King Embarrassment

Picture it: Friday, 11:30 a.m., Munich Hauptbahnhof, Burger King

I was scheduled to meet someone outside Burger King at 11:30 a.m., but was a few minutes early so I decided to pop into the fast food joint and grab a Coke.

After nervously standing in line (I was afraid I might miss the person I was meeting) for what seemed like an Eternity, but in actuality was probably only a couple of minutes, I reached the counter and placed my order: a small Coke with ice - total 99¢. As the Burger King chick sat my Coke in front of me and told me the price, I looked in my wallet and lo and behold I only had a 20 cent Euro coin and a couple of 5, 2, and 1¢ coins. In total, about 38¢. I checked the cash pocket and it was empty. Suddenly I remembered that I had put my cash in my coat pocket (but not the one I was wearing) the day before.

My reaction was, spoken aloud and in English, "Shit! I don't have any money." Then remembering I was in Germany, "Tut mir Leid, ich habe kein Geld." (Sorry, I have no money.) Without so much as a second glance a my Coke with ice, I high-tailed it outta there.