The exercise:
Write about: the quarantine.
Doctor's appointment went great this morning, as Max was his usual smiling, charming self. Everything looked good, and the little man is now up to a rather impressive 13 pounds.
The NHL returns to action this Saturday and the Canucks are set to open their abbreviated season that night. Fingers crossed that it will be one worth waiting for.
Mine:
One little cough
Was all it took.
Now I'm locked up
Like a common crook -
They just had to
Do it by the book.
But I'm not sick,
Soon they will see
They've made a mistake
In confining me -
A common error
In times like these.
Why the delay,
Why can't I go?
Surely someone
Around here must know!
Cause I'm bleeding from
My eyes, ears, and nose?
Sunday January 13th, 2013
The exercise:
Give me what you've got for: the horn.
Visiting plans did not fall through today, but that's because plans were never actually formed (someone was supposed to call to arrange a time to come over and didn't). On the plus side, we got quite a few things done around the house instead.
We're taking Max to see our family doctor for the first time tomorrow. Just a general checkup and a chance for her to meet him, plus we'll have our usual array of questions to ask.
Also: I'm curious to see how much he weighs now.
Mine:
They were to be blown the moment an enemy was spotted by one of the tower guards - one short blast for any force too small to be considered a threat, and three short blasts followed by a long note for anything larger. There was no written rule about the length of that final call to battle but each guard understood that their horn was not to be set aside until the entire castle had been brought to the walls.
Six towers stood watch over the citadel and a guard was present and watching within each at all hours of every day. The six guards on duty wore their tower's horn on their left hips nearly always, with the lone, brief exception coming during the changing of the watch when the horns were passed on to the next man. At no other moment were the horns to be found elsewhere.
The penalties for allowing a horn to slip beyond your reach while you were on watch were brutal and carried out in the main courtyard before all of the residents of the castle - all those who were left vulnerable by your negligence. This had only occurred once, three generations ago, but it was still an event spoken of only in nervous whispers.
Invaders had attempted to slip past the castle defenses in countless ways but none had managed to successfully avoid the piercing cry of the horns, that shrill shout of a younger brother alerting the household to an older sibling's attempt to sneak out after curfew.
But they continued to try, for the treasures held beyond those walls were legendary. Enough gold to purchase a fleet of dragons, unparalleled weaponry, unbreakable armor. Dusty, dark tomes of wicked magic that history was in the process of forgetting.
Powerful motivation for men consumed with greed, fixated on power. But no man outside those walls has ever forced their way inside. Every attempt has been doomed to failure.
But my attempt shall be different. Mine shall end in triumph and glory. For I have an advantage over those desperate fools.
I was born inside these walls.
Give me what you've got for: the horn.
Visiting plans did not fall through today, but that's because plans were never actually formed (someone was supposed to call to arrange a time to come over and didn't). On the plus side, we got quite a few things done around the house instead.
We're taking Max to see our family doctor for the first time tomorrow. Just a general checkup and a chance for her to meet him, plus we'll have our usual array of questions to ask.
Also: I'm curious to see how much he weighs now.
Mine:
They were to be blown the moment an enemy was spotted by one of the tower guards - one short blast for any force too small to be considered a threat, and three short blasts followed by a long note for anything larger. There was no written rule about the length of that final call to battle but each guard understood that their horn was not to be set aside until the entire castle had been brought to the walls.
Six towers stood watch over the citadel and a guard was present and watching within each at all hours of every day. The six guards on duty wore their tower's horn on their left hips nearly always, with the lone, brief exception coming during the changing of the watch when the horns were passed on to the next man. At no other moment were the horns to be found elsewhere.
The penalties for allowing a horn to slip beyond your reach while you were on watch were brutal and carried out in the main courtyard before all of the residents of the castle - all those who were left vulnerable by your negligence. This had only occurred once, three generations ago, but it was still an event spoken of only in nervous whispers.
Invaders had attempted to slip past the castle defenses in countless ways but none had managed to successfully avoid the piercing cry of the horns, that shrill shout of a younger brother alerting the household to an older sibling's attempt to sneak out after curfew.
But they continued to try, for the treasures held beyond those walls were legendary. Enough gold to purchase a fleet of dragons, unparalleled weaponry, unbreakable armor. Dusty, dark tomes of wicked magic that history was in the process of forgetting.
