The exercise:
Write about: the teller.
Last night was the first time I've not had the fireplace going overnight since winter arrived. This afternoon the temperature was in the low twenties. Spectacular stuff.
Had a lovely day celebrating Kat's birthday. I think the big family dinner was the highlight, as everyone seemed to really enjoy themselves.
Heading up to Penticton tomorrow morning for another midwife appointment. The last one before baby arrives? Quite possibly, seeing as his due date is next Monday.
Mine:
Myra shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tried not to sigh. It had been a slow day inside the bank and the sight of the tenth person in the last half hour using the ATM she could see from her station was enough to make her grind her teeth.
What, she wondered once again, was the point of her job if all the customers just used that stupid machine? She might as well pack up her things and go home for the day. Or week. Maybe she could take a month off before anyone noticed she wasn't showing up for work.
"Hey, have you seen Myra lately?" she imagined the bank manager asking her colleagues.
"Who?" they would all reply in unison.
She checked the time on the wall clock to her left. Another hour until closing. She was in hell. This was hell. Maybe she could steal an extra notebook out of the supply cabinet and start writing a short story. Or really commit to the project and aim for a full length novel.
How long would that take her with all that spare time, a couple weeks? A month at most, surely. She could be the next Dick Francis!
"Hello there, dearie."
Myra snapped back to the present with a shake of her head and a slight shudder. Before her was an elderly man, a well-used wooden cane in one hand and a thick envelope in the other. She allowed herself a couple blinks to regain her bearings before speaking.
"Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?"
"Oh, so very kind of you to offer," the man said with a wide grin that flaunted his yellowed dentures. "You see, dearie, I need to exchange all of this troublesome paper money."
"Exchange it for... what?" Myra was quite certain she didn't want to know the answer but there really wasn't anything else to do at that point.
"Why, for coins, dearie! Such a silly question to ask, really. So much more dependable than this flimsy stuff."
Myra checked the clock once more. Fifty-eight minutes until closing. Maybe it wasn't too late for her to go back to school and learn something useful, like computer programming. Maybe she could program ATMs. Make them spit out extra money at random. Maybe m-
"Dearie?"
"One moment please, sir," she said as she turned to walk away. "I have to make sure we have enough coins on hand to cover this."
And then she began to walk. And she didn't stop once she reached the sidewalk.
Wednesday March 30th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about something that is: crumbling.
Took some pictures in the apricot blossoms after dinner with Kat and Max. Mostly with the intention of getting some final baby belly shots of Kat, but Max stole the show, as usual. I think this one is my favorite:
Going out for dinner tomorrow night with everybody on the farm to celebrate Kat's birthday. One last dinner for nine before we get into the dinners for ten.
Strange thought.
Mine:
This place has grown old. When did this happen? It seems as though I only looked away for a moment...
Where there was once growth, now decay has taken root. Windows that used to allow in only the brightest rays of sunshine are yellowed with dirt, leaving the interior in a murky gloom. Dust. Dust is everywhere suddenly.
Neglected. That is the word that continually springs to mind as I survey my surroundings. It is a shame. All that was needed was a little care and attention... and love. Is it too late to turn the tide? I feel as though it is, but perhaps that is just my pessimism speaking.
Open a window, let fresh air and sunlight in. Ignore the illuminated wear and tear. Forget the crumbling furniture and the wallpaper peeling off the walls. Light some candles. Scented, preferably. Go outside, get some flowers from the garden for the kitchen table.
Ah, yes. Outside. So close yet so far. The door is locked and I no longer have the key. It must be somewhere around here. I just have to find it. That's all. Get to work, look everywhere, leave no dark corner uninspected. I need to get out of here. I have been trapped inside my head for too long.
It's all so faded though. So... decrepit. Memories are so much harder to find these days, both the old and the new. When did this happen? It seems as though I only looked away for a moment...
Write about something that is: crumbling.
Took some pictures in the apricot blossoms after dinner with Kat and Max. Mostly with the intention of getting some final baby belly shots of Kat, but Max stole the show, as usual. I think this one is my favorite:
Going out for dinner tomorrow night with everybody on the farm to celebrate Kat's birthday. One last dinner for nine before we get into the dinners for ten.
