Write about: the quarrel.
Had a quiet day, which was for the best as all three of us were quite tired after yesterday's activities. Max taking a three hour nap this afternoon helped a lot.
Hoping to go for a short hike tomorrow morning with the family. Will try to take a few pictures. And then actually remember to get them onto the laptop in a reasonably timely manner.
It began innocently enough. A phone call missed, a message left. Nothing urgent. No dire news, no wondrous celebratory happenings. Just checking in.
The message, however, never received a response. Ignored, or so it appeared.
Appearances can be deceiving. The reality was a chaotic mixture of too many meetings, sick kids, and unexpected trips to the mechanic.
Rather than investigate, offense was taken. Shoulders turned frosty. Requested favours were turned down with no or, much worse, ridiculous explanations offered.
Bitterness spread to both sides of the friendship. Mutual friends bore the brunt of gossip and spiteful rumours. The bond deteriorated quickly and then hostilities escalated even faster.
Now a Molotov cocktail is soaring toward a living room window and a loaded shotgun stands ready to issue an immediate response.
If only the first message had received an equally speedy reply.
Write a four line poem about: echoes.
Well, that was a busy market. We sold out of corn and berries (as expected), nectarines (as hoped), and apples (bit of a surprise). Our main seller were the peaches, though, as we brought 17 crates with us and only came home with about one and a half.
That, I can say with complete confidence, was not the least bit expected.
This evening, after a short rest after we got home from the market, we went up to Oliver for a potluck dinner. It was a lot of fun, with lots of kids for Max to play with and parents for Kat and I to relate to. We weren't too sure if we'd be up to going, and we were certainly quite tired, but I'm glad we made the effort.
I am not alone here,
The voices keep me company.
They are my dearest friends,
Even if it's only me...
Write four lines of prose about: the slide.
Jeez, August is almost over already? That seems a little fast.
Ready to roll for another market tomorrow morning. The berries are starting to slow down, but the fruit is kicking into high gear. It's a long weekend, so hopefully everybody comes out for their local fruit fix.
Going with Kat and Max again, but at least we'll be in our usual spot, with lots of park space directly behind us for him to run around on. Fingers crossed everybody has a decent sleep tonight, as that always helps everything.
Steep metal steps lead me up and up, slowly but surely. The staircase is narrow and there are others following close behind; turning back is not an option. Not unless I want to be showered with shame, never able to return to this playground again.
So up I go, continuing on until the inevitable, gut-wrenching, scaring-for-life slide back down to earth.
Write about: the password.
More weed eating this morning. I could hardly forget, since my hands are still vibrating.
Taking a break from the machinery tomorrow as it's time once again to harvest for the market. It's going to be mostly berries this week on our end, with lots of fruit (apples, pears, peaches, nectarines) coming from Kat's parents.
We don't have any helpers though, so I should probably get to bed and rest up for what promises to be a long day. A long couple of days, if I include the market itself.
Early one Sunday morning (well, it was nearly noon, but that was early for him) in October, Glen Bishop sat down at his computer desk and thumbed on the power. While he waited for the mysterious start up process to complete he began to notice a few things about his immediate surroundings.
And what he saw worried him.
Two empty beer bottles lay next to his mouse pad, almost touching but not quite. Just like how he and Kelly used to lay in bed together at night. On the floor at his feet three more empties clinked together as he rotated in his seat, trying to see into the kitchen down the hall. There, he found the most damning evidence of all.
A half empty bottle of whiskey.
"Not good," he muttered as the computer finished booting and presented him with the logon screen. By this point he knew it was pointless, but he tried his password anyway.
The error message was so expected that he barely bothered to read it.
Clearly he had decided to change his password at the height of one of his infamous benders. It could be anything. Likely misspelled, it was safe to say.
"Well," he said as he got up and headed for the bottle in the kitchen, "there's only way one of solving this little conundrum..."
Write about: the strike.
This morning was spent harvesting (mostly berries) for the bakery, this afternoon featured delivery of said harvest, along with stops at the bank (deposit), liquor store (returning empties), and grocery store, and tonight was all about using the weed eater on the sprinkler rows.
And so now, rather unsurprisingly in my opinion, I am tired and ready for bed.
He had stopped reading the papers several days ago, having realized that they had no more knowledge of the situation than he did. Baseless rumours and unfounded predictions were of no use to him. There was, sadly, nothing to do but wait.
