Friday March 24th, 2017

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the rat.

Rainy day made for a slower day at the bakery. 15 loaves, 5 croissants, 5 cinnamon buns, 5 baguettes, 5 ciabatta loaves, and a focaccia into the freezer (man, that's a lot of fives... surprised I didn't notice that before now).

Ah well, hopefully Saturday and sunshine make for better business.

Mine:

"Hey, what are the cops doing here?"

"Aw, man - we haven't even done anything yet!"

"You mean we haven't done anything, nor will we be doing anything."

"Right, yeah... but as soon as they get bored and leave it looks like we've got a rat to take care of."

Thursday March 23rd, 2017

The exercise:

Write about something that was: stolen.

Only had two loaves left at end of day, along with a few butter tarts and some macaroons. Toss in some warm weather and sunshine and you've got a pretty good day, I reckon.

Miles is doing okay. At least he isn't coughing too much, which is when the laryngitis is most noticeable. But Kat is currently not feeling all that great as well (hopefully just a cold and nothing more).

Because of course.

Mine:

A simple glance, an innocent look. That's all it took for you to steal my heart, as though my life were some tawdry romance book. But it's true - my heart raced, my knees shook. And just like that, I fell in love with a crook.

*   *   *

Walking to a meeting at work, I hear you call. My name, on your lips... a combination that always enthralls. You say I am your doll as my passing coworkers press us against the wall. Tumbling, tumbling, I continue to fall. A stolen moment in the hall.

*   *   *

This empty bedroom is hidden beneath blankets of dust. It is silent here, not even an echo of our former lust. I try to forget you but it seems like I must keep watching these mental movies of us. A bond broken by mistrust and too many things not discussed. Ten years lost, the prime of my life taken from me, and I am standing here now and I just... I just... cannot adjust.

Wednesday March 22nd, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the mute.

Bakery was fairly slow for most of the day. Did have a lady buy 13 loaves (for herself and some friends, I believe) late afternoon, so that helped. Plus Shannon did want 15 loaves in the freezer for a restaurant order, so it wasn't a problem, really.

Just was a lot of bread to deal with at end of day.

Miles came down with a nasty sounding cough yesterday, so Kat took him to the doctor this afternoon. I guess he's got laryngitis, but it's not too severe.

Not much worse sounding than an infant with a hoarse throat though.

Mine:

Little Ricky never spoke a word to nobody, as best anybody could tell. That don't mean he didn't communicate though. He had his ways, you know?

Like, if he was wearing one of his red shirts? You best keep your distance, man. He had the fire in him them days. And that temper of his was not something you wanted to mess with. Burning, burning hot, man.

And if he was wearing his black hat? He was sad about something, that's for sure. No way to know what, of course, but I guess the details didn't matter much. I mean, if he wanted somebody to know what was bringing him down he'd have told 'em, right? But he never did, so...

And then there were the times he wouldn't shave for weeks. Months, even. That was trickier business, that's for sure. Because you wouldn't even realize something was up, right? Not until the hair on his cheeks got thick enough for you to see it.

Poor Ricky had hair as yellow as sunshine, so it took a while for it to show.

Anyway. That facial hair was a sure sign that something was troubling him. Driving him to distraction. Keeping him up at night. That boy done got obsessed when certain thoughts or ideas or people (pray that it wasn't you, man) got stuck in his head.

You know, for a kid that never said nothing, Little Ricky sure had a lot to say...

Tuesday March 21st, 2017

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: pride.

Dealt with a migraine for most of the day, so that made things... unpleasant. The rain didn't help much either.

Finally got out of the house mid-afternoon to take the boys for a walk around the farm. That helped everyone, I think, and it was a reasonable temperature despite the clouds. Plus the rain was kind enough to ease off for a while.

Back to the bakery tomorrow. Hopefully without too much of a migraine hangover.

Mine:

It has been said that
pride goeth before the fall.
So... I guess we wait?

*     *     *

She is overly
fond, I think, of her massive
poodle collection

Monday March 20th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about something that is: nigh.

Spent the morning with the boys and actually managed to get a few errands done. With StrongStart off the options menu for the duration of spring break, I'm hoping for warmer weather to allow for more outdoor time.

We ended up at the park for maybe half an hour just before lunch, but the wind made me feel like I was pushing it. The boys didn't seem to mind though.

Mine:

Currently things are not
Happening the way that I would like.
Although it may be true that
Nothing comes easy and
Getting used to new things is hard,
Everything must evolve.

Sunday March 19th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: signs of life.

Apologies for the excessively late posting. Spent the day pruning blackberry bushes and being outside as much as possible in order to enjoy the warmer weather.

Apparently that tuckered me right out.

Mine:

Scorched and smoking black earth
Has a dark story to tell:
They must have made their homes
From things which burn very well...

You're looking for signs of life
In this bleak, miserable hell?
Well, my friend, I'm afraid that
You'll find yourself S.O.L.

Saturday March 18th, 2017

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about something that has been: uprooted.

Crazy busy morning at the bakery. Ended up closing about an hour early, as all I had left was one piece of carrot cake and one ciabatta loaf.

Still took me another hour to get out of there, as I'd pretty much done zero cleaning at that point.

Looking forward to a day off with family tomorrow.

Mine:

Excavator digs, lifts, tears;
Apple tree roots reach for the sky -
Making way for fine wine grapevines,
As today's taste buds have passed them by