The exercise:
Write about: the speaker.
Spent the morning with Miles while Kat and Max went to a birthday party at the park. He was fussy and generally giving me the impression that he has had quite enough of his cold and all this teething business, thank you very much.
I, too, am very much looking forward to this cold being done and over with.
The afternoon wasn't much better either, as he was only able to take short naps with his stuffed up nose. He seems to be down for the night now, at least.
Amazing what exhaustion will do for the guy.
Mine:
You can tell a lot about a man by the way he speaks. The words he chooses, the order he places them in. Where he places emphasis. Where he doesn't. The confidence behind each word, or the lack thereof.
And accents. Even the smallest hint of an accent can say so much. What country you grew up in, what city, even what neighborhood. At least, if you have the ear for that sort of thing.
You can never know who is paying too close attention when words are slipping from your mouth. What their intentions are. Who they might be looking for.
That's why I choose my words very, very carefully. Whenever possible, I don't speak at all. It's safer that way. Let the loud mouths draw all the attention to themselves. That suits me just fine. I don't need the spotlight. In fact, I prefer not to have it. The shadows are a fine home, and I am comfortable there.
A man in my line of work, well. Let's just say that enough has been said. And, just a word of advice? Well, several words, if you wish to be technical. Either way.
Don't ask too many questions. The less you know about me, the better it is for you.
And the less work it is for me.
Saturday October 1st, 2016
The exercise:
On this, the first day of October, we shall write a four line poem about: the restless ghost.
Made it to the garlic festival. Had too many people for Max's liking (Kat and I were both surprised by how popular it was as well). Still managed to pick up a few things before leaving.
Another day off tomorrow?
Goodness. I feel rather spoiled.
Mine:
Wandering these same halls,
Endlessly.
Watching his every move,
Jealously.
On this, the first day of October, we shall write a four line poem about: the restless ghost.
Made it to the garlic festival. Had too many people for Max's liking (Kat and I were both surprised by how popular it was as well). Still managed to pick up a few things before leaving.
Another day off tomorrow?
Goodness. I feel rather spoiled.
Mine:
Wandering these same halls,
Endlessly.
Watching his every move,
Jealously.
Friday September 30th, 2016
The exercise:
On this, the final day of September (whaaaat?), let us write four lines of prose about: the crime scene.
Work went by pretty quickly this morning. Had a couple interesting phone calls while covering at Town Hall (a contractor hitting a water line while digging a hole was the definite highlight) and then I was done for the day.
And now, all of a sudden, it's the weekend.
Hoping to check out the Garlic Festival at Hester Creek tomorrow. Should be fun, as long as colds don't keep Miles or Kat from enjoying it.
(I'm somehow still avoiding catching their colds but I don't want to jinx it by talking about it)
Mine:
The wind is picking up, making the police tape strung between the trees crinkle and flap. It's also dispersing the smell, so I'm not going to complain - even if it is making the chill in the air more piercing.
As I watch the techs examine the bodies I start to go through various possible motives in my head while I wait for them to give me the go ahead to get in there myself.
Money, sex, power, drugs, politics... it never fails to be one of those... not in this city anyway.
On this, the final day of September (whaaaat?), let us write four lines of prose about: the crime scene.
Work went by pretty quickly this morning. Had a couple interesting phone calls while covering at Town Hall (a contractor hitting a water line while digging a hole was the definite highlight) and then I was done for the day.
And now, all of a sudden, it's the weekend.
Hoping to check out the Garlic Festival at Hester Creek tomorrow. Should be fun, as long as colds don't keep Miles or Kat from enjoying it.
(I'm somehow still avoiding catching their colds but I don't want to jinx it by talking about it)
Mine:
The wind is picking up, making the police tape strung between the trees crinkle and flap. It's also dispersing the smell, so I'm not going to complain - even if it is making the chill in the air more piercing.
As I watch the techs examine the bodies I start to go through various possible motives in my head while I wait for them to give me the go ahead to get in there myself.
Money, sex, power, drugs, politics... it never fails to be one of those... not in this city anyway.
Thursday September 29th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the nut.
Work was a little hectic first thing this morning at Public Works. Had a voicemail waiting for me, three or four relatively urgent emails in my inbox, and I needed to get the coffee going for the crew (they arrive for a 15 minute break at 10 and it's nice to have their coffee ready for them when they get there).
Got through that, had a few other things to deal with, then headed for Town Hall. Where I had zero phone calls and no one walk in needing anything.
So, the opposite of yesterday, basically.