Powerful motivation for men consumed with greed, fixated on power. But no man outside those walls has ever forced their way inside. Every attempt has been doomed to failure.
But my attempt shall be different. Mine shall end in triumph and glory. For I have an advantage over those desperate fools.
I was born inside these walls.
Saturday January 12th, 2013
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: sharing.
Had two different sets of plans for visitors fall through today. Hopefully we'll manage to have at least one successful gathering tomorrow.
Mine:
They say sharing is caring,
But I have to disagree -
Because if you gave a damn,
You'd not have shared crabs with me.
Write a four line poem about: sharing.
Had two different sets of plans for visitors fall through today. Hopefully we'll manage to have at least one successful gathering tomorrow.
Mine:
They say sharing is caring,
But I have to disagree -
Because if you gave a damn,
You'd not have shared crabs with me.
Friday January 11th, 2013
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: worry.
Nothing serious going on here, just the normal, usual worries of new parents inspiring a writing prompt.
Expecting a couple of visitors this weekend, one of whom hasn't had a chance to meet Max yet. Quite looking forward to that. The other visitors are Kat's friend and her two little girls, who have met him on a couple of occasions. I suspect Max would be looking forward to that, if he had any clue that they're coming.
Mine:
Sitting at her desk and looking out the second-floor window, Olive could only purse her lips while shaking her head. Panic or fear would have been more appropriate responses. After all, the front lawn was crawling with the dead come back to life.
But the only image in her mind was of her husband, that very morning, telling her, "There's nothing to worry about - I've got it covered."
Write four lines of prose about: worry.
Nothing serious going on here, just the normal, usual worries of new parents inspiring a writing prompt.
Expecting a couple of visitors this weekend, one of whom hasn't had a chance to meet Max yet. Quite looking forward to that. The other visitors are Kat's friend and her two little girls, who have met him on a couple of occasions. I suspect Max would be looking forward to that, if he had any clue that they're coming.
Mine:
Sitting at her desk and looking out the second-floor window, Olive could only purse her lips while shaking her head. Panic or fear would have been more appropriate responses. After all, the front lawn was crawling with the dead come back to life.
But the only image in her mind was of her husband, that very morning, telling her, "There's nothing to worry about - I've got it covered."
Thursday January 10th, 2013
The exercise:
Today we write about: the bottle.
We had a little bit of rain yesterday, but not as much as they had originally called for. Shocking, I know - an inaccurate weather forecast.
Anyway. Combined with above freezing temperatures, it was enough to melt some of the snow but certainly not all of it.
So the winter wonderland survives another day.
Mine:
The empty bottle rolls inexorably toward the end of the table. Fighting to keep the panic from her face, the bartender watches from across the room. It seems as though the entire building holds its breath as the bottle teeters on the edge, its shattered predecessors staring up at it from the floor.
Everyone knows that was the last drink the bartender could provide. Supplies have run out and the next delivery has been delayed. Everyone knows she has done all she can.
Everyone, that is, except the drinker.
He is blissfully unaware as he watches the bottle tip over the edge, smiling as it falls. The crash of glass doesn't seem to bother him. He is satisfied, or so everyone hopes.
Because if he demands another bottle and it fails to materialize before him, everyone knows that there will be no negotiations, no reasoning with him. No milk when he wants it? Then that baby is going to drown the room in tears.
Today we write about: the bottle.
We had a little bit of rain yesterday, but not as much as they had originally called for. Shocking, I know - an inaccurate weather forecast.
Anyway. Combined with above freezing temperatures, it was enough to melt some of the snow but certainly not all of it.
So the winter wonderland survives another day.
Mine:
The empty bottle rolls inexorably toward the end of the table. Fighting to keep the panic from her face, the bartender watches from across the room. It seems as though the entire building holds its breath as the bottle teeters on the edge, its shattered predecessors staring up at it from the floor.
Everyone knows that was the last drink the bartender could provide. Supplies have run out and the next delivery has been delayed. Everyone knows she has done all she can.
Everyone, that is, except the drinker.
He is blissfully unaware as he watches the bottle tip over the edge, smiling as it falls. The crash of glass doesn't seem to bother him. He is satisfied, or so everyone hopes.
