The exercise:
Here we are, into the fifth month of the year already. Let us write four lines of prose about: the sucker.
Because we're at it again, planting more strawberries. It's time to get more started, as the plants that are going to produce this year will start producing less next year. Plus the hope is that we can find a way to manage these new ones a little more efficiently.
I guess we'll see about that.
Mine:
"And there we go, it's full up again," Beverly announced as she shook her head at her computer screen.
"Happens every year," Jessica replied from behind her desk on the opposite side of the cramped room.
"I just... they know Psych 100 is a prerequisite for Psych 150 and that there's only one professor that teaches both of those classes... right?"
"I guess they're either suckers for punishment or... I don't know, they hope Mr. Peterson magically transforms into a man capable of teaching them something."
Thursday April 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the kingpin.
Been watching episodes of Daredevil recently and I'm absolutely hooked. It is dark, dark, tense stuff, but incredibly well done. I want to say especially for a superhero TV show but I'm not certain the qualifier is needed.
This afternoon I mulched almost all of the strawberries that I've weeded so far, which feels good. Except in my back, where it feels bad. And also when I think about how much is left to weed and then mulch.
But it was encouraging to remember just how much faster mulching is than weeding.
Mine:
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Seen who?"
"Come on, man. You know who I'm talking about here."
"Oh, him. Naw, man. But it ain't like he keeps me up to date on his whereabouts or nothing like that."
"He probably doesn't even know you exist."
"You watch your mouth, pal. You show me some respect, you got it?"
"Fine, man. Fine."
"And if you think so little of me, why the hell you asking if I've seen the man about town?"
"I dunno. Just seems like nobody has seen him lately."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying maybe he's skedaddled. Left us little guys behind."
"No way. Nuh uh. Never, man. He wouldn't... wait a minute. If he's really gone..."
"Exactly. And who's to say this organization of ours can't be run by a two man team, if you see what I mean..."
Write about: the kingpin.
Been watching episodes of Daredevil recently and I'm absolutely hooked. It is dark, dark, tense stuff, but incredibly well done. I want to say especially for a superhero TV show but I'm not certain the qualifier is needed.
This afternoon I mulched almost all of the strawberries that I've weeded so far, which feels good. Except in my back, where it feels bad. And also when I think about how much is left to weed and then mulch.
But it was encouraging to remember just how much faster mulching is than weeding.
Mine:
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Seen who?"
"Come on, man. You know who I'm talking about here."
"Oh, him. Naw, man. But it ain't like he keeps me up to date on his whereabouts or nothing like that."
"He probably doesn't even know you exist."
"You watch your mouth, pal. You show me some respect, you got it?"
"Fine, man. Fine."
"And if you think so little of me, why the hell you asking if I've seen the man about town?"
"I dunno. Just seems like nobody has seen him lately."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying maybe he's skedaddled. Left us little guys behind."
"No way. Nuh uh. Never, man. He wouldn't... wait a minute. If he's really gone..."
"Exactly. And who's to say this organization of ours can't be run by a two man team, if you see what I mean..."
Wednesday April 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the exodus.
Did a brief stint in the strawberries this morning before Kat had to be in class from 10 to 2. I had Max during that time, the latter portion spent at the park. He was having fun playing with another little boy, who was just a little older than him (maybe four or five months?). Assuming 'fun' can be defined as rolling his ball down the slide, watching the other boy slide down after it, pick it up, bring it back up to the top of the play structure, give it back to Max, and then start it all over again.
Many, many times in a row.
Pretty sure Max got the better end of that deal. The other boy did seem to be enjoying himself though.
After we got back we went out to the garden with Kat and transplanted our onions and leeks. Max did help out a little bit, but he was mostly interested in digging in the dirt with his shovel and fingers and toy front end loader.
Mine:
The regime did not expect the exodus to happen as quickly as it did. They thought that their initial gesture would be enough to keep their subjects under control. A warning shot across their bow, in a manner of speaking.
They believed that it would buy them some much needed time. To get themselves organized, prepared, secured. Armed.
They were wrong, of course. But that is easy to point out after the fact.
Instead of cowering in fear, their subjects fled en masse. In a matter of minutes none remained in sight. Hours later none could be found. Overnight they were all gone.
Save for poor Tommy Bishop.
For he was still in detention, under the watchful eyes of the principal and all his teachers. An example meant to freeze his companions in place, gone horribly wrong.
Not a single one of his fellow students ever came back to make an attempt to set him free.
Write about: the exodus.
Did a brief stint in the strawberries this morning before Kat had to be in class from 10 to 2. I had Max during that time, the latter portion spent at the park. He was having fun playing with another little boy, who was just a little older than him (maybe four or five months?). Assuming 'fun' can be defined as rolling his ball down the slide, watching the other boy slide down after it, pick it up, bring it back up to the top of the play structure, give it back to Max, and then start it all over again.