Strange thought.
Mine:
This place has grown old. When did this happen? It seems as though I only looked away for a moment...
Where there was once growth, now decay has taken root. Windows that used to allow in only the brightest rays of sunshine are yellowed with dirt, leaving the interior in a murky gloom. Dust. Dust is everywhere suddenly.
Neglected. That is the word that continually springs to mind as I survey my surroundings. It is a shame. All that was needed was a little care and attention... and love. Is it too late to turn the tide? I feel as though it is, but perhaps that is just my pessimism speaking.
Open a window, let fresh air and sunlight in. Ignore the illuminated wear and tear. Forget the crumbling furniture and the wallpaper peeling off the walls. Light some candles. Scented, preferably. Go outside, get some flowers from the garden for the kitchen table.
Ah, yes. Outside. So close yet so far. The door is locked and I no longer have the key. It must be somewhere around here. I just have to find it. That's all. Get to work, look everywhere, leave no dark corner uninspected. I need to get out of here. I have been trapped inside my head for too long.
It's all so faded though. So... decrepit. Memories are so much harder to find these days, both the old and the new. When did this happen? It seems as though I only looked away for a moment...
Tuesday March 29th, 2016
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: mistakes.
I've actually used this as a haiku prompt before, but seeing as it was nearly five years ago I'm feeling pretty okay with the repeat.
Training this afternoon went fine. It was good to get a refresher at two locations that I've hardly worked at (well, I've never actually worked at one of them). Still the most comfortable at the community centre but it will be nice to go to other locations with some more recent training.
Baby watch: we're getting into some interesting timing here, with Kat's birthday on Thursday and April Fools the day after that. I guess we'll see if baby has any thoughts on either date.
Mine:
You want me to learn
from them? I'd rather not make
them in the first place!
* * *
Spilled across the shop's,
floor: teensy, tiny pieces
of my dignity
Write two haiku about: mistakes.
I've actually used this as a haiku prompt before, but seeing as it was nearly five years ago I'm feeling pretty okay with the repeat.
Training this afternoon went fine. It was good to get a refresher at two locations that I've hardly worked at (well, I've never actually worked at one of them). Still the most comfortable at the community centre but it will be nice to go to other locations with some more recent training.
Baby watch: we're getting into some interesting timing here, with Kat's birthday on Thursday and April Fools the day after that. I guess we'll see if baby has any thoughts on either date.
Mine:
You want me to learn
from them? I'd rather not make
them in the first place!
* * *
Spilled across the shop's,
floor: teensy, tiny pieces
of my dignity
Monday March 28th, 2016
The exercise:
Write something that takes place in: the valley.
I'm scheduled for a three hour training shift at Town Hall tomorrow afternoon, which is the first assignment I've had since my run of work at the community centre a couple weeks back. It'll be nice to get off the farm and have my mind on something beside the ticking baby clock for a while.
Speaking of the farm, we went out to the garden this afternoon to seed some peas, kale, and other greens. The weather is supposed to get much warmer starting tomorrow, so we'll see how long it takes for things to start peeking through the soil.
Edit: If you happened to see the Tuesday post for however long it was up on the blog, my apologies. I'm not sure what happened there, but as of right now... no labour action is happening. So that one's been reverted to being scheduled.
Mine:
"This place makes me feel claustrophobic," Kim said, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared up at the surrounding mountains.
"We're in the great outdoors," I told her, "not downtown New York. Get a grip."
She shot me a glare but said nothing. I shook my head and went back to preparing dinner. The campfire was about to bring the pot of water to a boil and I was ready to toss in the package of instant noodles. I just needed to remember what I'd done with the flavoring pouch. I think it was beef.
"I think I'd feel this way no matter where I was," Kim blurted out. "Even in the middle of the prairies. Weird, right?"
"Nah," I said. But I was thinking, Totally.
"It's all in my head anyway. I know that. It's like there's no room in my brain, it's so full of thoughts elbowing each other out of the way. So what does my physical location matter when I got this junk going on up here?"