I was realizing last week that I hadn't shared any pictures from the bakery. Now that things have slowed down a bit, I actually had time to pull out my phone to take this:
Going left to right, we've got butter tarts, chocolate croissants, regular croissants, cinnamon buns, and focaccia. Oh, and on the shelves in the background there are preserves, oils, and bags of coffee. Just out of sight are the shelves holding the loaves of bread.
It is amazing I haven't put on fifty pounds since I started working there. I suppose never having time to stop moving while I'm there helps with that.
Mine:
"Looks like you're missing a nut, sir."
"Or is it a bolt, brother?"
"Beats me. I can never keep those two straight."
"Well, he's definitely missing one of the two, wouldn't you say, brother?"
"Oh yes. Clearly you're missing a nut, sir."
"Or a bolt."
"Yes, or a bolt."
"Whichever the round one is, sir."
"That's a nut? Really? Are you sure about that?"
"I mean, with all due respect, sir... you're not a mechanic, after all."
"Quite right. Not like me and my brother here."
"Well, if you say so. A nut it is. I guess."
"Either way! Rest assured, sir, we'll have your truck back on the road in no time!"
"Though I'm pretty damned sure it's a bolt tha-"
"Let it go, dear brother. Let it go."
Write about: the nut.
Work was a little hectic first thing this morning at Public Works. Had a voicemail waiting for me, three or four relatively urgent emails in my inbox, and I needed to get the coffee going for the crew (they arrive for a 15 minute break at 10 and it's nice to have their coffee ready for them when they get there).
Got through that, had a few other things to deal with, then headed for Town Hall. Where I had zero phone calls and no one walk in needing anything.
So, the opposite of yesterday, basically.
I was realizing last week that I hadn't shared any pictures from the bakery. Now that things have slowed down a bit, I actually had time to pull out my phone to take this:
Going left to right, we've got butter tarts, chocolate croissants, regular croissants, cinnamon buns, and focaccia. Oh, and on the shelves in the background there are preserves, oils, and bags of coffee. Just out of sight are the shelves holding the loaves of bread.
It is amazing I haven't put on fifty pounds since I started working there. I suppose never having time to stop moving while I'm there helps with that.
Mine:
"Looks like you're missing a nut, sir."
"Or is it a bolt, brother?"
"Beats me. I can never keep those two straight."
"Well, he's definitely missing one of the two, wouldn't you say, brother?"
"Oh yes. Clearly you're missing a nut, sir."
"Or a bolt."
"Yes, or a bolt."
"Whichever the round one is, sir."
"That's a nut? Really? Are you sure about that?"
"I mean, with all due respect, sir... you're not a mechanic, after all."
"Quite right. Not like me and my brother here."
"Well, if you say so. A nut it is. I guess."
"Either way! Rest assured, sir, we'll have your truck back on the road in no time!"
"Though I'm pretty damned sure it's a bolt tha-"
"Let it go, dear brother. Let it go."
Wednesday September 28th, 2016
The exercise:
Write about: the complaint.
Work went by pretty quickly this morning. Had a side project to keep me busy, which was good since the phones were very quiet. Then I went over to Town Hall to cover a lunch break and things got a little more interesting.
Had several phone calls, one of which was a guy complaining about an invoice he'd received from the town. I guess he'd been given a couple warnings for an 'unsightly premise' and didn't do anything about it in time and then was surprised by the rather large bill.
So that was fun.
And then a lady came in to complain about a neighbour's tree. Thankfully I didn't have to deal with her, but I did have the best seat in the house for her conversation with another person who works at Town Hall. After she was told there wasn't really anything the town could do about it, she declared that she wasn't going to pay her taxes next year and stormed out.
Good times.
Also: not a very good solution to the problem. If she doesn't pay her taxes for three years the town can sell her property in order to collect their money. I can't imagine it will come to that but... you know, maybe not the best idea to go down that road.
Back at it tomorrow!
Mine:
He files his complaints,
Year after year,
Then drowns his sorrows,
Beer after beer.
They'll all be ignored;
They just don't care
About his concerns -
They're standard fare.
But it's the barkeep
Who knows (and sadly so)
When it's time to pay up,
And when it's time to go.
Write about: the complaint.
Work went by pretty quickly this morning. Had a side project to keep me busy, which was good since the phones were very quiet. Then I went over to Town Hall to cover a lunch break and things got a little more interesting.
Had several phone calls, one of which was a guy complaining about an invoice he'd received from the town. I guess he'd been given a couple warnings for an 'unsightly premise' and didn't do anything about it in time and then was surprised by the rather large bill.
So that was fun.
And then a lady came in to complain about a neighbour's tree. Thankfully I didn't have to deal with her, but I did have the best seat in the house for her conversation with another person who works at Town Hall. After she was told there wasn't really anything the town could do about it, she declared that she wasn't going to pay her taxes next year and stormed out.
