The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: once in a blue moon.
Today was my fifth wedding anniversary. Really, really doesn't feel like that long. Kat and I celebrated by picking blackberries together this morning (we're also planning on properly celebrating it by going out for dinner on Sunday night).
We didn't get very many pints, but we did just pick on Wednesday. They're definitely on the decline, but that's all right - we've got lots of nectarines and apples for tomorrow's market, along with peaches, tomatoes, cabbages, onions, garlic, and cucumbers.
I'm taking Rebecca with me again this week, so Kat and Max will be spending the morning with Sue around Osoyoos (I suspect a trip to the beach will be involved at some point). Then she'll begin the trek home to Calgary after lunch.
It's been nice having her here for a bit of a longer visit than usual, but unsurprisingly it still feels too short.
Mine:
"Don't you think that this is getting a little dangerous?"
"Oh come on, you know we'll never get caught!"
"I don't know, with technology these days improving by leaps and bounds it seems like a good time for an objective discussion of-"
"It doesn't matter how powerful their telescopes are - humans will never look closely enough to realize that their precious moon turns blue whenever us smurfs gather for our picnic party on the moon."
Thursday July 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about something that is: custom-made.
My sister and I spent the morning weeding a row of strawberries, around the pepper plants, and a mixed row of onions and leeks. Then we came back to the house, gathered what we needed, and headed for the beach for a picnic lunch with Kat and Max.
Everybody had a nap in the afternoon, which was much needed for all of us - especially Max, who is fighting off a cold at the moment. After dinner Kat went out to do some work in the tomatoes and Sue and I hung out with Max on the deck. There was a lot of soccer played, as well as some good times with his toy trucks.
Tomorrow we're back to harvesting for the farmers market, this time for our usual spot on Saturday morning in Penticton.
Mine:
"It's perfect."
"I should hope so."
"And why is that?"
"I had it custom-made for you."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Would you like to see the receipts for all the parts and labour?"
"You know I don't like those annoying bits of paper."
"How else should I prove it then?"
"I don't think you can."
"What, exactly, is the issue?"
"I simply will not believe that you had a spoon custom-made for me to eat ice cream with."
Write about something that is: custom-made.
My sister and I spent the morning weeding a row of strawberries, around the pepper plants, and a mixed row of onions and leeks. Then we came back to the house, gathered what we needed, and headed for the beach for a picnic lunch with Kat and Max.
Everybody had a nap in the afternoon, which was much needed for all of us - especially Max, who is fighting off a cold at the moment. After dinner Kat went out to do some work in the tomatoes and Sue and I hung out with Max on the deck. There was a lot of soccer played, as well as some good times with his toy trucks.
Tomorrow we're back to harvesting for the farmers market, this time for our usual spot on Saturday morning in Penticton.
Mine:
"It's perfect."
"I should hope so."
"And why is that?"
"I had it custom-made for you."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Would you like to see the receipts for all the parts and labour?"
"You know I don't like those annoying bits of paper."
"How else should I prove it then?"
"I don't think you can."
"What, exactly, is the issue?"
"I simply will not believe that you had a spoon custom-made for me to eat ice cream with."
Wednesday July 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about something that has been: surpassed.
The market this evening went better than I was expecting it to - it was certainly more well attended than I would have predicted based on previous visits to Osoyoos markets. We sold 19 out of the 21 pints of blackberries we brought, most of our carrots, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and some onions, bags of greens, cabbage, and bags of broccoli.
We didn't sell much fruit, but that was not surprising. With all the fruit stands around town selling fruit at well below any price we'd be comfortable pricing our stuff at, it's tough going. But that's fine - all of it should keep until Saturday's market in Penticton.
My sister arrived about half an hour before I had to pack up the truck for the market, so of course she helped with that. And then came with me to the market. And then hung out with Max when Kat arrived with him shortly after opening.
She's in her tent now, I assume sleeping soundly now that I've stopped making her work. For the time being.
Mine:
We started out
As master and student,
Talking about
The past and the present...
But never the future.
Why was that?
Was some part of me afraid?
That I would fumble you,
An obviously live grenade?
And then I'd be gone.
But you would walk on,
Leaving me far behind -
Bloody and forgotten,
Just as you'd designed.
From the start?
It matters not.
All that I have amassed,
One way or another,
Will one day be surpassed
By the next master.
Write about something that has been: surpassed.
The market this evening went better than I was expecting it to - it was certainly more well attended than I would have predicted based on previous visits to Osoyoos markets. We sold 19 out of the 21 pints of blackberries we brought, most of our carrots, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and some onions, bags of greens, cabbage, and bags of broccoli.
