The exercise:
Write two haiku about: partners.
Made Kat a spaghetti squash pasta with halibut for dinner tonight. The tomatoes I roasted for the pasta sauce were a big hit and the fish was only a little bit overcooked - which isn't bad, considering we were dealing with Max having a before bed meltdown when I'd planned on getting it out of the oven.
Tomorrow morning I'm hoping to get our tomatoes and peppers started in the greenhouse. If that doesn't take too long I might even get out to the garden to do some weeding and mulching around the garlic plants.
It's getting to be that time of year again.
Mine:
Through the years we've seen
it all, or close enough, and
I still love your smile
* * *
You're always by my
side; I can't wait for the day
this glue will wear off
Monday March 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the deposit.
Took some time this morning to get a few blossom pictures around the orchard. These, I believe, are peach blossoms (with an outside chance of them being nectarine blossoms):
And this is one of my plum blossom shots:
I'm basically sold on the new camera, I'm just delaying for no good reason at this point. I expect I'll have purchased it within the next couple of days now.
Most of the afternoon was spent with Max at his favorite park. Other than his complete lack of enjoyment of transitioning from one activity to the next, it was generally a good day for him.
Tomorrow is Kat's birthday, so I'm planning on cooking her dinner and spoiling her as much as possible.
Mine:
The weight of the briefcase in my right hand feels like a lead ball. It slows me down, and hauling it around is exhausting. I know I can't keep it much longer. Dropping it and making a run for it is desperately tempting, but that would be tantamount to suicide.
So that's why I'm here. I guess. I wish it was somebody else, but they picked me. And there's no saying no to these people.
Still, I wish they'd gone with someone a little more experienced with this sort of thing.
This suit doesn't feel like mine. Like it was made for someone just a little bigger than me. Which makes sense, seeing as it's a rental. It's just that it's making me feel even more like a fraud, and that's not helping me. At all.
The last person in line in front of me disappears and suddenly I'm next. I concentrate on remembering to breath. And not dropping the briefcase. Act casual. Like I do this sort of thing every day. Like the money I'm carrying is mine. Like... okay, I'm focusing on too many things now.
Okay, I'm up. I can do this.
"Hello," the teller says with a generic smile. "How can I help you today?"
"I need to make a deposit." Good. Steady voice. Solid eye contact. Doing well. "There's, uh... not like, a maximum amount of... uh, cash... that I can do... that... with, right?"
Bloody hell.
Write about: the deposit.
Took some time this morning to get a few blossom pictures around the orchard. These, I believe, are peach blossoms (with an outside chance of them being nectarine blossoms):
And this is one of my plum blossom shots:
I'm basically sold on the new camera, I'm just delaying for no good reason at this point. I expect I'll have purchased it within the next couple of days now.
Most of the afternoon was spent with Max at his favorite park. Other than his complete lack of enjoyment of transitioning from one activity to the next, it was generally a good day for him.
Tomorrow is Kat's birthday, so I'm planning on cooking her dinner and spoiling her as much as possible.
Mine:
The weight of the briefcase in my right hand feels like a lead ball. It slows me down, and hauling it around is exhausting. I know I can't keep it much longer. Dropping it and making a run for it is desperately tempting, but that would be tantamount to suicide.
So that's why I'm here. I guess. I wish it was somebody else, but they picked me. And there's no saying no to these people.
Still, I wish they'd gone with someone a little more experienced with this sort of thing.
This suit doesn't feel like mine. Like it was made for someone just a little bigger than me. Which makes sense, seeing as it's a rental. It's just that it's making me feel even more like a fraud, and that's not helping me. At all.
The last person in line in front of me disappears and suddenly I'm next. I concentrate on remembering to breath. And not dropping the briefcase. Act casual. Like I do this sort of thing every day. Like the money I'm carrying is mine. Like... okay, I'm focusing on too many things now.
Okay, I'm up. I can do this.
"Hello," the teller says with a generic smile. "How can I help you today?"
"I need to make a deposit." Good. Steady voice. Solid eye contact. Doing well. "There's, uh... not like, a maximum amount of... uh, cash... that I can do... that... with, right?"
Bloody hell.
Sunday March 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about something that is: limitless.
I was allowed to sleep until 7 this morning, which felt relatively glorious. And while I am still feeling the lingering effects of this cold, it's never gotten especially bad. So that's all good.
Max, on the other hand, is going through a rough stretch. I don't think he's sick, just dealing with a lot of stuff. Teething, moving around too much this last month, too many people coming and going, and just a general lack of routine.
We're hoping to get things back to basically normal this week as far as our schedules go, so hopefully that helps.
Mine:
Dear Max,
There are some moments, some hours, some days that I am convinced that you are testing the limits. Of our rules, of your abilities, of gravity, of my patience.
That last one most of all, I am not proud to admit.
I know so much of this world must be incomprehensible to you. I know that, relatively speaking, you just got here and there's so much you've yet to learn. Like all the emotions surging through your body and the words you need to express them. I know, most of all, that you are innocent.
And sometimes I forget. I forget all that I know for just long enough for my patience to run out. I say things I immediately regret. I apologize afterward, I always do, but words seem inadequate.
