The exercise:
Write about something which happens: daily.
We finished getting our tomato plants into the garden this morning, then shifted to picking strawberries. Our box program is starting tomorrow, and we also had quite a few local orders for them as well. Plus the bakery wants a bunch more.
But I'm pretty sure we'll still have some of our 94 pints leftover after that.
Thankfully Kat's mom is wanting to do up several batches of strawberry jam, so that should take care of that.
Feeling a little nervous on the eve of our first box day. 13 boxes is the most we've ever attempted and I'm having trouble picturing that we have enough stuff ready for them. But there's nothing left to do at this point but cross my fingers and hope for the best.
Mine:
So six long years ago I wrote this. The very first post in Daily Writing Practice's history.
A lot has happened since then. Marriage. Fatherhood. A couple of NaNoWriMo successes. Became a farmer. Lost my appendix.
But, most of all, a rather incredible amount of writing. As of today, 2,192 days in a row worth of creative expressions. Fiction. Non-fiction. Stand-alones and continuations. Poetry and prose. The good, the bad, the ugly.
I've got no plans to stop. I imagine I will at some point, for some reason or another. But for now this practice of writing every day is continuing on, and I hope you all will continue to join me.
4 comments:
94 pints! If the strawberry plants keep giving like that you'll create a glut in Pecticton and its surrounds :) Still, strawberry jam (though not my favourite) is delicious, and is probably as salable as the actual strawberries.
Six years is impressive, and I'm glad to hear that you're not thinking of quitting any time soon. Especially since I've been having a long, slow conversation with you through the blog since we met, however many years ago that was!
Daily
"Quotidian," said Miss Snippet. She wrote it on the blackboard in her neat, mechanical handwriting. "It refers to things that happen daily. Can anyone give me some examples of things that happen daily?" She looked around the classroom, which was full of atttentive, tired-looking children.
"Inventory, Miss!" said Samantha immediately. On the desk in front of her were several clipboards contains that day's inventories for the four projects the class were working on. Miss Snippet nodded.
"Clocking in, Miss!" said Peter. Miss Snippet nodded there as well; she ran a 7-day-a-week operation and the parents of her children seemed not to notice.
"Sunrise, Miss?" Arthur had raised his hand and was asking rather than telling. Miss Snippet pursed her lips.
"Not provably," she said. "So that doesn't count. Now, can someone tell me what happens if you cross the International Date Line at midnight, going East? How does affect the quotidian?"
Wow! It's been a while since I've commented here. Lots of things happened. I'm no longer living on the west coast. I just relocated to the east coast and I'm trying to figure out why there are so many Dunkin' Donuts everywhere!
~~~
I wake up to snoring in my ear and your legs wrapped with mine.
I hear you singing in the shower to Sun Raha hai na tu. I sing with you.
You walk around naked, doing your daily things.
Brushing your teeth and smoothing you black hair.
I make your lunch and I feel the floor beneath my feet.
Humid in the air. It rained last night and the sun came up again.
You sneeze. I sneeze. We make tea.
These daily things between you and me.
He brushed his teeth every day. The dentist told him at least twice a day. He chose once. Ain’t no doctor gonna tell him how to live.
He showered daily. He liked to do that. Liked to feel squeaky clean. Wash the mud off. Sometimes the blood. There was often a lot of blood.
He wrote his wife a love note each day. Short little hellos and I love yous. Nothing in particular. Nothing monumental. Just reminders that she was important to him.
He slept with his mistress daily. Because that’s what you are supposed to do with a mistress. He saw that in the movies.
He spoke approximately 37 words to each of his children per day. They did not mind. He did not care. They had an understanding. Do not talk to me and I won’t tell mom what you are doing. That went for both father and sons.
He wept nightly. But only when no one was around. And if you ever mention that again, it may be your blood he is washing off in tomorrow’s shower.
Greg - yes, this has become perhaps the world's longest, slowest moving conversation :P
Ah, another visit from Miss Snippet and her little workers. I liked the mention of the parents not seeming to notice the 7 day work week :)
Brittany - hey, good to hear from you again! Sounds like life has been busy for you too, but I'm glad you found the time to drop by and keep us updated.
That's a lovely peak at the intimate side of a relationship you've given us. Particularly liked your use of rhyme.
David - that is a fascinating bit of character insight. Some great details and I really liked the seemingly contradicting points.
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