"It's like they say," I said, patting empty pockets and beginning to be concerned about our imminent meal. "Wherever you go, there you are."
"Exactly." She watched me for a few moments, her expression unreadable. "Exactly."
"So what are you thinking about right now?" I asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the spotlight of her attention.
"Right now?" she asked, her lips twitching upward into a ghost of a smile. "I'm thinking our dinner is going to taste like cardboard unless you figure out you're sitting on the flavor pouch."
Write something that takes place in: the valley.
I'm scheduled for a three hour training shift at Town Hall tomorrow afternoon, which is the first assignment I've had since my run of work at the community centre a couple weeks back. It'll be nice to get off the farm and have my mind on something beside the ticking baby clock for a while.
Speaking of the farm, we went out to the garden this afternoon to seed some peas, kale, and other greens. The weather is supposed to get much warmer starting tomorrow, so we'll see how long it takes for things to start peeking through the soil.
Edit: If you happened to see the Tuesday post for however long it was up on the blog, my apologies. I'm not sure what happened there, but as of right now... no labour action is happening. So that one's been reverted to being scheduled.
Mine:
"This place makes me feel claustrophobic," Kim said, wrapping her arms around herself as she stared up at the surrounding mountains.
"We're in the great outdoors," I told her, "not downtown New York. Get a grip."
She shot me a glare but said nothing. I shook my head and went back to preparing dinner. The campfire was about to bring the pot of water to a boil and I was ready to toss in the package of instant noodles. I just needed to remember what I'd done with the flavoring pouch. I think it was beef.
"I think I'd feel this way no matter where I was," Kim blurted out. "Even in the middle of the prairies. Weird, right?"
"Nah," I said. But I was thinking, Totally.
"It's all in my head anyway. I know that. It's like there's no room in my brain, it's so full of thoughts elbowing each other out of the way. So what does my physical location matter when I got this junk going on up here?"
"It's like they say," I said, patting empty pockets and beginning to be concerned about our imminent meal. "Wherever you go, there you are."
"Exactly." She watched me for a few moments, her expression unreadable. "Exactly."
"So what are you thinking about right now?" I asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the spotlight of her attention.
"Right now?" she asked, her lips twitching upward into a ghost of a smile. "I'm thinking our dinner is going to taste like cardboard unless you figure out you're sitting on the flavor pouch."
Sunday March 27th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the gap.
Had some Easter fun today, with a morning visit from the Easter Bunny, some egg decorating just before lunch, and egg hunts at various points throughout the rest of the day.
Unfortunately dinner with Kat's parents was cancelled early on, as they've both been working far too much and didn't have anything left to have us over. So I pulled a t-bone steak and a bag of broccoli out of the freezer, picked up a bag of potatoes at the grocery store, and threw together what turned out to be a pretty reasonable Easter dinner.
Toss in the chocolate pudding Max helped me make this afternoon for dessert and I'd say it worked out just fine in the end.
Mine:
A gap can often be found between what has been said and what is truly meant. It may be as insignificant as a crack in a sidewalk. It can be a yawning chasm. Most commonly, it is somewhere in between.
Mind this gap.
Those who are unaware of its existence are doomed to be cheated and conned, mislead and misinformed. Trust placed in those who do not deserve it.
Though, to be fair, those who are too wary of this gap can easily find themselves unable to trust, leading a lonesome, solitary life. It can be... difficult to maintain friendships. And love? Love... quite nearly out of the question. I should think.
Do I speak from personal experience? Of course not. You offend me.
There is, quite simply, a balance to be found. A keen eye and ear are required to both protect oneself and to locate those who may be allowed into inner circles. That is all. We walk a tightrope every single day, my friend.
You do not wish to fall off. Trust me.
You can trust me, can't you?
Write about: the gap.
Had some Easter fun today, with a morning visit from the Easter Bunny, some egg decorating just before lunch, and egg hunts at various points throughout the rest of the day.
