Who needs both yer eyes
Happy Halloween! To celebrate, write something that takes place in: Candyland.
Spent a good portion of the day getting the garden ready for winter. We need to plow it all in and plant our cover crops, but first we need to get everything harvested and cleaned up. Yesterday we hauled out all the potatoes and now I'm working on getting the (far too many) tomato stakes out. Hopefully that'll get finished tomorrow.
Oh, pirate picture. Right. Here you go:
I made the label on the bottle in Word. In case you can't read it all, it says:
X X X
Who needs both yer eyes
when yer blind drunk?
I'm a classy guy.
There are no veggies to be found,
Nothing green comes out of the ground,
All flavours come from metal cans,
In sugary sweet Candyland.
All its citizens are toothless,
For the dentists are quite ruthless;
Nutritional labels are banned,
In this magical Candyland.
The worries of old age are gone,
Swept off by rivers of bonbons;
Soon these castles will turn to sand,And no one cares in Candyland.
Let's go with: the costume party.
Kat and I had a lot of fun at the one we attended last night. There were a lot of cool costumes; I wish I'd brought my camera. I'll get Kat to take a picture of me in my pirate outfit tomorrow, since I think I'll get dressed up to hand out candy to the neighborhood kids.
The punch must have been spiked.
It seemed terribly unlikely, but that was the only explanation Jenny could come up with for having forgotten what costume Erica was wearing. They'd only arrived an hour ago and Jenny couldn't spot her anywhere.
A pirate? No. A pimp? Inappropriate. The Grim Reaper? Too morbid.
After a long sigh and another sip of punch, Jenny made her decision. She'd just have to grab one of the kids at random when the party reached its peak and hope for the best when she sobered up the next morning.
With a little luck she'd discover that she'd chosen her daughter.
Give me a four line poem written by a pirate.
Gotta run, going to be late for the party.
Yes, I'm going as a pirate.
I be not a poet, yar,
But I shall do me best.
I'll miss me First Mate, yar,And in peace may he rest.
Four lines of prose about: expectations.
Pretty easy harvest this morning, as I only grabbed a couple of crates of potatoes out of the garden. Everything else - apples, squash, even a few peppers - were already ready and waiting to go into the back of the truck. Well, perhaps 'ready' is too strong a word, as it took a lot of rearranging and convincing to get it all in there.
Anyway, the truck is crammed full of goodies. Hopefully we don't have to bring very much of it back after the market.
Oh! Almost forgot. Kat and I found out late this afternoon that we'll both be working at the polls on election day. Quite pleased about that.
"You look disappointed."
I look up from the classified ad at the back of the local paper and stare at the apartment it's meant to represent. I guess there is a mountain view, if you count the crayon drawing of the Alps (I'm being generous - it could just as easily be a teepee or a seagull) taped to the window.
"Well, I guess when I read fireplace I wasn't expecting to find a barrel fire in the living room."
Let's go with: the queen.
Had a quiet day around these parts. Tomorrow we prepare for our final market of the season; have to admit I'm really looking forward to it. So far the forecast is looking pretty reasonable for Saturday, so I'm just hoping it stays that way.
She sat inside, warmed by the roaring fire in the hearth, and glared at the Grand Balcony. The wind swept, slick with pounding rain, miserable Grand Balcony. Her chief advisor lurked out of sight but not, unfortunately, out of mind. She was quite certain he was prepared to drag her out there if she didn't go willingly.
Another heavy sigh, one more longing look at the fire, and she rose gracefully to her full height. After briefly considering lighting the hem of her gown on fire for warmth, she made her way outside. Her chief advisor's sigh of relief could be heard throughout the castle.
"Good afternoon, my lovely subjects," she called down to the gathered bedraggled masses. They looked up in eager anticipation. "Terribly sorry to keep you waiting since dawn, but I was hoping the sun would find the strength to drive these clouds away."
She paused for a moment, trying to discover which one of her treasured subjects was allowing his or her teeth to chatter so loudly while she was speaking. But there were so many of them, and they all looked the same, really, and the rain crashing down all around her made it far too difficult. She would let it pass then, this one time.
