The exercise:
Write about something that is: vacant.
Tomorrow is Canada Day and we have plans to catch the parade in town in the morning. We also have two young boys, so we'll see if any of our plans actually work out.
Another busy bakery morning. When I left at 12:30 we were completely sold out of all the bread loaves, cinnamon buns, croissants, focaccia, ciabatta loaves and buns, and were down to one bagel, one butter tart, and a handful of coffee cake slices.
So yeah, they were pretty much closing up and getting ready for tomorrow's craziness as I was leaving. Feeling very glad to not be working there either of the next two days.
This afternoon we spent some time at the beach with the boys, which was very nice. A dip in the lake is a great way to cool off when the heat hits like this.
Mine:
People lived here,
Once.
A long time ago,
Or was it just
Yesterday?
Hard to say.
Time is funny that way...
Children laughed here...
Shh!
If you listen
With all of your being
You just might here them
Now.
I don't know how.
Maybe they echo in the walls,
Somehow.
Now this is a spider
House.
Here resides a moth,
A cockroach,
A mouse.
And,
What's more,
The ghosts of all those
Who lived here
Before.
Wednesday June 29th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the observatory.
Busy busy morning at the bakery. I do believe the tourists have arrived.
Sounds like there will be two of us out front right from opening tomorrow, which should make a huge difference. I'll probably still need a coffee in me before we unlock the door though.
Mine:
As the blinding light of dawn drew steadily nearer, the man in the faded blue jeans and threadbare sweater wrote hastily in his notebook. With one eye seemingly glued to his telescope the words were messy and (he would later discover) illegible in places but he could not tear himself away from the view.
In the distance the phone in his office began to ring. Again. The man paid it no heed. Again.
His discovery had been made hours before, an object orbiting a distant sun in an expanse of space he had studied hundreds of times. Somehow, though, he had never seen this planet before. This Earth-sized, Earth-shaped, Earth... like object.
Was there life there? Life like ours? Was there someone there, right then, staring back at him and pondering the same questions about Earth?
Impossible to know. But so very tempting to imagine.
At last the man's writing hand began to cramp so badly that he had to put his pen down. But he continued to stare at this mysterious, intriguing object until the sun chased the night away, obliterating his view. A sudden sadness overcame him then, more powerful than the one that typically accompanied the ending of the night.
Would he be able to find it again? Or was it lost forever? What if it was only visible once every twenty years? Would he live long enough to make that discovery?
His phone rang again. The man turned his head and contemplated answering it. Then, slowly, stiffly, he lay down in the makeshift bed on the floor, and tried to get some sleep before the dark joys of nighttime returned.
Write about: the observatory.
Busy busy morning at the bakery. I do believe the tourists have arrived.
Sounds like there will be two of us out front right from opening tomorrow, which should make a huge difference. I'll probably still need a coffee in me before we unlock the door though.
Mine:
As the blinding light of dawn drew steadily nearer, the man in the faded blue jeans and threadbare sweater wrote hastily in his notebook. With one eye seemingly glued to his telescope the words were messy and (he would later discover) illegible in places but he could not tear himself away from the view.
In the distance the phone in his office began to ring. Again. The man paid it no heed. Again.
His discovery had been made hours before, an object orbiting a distant sun in an expanse of space he had studied hundreds of times. Somehow, though, he had never seen this planet before. This Earth-sized, Earth-shaped, Earth... like object.
Was there life there? Life like ours? Was there someone there, right then, staring back at him and pondering the same questions about Earth?
Impossible to know. But so very tempting to imagine.
At last the man's writing hand began to cramp so badly that he had to put his pen down. But he continued to stare at this mysterious, intriguing object until the sun chased the night away, obliterating his view. A sudden sadness overcame him then, more powerful than the one that typically accompanied the ending of the night.
Would he be able to find it again? Or was it lost forever? What if it was only visible once every twenty years? Would he live long enough to make that discovery?
His phone rang again. The man turned his head and contemplated answering it. Then, slowly, stiffly, he lay down in the makeshift bed on the floor, and tried to get some sleep before the dark joys of nighttime returned.
Tuesday June 28th, 2016
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: the hunter.
One of the orders that was being picked up this afternoon was put in by a family from Penticton who normally visit our stall at the farmers market. They were away on Saturday and will be away again this coming weekend, so they made the trip down to see us (and our produce, I suppose).
