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they don't really teach cursive in school anymore. not yet, anyway. she was practicing here. i love witnessing and helping with all of this good stuff.
Please view in large or original size to see the tiny mite on the top of the mushroom.
Pronunciation: \ˈmi-nəs-ˌkyül also mi-ˈnəs-\
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Latin minusculus rather small, diminutive of minor smaller
Date: 1701
1: a lowercase letter2 a: one of several ancient and medieval writing styles developed from cursive and having simplified and small forms b: a letter in this style
Those were the days they called handwriting "penmanship". They're talking about abandoning teaching cursive. No way!
1) the kind of fancy script kids learn in France 2) bookprint, that they can also read 3) my handwriting, apparently impossible to decode
along with the Green 'W', turning the McDonald's 'M' on its side was the beginning of this series. 1980KR
Inspired by the report that the internet/computers is killing cursive handwriting. I submit a sample of mine. Lowercase isn't too bad, Upper Case looks like a 3rd grader did it. I know some of the Upper Case letters are wrong too. Does anyone remember how to make a Cursive Capital Q?
Here's the article: news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090919/ap_on_re_us/us_cursive_angst
... CONTINUED
Second part (for Bethany)
© 2007 The Gospel of Father Joe
"Then if you look at this energy field and see God the way some of the physicists do — as pure light and total understanding — you can see that virtue has its own reward. Virtue has its own reward. Buddhism says this. Christianity says it too. This isn't about believing or not believing. You don't need to. You can test this stuff. If you work out you feel better; your mind works better, your body works better, you're in a better mood. If someone needs your help and you volunteer it, you might be tired when the day is done, but you feel good. It felt right. It was the right thing to do. Your spirit is lifted."
It's about living selflessly rather than selfishly?
"Yes, that, but it's a lot more than just that. It's not like mathematics: if I do twenty-seven good things and only twenty-one bad things I'll get what I want or my prayers will be answered or I can make merit and that will be enough. It's not about checks and balances, though of course that is part of it. It's about living. It's your perspective, it's about loving and forgiving and living in this great energy created by Christ."
He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with Bangkok's morning humidity.
"If you are filled with God every second, every heartbeat, every breath, then you are totally filled with Christ, and everything you do then is tied up with Christ. If God is in your actions, in your motions, in your thinking, God is life."
So do you believe?
For as long as I could remember I'd remained quiet during the Apostles' Creed in churches I visited or attended. A few nights earlier at the Holy Redeemer Church in Bangkok I hadn't said a word of it, didn't lip sync or cover my mouth either. I was grateful Father Joe wasn't watching me. I listen silently while congregations recite a declaration of faith that sounds to me too much like bubble, bubble, toil and trouble: "I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead; on the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven, sits at the right hand of God, the Father almighty; and he will come to judge the living and the dead.…"
I don't join the chorus because of the absolute authority it proclaims, but I'm also leery of the subtle peer pressure to go along, get along, play along. I didn't join a college fraternity for those reasons. I don't vote along party lines. And I stubbornly decline to recite Christian incantations just because a few well-dressed faithful glance curiously at the tight-lipped guy who didn't join the circle at the cauldron. According to my baby book and Mom's neat cursive, I began questioning this Jeeeezuz stuff pretty early in life. On a brittle yellow page, it reads, "About age 4 or 5 Greg asked his first unanswerable question. 'If God made everything then who made God?'"
Just because two, three years later I would be dipped backward into the chest-high Baptismal of my religious tribe doesn't mean I walk lockstep with it. On May 11, 1969 —roughly two months before Apollo 11 would take one giant leap for mankind and twenty-eight years to the day before the birth of my first child — the Rev. Andrew E. Spence Jr., politely covered my mouth and nose with a soft white hanky to keep me from choking on First Baptist tap water. The tall, good-looking reverend pulled me up as wet as if I'd dove into South Holston Lake, then pronounced me saved for Christ, even though at age seven I'd not done anything more grievous than shoot out a neighbor's driveway lamp with my older brother's Daisy BB rifle. And that particular error of my ways had felt thoroughly righteous, seeing as the gentleman residing behind us had thrice phoned the police on our howling beagle, Charlie Brown. Charlie was the best friend I'd sit with for long stretches while pondering matters of life, so says that cursive of my early history. The city made us give Charlie away. The bead I drew on that neighbor's lamp was judgment not sin.
My sister was baptized on the same Mother's Day as I, and afterward our deacon dad took us to down the road to Bassett's Dairy. For chocolate malts. Kept his promise.
So you see, Jesus and I don't have any problems.
Jeeeezuz, however. I've long had my doubts.***
***["Jeeeezuz" is used throughout the book as Father Joe's distaste of fundamentalist beliefs]