Or, he supposed, to start walking.
As ridiculous as the idea was, he had given it some serious thought on more than one occasion. With no end to the train strike in sight it was even possible that he might arrive before the next train did.
Just as momentum began to build and he started to plot his route, he'd remember his bags. And how seriously, depressingly heavy they were.
He didn't have the strength for that undertaking.
So instead of carrying them through the woods, over hills, and alongside meandering rivers, he sat on them. Tried to make himself comfortable. Ignored all of the other restless and muttering passengers on the platform.
Write two haiku about: the tycoon.
Boxes went quite smoothly today, thanks in part to Kat's mom being able to hang out with Max for the second half of the morning.
I had him for the first half before joining Kat in the garden, and we ran a couple errands in town before going for coffee/snack time. While we were there we ran into our friend from the bakery and his son, so we even slipped in some nice social time.
And to top it all off, nobody arrived early to pick up their box! Miracles, it would seem, do indeed happen.
I could find my life
savings in his couch, yet the
bastard won't tip me
* * *
I count my money,
then lose my place - that's at least
a month's work wasted.
Write about: droplets.
Max has an amazing excess of energy these days. You'd think he'd grown used to running around in circles and chasing after people for hours at a time or something.
We took him to the park after running some errands in town this morning and... yeah. We might want to reverse that order next time.
The most time consuming items to harvest for box day were collected this evening, so hopefully that will make for a quicker morning tomorrow. Fingers crossed, anyway.
There is a droplet dangling
From your fingertip, my dear.
It seems to be frozen there,
As though in fear.
Is it rain, perspiration,
A single lonesome tear?
No, none of those, none of those...
It is simply your blood, my dear.
It's feeling like a random sort of Sunday, so let us return once more to the random CD prompt. Choose a song as randomly as you care to and then borrow its first line for your poetry or prose. Credit where it's due, but of course.
Had a nice, quiet day off with my family. Pancake breakfast, spent some time at the park, enjoyed a nice afternoon nap, and capped things off with a roasted chicken for dinner.
Have a few errands I need to run tomorrow morning, otherwise taking it slow until we begin our box harvest tomorrow evening.
Dancing Years - We Danced Last Night
We danced last night for an hour or so, despite my better judgement. I got caught up in the moment, I suppose. Moments, technically. There are a whole lot of moments in an hour. Each one as compelling as the one that came before it, or so it felt.
I should have known better. I am well past the age where such foolishness is appropriate. Now my feet ache, my back complains at every turn, my ears feel like they're still throbbing in tune with the music.
I barely managed to make it from my bed to my writing desk and I have no intention of leaving it until it is time to return to bed. Small sips of water only; there will be no bathroom breaks today. The toilet is on the other side of the house, though it might as well be on the other side of the ocean.
Knocks on the door will be ignored, as will the ringing of the telephone. I am here and here I shall stay. Perhaps if I hold perfectly still all day long my body will have recovered by the time I wake tomorrow morning.
Sigh. What utter lunacy. What madness came over me last night? Why would I...
Oh, yes. Isabella. Of course.
Worth every muscle spasm.
Write a four line poem about something or someone that has been: pushed aside.
That was the general feeling I was picking up from the vendors around us this morning. The farmers market was shifted from our usual place on the first block of Main Street to the street adjoining it (same as two weekends ago) and the next block of the street parallel to Main.
That meant there was enough room for all the vendors... but still no room for our vehicles. Turns out? There's a big difference between making twenty vendors park their vehicles, unload their wares, and then park elsewhere and making sixty or so vendors do that.
The community market, however, got to stay exactly where they are every week - the second, third, and (I think) fourth blocks of Main Street. So the farmers were feeling a little pushed aside, especially those of us who got there on the later side of setup (hi, bringing a toddler with us early in the morning tends to slow things up a bit), as we were quite far away from where people would expect to find us.
Business ended up being okay for us, but I spoke with and overheard several others who did significantly less trade than normal.
Pretty sure we won't be trying this experiment again next year.
Tonight Kat, myself, and Max have our home to ourselves once more. Definitely enjoying it right now, but we'll see if that feeling lasts once work recommences on Monday evening.
An elbow to the face
Moved me from my place.
I can do naught but wail -
You're first to the sale!
Write four lines of prose about: little helpers.