Good times.
Also: not a very good solution to the problem. If she doesn't pay her taxes for three years the town can sell her property in order to collect their money. I can't imagine it will come to that but... you know, maybe not the best idea to go down that road.
Back at it tomorrow!
Mine:
He files his complaints,
Year after year,
Then drowns his sorrows,
Beer after beer.
They'll all be ignored;
They just don't care
About his concerns -
They're standard fare.
But it's the barkeep
Who knows (and sadly so)
When it's time to pay up,
And when it's time to go.
Tuesday September 27th, 2016
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: the sweatshop.
My training shift at Public Works went pretty well this morning. I think I'm setup to take care of the rest of the week now... but I guess the coming days will let me know for sure, one way or the other.
Definitely a different atmosphere than the other town locations I've worked in. It's kinda like being in the office of a garage. Not sure I could do it full time, but covering for part of a week is certainly doable.
Mine:
Wall to wall treadmills,
an obese man on each one;
we make all the sweat
* * *
She works from dawn to
dusk, earning what I could make
in seven minutes
Write two haiku about: the sweatshop.
My training shift at Public Works went pretty well this morning. I think I'm setup to take care of the rest of the week now... but I guess the coming days will let me know for sure, one way or the other.
Definitely a different atmosphere than the other town locations I've worked in. It's kinda like being in the office of a garage. Not sure I could do it full time, but covering for part of a week is certainly doable.
Mine:
Wall to wall treadmills,
an obese man on each one;
we make all the sweat
* * *
She works from dawn to
dusk, earning what I could make
in seven minutes
Monday September 26th, 2016
The exercise:
Our writing today shall revolve around this question: are you listening?
I don't think I could ever coach toddler soccer classes. I learned that today, if nothing else.
The community center called the other night to let me know that they didn't have enough kids signed up to make two separate classes, so they were combining the two into one. This was disappointing news, as Max and I quite liked having a smaller class (there were six total in his class last week).
But they were all together this week. Which, for the record, is a much better option that just cancelling them both. But it was more like twelve kids. And I'd say about a third of them were borderline incapable of listening to what the coach was telling them.
Yes, I know they're toddlers. But... goodness me. Plus: they really feed off each other, so when one or two start acting out at least three more follow their lead.
Chaos.
Pure chaos.
Anyway. Max still managed to have fun.
I needed a coffee afterward.
Mine:
I will transform these kids. My years of experience and knowledge will spread over and enshroud them like a warm blanket on a winter's day. My techniques and skill will be bestowed upon them. They just need to be willing to put in the work.
"Coach?"
My awards await me. Coach of the Year? That was mine before I got out of bed this morning. I'm gunning for Coach of the Century. Greatest Coach Ever is not beyond my grasp. I just have to get them to listen to me and to do as I say. The rest will follow as it should.
"Coach? Emily asked for a bathroom break twenty minutes ago."
They should count themselves lucky. There are toddlers out there who would kill to be in this class, learning at my feet. Most of them are in jail though. Sadly.
"Hey! Would someone tell the janitor to get in here with a mop?!"
I should demand a raise. Clearly, I deserve one.
Our writing today shall revolve around this question: are you listening?
I don't think I could ever coach toddler soccer classes. I learned that today, if nothing else.
The community center called the other night to let me know that they didn't have enough kids signed up to make two separate classes, so they were combining the two into one. This was disappointing news, as Max and I quite liked having a smaller class (there were six total in his class last week).
But they were all together this week. Which, for the record, is a much better option that just cancelling them both. But it was more like twelve kids. And I'd say about a third of them were borderline incapable of listening to what the coach was telling them.
Yes, I know they're toddlers. But... goodness me. Plus: they really feed off each other, so when one or two start acting out at least three more follow their lead.
Chaos.
Pure chaos.
Anyway. Max still managed to have fun.
I needed a coffee afterward.
Mine:
I will transform these kids. My years of experience and knowledge will spread over and enshroud them like a warm blanket on a winter's day. My techniques and skill will be bestowed upon them. They just need to be willing to put in the work.
"Coach?"
My awards await me. Coach of the Year? That was mine before I got out of bed this morning. I'm gunning for Coach of the Century. Greatest Coach Ever is not beyond my grasp. I just have to get them to listen to me and to do as I say. The rest will follow as it should.
"Coach? Emily asked for a bathroom break twenty minutes ago."
They should count themselves lucky. There are toddlers out there who would kill to be in this class, learning at my feet. Most of them are in jail though. Sadly.
"Hey! Would someone tell the janitor to get in here with a mop?!"
I should demand a raise. Clearly, I deserve one.
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