The exercise:
Write about: the pilot.
Planted peas out in the garden this morning, then worked in the greenhouse with Kat in the afternoon. We got a bunch more tomatoes seeded and moved some things around so that we have a bit more space to work with.
This evening we went up to Kat's parents place for an Easter/Kat's birthday dinner. She hasn't had to share her birthday with Easter since 2002 (three years before we met), but I'd say the turkey dinner and chocolates make it a pretty good deal.
Mine:
The engine rumbles and grumbles to life, sending vibrations from one end of the plane to the other. He shifts in his seat, anxiety already gnawing at his stomach. He wants to trust this modern marvel of technology but his thoughts are haunted by the knowledge that it was constructed by humans.
And humans are fallible.
Mere minutes to go until the wheels beneath him kiss solid ground farewell and the clouds welcome the plane and all her passengers home. Assuming they get that high without a failure of some sort bringing them crashing back down to earth.
Deep breaths. It will be fine. If it wasn't safe they wouldn't be cleared for takeoff. All the seats would be empty, for no one would be foolish enough to purchase a ticket. But they have received clearance, and passengers occupy every available space.
So it has to be okay, right?
With a slight shake of his head, he reaches out and presses a button before him. The tremble in his finger is barely noticeable. He clears his throat and begins to speak.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking..."
Saturday March 30th, 2013
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the kite.
It was back to work in the garden this morning, as Kat's dad and I were constructing trellises for our newest patch of blackberries and raspberries. Since it was in the mid-twenties today, it was pretty pleasant going.
Also: I'd just like to say how nice it is to not have to delete thirty anonymous spam comments every time I log in to the blog. I can't believe I put up with that for so long.
Mine:
Soaring high above us all,
So dreamily carefree;
I'd happily trade places...
Until it hits a tree.
Write a four line poem about: the kite.
It was back to work in the garden this morning, as Kat's dad and I were constructing trellises for our newest patch of blackberries and raspberries. Since it was in the mid-twenties today, it was pretty pleasant going.
Also: I'd just like to say how nice it is to not have to delete thirty anonymous spam comments every time I log in to the blog. I can't believe I put up with that for so long.
Mine:
Soaring high above us all,
So dreamily carefree;
I'd happily trade places...
Until it hits a tree.
Friday March 29th, 2013
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: the crunch.
Back safe and sound in Osoyoos. I'd say Max's first trip away from home was a definite success. Will share some pictures... once I get around to getting them off my camera.
Mine:
I've had my eye on a short story contest for the last week and half, maybe two weeks. Knowing that the submission deadline was midnight tonight, I was jotting down a few ideas and an opening line in my notebook while Kat was taking her turn behind the wheel this morning (probably did this for too long, as I ended up feeling a little nauseous).
After we got back to the house I double checked the contest page and... oh, look at that: the deadline is midnight Eastern time... meaning I have three less hours than I thought I did.
No worries though, since I tend to do my best work in crunch time: I busted out almost 1600 (lightly edited) words in an hour and a half, sending the submission email with five whole minutes to spare.
Write four lines of prose about: the crunch.
Back safe and sound in Osoyoos. I'd say Max's first trip away from home was a definite success. Will share some pictures... once I get around to getting them off my camera.
Mine:
I've had my eye on a short story contest for the last week and half, maybe two weeks. Knowing that the submission deadline was midnight tonight, I was jotting down a few ideas and an opening line in my notebook while Kat was taking her turn behind the wheel this morning (probably did this for too long, as I ended up feeling a little nauseous).
After we got back to the house I double checked the contest page and... oh, look at that: the deadline is midnight Eastern time... meaning I have three less hours than I thought I did.
No worries though, since I tend to do my best work in crunch time: I busted out almost 1600 (lightly edited) words in an hour and a half, sending the submission email with five whole minutes to spare.
Thursday March 28th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: the kidnapper.
Back in Vancouver for the night. Very tired.
Mine:
We managed to successfully catch the ferry off the Island this afternoon, despite arriving two cars too late to catch the sailing we'd aimed for. Thankfully they'd added an extra sailing just an hour later, due to the Easter long weekend, so we didn't have long to wait.
Added sailings tend to be much quieter than their scheduled counterparts, and this one was no different. Plenty of seats to choose from, a relaxed atmosphere - it's nice.
About five minutes after the boat left its berth, we met a woman who was sitting with a couple of male friends. She was gushing over how cute Max is (which we're kinda used to by now), but a little more intensely than I expected.