We had a lot of rain overnight but at least it held off once morning arrived. Our harvest was delayed slightly while we waited for things to dry off a little but once we got going we had a lot of help: my parents, our visitors, even Max was out there... sorta helping.
All that needed harvesting was harvested in the end, so we'll be heading up to Penticton in the morning with a full truck, as usual at this time of year. It'll be me and the family this time, as my parents are heading straight home from here and then our visitors will come up a bit later for a visit (and to hopefully keep Max entertained for us for a short while).
And then they will continue on their way to Vancouver and onwards to the remainder of their vacation destinations.
And then... it'll be just Kat, myself, and Max around the house. For the foreseeable future, even.
Tiny pudgy fingers grip tools so tightly. Wriggly little bodies squirm and twist and turn until they reach their desired destination. Clang, bang, drill, and screw, those busy worker bees are buzzing.
Toddlers really do make the best aircraft engine mechanics.
It's been a long time since I made use of the list prompt, so let's give that one another whirl, shall we? Use each of the following words in your poetry or prose today: play, follow, tumble, melody.
An evening of rain brought everyone into the house for dinner and a game of Pictionary. Hoping it lets up before tomorrow morning so we can get our market harvest done.
He shares his gift with us, sitting at the piano and letting his fingers play with the ebony and ivory keys. The room of watchers is attentive, silent, captivated. We follow his every movement with curious eyes.
Some of us, I'm sure, wonder what it must take, what sacrifices were made, to be this good. I imagine a few go so far as to curse their parents for a childhood devoid of piano lessons - as if they had any interest in such training at that age.
At the back of the room a waiter stumbles over an extended leg and a wine glass tumbles to the floor. Without a blink our maestro incorporates the crash of glass into his melody. Not long after that another glass shatters on the tiles, but this one is no accident.
In a matter of minutes every glass in the house is in pieces on the floor and a new song has been born.
Write about: the rocket.
A friend of Kat's and her three kids arrived this afternoon for a visit. They'll be here until Saturday morning, so things will be a little crowded around here for the next few days. My parents are sleeping in their camper van out front, two of the kids are crashing in our guestroom, and their mom is sharing a tent in the backyard with the third.
After dinner we took them on a tour of the farm. Well, Max did. I think he's going to have a lot of fun with the boy, who at 7 is the youngest of the three children. But, you know, he'll pretty much have fun with most anybody.
Back in high school, they used to say old Benjamin Harris was faster than a rocket. He dominated every track meet he attended, never losing a sprint he competed in. The other kids knew it, too; you could see it in the way their shoulders slumped and heads dropped when they realized who they were lining up against.
I knew Benjamin well in those days. You could say we were best friends, of a sort. That's what I told people, at any rate. I heard old Benny mighta said different.
Nobody was closer to him than me, though. I can guarantee you that much. Maybe because I was smart enough to never challenge his supremacy. All the other boys were too stubborn or foolish or proud to back down.
You don't run against a rocket, man. That ain't a race you're gonna win. Any damned fool could see that.
What nobody saw coming though, not even little old me, was the day he brought an actual rocket to school and blew the whole place straight to hell...
This week's installment of Two Haiku Tuesday brings with it the topic of: adaptation.
I had just finished selecting the prompt when Max gave me a pretty good scare. He had been asleep in our room for a couple of hours and Kat was getting ready for bed in the guest room across the hall. Suddenly I look up and see Max walking into the guest room, having made absolutely no noise in the process.
I'm not sure I can properly convey how seeing a toddler-sized creature silently approaching my wife, while Greg's recent prose is swirling around my subconscious, in our darkened home feels. But I'll do my best by saying that it was, however briefly, bloody terrifying.
In other news: one more box day in the books. Went pretty smoothly, thanks in large part to my parents keeping Max busy so that Kat could join me in the garden this morning.
Next Tuesday could be a little more challenging without them around.
He will change his ways
for just a few days; must get
more grandparent hugs
* * *
I walk on two feet,
though my Daddy still has gills;
change can come quickly
Write about: diving.
Ugh, little kid goodbyes are the worst. At least Max is too young to fully understand what was happening, but he was certainly aware that his cousin Natalie was upset.
My parents arrived this afternoon, shortly after Max woke up from his nap. It didn't seem to take too long for him to remember who they were, and before they knew what was going on it was time to kick and bounce balls around the deck.