"Obviously it has not," she continued on, already turning back toward the crackling fire, "so I shall reschedule my address until tomorrow morning. See you then!"
Since I turned 33 today, let's go with: three.
Had a lovely day full of good food and many well wishes from friends and family. And I do believe I found my Halloween costume.
Nothing too original, but it did make me giggle when I first saw myself in the bathroom mirror, so I suspect I might share a picture with you guys at some point.
When I was backpacking around Europe, I took a three week detour to Ireland after spending Christmas with family in Bristol. It wasn't part of the original plan but I'm extremely glad I made it over there and I would love to go back some day.
Anyway. I was staying at a small hostel on the west coast for a few days. It was, like almost every other place I stayed, extremely friendly and welcoming and it didn't take long to get to know the other guests.
One rainy evening (which, believe it or not, was actually a rarity during my time there - yes, even in January!) I was playing cards with a couple of fellow travelers. One of them happened to be an Irishman from another area of that beautiful country and he'd had me in stitches all evening. But I remember one particular incident with great clarity, even though almost eleven years have slipped past now.
I forget what game we were playing, but at some point we all had to show our cards. During one of these occasions the Irishman had three different suits of threes in his hand. With a giant grin, and a particularly heavy accent, he tossed them on the table and declared, "I'm a forest! Tree trees!"
It took me a moment, but once I got it I nearly fell off my chair laughing.
Two haiku about: youth.
Spent some time chopping wood this afternoon as it's getting pretty frosty at night. I do enjoy the smell of freshly chopped wood.
Oh, hey. Want to see some pretty fall colours? Here you go:
Those are the trees directly behind Kat's parents house. Glad I managed to capture them before the wind tore all their leaves off.
The scars of my youth
have healed, but I will never
forget their lessons
* * *
on long ago days and nightswhile the lights grow dim
The word of the moment is: obsessed.
Mostly because I'm trying to write a cover letter and, as is my usual tendency, I'm obsessing over almost every single word. Lord, I hate doing these things.
So we finally set aside the squash we plan on eating ourselves this winter and... yeah, safe to say there are plenty left to sell. Which is good! Now people just have to buy them and we're all set.
Every word must be right.
Perfect, nothing less.
That doesn't fit at all.
What a bloody mess.
Start over, try again.
On second thought, no.
Terrible, what complete
What... I just don't know.
Cross it out, all of it.
I should really quit.
But I'm too damned stubborn.
Dumb?Yeah, but I'll get it.
Today we write about: immortality.
Had a very full day here. This morning we drove up to Summerland (about 15 minutes north of Penticton) to pick up our meat order for the winter - we're splitting a side of beef with Kat's parents and maybe one other couple as well. Our freezer is very, very full now.
Then this evening we had our farming friends over for dinner, which was a lot of fun as usual. They've invited us to a Halloween party by their place next weekend which we're really looking forward to - me in particular, as I haven't dressed up for years. No idea what I'm going as, but I'll figure something out.
Scientists have worked long and hard for this moment. They've skipped meals, neglected families, forgotten friends, denied their bodies food and sleep. All for this, so that their names will be in every history book from this day forward.
So they believe, anyway.
But today is merely the first day of the rest of their limited lives, so let's not shatter their dreams so soon. We'll allow them a little time to savour this apparent victory, shall we?
Yes, I think so. Besides, it would be terribly unfortunate should we appear ungrateful. Certainly they will make us out to be the bad guys once the dust eventually settles, so let's not give them any additional ammunition.
After all, those poor saps are our creators, our Gods in lab coats. And if we're going to live forever, I think we'd all rather we didn't have to listen to those who survive them natter on and on at us for all eternity.
A four line poem about: guessing.
Had a bit of a rainy market this morning, but people still turned up in reasonable numbers so we did pretty well for this time of year.
Unfortunately our scale ran out of batteries with just over an hour left before closing, so I spent the remaining time guessing weights and doing my best not to rip people off (and probably ripping us off by going too low on the prices in the process).
Ah well, we'll have it recharged for next week.
Examining my poor leg,
I'm sure it's a clean break;
Never again will I tryTo guess a lady's weight
Four lines of prose about: the impact.