We didn't sell much fruit, but that was not surprising. With all the fruit stands around town selling fruit at well below any price we'd be comfortable pricing our stuff at, it's tough going. But that's fine - all of it should keep until Saturday's market in Penticton.
My sister arrived about half an hour before I had to pack up the truck for the market, so of course she helped with that. And then came with me to the market. And then hung out with Max when Kat arrived with him shortly after opening.
She's in her tent now, I assume sleeping soundly now that I've stopped making her work. For the time being.
Mine:
We started out
As master and student,
Talking about
The past and the present...
But never the future.
Why was that?
Was some part of me afraid?
That I would fumble you,
An obviously live grenade?
And then I'd be gone.
But you would walk on,
Leaving me far behind -
Bloody and forgotten,
Just as you'd designed.
From the start?
It matters not.
All that I have amassed,
One way or another,
Will one day be surpassed
By the next master.
Tuesday July 28th, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: the buzz.
Spent this morning picking blackberries for the bakery, which I delivered (along with ten pounds each of nectarines and peaches) after lunch. Just as I was leaving to do that the cooler repairman arrived (yup, we swallowed that rather pricey bullet) so that should be up and running again tomorrow morning.
Which is good, because tomorrow evening we'll be attending our first Osoyoos farmers market since we started doing this six years ago.
They added a mid-week night market (in addition to their Saturday morning market which runs at the same time as the much busier and more profitable Penticton market) last year. We'd tried to get in before but had to get insurance figured out, as they require each vendor to have their own coverage rather than including it in the membership price like Penticton does. And that didn't get in place until it was too late to bother with.
But we're ready and raring to go for tomorrow evening. We'll pick the rest of the blackberries in the morning, along with whatever veggies we decide to bring along and some peaches, nectarines, and apples from Kat's parents. We're not bringing nearly as much as what we'd do for Penticton, but I'm curious to see how exactly it ends up going.
Also: my sister Sue is arriving midday, which is exciting. And I'll probably drag her along to help out at the market because I'm such a good brother.
Mine:
Are you lost, soldier?
Follow the buzzing; it will
lead you to glory.
* * *
A buzz is going
around this fake, plastic town:
you're the next big star!
Write two haiku about: the buzz.
Spent this morning picking blackberries for the bakery, which I delivered (along with ten pounds each of nectarines and peaches) after lunch. Just as I was leaving to do that the cooler repairman arrived (yup, we swallowed that rather pricey bullet) so that should be up and running again tomorrow morning.
Which is good, because tomorrow evening we'll be attending our first Osoyoos farmers market since we started doing this six years ago.
They added a mid-week night market (in addition to their Saturday morning market which runs at the same time as the much busier and more profitable Penticton market) last year. We'd tried to get in before but had to get insurance figured out, as they require each vendor to have their own coverage rather than including it in the membership price like Penticton does. And that didn't get in place until it was too late to bother with.
But we're ready and raring to go for tomorrow evening. We'll pick the rest of the blackberries in the morning, along with whatever veggies we decide to bring along and some peaches, nectarines, and apples from Kat's parents. We're not bringing nearly as much as what we'd do for Penticton, but I'm curious to see how exactly it ends up going.
Also: my sister Sue is arriving midday, which is exciting. And I'll probably drag her along to help out at the market because I'm such a good brother.
Mine:
Are you lost, soldier?
Follow the buzzing; it will
lead you to glory.
* * *
A buzz is going
around this fake, plastic town:
you're the next big star!
Monday July 27th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the standoff.
Since they've been on my mind a lot lately, I figured it was time to revisit The Gang - except this time, the story is moving forward.
I did a whole lot of weeding today. I finished the second row of strawberries and a row of onions this morning, then went out again after dinner to clean up around most of our broccoli plants (which are still putting out healthy looking side shoots) and some of our leeks.
My wrists and fingers and forearms ache right now. So I'll get right to the prompt.
Mine:
"We can't let them look inside the van." Crystal didn't shift in her seat beside me but somehow she still seemed to be closer to the gun taped to the underside of her cushion.
"I'm sure she's not going to offer them an invitation to join us in here," Tammy said when I remained silent. There were only two more vehicles ahead of us in the line at the roadblock by then - a pickup truck with an extended cab and a four door sedan filled to bursting with a family of three and their dog.
"If they come in, we're done." Crystal glanced back at Tammy before returning her attention to me. "Done, okay?"