They're pretty much my favorite customers, thanks to their genuine enthusiasm for the produce, how appreciative they are of the work we do, and because they are just really, really, really nice. It was a real treat to have them visit the farm for the first time, and their daughter (seven or eight years old, maybe?) got a kick out of picking a few apricots right from the trees.
Back to the bakery tomorrow morning. Time to switch gears once more.
Oh, the new laptop finally arrived today. Still trying to get things set up the way we like it, but it's looking good so far.
Mine:
No line is too long,
nor store too far, to deter
The Bargain Hunter
* * *
With his rifle at
the ready, he stalks these woods,
searching for his prey
Write two haiku about: the hunter.
One of the orders that was being picked up this afternoon was put in by a family from Penticton who normally visit our stall at the farmers market. They were away on Saturday and will be away again this coming weekend, so they made the trip down to see us (and our produce, I suppose).
They're pretty much my favorite customers, thanks to their genuine enthusiasm for the produce, how appreciative they are of the work we do, and because they are just really, really, really nice. It was a real treat to have them visit the farm for the first time, and their daughter (seven or eight years old, maybe?) got a kick out of picking a few apricots right from the trees.
Back to the bakery tomorrow morning. Time to switch gears once more.
Oh, the new laptop finally arrived today. Still trying to get things set up the way we like it, but it's looking good so far.
Mine:
No line is too long,
nor store too far, to deter
The Bargain Hunter
* * *
With his rifle at
the ready, he stalks these woods,
searching for his prey
Monday June 27th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the swimmer.
Kat took Max and Miles to the beach this morning to meet up with some friends and to get into the lake for the first time this year. Highs of 33 will do that (it's supposed to be going up to 35 tomorrow).
I spent the morning weeding out the garlic patch and our row of tomato plants. Hopefully a little fertilizer will get the tomatoes back on track, as they are clearly in need of some love.
Not a tonne of local orders to pick for tomorrow, but we need to get all the ripe raspberries off the canes regardless. Fingers crossed that the heat hasn't burned them to a crisp before we can get to them.
Mine:
"Hey Hal?"
"What?"
"I thought you said George was a good swimmer."
"No, I said sinker. He's a great sinker."
"What? Who even says something like that?"
"Me, you idiot. I do. Obviously."
"Oh for... is he at least wearing a life jacket?"
"A life jacket? Are you serious? How do you think we're keeping the beer cold?"
Write about: the swimmer.
Kat took Max and Miles to the beach this morning to meet up with some friends and to get into the lake for the first time this year. Highs of 33 will do that (it's supposed to be going up to 35 tomorrow).
I spent the morning weeding out the garlic patch and our row of tomato plants. Hopefully a little fertilizer will get the tomatoes back on track, as they are clearly in need of some love.
Not a tonne of local orders to pick for tomorrow, but we need to get all the ripe raspberries off the canes regardless. Fingers crossed that the heat hasn't burned them to a crisp before we can get to them.
Mine:
"Hey Hal?"
"What?"
"I thought you said George was a good swimmer."
"No, I said sinker. He's a great sinker."
"What? Who even says something like that?"
"Me, you idiot. I do. Obviously."
"Oh for... is he at least wearing a life jacket?"
"A life jacket? Are you serious? How do you think we're keeping the beer cold?"
Sunday June 26th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the stray.
It was a hot one today. Did manage to finally rototill the paths in our veggie garden before the heat got excessive. We didn't plant much but I'm still doing a fine job of neglecting it. Hoping to get on top of things this week.
Not even going to talk about how far behind on replying to comments I am...
Mine:
"She's back again."
"That's nice." Dale didn't need to ask who his wife was talking about. He knew. "She better not be pregnant again."
"Doesn't look it."
"That's what you said last time." Dale turned to the next page in the local newspaper and began reading an opinion piece about the town council. The author, unsurprisingly, was not a supporter.
"Oh, come on Dale. We both know you thought those kittens were danged cute."
"I never said no such thing." Despite his best efforts, a small smile appeared on his face. He tried to erase it with a sip of coffee and was only partially successful.
"She's making herself comfy by the woodpile. Do you think she'll be all right there?"
"She ain't our danged cat, Violet. What's it matter to us if she's all right or not?"
"Well, somebody ought to be looking out for her. And if she keeps coming back to us then it's safe to say nobody else is."