Many, many times in a row.
Pretty sure Max got the better end of that deal. The other boy did seem to be enjoying himself though.
After we got back we went out to the garden with Kat and transplanted our onions and leeks. Max did help out a little bit, but he was mostly interested in digging in the dirt with his shovel and fingers and toy front end loader.
Mine:
The regime did not expect the exodus to happen as quickly as it did. They thought that their initial gesture would be enough to keep their subjects under control. A warning shot across their bow, in a manner of speaking.
They believed that it would buy them some much needed time. To get themselves organized, prepared, secured. Armed.
They were wrong, of course. But that is easy to point out after the fact.
Instead of cowering in fear, their subjects fled en masse. In a matter of minutes none remained in sight. Hours later none could be found. Overnight they were all gone.
Save for poor Tommy Bishop.
For he was still in detention, under the watchful eyes of the principal and all his teachers. An example meant to freeze his companions in place, gone horribly wrong.
Not a single one of his fellow students ever came back to make an attempt to set him free.
Tuesday April 28th, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: the new kid.
I managed to get the first row of strawberries fully weeded this morning and began work on the next one. The plan is to mulch the first row before getting too far into the next one, as I don't want all that work undone before I have a chance to get the mulch on there.
Hung out with Max this afternoon, mostly at Kat's parents house. I did finally convince him to go into town with me to get groceries, which was a relief.
It got pretty hot out there today. Seems a bit early in the year for the thermometer to hit 30.
Mine:
He sits at the back
of the classroom, hoping that
no one sees him there
* * *
He knows how it works
behind these bars: hurt someone
before they hurt you
Write two haiku about: the new kid.
I managed to get the first row of strawberries fully weeded this morning and began work on the next one. The plan is to mulch the first row before getting too far into the next one, as I don't want all that work undone before I have a chance to get the mulch on there.
Hung out with Max this afternoon, mostly at Kat's parents house. I did finally convince him to go into town with me to get groceries, which was a relief.
It got pretty hot out there today. Seems a bit early in the year for the thermometer to hit 30.
Mine:
He sits at the back
of the classroom, hoping that
no one sees him there
* * *
He knows how it works
behind these bars: hurt someone
before they hurt you
Monday April 27th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the jungle.
Finished off the last of the blackberry pruning this morning, which means I can now focus most of my attention on weeding and mulching the strawberries. With school stuff slowing down, Kat's going to be able to help out in the garden and greenhouse more so I won't have to worry about that stuff for the next little while.
Max and I went to the park after lunch and he insisted on bringing one of his balls along with us. When we got there he proceeded to kick it away from the play area and all the way to the other end of the park... which was where he discovered the "jungle".
It was just a small area by the water filled with trees and bushes, but there was enough of a path (or two) through it for us to explore a bit deeper.
I have a feeling that will not be our last visit to that end of the park.
Mine:
In the black heart of the jungle, a beast awakens. It lifts its head slowly, blinks away the fog of sleep, and considers its surroundings with apparent disinterest. Nothing has been disturbed since it lay down to sleep - no blade of grass has been bent or flattened, no branch or bush has been pushed aside.
All this is as the beast expects it to be.
The air is stale and heavy here, as though no breeze has ever penetrated this far into the lush foliage that encircles the beast. With an unhurried stretch, the beast rises to its feet and sniffs first to the north, then the east, then south, and finally to the west.
It smells nothing but the clearing it calls home - which smells mostly like the beast itself - and it is satisfied.
A distant bird cry reaches its ears every so faintly. The beast knows that this, at nearly a mile away, is the nearest living creature. Nothing else dare encroach further on the uncrowned king of the jungle's lair. None have been foolish enough to try in a very, very long time.
Which just means the beast, who has begun its slow walk into the neighbouring jungle, has to roam for hours in order to find its prey. Far longer than it would choose to, had it been given the choice.
And when the beast does finally find its first meal of the day... it tends to take out its displeasure with vicious enthusiasm.
Write about: the jungle.
Finished off the last of the blackberry pruning this morning, which means I can now focus most of my attention on weeding and mulching the strawberries. With school stuff slowing down, Kat's going to be able to help out in the garden and greenhouse more so I won't have to worry about that stuff for the next little while.
Max and I went to the park after lunch and he insisted on bringing one of his balls along with us. When we got there he proceeded to kick it away from the play area and all the way to the other end of the park... which was where he discovered the "jungle".
It was just a small area by the water filled with trees and bushes, but there was enough of a path (or two) through it for us to explore a bit deeper.
