The exercise:
Write about: the ratio.
Today marked ten years since my diagnosis with type 1 diabetes. As in recent years, I celebrated. But ten years seemed like a fairly significant milestone, so... I had two donuts this time around.
Kat and I got some good cleaning done around the house this afternoon before Max returned from daycare. Which he, of course, did not want to do this morning. But I was dropping him and Natalie off together, since her mother had to work early today, so that helped.
When he came home he informed me that he'd had another good day and he was his usual happy self. Now everybody gets a few days off before we go through it all again next Tuesday.
Mine:
"That's not the correct ratio."
"I'm pretty sure that it is."
"Well, I'm completely certain that it is not."
"Whatever, nerd."
"I'm also sure that what you're trying to do will likely lead to a rather violent explosion."
"Don't be such a wuss. It's going to be fine."
"If you insist on following this course of action then I'm packing my bags and getting out of here."
"What is your problem? I'm following the instructions for this solution perfectly."
"No, you're not."
"How would you know?"
"I invented it."
"... you're such a showoff, Dad."
3 comments:
Two doughnuts sounds like a proper celebration for such a milestone! Which of the two was better? For daycare next Tuesday try asking Max what he was doing at daycare last time he was there instead of telling him that he's going there -- get him to think about the fun he has there rather than thinking about what he's leaving at home.
I like the punchline and the way you set it up, though the father does sound a bit stuffy....
Sorry about the hiatus between the commentary and the prompt-writing: work is busy enough that I don't do anything that isn't work while I'm there. It's good; it's challenging; but it's also damn tiring.
The ratio
There are more things in heaven and ea–
Voices drift across the snow, though it's been melting for days now and it's more like slush than anything else. Brown earth pokes through here and there, still frozen, blades of yellowed-grass lying feebly down. The trees in the orchard stretch on into the distance, tall, spindly and leafless. There are birds calling somewhere up high, but the low grey clouds conceal them from an upward glance. And voices drift across the snow from the distance.
-rth than are dreamt o–
The snow is torn up and ruffled, something heavy has been dragged through here. Leaning up against a tree is a yellow-handled saw, the blade as long as an arm and the whole thing shaped like a capital D. Firewood, perhaps, though surely they must know that cutting the wood yields green branches that smoke and don't burn properly. There's a memory lurking here, of something important, something about the trees, but it's refusing to come. A little further, a few more steps, and an axe is left on the ground, probably used for splitting cords.
–f in your philoso–
Cutting the trees hurts the dryads. That's part of the memory. The voices have softened and seem closer, but there's no sign of anyone else here. The snow is giving way completely now, failing to compete in this landscape. A rabbit is startled out of a clump of grass between the rows of trees and lollops away. Its ears are flat to its skull though, there's a terror there that isn't justified by a clumsy footstep. The trees seem closer than they were before, but that's impossible. The trees in an orchard are spaced carefully apart to create maximum yield while minimising the possibility of disease spreading.
–phy Horatio.
Horatio. The ratio. If the ratio of trees to humans is too great the dryads emerge. And this is winter, they're always hungry.
There's a splash of red on the bark of a tree, and something taps on my shoulder.
Greg - hmm. Probably the apple fritter, but the Canadian Maple was also delicious.
Yeah, we do that. And that (sometimes) gets him excited to go for a good couple of minutes. And then we have to do it again. And again. He seems to be getting better about it lately though.
I'm glad work is good and challenging. I hope the tiring thing sorts itself out soon though!
Great atmosphere in your writing today. And I like the way you slowly crank up the tension, culminating in your final lines - starting with the observation about the rabbit's ears.
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