Unfortunately dinner with Kat's parents was cancelled early on, as they've both been working far too much and didn't have anything left to have us over. So I pulled a t-bone steak and a bag of broccoli out of the freezer, picked up a bag of potatoes at the grocery store, and threw together what turned out to be a pretty reasonable Easter dinner.
Toss in the chocolate pudding Max helped me make this afternoon for dessert and I'd say it worked out just fine in the end.
Mine:
A gap can often be found between what has been said and what is truly meant. It may be as insignificant as a crack in a sidewalk. It can be a yawning chasm. Most commonly, it is somewhere in between.
Mind this gap.
Those who are unaware of its existence are doomed to be cheated and conned, mislead and misinformed. Trust placed in those who do not deserve it.
Though, to be fair, those who are too wary of this gap can easily find themselves unable to trust, leading a lonesome, solitary life. It can be... difficult to maintain friendships. And love? Love... quite nearly out of the question. I should think.
Do I speak from personal experience? Of course not. You offend me.
There is, quite simply, a balance to be found. A keen eye and ear are required to both protect oneself and to locate those who may be allowed into inner circles. That is all. We walk a tightrope every single day, my friend.
You do not wish to fall off. Trust me.
You can trust me, can't you?
Saturday March 26th, 2016
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: Easter.
We took Max into town this morning to check out Osoyoos' Easter festivities. The sun was out, and so were the crowds. He wasn't crazy about that, but we did eventually check out the fire trucks on display at the fire hall, and had a visit at the petting farm area (bunnies, goats, and geese).
He's pretty excited that the Easter Bunny is coming tomorrow morning. I guess we've reached that age.
Mine:
Pretty painted eggs,
Hidden all around;
Placed so skillfully,
They'll never be found...
Write a four line poem about: Easter.
We took Max into town this morning to check out Osoyoos' Easter festivities. The sun was out, and so were the crowds. He wasn't crazy about that, but we did eventually check out the fire trucks on display at the fire hall, and had a visit at the petting farm area (bunnies, goats, and geese).
He's pretty excited that the Easter Bunny is coming tomorrow morning. I guess we've reached that age.
Mine:
Pretty painted eggs,
Hidden all around;
Placed so skillfully,
They'll never be found...
Friday March 25th, 2016
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that involve: Thomas the Tank Engine.
Max is currently obsessed with a Thomas book he got from the library with Kat a couple weeks ago. It's a set of five stories and it's the only thing he wants me to read to him when it's my turn to put him to bed.
I told him the other night that if he cooperated at bedtime I'd read three of the stories. And if he continued to do that the next time (tonight) I'd read four, and then all five the following time.
All I'm going to say is that I read him three again tonight.
And that I don't ever expect we'll get to all five in one night.
Baby watch update: I noticed today that any sense of urgency I'd carried with me the last few days was pretty much gone. Baby's probably lulling me into a false sense of security.
Mine:
These days the steel of the railroad tracks is rusted and weak, without even enough strength to fight back the encroaching wilderness. It won't be long before they disappear completely, their existence only living on in stories told by wizened old-timers in broken-down bars. The towns and villages once connected by those lines will slowly fade away, dotting the countryside with ghost towns that no-
"Oh, shut up already Thomas!"
Write four lines of prose that involve: Thomas the Tank Engine.
Max is currently obsessed with a Thomas book he got from the library with Kat a couple weeks ago. It's a set of five stories and it's the only thing he wants me to read to him when it's my turn to put him to bed.
I told him the other night that if he cooperated at bedtime I'd read three of the stories. And if he continued to do that the next time (tonight) I'd read four, and then all five the following time.
All I'm going to say is that I read him three again tonight.
And that I don't ever expect we'll get to all five in one night.
Baby watch update: I noticed today that any sense of urgency I'd carried with me the last few days was pretty much gone. Baby's probably lulling me into a false sense of security.
Mine:
These days the steel of the railroad tracks is rusted and weak, without even enough strength to fight back the encroaching wilderness. It won't be long before they disappear completely, their existence only living on in stories told by wizened old-timers in broken-down bars. The towns and villages once connected by those lines will slowly fade away, dotting the countryside with ghost towns that no-
"Oh, shut up already Thomas!"
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