D SAPS DT C CINQ MOC

I learned most of what I know about English grammar and style in 9th Grade, when I was fourteen years old. My English teacher at Chanel High School was the Rev. Gerard Hageman, S.M. In the first week of classes, he handed out a single-sided mimeographed sheet on yellow paper entitled “Random Rules of Grammar and Style.”

Thereafter, in the frequent themes we wrote for class, there were only two possible grades: 100% or 0%, the latter if we violated any of the rules on the infamous yellow sheet. Since at our high school, all grades were stated as percentages, any mistakes were disastrous to our grade point average. That first semester, I got an 89%—and that was the high grade in our class.

In this blog post, I discuss the first five lines on the yellow sheet, which opened with a strange line that went:

D SAPS DT C CINQ MOC

The line was a mnemonic of sorts. The letters stood for Direct Address (D), Salutation (S), Appositives (A), Parentheticals (P), Series (S), Dates (D), Titles After Names (T), Compound Sentences (C), Contrasting Ideas (C), Introductory Adverbial Clauses (I), Non-Restrictives (N), Direct Quotations (Q), Mild Interjections (M), Omitted Words (O), and Common Sense (C). Late in the game, Father Hageman also included City and State, but it didn’t fit the mnemonic. Maybe that’s why he put it in parentheses.

An appositive is a noun, pronoun, or phrase placed next to another noun, pronoun, or phrase to rename, identify, or explain it. For example: Jack, a real chess whiz, beat me in three moves.

A parenthetical is very much like an appositive. The same example above applies.

Here is an example of an introductory adverbial clause: As expected, Tyler won the race handily.

As for non-restrictives, that refers to clauses which give additional information that is not vital to one’sunderstanding of the sentences. For example: Cleveland, which is situated on the shores of Lake Erie, used to be the seventh largest city in the country.

Casa de Hopes-You-Die

Villahermosa and the Grijalva River

It was December 1979. My brother and I had just landed in Villahermosa in the State of Tabasco. It was a humid tropical evening, and the Grijalva River was in flood. At one point, I saw the bodies of cattle that were drifting by in the rushing current. I had never before experienced such humidity.

Villahermosa—“Beautiful City”—was anything but. It was a city located in the middle of an extensive swamp.

I had planned a trip that roughly followed Graham Greene’s itinerary in Journey Without Maps, starting in Villahermosa and heading over the Sierra Madre to San Cristóbal de las Casas and thereafter to Oaxaca and back to Mexico City.

Only I hadn’t planned for Villahermosa. At a local eatery, my brother ordered shrimps that were delivered to the table partially coated in tar. We didn’t have a hotel. It didn’t take us long to discover that all the hotel rooms were block-booked by Petróleos Mexicanos (Pemex), as we were near the Cactus oilfields of Tabasco.

All we could find was a small Casa de Hospedaje (guest house) where we spent a restless night. My bed had a lateral groove in the middle, whereas Dan’s bed had a vertical groove down the middle. And the beds felt wet with the humidity. We were near the cathedral, where the bells chimed every quarter of an hour. That was not the worst of it: There were chickens on the roof, and the rooster among them crowed every few minutes through the night.

When we woke, we found that the shower head was directly over the toilet, which we had to straddle to wash ourselves off.

Dan summarized the experience by referring to the place as the Casa de Hopes-You-Die.

Januarius 2026

Me in My Library in 2004

As in previous years, I have decided during this month of January 2026 to read books only by authors I have not previously read. Yesterday, I started with a bang with Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer-Prize-winning The Underground Railroad.

I have code-named this annual project Januarius. If you look at the early January entries on my blog site, you will find numerous references to Januarius. I like the name because it suggests the Roman god Janus as well as the month of January.

Next on my list is a book edited by Keath Fraser entitled Worst Journeys: The Picador Book of Travel. It contains selections from fifty-five authors on the subject of bad trips, including bad flights, bad roads, war, and other events that can wreck the best-planned journey. My intention is to discover new authors of travel books, travel being one of my favorite book categories. I hope to incorporate at least a couple of my finds in books I read later this month.

Tentatively planned are reads from Pierre de Marivaux, Apuleius, Ariel Dorfman, Péter Nádas, Louisa May Alcott, an obscure biography of the Emperor Tiberius (I forget the name of the author), and Valeria Luiselli. Typically, I finish between twelve and sixteen books in one month. (The joys of being retired.)

At the end of the month, I will post a list of the “new” authors I have read and their books. Stay tuned to this spot for the latest developments.

“Bleak Shore”

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

I’m starting the New Year by quoting a poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay:

Sonnet IV-X

I shall go back again to the bleak shore
And build a little shanty on the sand
In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed shall escape my door
But by a yard or two; and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the hand.
I shall be gone to what I understand,
And happier than I ever was before.
The love that stood a moment in your eyes,
The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung.
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was young.

I know it’s sad, but it is at the same time beautiful.