There are other moments. Ones during which I see things differently. That you are utterly, blissfully unaware that limits are present. Why can't you climb that? Why not throw that? Why not try that, use that, touch that? Why not, really, do it all?
On those occasions I realize the truth: that you are limitless.
And a part of me, quite a large part of me actually, envies you. What a world to live in. What endless possibilities you must see.
And I am sorry to be one of the people who breaks the illusion. Know that I try not to do so unless it is necessary. And that I probably do it more than I need to, in my attempts to keep you safe. And know too that I do my best to encourage you onward, to preserve your belief in yourself and your endless abilities.
But most of all, know that I love you. Always.
Always and forever,
Your Dada
Write about something that is: limitless.
I was allowed to sleep until 7 this morning, which felt relatively glorious. And while I am still feeling the lingering effects of this cold, it's never gotten especially bad. So that's all good.
Max, on the other hand, is going through a rough stretch. I don't think he's sick, just dealing with a lot of stuff. Teething, moving around too much this last month, too many people coming and going, and just a general lack of routine.
We're hoping to get things back to basically normal this week as far as our schedules go, so hopefully that helps.
Mine:
Dear Max,
There are some moments, some hours, some days that I am convinced that you are testing the limits. Of our rules, of your abilities, of gravity, of my patience.
That last one most of all, I am not proud to admit.
I know so much of this world must be incomprehensible to you. I know that, relatively speaking, you just got here and there's so much you've yet to learn. Like all the emotions surging through your body and the words you need to express them. I know, most of all, that you are innocent.
And sometimes I forget. I forget all that I know for just long enough for my patience to run out. I say things I immediately regret. I apologize afterward, I always do, but words seem inadequate.
There are other moments. Ones during which I see things differently. That you are utterly, blissfully unaware that limits are present. Why can't you climb that? Why not throw that? Why not try that, use that, touch that? Why not, really, do it all?
On those occasions I realize the truth: that you are limitless.
And a part of me, quite a large part of me actually, envies you. What a world to live in. What endless possibilities you must see.
And I am sorry to be one of the people who breaks the illusion. Know that I try not to do so unless it is necessary. And that I probably do it more than I need to, in my attempts to keep you safe. And know too that I do my best to encourage you onward, to preserve your belief in yourself and your endless abilities.
But most of all, know that I love you. Always.
Always and forever,
Your Dada
Saturday March 28th, 2015
Mine:
Write a four line poem about: the tyrant.
Max woke up at 5 this morning. That about sums up the first half of my day.
After lunch I managed to get our taxes finished and sent off, which felt... better than waking up at 5. With that out of the way I took Max into town to get some groceries and visit the park. He's getting to be quite the little climbing monkey.
Mine:
His unchallenged power
Keeps us away in fear;
All the while, secretly,
He really wants us near...
Write a four line poem about: the tyrant.
Max woke up at 5 this morning. That about sums up the first half of my day.
After lunch I managed to get our taxes finished and sent off, which felt... better than waking up at 5. With that out of the way I took Max into town to get some groceries and visit the park. He's getting to be quite the little climbing monkey.
Mine:
His unchallenged power
Keeps us away in fear;
All the while, secretly,
He really wants us near...
Friday March 27th, 2015
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose which take place inside: the train station.
Today, at any rate, the cold hit Kat pretty hard. I'm still fighting it off and feeling fairly functional, but I was ready for bed before dinner was on the table. Obviously I've hit my second wind since then, as usual, but had I been given the opportunity to nod off my body would have gladly taken it.
Ugh, so little focus. I'm just going to get this writing done and go to bed.
Mine:
"We better hurry up and get back on the train - that funny fellow with the hat definitely just yelled 'All aboard!' before he jumped up there."
"Ah, what's the rush? It was clearly a question and the answer is obviously no... I mean, look at all these people still on the platform with us!"
"I think maybe everybody else is catching a different train than... oh crap, it's pulling away!"
Write four lines of prose which take place inside: the train station.
Today, at any rate, the cold hit Kat pretty hard. I'm still fighting it off and feeling fairly functional, but I was ready for bed before dinner was on the table. Obviously I've hit my second wind since then, as usual, but had I been given the opportunity to nod off my body would have gladly taken it.
Ugh, so little focus. I'm just going to get this writing done and go to bed.
Mine:
"We better hurry up and get back on the train - that funny fellow with the hat definitely just yelled 'All aboard!' before he jumped up there."
"Ah, what's the rush? It was clearly a question and the answer is obviously no... I mean, look at all these people still on the platform with us!"
"I think maybe everybody else is catching a different train than... oh crap, it's pulling away!"
Thursday March 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: damage.
Natalie and her mom are flying back north tomorrow morning, so we had to say farewell to them this evening. It sounds like they're going to be back in July, on a permanent basis regardless of what happens with selling their house up there, so at least we've got that to look forward to.
Pretty sure that'll be little comfort to Max for the next couple of days, but we'll see how that goes.
Also: it would appear that Kat and I have come down with her brother's cold. It hasn't hit us as hard as it hit him so far, and I'm hoping that trend continues. Fingers crossed, at any rate.