Because Kat and I watched No Impact Man tonight. It's impressive what can be accomplished when you set your mind to it.
The penultimate market of the season is tomorrow morning. Hopefully the rain they're calling for doesn't materialize.
It was impossible not to feel the impact of his presence the moment he walked into a room. Heads turned, conversations crumbled to dust, spines straightened. You could set your watch by the response.
Yet somehow he never saw it for himself.
Today's writing takes place at: the zoo.
Came across a couple job ads today that I'll be putting applications in for - one for short term work helping out with the municipal elections next month, the other for something a bit more long term. I'll let you know how things turn out.
Monkey, monkey, behind bars,
Do you wonder where you are?
Do you miss your family?
Do you think the fault's with me?
Lion, lion, in your cage,
They trapped you but not your rage.
I can feel it standing here;
Though I'm safe, I quake from fear.
Viper, viper, behind glass,
You calmly watch time go past;
But your forked tongue hungers still,
This place cannot break your will.
Humans, humans, you're not free,
You're all prisoners, just like me!
One day you will finally see -'til then, live your fantasy.
Write something which takes place at: the truck stop.
We've got the fireplace going for the first time this fall. It's quite cozy and warm in here at the moment.
I sit staring out the dusty window at the parking lot, the laminated menu resting on the table before me. Beneath a cloudless sky are two fully loaded logging trucks, three rigs without their trailers, eight pickups, and my four door sedan.
I should've parked around back.
What am I doing out here? I should be safe behind my desk on the tenth floor of the Bellick Building, reading reports and firing failures.
Why my brother moved to this God forsaken wilderness I'll never even begin to understand. He could've at least had the decency to hold his funeral in the city.
"What'll ya have, honey?"
The waitress is wearing more makeup in one go than Beth puts on over the course of an entire week. It's impressive, in a freak show kind of way.
"Just a salad and a diet coke."
"Oh." Her pen hovers over her pad while confusion clouds her eyes. "You want fries with that?"
"Saving room for dessert, huh? Smart move, honey, cuz our pies are just out of this world."
This trip is going to be the death of me.
Two haiku about: allergies.
After tweaking a muscle this morning I thought it would be a good idea to take the rest of the day to rest. I'm glad I did. I even got some writing done over on Protagonize on a story I'd left hanging for far too long.
That means it's your turn again, Greg :)
Red eyes, runny nose -
all the signs are here, my dear.
Your love makes me sick.
* * *
Dinner at sea is
a bad time to discovershellfish allergies
Today's theme is: the emergency.
Another beautiful fall day. Still no frost in the garden. Fingers crossed for a good restaurant order this week.
"Timothy, call the doctor at once!"
"What is it this time, my darling? Not another split end, I hope."
"No, it's far, far worse this time. I cannot stand to even look at it!"
"Oh you poor little thing, what terrible fate has befallen you now?"
"I've... I've... broke a nail!"
"Stay strong, love - I shall drive you to emergency myself!"
Let's go with: the bargain.
T'was a beautiful fall day here, so Kat and I went for a bike ride this morning that was highly enjoyable. In the afternoon I helped Kat's parents pick apples while she made cookies and then roasted a chicken for dinner. I'd say that was a pretty good bargain.
As soon as he laid eyes on his father, Jason knew he'd made a huge mistake. While he berated himself in teeth-grinding silence, they came together for a brief, awkward hug before returning to a more comfortable distance.
"Boy, I'm really looking forward to this dinner," his dad said. "I hear they do an absolutely amazing prime rib here."
"The best in the city," Jason replied without enthusiasm. "Probably in America, for that matter."
"And you're sure you can afford it? I don't want you to bankrupt yourself just to treat your old man to a nice meal on his birthday."
"Don't worry about it. Work is going well and, more importantly, you're worth it. So just enjoy yourself tonight, okay?"
"Damned right I'm worth it!" Jason's father laughed too loudly and slapped his son on the shoulder. Jason bit his tongue and managed to keep his reply within the confines of his skull.
You also deserve better than that shirt you're wearing - which you obviously found in the bargain bin.
A four line poem about: the lunatic.
