Monday May 21st, 2012

The exercise:

Write about: the blend.

We managed to get the vast majority of our tomato plants into the garden this morning, despite the threat of (and brief periods of actual) rain. The remaining plants were late seedings, so they need a little more time to size up before they join their compatriots.

It's definitely been a Vancouver kind of day, grey and wet. At least it's an exception here; the sun's meant to return either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Until then... I'm feeling like writing. We'll see if anything comes of it.


The question is growing tired, having hung in the air unanswered for too long. I see this but make no move to rescue it. Instead I work the remote, flipping through channels faster than strictly necessary.

Nothing but commercials. They blend together until the underwear model is ordering pizza while the insurance broker shaves with the newest razor on the market.

My brain accepts the story my eyes are weaving for its benefit. No need to second guess or question.

Speaking of questions, there it comes again, more insistent this time. I suppose she's losing patience with my silence. Or maybe she just couldn't stand watching the poor bastard suffer, seeing it losing its grip in the space between us.

She's always cared a little too much for my liking.

The channels continue to blur. I sip my beer. Some time later I hear the front door slam, calling out to let me know she's left me alone at last.


Greg said...

sorry about yesterday, I had to fly to Dublin and back for work, so between meetings, flights and lack of airport internet I didn't manage to get online. However, I do find the photographs very exciting, and I love the little range of cards you have there. Doing them by season is a great idea too, as it allows you to keep the cards fresh and continue to showcase the best of your pictures. And they _are_ very good pictures.
I like the atmosphere in your piece today, it's very evocative, but I confess I haven't figured out who or what the 'poor bastard' is in the third-from-last paragraph. Perhaps I'm just a bit tired still :)

The blend
"Have you seen that internet thingy?" asked my father-in-law, showing an unusual amount of excitement. His white hair positively quivered in its brush cut, and his eyes twinkled in the midst of their wrinkles.
"Uh, which internet thingy?" I said, remembering his fascination with lol-cats. We'd had to put up with him answering the phone with "Can I haz cheezburgr?" for weeks.
"Will it blend!" he said, a smile spreading. I felt my stomach lurch in response.
"Uh... yes?"
"I've been finding out," he said, his excitement almost too much to contain.
"Finding out?" I was sure I didn't want to know.
"If it will... blend!"
He's a professional chef. He has access to really powerful blenders. Even I leaned over it to see what he'd blended I knew it was going to be disaster.

Iron Bess said...

@Marc - very nicely done. I agree with Greg, not sure exactly what is going on with the "poor bastard"
@Greg - you've hit the age and internet concept well, it reminds me of my mom and her discoveries.

Speaking of internet, my apologies for my absence, I've become addicted to angry birds, am going to councilling about it but it will be a slow recovery process.

Here's mine...

The heat felt like a hot wet blanket which enveloped her entire body, but not in a good way. Even though she had been born and raised here and should be immune to the climate she was always so much more uncomfortable then her mother, or grandparents. Her mother said it was because of her blended blood, part Thai, part Farang. Her father was from a cold, dry country up at the very top of the world, where moisture would fall to the sky frozen and white. This concept which was as foreign to Hanna as her father’s blue eyes.

Hanna sat in the shade of the large palm outside her private school, her meticulously pressed uniform still pristine after a full day at school, in spite of the heat and humidity. As she waited for her ride Hanna loved watching the rush of traffic go by listening to the cacophony of the putt-putts, motorcycles, trucks, ox carts, as well as the fried fish vendors calling to locals and the Farang with the ever present bar girls and boys alike, as a group of Buddhist monks in their bright orange robes chanting the afternoon prayer walked by, and the old aunties and uncles trying to entice tourists to their booths so they would buy their wooden elephants, silk shirts, or adult magazines. The heat, noise, and sound blended so well together that decades and thousands of kilometers away the smell of fried fish would trigger a memory so vivid and poignant of Thailand, long drowned by the sea, that it would bring instant tears to her eyes.

Cathryn Leigh said...

Sarah’s your average American girl. The tom-boy farm girl, tough as nails and pretty as a picture (when she wants to be). Her skin tan, her hair black, her eyes mischievous brown in a crazy blend of ethnicities from the pioneering days long ago. Heck she even had the two braids down her back and prided herself on being the Laura Ingles Wilder of her home town.

But she’s in another land now, far away from home. Her braids cut off, her hair then shorn; stubble above her angular tan face. They think she hails from the Areni Plains. Her black hair and tan skin certainly fit the look, but she looks more like a work horse than they do. Now she’ll laugh and say she a blend of Areni and Azure who’s taken a liking to being Vervellean.

my first atempt at describing Sarah and in a way the general charcteristics of my tri-county population

Morrigan Aoife said...

Marc - The cards are lovely, very scenic in nature and very representative of your experiences in life.


The Blend.

Resting in my shopping cart, it lay carefully placed upon a week’s worth groceries. I wheeled the cart to checkout and placed the beloved carton on the rotating belt. The cashier grabbed it unceremoniously and dropped it into a plastic bag. I cringed hearing the loud thunk and watched as the container flopped over on its side. With the cart reloaded, I wheeled it out to the SUV and loaded my packages into the trunk. A wide variety of lunches, dinners and snacks, slid back and forth as I made the ten mile trip down the bumpy lime-rock roads toward home. Finally, arriving at my destination, I hurriedly put the frozen food and cold items into the fridge and left the rest upon the table to deal with later. Lost Girl was due to come on the television in less than five minutes. I took a spoon from the drawer and carried the bag containing my favored snack over to the recliner, plopping down into its cozy interior. Pulling the lid from my coveted container, I delved into a pint of Ben and Jerry’s; a perfect blend of cherry ice cream, cherry pieces and chocolate fudge. Cherry Garcia always makes for a blissful “Midnight Getaway.”

Marc said...

Greg - no worries! I was wondering where you'd gone off to.

Yeah, I suspected I needed to make that clearer. The 'poor bastard' is meant to be the question hanging in the air from the first paragraph.

That's definitely one of the stranger internet... phenomenons I've come across. Loved the line about his phone greeting :D

Iron Bess - wonderfully atmospheric. Really brought it to life and pulled me in with the details.

Cathryn - it's always fun to look back at initial character sketches and remember just how far they've come :)

Morrigan - thank you!

Great, now I'm craving ice cream. Damn you! :P