While Kat and I picked berries after dinner, my parents kept Max entertained. That will be their task again tomorrow morning as we continue our box harvest.
Bubbles floating in a sea of silence, lazily approaching the surface far above. Below the sea grows steadily darker, the floor hidden from view. A fish swims slowly by, keeping a close eye on my movements. I lift a finger to adjust my mask and it disappears in an instant.
Alone once more, I absorb the tranquility. My desk belongs to another planet while I'm down here. All those reports piling up on my desk as though they hope to reach the ceiling... someone else's problem.
Time stands still in this other place. Beyond the reach of the light of day, I could live forever...
If only my oxygen tank wasn't getting dangerously close to empty.
Write something that has to do with: jumping.
Went to Kettle River for a lunch BBQ with Kat's family today and it was a really good time. Other than Max throwing up in the car shortly before we got there. That was... less of a good time.
Pretty sure he was just car sick after all the winding roads to get there, and he did recover quite quickly. Not a fun sight, regardless.
A lot of time was spent throwing rocks into the river and watching people jump off the bridge. It was a pretty busy location, which just meant that Max had lots and lots of things to look at.
Feeling sad that Natalie and her family are heading back north tomorrow morning, but happy that my parents will be arriving shortly afterward.
"I don't want to!"
"You'll be fine!"
"You don't know that!"
"Everyone else who went is fine!"
"I don't think that really proves anything."
"There's a lineup of people behind you... either jump or get out of their way!"
"Don't rush me!"
"We'll count you down, okay? On three you jump."
"I'll jump when I want to -"
"One! Two! Three!"
"I wasn't ready!"
"Here, I'll swim over. I'll be super close when you land."
"What if I die?"
"I'll save you!"
"You can't save me if I'm dead!"
He jumped, eventually. I don't think he felt like there was any other choice. I felt bad for him though, as I could easily have seen myself in that horrendously awkward, very public position when I was his age.
Being a kid can be a tough go sometimes.
Write a four line poem about: wanderlust.
Because Max went to sleep early tonight so Kat and I watched this. Not the greatest movie ever or anything like that, but it was funny and light and pretty much exactly what we needed tonight.
Market went well, selling out of berries (that's more like it) and a whole lot of fruit. Looking forward to a day off spent with Kat's family tomorrow.
Rope around his ankle
And down the hall,
Now we'll see if he'll stay
Write four lines of prose about: when push comes to shove.
Long day, with an early start tomorrow morning for the farmers market. So I'll just get to it tonight.
She picked up the knife and fork that had been laid before her and took a long, slow breath. So it had come to this. There was nothing else to eat in the house, and all the stores in town were closed until morning.
After a final shudder of revulsion, she stabbed the Spam with her fork and began to cut.
Write about something or someone that is: explosive.
I drove up to Oliver this afternoon to pick up some things from the farm supply store. Finally picked up the right containers for our berries and I'm looking forward to returning them to their original price at this weekend's market.
We got rained on in the garden this morning but it eventually petered out. Still not particularly fun weeding wet plants though.
My parents got in touch last night, which was a relief. They're planning on getting here on Monday, which means they'll just miss seeing Natalie and her parents. But at least Max will have some new playmates to replace his cousin.
Sitting at his desk in the darkened office, he studied his computer screen while drumming his fingers on the arm of his black leather chair. Otherwise the building was silent, as the others had gone home hours earlier. At a reasonable time.
He stood up, considered making coffee. Thought better of it, sat back down. He eyed the words on his screen again.
Was it true? The research was solid, the sources reliable. It was as true as it could be... but was that enough?
The city was teeming with poorly restrained discontent. Like a forest that has gone without rain for years, it needed little encouragement to ignite into an unstoppable inferno. And those words, that headline waiting for his confirmation before it hit the morning newsstands, was like a lit book of matches dangling from his fingertips.
So... was it true enough?
Write about: the robin.
Hold on a second, I need to read my own blog for a minute here. I can't remember what I have and haven't mentioned recently.
Okay. So Carolyn will only be with us until Saturday morning, at which point she'll be catching a bus to go home to Quebec. And the helper who contacted us about possibly joining us last Monday ended up deciding to go elsewhere.
Which leaves us without any helpers staying with us, officially, after this weekend.
I say officially because Kat's brother has volunteered to come with me to the market Saturday morning. And, at some point, I'm expecting my parents to arrive as they stop in on their way back home from their east coast trip and they'll be able to hang out with Max while Kat works.