Didn't sell a whole lot of apples at the market this morning, which was quite unusual. Thankfully we did sell most of our veggies so we didn't do too badly, but it was definitely a strange market. Oh well, just two left to go now.
Oh, I owe you a picture of the squash haul. Here we go (minus the twenty pounds we'd just sold to the restaurant, the ones we'd set aside for this morning's market, and what we have in the basement for our own use in the next month or so):
He knows all the right things to say,
So hell-bent on winning my heart.
Although he seems normal to me,He's really just playing the part.
Four lines of prose about: purpose.
Not a lot of harvesting to do this morning, as we're bringing mostly apples and squash to the market tomorrow. We did manage to get some potatoes, a few pints of cherry tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, and a handful of corn. Pretty much every night now comes with the threat of frost, so I'd be surprised if we have any of that stuff still around for next week.
Third to last market of the year, here we come!
"This kind of defeats the purpose, don't you think?" I ask Nick in a tone weaker than I intended.
"That depends," he replies as he pauses in his work, "on what exactly you think the purpose is."
"It's a charity event," I mumble while staring at my shoe tops, "so the money is meant for the needy."
"I'm so glad you agree," Nick says with a wide smile as he returns to stuffing the money in his backpack, "because I really need to pay off my credit card bills."
I was inspired by something fellow Protagonize moderator Elorithryn said on my random CD prompt post over there: "Last lines are hard too you know."
So today's prompt is to take the first line of a random song and use it as the last line in your poetry or prose. The borrowed line in italics so we can all spot it easily, and the usual credit where it's due applies.
Kat and I planted our garlic for next year this morning. We were able to use some of the bulbs that came up this summer (we saved the rest for winter use), so we didn't need to order more seed. Hopefully we can do more of that as the years go on, as it certainly saved quite a bit of money.
Scared - The Tragically Hip
She is fearless. You can see it in the way she moves. No hesitation, no second guessing, no looking back. She seems convinced of her invincibility, her immortality.
I watch as she hugs and kisses her friends goodnight before heading for the door. Finishing my beer, I slap a ten on the bar and follow in her lavender scented wake. It's cold outside and the wind is picking up. For a moment I'm worried she'll decide to take a cab, but I shouldn't have bothered.
Why would she be afraid of winter's frigid touch? I bet she considers shivering a sign of weakness.
Her pink boots leave modest prints in the recently fallen snow. They're difficult to track at first, but soon she's traveling on quiet side streets whose sidewalks only bear the marks of bird feet. Not that I need her tracks in order to see where she's gone.
Why would I need to keep my distance when she never looks back?
At last she reaches her apartment building and fishes her keys out of her slender purse. As the door begins to close behind her I grab it and follow her inside. She presses the button for the elevator as I wait a few feet away. When it arrives we step in and she taps the number three before finally noticing my presence.
She's surprised but not frightened.
"I can make you scared," I tell her as I pull the knife out of my pocket. "If you want me to."
Write about: digging.
We had a quick but profitable pick this morning for the restaurant before sorting out our squash in the afternoon. I'll have to get some pictures of the haul tomorrow - it's quite impressive, if I may say so.
I watch Dad though the kitchen window as he works. The shovel in his hands is as worn and tired as his body, but still the pile of dirt grows steadily higher. Soon he will be knee-deep in to the earth and still be no closer to what he's really digging for.
But who am I to say that? Maybe he will be. Maybe this hole will accomplish what the five before it could not.
I could go out there and help him but that would defeat the purpose. At least I think it would. This assumes, of course, that I understand what's going on in my backyard. I would not be shocked to learn otherwise.
I pick up the phone, begin to dial Mom's number, then hang up. Instead I grab a couple of beers out of the fridge and head for the back door.
I leave my other shovel to collect dust in the garage.
Two haiku about: the therapist.
After seeing Kat's brother and his family off this morning, we helped her parents pick apples until lunch time. It's not easy work, but a little bit of sunshine certainly helped.
You're right, sir. Anger
management is for suckers.
Now put the gun down.
* * *
He listens closely,
takes immaculate notes, andthen consults the dead
It's been a while. Let us do some continuations.
Just pick up the story from where the last person left it off and carry it for a ways. Nothing too long, though; we don't want one person totally dominating the story. And it's always a good idea to stop at a spot where the next person can easily pick it up.
