The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: miniature.
That was a pretty fun day. All the kids and parents enjoyed the model railroad, Kat's cake was delicious, and Max loves all the gifts he received (despite our request for no gifts... because of course people bring them anyway).
This afternoon we chatted with my parents on Skype and got phone calls from other family members; plus he got to hang out with Kat's parents for a little while too. They were out working on the horse fences again because, apparently, the horses will be arriving on Sunday.
As in two days from now.
So I'll be helping them finish that up tomorrow morning, before we all go up for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate Max's birthday with family. We figured the party with his friends this morning was plenty enough for one day, and I'd say we made the right call on that one.
Oh, one last thing before I get to my take on the prompt... here's our birthday boy:
Two years already. Pretty nuts.
Mine:
Such tiny little people we have found. Busy, busy, busy... they are all so very busy. Shopping at the market, going to the circus, fighting forest fires, and a thousand other activities spread out before me.
I am so big compared to them... I must be their king.
The exercise:
Write about: the busybody.
Getting pretty excited about Max's birthday tomorrow. We're taking him to the Desert Model Railroad, where we'll be meeting up with lots of his friends (and their parents, obviously). After that we're coming back to Kat's parents place for cake and more hanging out, as unfortunately the model railroad place doesn't have any sort of room where we could do that (I dropped by last week to check, since neither Kat nor myself have actually been there before).
Anyway, he's really too little to understand what's going on, but I hope he has a good time no matter what. Pretty sure he will, as he's gotten very interested in trains in recent months.
Fingers crossed he has a decent sleep tonight to help him be at his best for his big day. So far, so good.
Mine:
The neighbours are at it again. Out there, hammering away like woodpeckers, apparently completely unaware that it is the middle of the night. This is getting terribly old... maybe I should just call the cops and be done with it.
No, no, I'm being too rash. Time to put a kettle on for tea, that's the thing to do. A warm, fragrant cup cradled in my hands always calms my thoughts.
That's better. Just right, just right.
I'll talk to them in the morning. Face to face, like reasonable, sane people do. Enough of this underhanded, behind the scenes skulking about. One conversation, that's all it will take. There's no other choice in the matter, not now.
I cannot lose any more sleep to this silly midnight fence building, waking to find higher and higher barriers between our properties. It's utterly pointless, honestly. It's like they think I can't buy a taller ladder or something...
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: the booth.
Kat and I spent the morning working on the yard and our house, attempting to get cleaned up and organized before winter's arrival. Made some good progress. Still, as always, lots left to be done.
Need to get last month's visit to Vancouver Irrealis figured out before I bring it back around again. Currently thinking/hoping that will be this Sunday.
Max turns two on Friday. I just... that's... how the... what?
Mine:
"Order's up for booth fourteen."
"Oh come on, Peter... not you too."
"What are you talking about? And get this food out of my kitchen, I've got more coming in a hurry here."
"We don't have fourteen booths. There's only -"
"One shy of that. Yeah, I know."
"Great, we can't even say the number anymore? How incredibly juvenile."
"Hey, I don't really believe that crap, but rules are rules. Boss man says no mention of... that number... I say, You got it."
"Well I'm not putting up with it. Let me know when the order's up for booth th-"
"Hey guys? Guys?"
"What, Blake?"
"The paramedics are at booth fourteen again... it's not looking good."
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: fairies.
Sleepy. Need bed. Write now.
Mine:
She flits about the
apartment, my beloved
human butterfly
* * *
Her magic dust can
fix anything; I sit back
and chug a cold beer
The exercise:
Write about: beauty.
Spent a good chunk of this morning working on Kat's counselling website, as it is time for her to begin focusing on that area now that she's a bit more settled into her teaching job. It's mostly done, just a few tweaks here and there remain to be figured out. Looking forward to seeing it go live after all the hard work she's put in.
Once that gets sorted... I might actually have to get back to working on my Nanowrimo novel. That I wrote in 2009.
Mine:
Her mother told her every single day that she was beautiful. Without fail. She could not escape the house in the morning without hearing those words.
And she meant it, too. Her mother was telling the truth. She could tell when she was lying. Like when she picked at her nails while talking about how excited she was to have the neighbours over for dinner on Saturday night. Or the way she stared at her daughter's right eyebrow while saying anything nice about her own mother, never quite making eye contact.
The words were very nearly ingrained in her skin. They felt like an extra layer of armor as she walked along the sidewalk. One more piece of protection against the harsh and cruel world that lurked beyond the comforting walls of home.
Some days she would repeat it to herself, over and over like a mantra. She would begin to believe them, fully and truly. A smile might sneak its way onto her lips as she entered the school grounds.
And then she would see Chloe Harris headed her way, with those vile words carried in both hands like poisonous darts always ready to be hurled without warning, and her defenses evaporated, leaving her naked and shivering in the cold.
The exercise:
Write about: the service.
With some help from Max and Kat, I finally managed to get the garlic planted this morning. It's a little on the late side, but garlic is hardy stuff so I'm hoping to get away with it. A few more weeks before freeze up would also help, but I'm not holding my breath on that one.
Thanks to the clocks falling back an hour last night we're back to the season of Max going to bed early. It's nice to have our evenings back.
Now if we can just convince him to sleep in an extra hour in the mornings...
Mine:
"I'd say we're in agreement on all the particulars, yes?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so..."
"Then let us settle on a price and then we can, at long last, proceed!"
"Er... I don't know... maybe we-"
"Is there a problem?"
"Uh..."
"Or should I say, another problem monsieur?"
"Sorry. It's just that money is real tight these days. I should probably talk to my wife about this first."
"Honey, please. If you could talk to your wife about this sort of thing then you wouldn't be in need of the services I have to offer."
The exercise:
Write a four line poem that has something to do with: brain freeze.
Spent the morning stringing out and affixing barbed wire fencing with Kat's parents for the soon to be arriving horses (sounds like within a couple of weeks). Only managed to hammer my thumb once.
This afternoon I had some time to myself to rest while Kat took Max to a friend's birthday party, a boy we'd met through StrongStart who is just a few days older than our little man. Uploaded some of our family pictures to Facebook and took a big chunk out of the comment backlog I've got going on here. Finally within a week of being caught up!
Oh, right, more pictures. Here, have this one:
So pleased with the work our friend did for us.
Mine:
What do you mean?
Of course I'm doing it right!
Now I'll just put...
Oh dear, that wasn't too bright.