"What do you want her to do? Run over some innocent cops just to be on the safe side? The whole country would be after us then, and they would be shooting first and asking questions never!"
"Keep your voice down!" Crystal hissed. "We don't have to run anybody over. There's space right there to get through." She tilted her chin toward a gap between two of the cruisers blocking the highway. "We'd only need that one guy to jump out of the way."
"And if he doesn't?" Tammy sounded like she was about to break a tooth the way she was working that piece of gum in her mouth. "Or if he's too slow? Or if he just starts shooting instead?"
I kept quiet, considering our options. There seemed to be a definite lack of good ones. Everything appeared to lead either to jail or the morgue, sooner or later.
"We run the roadblock, we stand a chance." There was only the sedan between us and the front of the line. "We take our chances with these guys and we're sitting ducks."
"We talk to them, we get through without drawing their suspicion, we're free and clear to the border." Tammy was trying to remain calm and failing miserably. "We blast through here and they'll have a description of the van, probably even our plate number, and, by this point, I'm sure they've had a good look at each of us!"
"Voice. Down. Tammy."
I squeezed the wheel and shifted my gaze toward the gap, then back to the waiting officers. One was talking to the driver, the other inspecting the trunk. Which was so full that items were spilling out onto the road.
"We can't run."
The officer at the back was calling for his partner's help stuffing things back in now. A grocery bag full of chips and pop upended and the two of them bent down to chase after the runaway bottles.
"We have to."
I hit the gas.
Write about: the standoff.
Since they've been on my mind a lot lately, I figured it was time to revisit The Gang - except this time, the story is moving forward.
I did a whole lot of weeding today. I finished the second row of strawberries and a row of onions this morning, then went out again after dinner to clean up around most of our broccoli plants (which are still putting out healthy looking side shoots) and some of our leeks.
My wrists and fingers and forearms ache right now. So I'll get right to the prompt.
Mine:
"We can't let them look inside the van." Crystal didn't shift in her seat beside me but somehow she still seemed to be closer to the gun taped to the underside of her cushion.
"I'm sure she's not going to offer them an invitation to join us in here," Tammy said when I remained silent. There were only two more vehicles ahead of us in the line at the roadblock by then - a pickup truck with an extended cab and a four door sedan filled to bursting with a family of three and their dog.
"If they come in, we're done." Crystal glanced back at Tammy before returning her attention to me. "Done, okay?"
"What do you want her to do? Run over some innocent cops just to be on the safe side? The whole country would be after us then, and they would be shooting first and asking questions never!"
"Keep your voice down!" Crystal hissed. "We don't have to run anybody over. There's space right there to get through." She tilted her chin toward a gap between two of the cruisers blocking the highway. "We'd only need that one guy to jump out of the way."
"And if he doesn't?" Tammy sounded like she was about to break a tooth the way she was working that piece of gum in her mouth. "Or if he's too slow? Or if he just starts shooting instead?"
I kept quiet, considering our options. There seemed to be a definite lack of good ones. Everything appeared to lead either to jail or the morgue, sooner or later.
"We run the roadblock, we stand a chance." There was only the sedan between us and the front of the line. "We take our chances with these guys and we're sitting ducks."
"We talk to them, we get through without drawing their suspicion, we're free and clear to the border." Tammy was trying to remain calm and failing miserably. "We blast through here and they'll have a description of the van, probably even our plate number, and, by this point, I'm sure they've had a good look at each of us!"
"Voice. Down. Tammy."
I squeezed the wheel and shifted my gaze toward the gap, then back to the waiting officers. One was talking to the driver, the other inspecting the trunk. Which was so full that items were spilling out onto the road.
"We can't run."
The officer at the back was calling for his partner's help stuffing things back in now. A grocery bag full of chips and pop upended and the two of them bent down to chase after the runaway bottles.
"We have to."
I hit the gas.
Sunday July 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write something about: the vampire.
I'm sitting here having great difficulty remembering anything of interest that happened today. Sounds like a good day off to me.
Mine:
I'm not sure why, exactly, I had agreed to house sit for the Millers. It's not like their home was in some wild, exotic locale - they lived two streets over from me. And it wasn't even two blocks closer to work! It actually took me nearly five minutes longer to get to the office (thanks to that stupid slow light at 34th and Brookside).
We weren't the greatest of friends either. In fact, I'd probably have described them as acquaintances. That's why I was so surprised when they asked me to watch their place.