Five of the eight house guests (between our place and the in-laws) left for home today, which was a little sad. But Kat's brother, sister-in-law, and niece aren't leaving until tomorrow, so that helps.
Speaking of which, I reckon it's past time for you guys to meet my niece, Natalie:
We're going to miss her the most, I suspect.
We moved barefoot through the orchard, the scent of apples filling our nostrils. The sun at its zenith cast jagged shadows that the gusting wind pushed around with more enthusiasm than we thought was really necessary.
I was regretting not pausing to put on shoes before we left the house, but there was no going back by that point. I figured I'd just grab Momma's tweezers later on and use them to remove the sand burrs lodging themselves in my soles.
Those were thoughts for later though, so I concentrated instead on following in my brother's footsteps as silently as a mouse. Just like he'd taught me to. One foot carefully in front of the other, always on the lookout for fallen branches that might snap beneath us, for fallen apples that were eager to twist an ankle.
We were not alone out there, but we hoped that the others were unaware of our presence. That would have made spying on them a heck of a lot easier. But just in case they were watching out for intruders, my brother and I filled our pockets with rocks as we went.
Today we write about: the fountain.
We enjoyed a wonderful turkey dinner this evening; all told there were fifteen people gathered 'round the table. Although I suppose our niece didn't need a chair of her own.
This afternoon we decided to take advantage of the present help and hauled all our squashes out of the garden. I was not aware we had quite so many out there. It'll be a nice change from last year when we didn't have nearly enough.
Back to harvesting for local orders tomorrow morning - they're calling for rain though, so we might have to do it very quickly.
Meet me by the fountain at midnight.
That was the note in its entirety. No hello, no name at the bottom - hell, not even a name at the top! How was I supposed to know it was really meant for me in the first place?
Well, yes, of course I went. It would have been rude not to! Worst case, it was intended for someone else's eyes and I could just let the sender know he or she needed to try again.
Turned out, I had no bloody idea what a worst case might actually look like. If I had, you could bet every last dollar you've got that I'd never have left my hotel room that night.
A four line poem about: the promotion.
Had a very busy long weekend market this morning, selling a whole lot of apples and most everything else we brought. Plus we had a visit from Kat's brother, sister-in-law, and our niece, and then my sister Sue and her husband Jake joined us for the finish of the market before following us home.
Spent a relaxed and fun afternoon/evening with them, and now I'm looking forward to a big turkey dinner tomorrow night.
He's worked so long and hard,
At last he will be rewarded...
But then his boss informs him:A promotion can't be afforded.
Four lines of prose about: an uncle.
Kat's brother and sister-in-law arrived yesterday afternoon, along with their three and a half week old daughter. My niece. I'm her uncle.
That's... going to take some getting used to.
They're in town for Thanksgiving weekend and were joined today by Kat's aunt and uncle from Calgary. Tomorrow one of Kat's cousins will arrive, and my sister Sue and her husband Jake will get here and stay in our guest room (everybody else is sleeping in Kat's parents house).
Should be a weekend filled with good company and good food.
"When is Uncle Horny going to be here?" the little boy asked, his nose pressed against the living room window.
"Uncle Henri, dear," the boy's mother said for the third time that afternoon. "And I'm sure he'll be arriving any minute now, so you just keep looking for him."
She returned to the romance novel she was writing on her laptop, not feeling any guilt whatsoever for using her brother's non-existent arrival as a distraction for her hyperactive son.
Today's prompt: beginnings.
Because I started looking for a winter job today. Just looking for something part-time to help pay the bills until the garden starts producing again, nothing serious.
When she first began nodding off, Karen turned to coffee. That got her through chapter five, but the homework assignment called for three more to be read. She was beginning to suspect her professor never actually read the textbook for himself - he really didn't seem that cruel on the first day.
So she tried music next, as loud as her stereo could handle, neighbours be damned. She managed to get through four pages before turning into a bobble head again. Sighing in frustration, she gazed around her living room, searching for something, anything to keep her awake.
Toothpicks might have done the trick, but her roommate had finished the bottle off with her attempts at do-it-yourself acupuncture. Perhaps there would be time in the morning, on the way to class even?