I have a feeling that will not be our last visit to that end of the park.
Mine:
In the black heart of the jungle, a beast awakens. It lifts its head slowly, blinks away the fog of sleep, and considers its surroundings with apparent disinterest. Nothing has been disturbed since it lay down to sleep - no blade of grass has been bent or flattened, no branch or bush has been pushed aside.
All this is as the beast expects it to be.
The air is stale and heavy here, as though no breeze has ever penetrated this far into the lush foliage that encircles the beast. With an unhurried stretch, the beast rises to its feet and sniffs first to the north, then the east, then south, and finally to the west.
It smells nothing but the clearing it calls home - which smells mostly like the beast itself - and it is satisfied.
A distant bird cry reaches its ears every so faintly. The beast knows that this, at nearly a mile away, is the nearest living creature. Nothing else dare encroach further on the uncrowned king of the jungle's lair. None have been foolish enough to try in a very, very long time.
Which just means the beast, who has begun its slow walk into the neighbouring jungle, has to roam for hours in order to find its prey. Far longer than it would choose to, had it been given the choice.
And when the beast does finally find its first meal of the day... it tends to take out its displeasure with vicious enthusiasm.
Sunday April 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the search.
Had a nice Sunday with the family, capped off by transplanting our cabbage and broccoli plants into the garden in the late afternoon. Max was periodically helpful - when he wasn't trampling the seedlings or refusing to let me use the trowel because he needed it - and actually pretty good at separating the plants when there were two or three per cell.
I can just imagine what it'll be like out there with him in a couple of years.
Mine:
Keep looking, keep looking, keep looking. It's too soon to give up. Don't give up. Keep looking.
What about over there? No? Okay. That's okay. Just keep looking, all right? This is important. You understand that, don't you? Good. Good. Keep looking, will you? For me? Good.
It has to be around here somewhere. I mean, where else could it possibly be? Right? There's no way it escaped the house, just no way. So it's gotta be in here. Thinking it's been lost or forgotten. That would be worse, I think. Believing you've been forgotten?
But that's not what happened here. Okay? I know that it's missing. I haven't forgotten it ever existed. I'm not stupid. Okay? Good. Now help me find it already. Just keep looking!
My sanity has to be around here somewhere...
Write about: the search.
Had a nice Sunday with the family, capped off by transplanting our cabbage and broccoli plants into the garden in the late afternoon. Max was periodically helpful - when he wasn't trampling the seedlings or refusing to let me use the trowel because he needed it - and actually pretty good at separating the plants when there were two or three per cell.
I can just imagine what it'll be like out there with him in a couple of years.
Mine:
Keep looking, keep looking, keep looking. It's too soon to give up. Don't give up. Keep looking.
What about over there? No? Okay. That's okay. Just keep looking, all right? This is important. You understand that, don't you? Good. Good. Keep looking, will you? For me? Good.
It has to be around here somewhere. I mean, where else could it possibly be? Right? There's no way it escaped the house, just no way. So it's gotta be in here. Thinking it's been lost or forgotten. That would be worse, I think. Believing you've been forgotten?
But that's not what happened here. Okay? I know that it's missing. I haven't forgotten it ever existed. I'm not stupid. Okay? Good. Now help me find it already. Just keep looking!
My sanity has to be around here somewhere...
Saturday April 25th, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the comedown.
The Canucks raced out to an early 3-0 lead this evening, which had me feeling pretty good. The final score, 7-4 in Calgary's favor, left me in a much different mood.
Two positive takeaways that I'm trying to focus on? First: I'm pretty sure that if they had managed to win the series against the Flames, Vancouver was going to get crushed by Anaheim. Now that's Calgary's fate.
The other: I didn't watch a single minute of the game, I was just keeping tabs on the score on and off all night. During the third period, when things nosedived off a cliff for the Canucks, I was actually out in town checking out a friend's photography exhibit and chatting with friends.
So there's that, I guess.
Mine:
The lofty peaks
Were almost mine...
Now I'm tangled
In thorny vines
Write a four line poem about: the comedown.
The Canucks raced out to an early 3-0 lead this evening, which had me feeling pretty good. The final score, 7-4 in Calgary's favor, left me in a much different mood.
Two positive takeaways that I'm trying to focus on? First: I'm pretty sure that if they had managed to win the series against the Flames, Vancouver was going to get crushed by Anaheim. Now that's Calgary's fate.
The other: I didn't watch a single minute of the game, I was just keeping tabs on the score on and off all night. During the third period, when things nosedived off a cliff for the Canucks, I was actually out in town checking out a friend's photography exhibit and chatting with friends.
So there's that, I guess.
Mine:
The lofty peaks
Were almost mine...
Now I'm tangled
In thorny vines
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