I should have taken it as a sign. Should have understood that I was not the first person they had asked. Hell, now that I've got some perspective on the matter, I doubt I was among the first ten to be offered the job.
But there I was, spending most of my long weekend at their house. Trying not to break anything too obvious. Trying to keep their plants alive. Laying in bed, in the darkest hours of the night, trying to get some sleep while listening to the strange noises that belong to all homes that are not your own.
And wondering why their only instruction to me was a note that read: Stay out of the basement.
I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. What embarrassing secrets lay hidden below ground, at the bottom of those rickety wooden stairs? What, exactly, was down there?
And all that while I should have been asking who was down there...
Write something about: the vampire.
I'm sitting here having great difficulty remembering anything of interest that happened today. Sounds like a good day off to me.
Mine:
I'm not sure why, exactly, I had agreed to house sit for the Millers. It's not like their home was in some wild, exotic locale - they lived two streets over from me. And it wasn't even two blocks closer to work! It actually took me nearly five minutes longer to get to the office (thanks to that stupid slow light at 34th and Brookside).
We weren't the greatest of friends either. In fact, I'd probably have described them as acquaintances. That's why I was so surprised when they asked me to watch their place.
I should have taken it as a sign. Should have understood that I was not the first person they had asked. Hell, now that I've got some perspective on the matter, I doubt I was among the first ten to be offered the job.
But there I was, spending most of my long weekend at their house. Trying not to break anything too obvious. Trying to keep their plants alive. Laying in bed, in the darkest hours of the night, trying to get some sleep while listening to the strange noises that belong to all homes that are not your own.
And wondering why their only instruction to me was a note that read: Stay out of the basement.
I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. What embarrassing secrets lay hidden below ground, at the bottom of those rickety wooden stairs? What, exactly, was down there?
And all that while I should have been asking who was down there...
Saturday July 25th, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about something or someone that is: soaked.
Packed up the truck this morning in a light drizzle. It rained steadily all the way up to Penticton, aside from two brief periods of absolute downpour. Setup the stall in a light drizzle, then the rain stopped for a while. And then came back. And then stopped for quite a while. And then downpoured around noon. And then it stopped and the sun came out for the end of the market.
On the way home there were two downpours (one on either side of Oliver), otherwise no rain whatsoever. It was just one of those days where the rain couldn't fully commit to falling all the time, but it sure as hell wasn't about to stop entirely either.
Thankfully the crowds were pretty much undeterred by the weather. We sold all of our peaches, apples, plums, zucchini, blackberries, all but one of our onions, cucumbers, and bags of green beans, and all but two of our pints of cherry tomatoes. Oh and we still had about half a crate of nectarines on the ride home. Sold some garlic and greeting cards as well.
Needless to say, that was an exponentially better market than I was expecting on the drive up this morning.
As for my poem below... it's inspired by what happened at the bakery stall next to ours during pack up. Pretty much all the tents at the market collect rain at their edges when it rains like that and it's always a challenge finding time and space to shake it off before too much collects and it runs over the side all on its own.
Mine:
Mama pushing toddler in a stroller,
He gets an unexpected downpour.
Screams, tears, utterly inconsolable...
Until a free cookie brings peace, restored.
Write a four line poem about something or someone that is: soaked.
Packed up the truck this morning in a light drizzle. It rained steadily all the way up to Penticton, aside from two brief periods of absolute downpour. Setup the stall in a light drizzle, then the rain stopped for a while. And then came back. And then stopped for quite a while. And then downpoured around noon. And then it stopped and the sun came out for the end of the market.
On the way home there were two downpours (one on either side of Oliver), otherwise no rain whatsoever. It was just one of those days where the rain couldn't fully commit to falling all the time, but it sure as hell wasn't about to stop entirely either.
Thankfully the crowds were pretty much undeterred by the weather. We sold all of our peaches, apples, plums, zucchini, blackberries, all but one of our onions, cucumbers, and bags of green beans, and all but two of our pints of cherry tomatoes. Oh and we still had about half a crate of nectarines on the ride home. Sold some garlic and greeting cards as well.
Needless to say, that was an exponentially better market than I was expecting on the drive up this morning.
As for my poem below... it's inspired by what happened at the bakery stall next to ours during pack up. Pretty much all the tents at the market collect rain at their edges when it rains like that and it's always a challenge finding time and space to shake it off before too much collects and it runs over the side all on its own.
Mine:
Mama pushing toddler in a stroller,
He gets an unexpected downpour.
Screams, tears, utterly inconsolable...
Until a free cookie brings peace, restored.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)