I haven't heard from them since last Saturday though, so I have no idea where they currently are. Close by now, hopefully.
I suppose by now everybody has heard of the passing of Robin Williams. It's pretty much all been said at this point, but I just wanted to share a little story of my own.
When I was in high school a good friend of mine introduced me to Robin's stand-up routine. I think he loaned me a tape (as in cassette tape - yes, I'm old) of his Live at the Met show, then eventually made a copy for me to keep because I loved it so much.
I listened to that thing over and over and over again. And I laughed. Every single time. Night after night. If I needed cheering up, distraction, or just a good laugh, that's what I turned to. I remember listening to it as I fell asleep on more than one occasion.
There were some jokes that took me a long time to get. On maybe the fourth or fifth or tenth or twentieth listen I'd finally get something for the first time and howl with laughter. I'm pretty sure that by the end there were still some that I didn't understand, probably because it was just audio and Robin was such a physical comedian. Didn't matter. That tape was still the greatest thing ever.
Robin Williams was a huge influence on my sense of humour. He made me want to make other people laugh the way they laughed for him. He opened up a whole new world of comedy for me. I will miss him.
Though I never knew him, I will miss him.
Write two haiku about: the night.
Kat's brother and his family arrived in time for dinner this evening, and Max started playing with his cousin Natalie shortly after that. They didn't stop until well after dark, by which point all of the adults were quite ready for bed (those who hadn't already gone to sleep anyway).
I expect more of the same tomorrow.
Box day went quite smoothly, though there was a lot of extra work to be done with the nectarines. We had a lot leftover after Saturday's market and with more coming off the trees Sunday night, and even more due to be picked later this week, we needed to move them fast.
So we offered a pretty heavy discount to our local customers and they responded by snatching up 130 pounds of them. Throw in the 20 or so pounds that was distributed through the boxes this afternoon and pretty much all of the extras have been taken care of.
I'm sure, with all the extra guests around this week, we'll manage to eat our way through the rest without much trouble.
Under your cover
secrets are hidden away
from day's prying eyes
* * *
A long, peaceful break
from the chaos of my... oh.
Write about a: change of plans.
Kat's brother and his family were expected to arrive for a visit on Wednesday, but we learned late this evening that's not happening. They're arriving tomorrow instead.
Can't wait to see Max and his only cousin playing together once again.
I think I was going to talk about some other things as well, but I managed to fall asleep on the couch, as per usual, so I should probably just get some writing done and then switch to sleeping in my actual bed.
"Mom, what is this?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you said we were going to Disneyland."
"You're right, I did say that. Yesterday."
"But this is the dentist's office!"
"... and today there was a change of plans."
The 10th of the month already? Quick, let us return to Vancouver Irrealis then, before it's too late!
Oh, and for those of you who would like to write today but are finding myself, Greg, and Morganna are too far along our tale for you to join in... how about this prompt instead? It's the most recent one that has yet to be bestowed with a comment. Well, the last post that actually has a writing prompt.
Either way, that took me way too long to find, so please feel welcome to give it some love.
Day off went well, other than the migraine in the middle. Morning and evening featured beach and family time, with a pancake breakfast and our usual Sunday night BBQ at the beach bookending things nicely.
Within minutes cushions, pillows, and blankets had been distributed among the three hideaways and a reasonable level of comfort had been achieved. With fatigue trying to squeeze his eyelids together, Tristam decided to voice his question once more. At worst, he figured, the answer would be so boring it would lull him to sleep.
"There are two ways for an overcross to go home," Rewand replied as he settled into his cushion fortress. "The first is simply time. Eventually the two cities lapover again and take back their own. The second... as I said before... is more complicated."
"Try me." Tristam had to repeat himself, as a jaw-cracking yawn garbled his first attempt beyond comprehension.
"A device is required." Rewand paused, considering how in-depth his explanation needed to be. A glance at Tristam's face let him know a perfunctory version would do for the moment. "It's used when a specific exchange is needed."
"As in a particular person on our side wants to replace a particular person on yours," Anne-Marie said.
"Right. But in order for that to happen, the two persons need to be in the same location at the same time when a lapover occurs." Rewand frowned, and Tristam realized it pained the old man to leave the lesser details out of his answer. "Within arm's reach of each other, really."