Mine:
The surface is unblemished
As I walk down the street;
A smile, a nod, a wave,
This lie is so, so complete.
Inside is where I carry
The hurt, the scars, the pain;
It's where I store the tears
That threaten to pour like rain.
I try to keep it together,
To keep the damage hidden...
But sooner or later, I know,
It will appear, unbidden.
Write about: damage.
Natalie and her mom are flying back north tomorrow morning, so we had to say farewell to them this evening. It sounds like they're going to be back in July, on a permanent basis regardless of what happens with selling their house up there, so at least we've got that to look forward to.
Pretty sure that'll be little comfort to Max for the next couple of days, but we'll see how that goes.
Also: it would appear that Kat and I have come down with her brother's cold. It hasn't hit us as hard as it hit him so far, and I'm hoping that trend continues. Fingers crossed, at any rate.
Mine:
The surface is unblemished
As I walk down the street;
A smile, a nod, a wave,
This lie is so, so complete.
Inside is where I carry
The hurt, the scars, the pain;
It's where I store the tears
That threaten to pour like rain.
I try to keep it together,
To keep the damage hidden...
But sooner or later, I know,
It will appear, unbidden.
Wednesday March 25th, 2015
The exercise:
Let us revisit the Random Book Prompt, shall we?
If you've got a bookshelf handy, grab a book as randomly as you like and use its opening line as your own. Otherwise Amazon's Look Inside feature is willing to help you find a first sentence to borrow.
Either way, give credit where it is due and then take that first line wherever your imagination tells you to. Mine is from a book I'm about halfway through, which appears to be a reasonable thing to say until I point out that it was a Christmas gift. From 2013.
I have got to make more time to read books.
I began work on filing our taxes this morning. Ugh. So much information required, so many questions to answer. So much paperwork to sort through. Between Kat and I, so many jobs to report on.
I really ought to figure out a better system for next year.
Mine:
Sacre Bleu: A Comedy d'Art by Christopher Moore
This is a story about the color blue. I felt you should know that up front. Confusion can be a terrible thing, and I'd hate to find out one day that this tale was the source of it for some poor, dumb, clueless soul.
Not that it would have been you, dear reader, had I declined to join Team Clarity right from the start. Of course not! You have an obvious intelligence about you, what with the firm, confident grip with which you have taken hold of this book and the, dare I say, spark in your eyes. No hand holding required with this one, no sirree. I'm wasting precious ink on some other witless wonder.
Okay? Your ego all good now? Then allow me, if you will, to continue.
Blue can represent many things. It is the color of countless objects, from the sky above us (where else would it be?) to the water in our lakes, oceans, and seas. Jeans, shirts, coats, hats, even shoes, if your fashion taste is... different than mine. All can be dyed that lovely hue.
It's a lot of ground to cover, isn't it? Other authors might be intimidated by such a subject matter. Not I, though. Not I. For I know that this tale, like any other, must begin at a single point. From there momentum builds and obstacles are scaled, dashed across, leapt over, or smashed. So without further ado, I shall commence with one blue thing (well, a pair to be precise) and then we can all sally forth and see where this blue road takes us.
The first thing I noticed about Marie Anderson was the color of her eyes.
Let us revisit the Random Book Prompt, shall we?
If you've got a bookshelf handy, grab a book as randomly as you like and use its opening line as your own. Otherwise Amazon's Look Inside feature is willing to help you find a first sentence to borrow.
Either way, give credit where it is due and then take that first line wherever your imagination tells you to. Mine is from a book I'm about halfway through, which appears to be a reasonable thing to say until I point out that it was a Christmas gift. From 2013.
I have got to make more time to read books.
I began work on filing our taxes this morning. Ugh. So much information required, so many questions to answer. So much paperwork to sort through. Between Kat and I, so many jobs to report on.
I really ought to figure out a better system for next year.
Mine:
Sacre Bleu: A Comedy d'Art by Christopher Moore
This is a story about the color blue. I felt you should know that up front. Confusion can be a terrible thing, and I'd hate to find out one day that this tale was the source of it for some poor, dumb, clueless soul.
Not that it would have been you, dear reader, had I declined to join Team Clarity right from the start. Of course not! You have an obvious intelligence about you, what with the firm, confident grip with which you have taken hold of this book and the, dare I say, spark in your eyes. No hand holding required with this one, no sirree. I'm wasting precious ink on some other witless wonder.
Okay? Your ego all good now? Then allow me, if you will, to continue.
Blue can represent many things. It is the color of countless objects, from the sky above us (where else would it be?) to the water in our lakes, oceans, and seas. Jeans, shirts, coats, hats, even shoes, if your fashion taste is... different than mine. All can be dyed that lovely hue.
It's a lot of ground to cover, isn't it? Other authors might be intimidated by such a subject matter. Not I, though. Not I. For I know that this tale, like any other, must begin at a single point. From there momentum builds and obstacles are scaled, dashed across, leapt over, or smashed. So without further ado, I shall commence with one blue thing (well, a pair to be precise) and then we can all sally forth and see where this blue road takes us.
The first thing I noticed about Marie Anderson was the color of her eyes.
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