A Different Monday Blog

Since I had a busy weekend, and now have visitors,  I will not be online much the next few days, so I thought I would schedule something interesting to pop up today for your reading pleasure

On Facebook and other social media sites, we chuckle when we see spelling and grammar mistakes that often are not done on purpose for the comedic effect. The folks who started Grammarly.com do more than chuckle at mistakes and offer a spell and grammar check that goes beyond what SpellCheck does. They also have a large following on Facebook where you can find cute pictures as well as lovely inspirational memes.

This is not one of theirs. These pansies graced my front porch earlier this spring.


On the Grammarly blog they just did a neat Infographic that has a lot of facts about people who obsess, or not, about grammar and spelling. Check it out and maybe you will find a spot where you fit.

UPDATE- 7-17-2017  I just received a note from the folks at Grammarly.com that Google has told them that links such as mine here to their site have to be removed. It has something to do with new guidelines for Webmasters. I am trying to figure out if that means we can no longer be offering readers a quick link to some more helpful information. If so, that really stinks.

And now I will leave you with another excerpt from my WIP:

Evelyn Gundrum sat in the shade of the sweeping elm, digging in the sandy dirt with a tarnished silver spoon Miz Beatrice had given her to play with. She also had a blue plastic bowl. It was cracked, but still held dirt if she balanced it carefully. When she was allowed to go outside, Evelyn liked to play in the sand near the front porch, methodically filling the bowl, dumping it out, then filling it again. Her sister, Viola, thought that was silly. She preferred to stay on the porch with her dolls, closer to Miz Beatrice, who sat on the porch swing, slowly pushing it back and forth with one toe on the faded wood planking.

Only four years old, Evelyn didn’t remember why they were living with Miz Beatrice or why they didn’t call her mother. She had vague recollections of living somewhere else before, but she got confused easily and Viola had to frequently explain why they were supposed to call this lady Miz Beatrice. Wasn’t she their mother? “No,” Viola had said. “Our mother brought us here months ago. Beatrice is a friend.”

“Why did Mother give us to Miz Beatrice?”

“I already told you.”

“Tell me again.”

Viola sighed. “Okay. But this is the last time. Promise you won’t ask again.”

“What if I forget?”

“Then you forget. I’m tired of telling you. After Daddy left, Mother went to Detroit with a man named, John.”

“Why did Daddy leave?”

“I don’t know. Now hush so I can tell you the rest. Mother was going to come and take us to Detroit, too, but something happened. So she couldn’t. So she wants us to live with Miz Beatrice.”

“Will we live here forever?”

“I don’t know.”

That conversation had taken place weeks ago, and Viola had said she didn’t want to talk about their mother anymore. So this was the last time Evelyn should ask any questions about her. Viola told Evelyn to just be happy they had a home and food to eat.

Today, Evelyn looked at Miz Beatrice slumped on the porch swing and noticed she had gone to sleep. Lately she’d taken to sleeping frequently during the day. That was odd. Only babies took naps. Right? Miz Beatrice didn’t eat much at dinner or supper anymore either. Viola thought maybe they were running out of food. She always worried that they would run out of food. But Evelyn had a feeling something wasn’t right inside Miz Beatrice. Once she had walked past the open bathroom door and saw Miss Beatrice hunched over the sink. She was coughing hard, holding a rumpled handkerchief over her mouth, and Evelyn was sure she saw blood splatters on the white handkerchief before Miz Beatrice noticed her and closed the door.  Evelyn didn’t know what the blood might mean, but she did know it was probably not right that it was on the handkerchief. The fact that it was scared Evelyn so much she didn’t say a word about it, not even to her sister.

Maybe she should, though. If Miz Beatrice was sick, Viola should know.

Evelyn glanced at her sister on the porch. Maybe she could tell her now. It looked like Miz Beatrice was good and asleep. She stood, but then heard a car stop in front of the house, so she looked over to see a woman get out of a big gray car. The woman wore a navy blue dress with white ruffles at the top, white gloves and a hat that covered most of her head. When she started walking toward the house, the dress flared around her legs, and Evelyn thought she was the prettiest woman she had ever seen.

Suddenly, Viola jumped up, raced down the four steps to the porch and launched herself at the woman. “Mother.”

Mother? Evelyn stood. This lady was their mother? She didn’t know if she should run to hug her, too, but then Beatrice called out. “Regina. I’m so glad you came.”

Evelyn watched Miz Beatrice slowly rise from the swing and walk to meet the lady at the steps to the porch. The two women hugged and Viola ran over and tugged at

Evelyn. “Come on. Say hello to Mother.”

Evelyn took a few steps closer. “Hello.” The word was barely a whisper.
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