"So... it's like a kidnapping?" Tristam asked.
"I suppose that's as close a comparison as you can get. But you can imagine the difficulty involved. These are not small cities. They spread, they are filled with more streets and houses and open spaces than any of us can really grasp."
"Some sort of knowledge of the target's schedule would be required," Anne-Marie said, thinking aloud. "The agent would have to mirror the target's moves, just waiting for a lapover to happen and then..."
"Boom. Bag over the head." Tristam rubbed his palms against his legs, trying to control his emotions. "And then suddenly everything is... changed."
"It must be very hard," Anne-Marie said. "I can only imagine."
"There is one aspect of the exchange that gives me hope," Rewand said. "The device cannot possibly be brought over. Nkare had to leave hers behind when she took you."
"What are you saying?" Tristam was suddenly wide awake. "That if we can find it I could use it on her?"
"If?" Rewand asked with a laugh. "I think it's about time you had a look inside that bag of yours... or hers... or... oh, just open it up already."
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: misread.
The market went very well overall today, but I'm still stuck on focusing on a Prana Farm first: we brought home berries today.
We have always sold out of berries. Always. So to bring home blackberries today... kind of overshadows the 260 pounds of nectarines we sold.
But it was a different crowd this morning. Lots of people from Vancouver and its surrounding area, which means lots of people used to picking wild blackberries for free at the side of the road and in parks, like we used to do when we lived there.
Except our berries are so much better than those. Oh well.
Anyway, I've been up since five this morning and I can feel a falling asleep on the couch coming, so I should get to writing.
Edit: sigh, never mind.
He thought she wanted him,
But that turned out wrong.
Now she has everything,
And all for a song.
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: the troublesome Mr. Gent.
Who the heck is that? you may be asking. I have no idea, it's just a name that came along with the adjective when I was tossing prompt ideas around in my head.
So you tell me, basically.
Tomorrow is Peach Fest in Penticton, which brings with it the annual parade that pushes the farmers market off Main Street and onto a side street adjacent to it. A very condensed version of it, anyway. There's only room for twenty vendors (as opposed to over sixty) and no space for vehicles. Which means unloading everything when we get there, parking elsewhere, and then doing it all in reverse when it's time to go home.
I'm hoping there won't be too much left to pack up at that point, but we are certainly bringing a lot of produce. Fingers crossed that Becky's final market (and Carolyn's first) with us will be a good one.
"He's knocking on the door once more!" roared Eleanore. "He's already borrowed ten pounds of sugar this week, how can he possibly expect more?"
"This must be the end, the battle lines shall be drawn," replied Dawn. "The next time I see him coming, I shall set fire to the lawn."
Write about: the brush.
We now have two WWOOFers staying with us, as Carolyn joined us this afternoon. That came together pretty quickly. Plus we were contacted by another WWOOFer who is interested in joining us on Monday for a two week stay.
Just when we think it's just going to be the three of us again...
Pulling me down
To days long past;
That seem to be
Fading too fast.
Soft and gentle
As a brush stroke,
And fading faster
Than cigarette smoke.
Write about: the reminder.
With Becky leaving us after Saturday's market, we had yet to line up another WWOOFer to come help us out for part or the remainder of our season. That might have changed this evening, as we were contacted by someone looking to stay with us for a week or two.
It'd be great to have someone for a bit longer, but even that short a time would make a big difference. Hopefully it works out.
This morning was spent harvesting for our biggest bakery order ever. They've been more keen this year to get all of our extra berries in order to freeze them so that they can have them throughout the winter. Today they lucked out with the blackberries, as our oldest bushes finally started producing and Becky ended up with over twenty pounds of them.
Toss in a few pounds of raspberries, tomatoes, zucchini, nectarines, and peaches, as well as a few bunches of herbs, and things added up quickly. Hopefully they're not regretting their enthusiasm now...
The alarm on his phone went off with enthusiasm, dragging him back to the waking world with enough force to trigger a hoarse expletive. He fumbled around his bedside table until his hand latched onto the device and flicked the noise out of existence.
Staring at the screen with bleary eyes, it took a few moments for the time to register.
Two in the morning? Why the hell would I set the alarm for... dammit. I should know better than to let Cody play with my phone.
He dropped the phone and rolled away, pulling the covers back up to his chin. Within seconds the previous jingle was replaced by rumbling snores.