Because if he demands another bottle and it fails to materialize before him, everyone knows that there will be no negotiations, no reasoning with him. No milk when he wants it? Then that baby is going to drown the room in tears.
Wednesday January 9th, 2013
The exercise:
Write about: the punching bag.
There's a punching bag at the gym I've been going to. I punched it a few times last time I was there, just to try it out. And now we get a prompt out of it too.
Mine:
"How can you be so stupid?"
He shrugs awkwardly, smiles bashfully. Mistakes have been learned from, he knows how to respond now. No more backtalk, never cry, don't even let the anger reach his eyes.
Just keep himself small, non-threatening. Weak. Not worth the time or effort. Being a pushover avoids all that extra abuse. It's much more manageable this way.
Roll with the punches, that's how he survives. At least, it has been.
You have to understand, this has been going on for years. Longer than he cares to think about. And all that rolling has covered a lot of ground on the plains of his soul. He is running out of territory now, the cliff is approaching.
A few more blows to his confidence, a well-placed shot to his self-esteem. That's all it will take to bring him to the brink.
And then he will be forced to make a choice: fall to irretrievable depths or, at long last, take a stand for himself.
Write about: the punching bag.
There's a punching bag at the gym I've been going to. I punched it a few times last time I was there, just to try it out. And now we get a prompt out of it too.
Mine:
"How can you be so stupid?"
He shrugs awkwardly, smiles bashfully. Mistakes have been learned from, he knows how to respond now. No more backtalk, never cry, don't even let the anger reach his eyes.
Just keep himself small, non-threatening. Weak. Not worth the time or effort. Being a pushover avoids all that extra abuse. It's much more manageable this way.
Roll with the punches, that's how he survives. At least, it has been.
You have to understand, this has been going on for years. Longer than he cares to think about. And all that rolling has covered a lot of ground on the plains of his soul. He is running out of territory now, the cliff is approaching.
A few more blows to his confidence, a well-placed shot to his self-esteem. That's all it will take to bring him to the brink.
And then he will be forced to make a choice: fall to irretrievable depths or, at long last, take a stand for himself.
Tuesday January 8th, 2013
The exercise:
The word of the day for this week's Two Haiku Tuesday is: double.
I dropped Kat and Max off at a mom and baby meeting this morning at the health clinic - they're doing a four week series of talks, starting with today's discussion on sleep. As I was about to climb back in the car I noticed another mother arriving, a baby carrier in each hand.
"Need any help with those?" I offered, thinking of how heavy Max was when I brought him inside.
"Oh no, I'm fine thanks."
"I guess you must be pretty used to it," I said, feeling a little stupid for not already realizing that.
"Yeah, it's amazing what you get used to."
It turns out her girls are three months old, but they were born two months early so they're pretty tiny. I went to a coffee shop to do some writing until it was time to pick my family up again and I couldn't stop thinking about that woman and her two babies.
Thus, today's prompt and haiku.
Oh! I promised a snow picture. Here you go:
That's the view looking out one of our back windows. They're still calling for rain tomorrow, so things could look quite different in less than 24 hours.
Mine:
Everywhere she goes
there's a baby for each arm -
that's just her life now.
* * *
Twice the trouble but
twice the love? Maybe. For me?
One is plenty, thanks.
The word of the day for this week's Two Haiku Tuesday is: double.
I dropped Kat and Max off at a mom and baby meeting this morning at the health clinic - they're doing a four week series of talks, starting with today's discussion on sleep. As I was about to climb back in the car I noticed another mother arriving, a baby carrier in each hand.
"Need any help with those?" I offered, thinking of how heavy Max was when I brought him inside.
"Oh no, I'm fine thanks."
"I guess you must be pretty used to it," I said, feeling a little stupid for not already realizing that.
"Yeah, it's amazing what you get used to."
It turns out her girls are three months old, but they were born two months early so they're pretty tiny. I went to a coffee shop to do some writing until it was time to pick my family up again and I couldn't stop thinking about that woman and her two babies.
Thus, today's prompt and haiku.
Oh! I promised a snow picture. Here you go:
That's the view looking out one of our back windows. They're still calling for rain tomorrow, so things could look quite different in less than 24 hours.
Mine:
Everywhere she goes
there's a baby for each arm -
that's just her life now.
* * *
Twice the trouble but
twice the love? Maybe. For me?
One is plenty, thanks.
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