She was talking about how much she wanted to kiss him and eventually Kat invited her over to do just that. It was pretty cute. Then, after returning to her seat, she jokingly (I think) offered to hold him if Kat's back got tired. She said she was missing her kids (a three-year-old and a six-year-old), who were not with her on her current trip.
Or so she claimed.
A bit later, after Max kept smiling and making funny noises in her general direction, she asked if it would be creepy if she took a picture of him. No, of course not, we said.
Only just a little bit.
Then she started talking about how she wanted to take him home with her and how she had to go back to her seat because she just couldn't handle being that close to him and on and on. It was very sweet and Max definitely enjoyed the attention.
Thankfully it was a really nice day out so shortly after that we took Max for a walk on the outside deck and did not return to that area of the ferry.
While most of what I just shared was written with tongue firmly planted in cheek, she was definitely walking a fine line between acceptable and too much. I certainly don't think she would have actually tried to kidnap Max, but I think Kat and I were both more comfortable once we found a less... awkward place to spend the rest of the ride.
Write about: the kidnapper.
Back in Vancouver for the night. Very tired.
Mine:
We managed to successfully catch the ferry off the Island this afternoon, despite arriving two cars too late to catch the sailing we'd aimed for. Thankfully they'd added an extra sailing just an hour later, due to the Easter long weekend, so we didn't have long to wait.
Added sailings tend to be much quieter than their scheduled counterparts, and this one was no different. Plenty of seats to choose from, a relaxed atmosphere - it's nice.
About five minutes after the boat left its berth, we met a woman who was sitting with a couple of male friends. She was gushing over how cute Max is (which we're kinda used to by now), but a little more intensely than I expected.
She was talking about how much she wanted to kiss him and eventually Kat invited her over to do just that. It was pretty cute. Then, after returning to her seat, she jokingly (I think) offered to hold him if Kat's back got tired. She said she was missing her kids (a three-year-old and a six-year-old), who were not with her on her current trip.
Or so she claimed.
A bit later, after Max kept smiling and making funny noises in her general direction, she asked if it would be creepy if she took a picture of him. No, of course not, we said.
Only just a little bit.
Then she started talking about how she wanted to take him home with her and how she had to go back to her seat because she just couldn't handle being that close to him and on and on. It was very sweet and Max definitely enjoyed the attention.
Thankfully it was a really nice day out so shortly after that we took Max for a walk on the outside deck and did not return to that area of the ferry.
While most of what I just shared was written with tongue firmly planted in cheek, she was definitely walking a fine line between acceptable and too much. I certainly don't think she would have actually tried to kidnap Max, but I think Kat and I were both more comfortable once we found a less... awkward place to spend the rest of the ride.
Wednesday March 27th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: the portrait.
More visits with high school friends and their children today. More good times.
But... man, I feel old. When did we all grow up?
Heading back to Vancouver tomorrow. I expect it will be a difficult parting in the morning before we head for the ferry.
Mine:
Though Grandma is long gone now, we still see her whenever we pay a visit to Grandpa. She waits for our arrival in the living room, her portrait covering nearly three quarters of the west wall. Hard to forget her with a reminder like that.
Knowing her, that's just the way she would have liked it.
I think it's a bit much, to be honest. I suspect my husband and children feel the same way, though they've never said anything about it. Their increasing reluctance to make the trip to see Grandpa speaks for itself.
Used to be I could at least get them to stay at a nearby hotel and meet up for dinners and lunches at various cafes and restaurants around town. Now even that much is out of the question.
I can hardly blame them. I'd find a way out of the visits as well, if there was any hope of my not drowning in guilt. Besides, I really owe it to Grandma to keep an eye on her doting husband.
I just really, really wish she hadn't insisted on posing for her portrait in the nude.
Write about: the portrait.
More visits with high school friends and their children today. More good times.
But... man, I feel old. When did we all grow up?
Heading back to Vancouver tomorrow. I expect it will be a difficult parting in the morning before we head for the ferry.
Mine:
Though Grandma is long gone now, we still see her whenever we pay a visit to Grandpa. She waits for our arrival in the living room, her portrait covering nearly three quarters of the west wall. Hard to forget her with a reminder like that.
Knowing her, that's just the way she would have liked it.
I think it's a bit much, to be honest. I suspect my husband and children feel the same way, though they've never said anything about it. Their increasing reluctance to make the trip to see Grandpa speaks for itself.