It wasn't until his actual alarm sounded hours later than he remembered the reminder he had scheduled for his wife's surgery.
Write two haiku about: the weathervane.
Boxes went fairly smoothly today, which was a nice change. No mistakes were uncovered while putting them together, which meant no running out to the garden to harvest something five minutes before people were scheduled to start arriving.
This evening we went for a quick grocery shop and then some gelato (well, sorbetto) at the beach. And by quick I mean except for the parts where we waited for Max to get into his car seat.
Because he can do that now. All on his own.
It just takes a while... most of the time.
Spinning, spinning, my
life is spent spinning, giving
* * *
The rooster points north
with confidence, though clearly
things are going south
Write about something or someone that is: generous.
After his aunt and uncle headed for home this morning, we took Max to the beach. Well, we tried anyway. I think we were there for less than ten minutes before he wanted to go to the splash park instead. It was quite a bit of fun either way.
On the way home we stopped at the Greek restaurant in town for lunch before napping most of the afternoon away. After dinner I harvested pickling cukes (because they needed to be picked, we don't actually have any orders for them this week... which means more pickles for us!) and potatoes (for tomorrow's boxes).
The remainder of the box harvest awaits us in the morning.
"He lives in a house on the east side of town."
"That's generous of you."
"... I'm sorry, what? How is that generous? He paid for it himself."
"No, that's not what I meant. I was talking about your description of that building as a house."
"It's got four walls and a roof, doesn't it?"
"There are a whole lot of holes in those walls."
"Those are windows."
"Now you're being very generous."
Write about: the rental.
Went to the beach this morning with my sister and brother-in-law, which involved a lot of Max having fun and a little bit of eating lunch near the end. When we got home he crashed hard for a three hour nap, which was pretty great as it gave his parents a chance to rest and his aunt and uncle time to go visit some wineries.
This evening we took everyone to another beach for a BBQ dinner for more fun and food. My sister and brother-in-law are heading back to Calgary tomorrow morning, so I'm planning to get up early to make sure they don't leave without some fresh fruit in their (rental) car.
"I can't believe you rented us a cottage for the whole long weekend! Can we really afford this?"
"No, I'm sorry - I shouldn't have said that. This is too amazing, I just want to be grateful!"
"It's okay, really. But I should -"
"Oh, enough of the shoulds already. Let's go upstairs and check out the bedrooms!"
"Um, there's only one bedroom..."
"Hi kids! Isn't this place great?"
"... and we have to share it with my parents."
Write a four line poem about: a bad service experience.
Real or fictional, it matters not to me.
Inspired by real events, by the way. My sister and brother-in-law had their car serviced in Calgary yesterday, but apparently they didn't screw the oil drain plug enough, as it came off during the drive last night. While doing 90 km/h.
Needless to say, the engine didn't care for that.
So now the service center in Calgary is paying for their rental car, the cost of the tow to the nearest service station, and a replacement engine.
That's a pretty costly screw up on their end.
But they made it here this afternoon safe and sound and Max is absolutely loving having them around. Looking forward to a day off with family tomorrow.
Oh, the market went very well (though they had to miss it due to having to wait around for a rental car to become available). Sold out of berries, pickling cukes, plums, tomatoes, and all but one apple. Most of the peaches and nectarines were bought as well. Moved a few cucumbers too, and ate a bunch more in the salad Kat made up to go with dinner this evening.
Anyway. I've been up since 5:30 this morning and I need to get to sleep. So...
I did some real nice work,
All things told.
Except for the drain plug...
That should hold.
Write four lines of prose about: the bowl.
And suddenly, it's August. What.
Heading to the market tomorrow morning with blackberries, raspberries, a couple pints of a later variety of strawberries that were planted this spring, a handful of tomatoes, green beans, pickling cukes, a ridiculous amount of long cucumbers... oh, and the first picks of peaches, nectarines, and sunrise apples.
Not a whole lot of any one thing (other than those 26 pounds of cucumbers...), but hopefully enough all told for a decent long weekend market.
My sister and brother-in-law from Calgary will be meeting me at the market and then coming back this way to join us for the rest of the weekend. Really looking forward to having them here, and for Max to get some more quality time with his aunt and uncle.
It sits on the dinner table - the very, very, exact middle of the dinner table. Just out of reach from all sides, laughing at my fingertips as I stretch for it. Time to call in reinforcements.
"Mommy get it!"