The Art of Being a Gibson

( Below is an essay written by Grandpa Gibson. I have typed it exactly how he wrote it, wrong spellings and all, and have included a scanned version.) One Decade Hence         Ten years from now, will we have changed, what about our homes, our town, our country, the world. Will peace or chaos and confusion reign? To most people as to me this remains a huge question mark, a riddle which only time will solve. Bug straightening my crystal ball I shall endeavor to, by exploring the far reaches of my imagination, construe this town and its people in ten years. I shall risk any liable suite (by the chamber of commerce) that I might suffer because of my statements for the sake of my english theme average, which incidently will probably be put to the dogs merely because of my feeble attempts in it's behalf.          But enough of this filly fallying around, let us get down to business.          The huge six engined trans...

Hey guys, it's Emma. You're probably wondering why I made this blog because I haven't really explained that to you yet. So here I am, explaining it. I am currently taking a class called "Writing Professional Context (online)." Basically, it's a class about business writing. Sounding professional, how to communicate ideas efficiently, what type of format is best for certain situations, things like that. For our final, we were assigned to do a Community Partner Project. It is a service project where we do a writing task for someone who needs it. Some of the ideas were writing a letter for an elderly person and creating a proposal for an idea. I wanted to do something unique and something that could benefit my family (you guys). But the real question was, what could I do? My inspiration came after reading one of grandma's emails. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember thinking to myself, "I wish there was an easier way for us to tell each...

( Below is an essay written by Grandpa Gibson. I have typed it exactly how he wrote it, wrong spellings and all, and have included a scanned version.) Operation Tonsils          Now there was three of us me, my older sister, and my older brother otherwise known as the "little stinker" because you see he had an enviable reputation of devilery behind him.          I was 7, my brother 9, and my sister was 10, the day they trundled us all into our cooperating neighbors '27 chev on our way to have our tonsils out.          Mother had versed us well on our manners while at the doctors office but my brother, throughout her instructions, had persisted in chasing the harrassed cat around the room, although I'm sure it wouldn't have made much of an impression on him anyway. But here we were at the doctor's office. We had traversed the inevitable long flight of stairs with a maximum of trouble, for my brother had began to r...