"She's a cat, Violet. She can take care of herself. Probably has an owner somewhere doing their level best to keep her happy and she's too high and mighty to approve of their work. Cats are like that."
"Oh, what do you know about cats anyway? Your family only ever had dogs when you were growing up. You're just being racist against cats, that's all."
"I don't think racist is the word you're looking for," Dale muttered but Violet was already out the kitchen door, heading for the woodpile with a saucer of milk. "Ah hell, here we go again..."
Write about: the stray.
It was a hot one today. Did manage to finally rototill the paths in our veggie garden before the heat got excessive. We didn't plant much but I'm still doing a fine job of neglecting it. Hoping to get on top of things this week.
Not even going to talk about how far behind on replying to comments I am...
Mine:
"She's back again."
"That's nice." Dale didn't need to ask who his wife was talking about. He knew. "She better not be pregnant again."
"Doesn't look it."
"That's what you said last time." Dale turned to the next page in the local newspaper and began reading an opinion piece about the town council. The author, unsurprisingly, was not a supporter.
"Oh, come on Dale. We both know you thought those kittens were danged cute."
"I never said no such thing." Despite his best efforts, a small smile appeared on his face. He tried to erase it with a sip of coffee and was only partially successful.
"She's making herself comfy by the woodpile. Do you think she'll be all right there?"
"She ain't our danged cat, Violet. What's it matter to us if she's all right or not?"
"Well, somebody ought to be looking out for her. And if she keeps coming back to us then it's safe to say nobody else is."
"She's a cat, Violet. She can take care of herself. Probably has an owner somewhere doing their level best to keep her happy and she's too high and mighty to approve of their work. Cats are like that."
"Oh, what do you know about cats anyway? Your family only ever had dogs when you were growing up. You're just being racist against cats, that's all."
"I don't think racist is the word you're looking for," Dale muttered but Violet was already out the kitchen door, heading for the woodpile with a saucer of milk. "Ah hell, here we go again..."
Saturday June 25th, 2016
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the car show.
We sold out of raspberries (eventually), broccoli, cabbage, Moroccan mint plants, gold plums, apples (close enough), and cherries at the market this morning. So that was good.
We also sold less than half of the apricots we brought with us. So that was less good.
Not really sure what happened there. Lots of people were at the market. My only guess is that most people were looking for stuff that was ready to eat right away and the fact that the apricots need to sit out for a day or two before they're ripe enough to eat did them no favors.
Ah well, we'll do our best to sell them locally.
Mine:
Come on down and see them,
All our cars are finally here!
Don't miss your chance because
We only use them twice a year...
Write a four line poem about: the car show.
We sold out of raspberries (eventually), broccoli, cabbage, Moroccan mint plants, gold plums, apples (close enough), and cherries at the market this morning. So that was good.
We also sold less than half of the apricots we brought with us. So that was less good.
Not really sure what happened there. Lots of people were at the market. My only guess is that most people were looking for stuff that was ready to eat right away and the fact that the apricots need to sit out for a day or two before they're ripe enough to eat did them no favors.
Ah well, we'll do our best to sell them locally.
Mine:
Come on down and see them,
All our cars are finally here!
Don't miss your chance because
We only use them twice a year...
Friday June 24th, 2016
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: hunger.
Bringing raspberries, apricots, apples, cherries, plums, broccoli, cabbage, mint plants, and photography stuff to the market tomorrow. Lots of apricots (18 crates) and bits and pieces of everything else. There's a car show going on this weekend next door to us, so hopefully it'll be pretty busy.
I should probably get some sleep.
Mine:
There is a gnawing in my gut, as though a wild animal resides there and it is scavenging for food. It is finding nothing and that only serves to make it angry. I am helpless before its increasingly frantic search.
"Yeah, I guess I will go with the lunch special... give me those dozen donuts with my soup and sandwich."
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: hunger.
Bringing raspberries, apricots, apples, cherries, plums, broccoli, cabbage, mint plants, and photography stuff to the market tomorrow. Lots of apricots (18 crates) and bits and pieces of everything else. There's a car show going on this weekend next door to us, so hopefully it'll be pretty busy.
I should probably get some sleep.
Mine:
There is a gnawing in my gut, as though a wild animal resides there and it is scavenging for food. It is finding nothing and that only serves to make it angry. I am helpless before its increasingly frantic search.
"Yeah, I guess I will go with the lunch special... give me those dozen donuts with my soup and sandwich."
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