That was when she realized that the room wasn't so bright just because all the lights were on - the sun was responsible for most of it.
This, Karen thought as she dragged herself out the door, was not how I planned on starting my first year of college.
Write something that has to do with being: ignored.
After our restaurant delivery this morning Kat and I stopped for coffee on the way back home. It was a pretty rainy and dreary day here, so that seemed like the best thing to do.
This afternoon we (well, mostly Kat as I wasn't feeling very well) pickled beans and carrots. Oh and we did up some beef stock too. It's that time of year, I suppose.
It's not that he was ignoring his diet, exactly. There were, after all, at least two veggies on his family-sized pizza - three if you counted the sauce (which may or may not have had actual tomatoes in it).
And so what if he was eating it all by himself? He'd always considered himself a family man. Maybe one day, he thought as he began his fourth piece, he'd meet a nice woman, settle down, and start a proper family of his own. With a puppy and real live kids (not just those pretend ones his character had in his favorite computer game) and everything!
After another sip of soda - diet, of course (can't possibly be ignoring his diet if he's drinking diet soda, now can he?) - he returned his attention to the magazine in his lap. A health magazine, I'll have you know. One with exercises and proper recipes and all that good stuff.
He picked out three activities that he would definitely start doing - tomorrow or the day after, when he might have time to do them - and set it aside. Yes indeed, he thought with a satisfied smile, this new diet was really doing the trick.
Two haiku about: anger.
Because playing Hearts on the laptop is pissing me off to no end at the moment.
Plus it's late and I needed a writing topic.
The restaurant is putting on an event this week and therefore placed a rather large order with us - the second largest of the year, actually. So we spent this afternoon picking most of it (since they need it early tomorrow morning).
It's probably the last big order of the year, but it's a good one to go out with.
If you think I'm mad
now, just wait until I lose
another damned game
* * *
Steam escaping ears,
boiling deep inside - soon itwill be time for tea
Tell me something about: the archer.
Harvested for our local orders in a light rain this morning, which made it less fun than usual. Also making it less enjoyable? The realization that most everything out there is slowing right down - the tomatoes, the peppers, the berries.
It's like it's almost the end of the season or something.
As the sun peers over the horizon to signal the start of day, he has already begun his. The target, wedged between two trees on the far side of a clearing at least fifty paces wide, wears the scars of his early morning practice. The soft calls of hidden birds are the only sounds to be heard not of his creation. A rattle as an arrow is drawn from the quiver across his back, the tired groan of his wooden bow, the twang of string, the thud of impact. Over and over and over again.
Behind him, hidden by bushes, his son keeps watch, imitating his every move. Only his bow is imaginary, and he grasps arrows from a quiver only he can see. His form is perfect, his breathing steady. Soon his mother will discover his empty bed and she will come to drag him back to the house to help with breakfast.
But for now he is living the dream of the archer, and that is all that matters.
Do what you do with: expansion.
Because I finally got around to expanding this tonight. The results can be found here. If you've got an account on Protag feel free to bring any of your responses to the Random CD prompt from here over to there. And if you don't have an account... well, that's easily remedied.
Pretty relaxing day off, consisting of sleeping in, a short bike ride with Kat, helping Kat's parents with apple picking/sorting, and some food preservation. The freezer is getting pretty darn full downstairs.
"That's complete and utter nonsense."
"Yes, you condescending prick, really."
"Shall I fetch the tape measure then?"
"Only if you want this cinnamon bun shoved up your nose."
"You wouldn't dare. In fact, your expanding waistline wouldn't allow it!"
"Complete. And. Utter. Nonsense."
"What was that last word? I couldn't quite understand it with all that food in your mouth."
A four line poem about: control.
It rained on the drive to Penticton this morning, during our stall setup, and for the first hour and a bit of the market. Which kept the customers away for a good portion of the time we were there. Which cost us a good chunk of money (but we still ended up doing okay).
So I was struggling with accepting that the weather is not under my control, no matter how much I might wish it to be otherwise.
They tell me that I'm in control
When I'm behind the wheel,
But with all these crazy driversThat's not how I feel