Used to be I could at least get them to stay at a nearby hotel and meet up for dinners and lunches at various cafes and restaurants around town. Now even that much is out of the question.
I can hardly blame them. I'd find a way out of the visits as well, if there was any hope of my not drowning in guilt. Besides, I really owe it to Grandma to keep an eye on her doting husband.
I just really, really wish she hadn't insisted on posing for her portrait in the nude.
Tuesday March 26th, 2013
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: interference.
Had a wonderful visit with a high school friend and her one-year-old daughter this afternoon. It was great to catch up with her and meet her super, super adorable little girl. I told Max he had to be on his best behaviour if he's going to stand a shot with this one.
He responded by being his usual charming self.
Also: by not having a massive, smelly poop until just before our guests departed.
Mine:
The goal seems so clear,
lurking just out of reach; he
gets in his own way.
* * *
Spring comes to melt snow,
send it rushing to the sea;
beaver disagrees.
Write two haiku about: interference.
Had a wonderful visit with a high school friend and her one-year-old daughter this afternoon. It was great to catch up with her and meet her super, super adorable little girl. I told Max he had to be on his best behaviour if he's going to stand a shot with this one.
He responded by being his usual charming self.
Also: by not having a massive, smelly poop until just before our guests departed.
Mine:
The goal seems so clear,
lurking just out of reach; he
gets in his own way.
* * *
Spring comes to melt snow,
send it rushing to the sea;
beaver disagrees.
Monday March 25th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about something that: bounces.
Went out for lunch with my parents today at our favorite Island restaurant: The Kingfisher. Which, apparently, is now called The Breakwater. Whatever - it'll always be The Kingfisher to me.
Max did a bit of fussing but I managed to get him to sleep, which lasted for most of the meal. Once he woke up he was in a pretty good mood. Also: a pretty pooping mood.
This evening I played a game of Scrabble with my Mom, as is tradition whenever I come for a visit. Thanks to a lot of good fortune I managed to pull off my best ever (as far as I can remember) total score: 403.
Sorry Mom.
Mine:
Gravel embedded in his knees, bloody scrapes and cuts on his arms, he breathes in the dusty heat with long, slow breaths. Somewhere, not too far away, he can hear tires spinning in vain, the ground hopelessly out of reach.
The pain is intense, both the physical and emotional. His pride has taken as much of a beating as his body and he knows what happens next will define this moment in the eyes of his friends. Closing his eyes, he knows that it can still go either way.
Running... well, limping is more likely... home to his mother is incredibly tempting. It's also the wisest course of action, if he's being honest with himself. Something might be broken. Infections are just waiting to set up shop in his bloodstream.
But the shame of it... oh the shame of it.
With a grunt that barely manages to slip between gritted teeth, he pushes himself to his feet. After allowing himself a moment to ensure he won't pass out, he walks over to his bike and pulls it upright. Without a word he gets on and pedals over to his waiting friends.
"All right, Ricky! Way to bounce back!"
Write about something that: bounces.
Went out for lunch with my parents today at our favorite Island restaurant: The Kingfisher. Which, apparently, is now called The Breakwater. Whatever - it'll always be The Kingfisher to me.
Max did a bit of fussing but I managed to get him to sleep, which lasted for most of the meal. Once he woke up he was in a pretty good mood. Also: a pretty pooping mood.
This evening I played a game of Scrabble with my Mom, as is tradition whenever I come for a visit. Thanks to a lot of good fortune I managed to pull off my best ever (as far as I can remember) total score: 403.
Sorry Mom.
Mine:
Gravel embedded in his knees, bloody scrapes and cuts on his arms, he breathes in the dusty heat with long, slow breaths. Somewhere, not too far away, he can hear tires spinning in vain, the ground hopelessly out of reach.
The pain is intense, both the physical and emotional. His pride has taken as much of a beating as his body and he knows what happens next will define this moment in the eyes of his friends. Closing his eyes, he knows that it can still go either way.
Running... well, limping is more likely... home to his mother is incredibly tempting. It's also the wisest course of action, if he's being honest with himself. Something might be broken. Infections are just waiting to set up shop in his bloodstream.
But the shame of it... oh the shame of it.
With a grunt that barely manages to slip between gritted teeth, he pushes himself to his feet. After allowing himself a moment to ensure he won't pass out, he walks over to his bike and pulls it upright. Without a word he gets on and pedals over to his waiting friends.
"All right, Ricky! Way to bounce back!"
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