The exercise:
Let us usher August out the door by writing about: the substitute.
Another fairly quiet day around these parts. I think I may have given up on weeding the garden for this year without fully realizing it. If this week slips by without any more weeds being pulled I might have to make it official.
Spent part of my morning catching up on comments (woo hoo, only three weeks behind now!) and then spent the afternoon with Max. I should maybe take a picture of him sometime and share it with you guys, because I have this nagging feeling that it has been a long time since I've done that.
Mine:
The plan, such as it was, did not inspire faith. It was not properly thought out. Rushed and unprofessional were two of the kindest words I could have used to describe it. Idiotic and doomed to fail were some of the less kind.
You might be wondering why I agreed to it then. Can't say I blame you. I've often had the same line of thinking since then. Sure, I was in a desperate spot. One that seemed utterly hopeless, with no reasonable escape. I guess an incredibly unreasonable route seemed like my only chance.
There was also, of course, the potential reward. No man I've ever met would turn his back on the chance for that kind of money, no matter how ridiculous the odds of success may be. That's how casinos do such killer business, right?
Well. Whatever the reason, I said I'd do it. Or at least try, anyway. So I walked into that museum under the watchful eye of at least a dozen guards and twice as many cameras. Concealed in my jacket was a rather inexact replica of the statue I was meant to steal.
"Just switch it out for the real thing," they'd told me. "You just need a distraction, that's all."
Yeah, that was all. It's not like I had unlimited time to come up with something good - the exhibit was only in town for the weekend. Like I said, rushed and poorly thought out. But like I also said, I was in a bad place.
That's why the other thing I'd hidden in my jacket that afternoon was the foulest smelling stink bomb I could get my hands on.
Sunday August 30th, 2015
The exercise:
Write something that takes place at: the fashion show.
After a very, very quiet morning around the house, we took Max into town for a lunch out. While we were eating there was a rather impressive downpour, with a brief period of hail. I don't think it hit the farm, at least I haven't heard any complaints about it damaging apples, but it was rather worrisome while it lasted.
It also cooled things off significantly and cleared away the lingering smoke. So when we stepped outside after it had finished it was... fantastic.
Fingers crossed for continued clear skies for the foreseeable future.
Mine:
"This was the best idea I've ever had bro."
"No doubt. I never would have thought of it myself. I mean, fashion designer? That sounds so g-"
"Right? But then you give it some more time and you realize you can design the skimpiest, sheerest outfits and then g-"
"Get the hottest girls on campus to parade around in them! Seriously, dude. I'm so jealous I didn't think of it first. At least you're letting me hang out backstage though. That's super awesome of you."
"For my best bro? Of course! And, again, sorry I couldn't invite you to the pre-show party at my place last night. No way I wanted too many dudes around, you know what I mean?"
"Obviously, dude. Obviously. I mean, I guess you had to have Sheldon there, since he's your, like, director or whatever. And he's not the least bit of competition for you anywaaa... hey Sheldon! What's up my man?"
"Whatever. Listen, I've got two things to tell you guys and you're not going to like either of them."
"Bro... maybe you should just not tell me either of them then?"
"Yeah, not an option since the first is: all your models are in the hospital with food poisoning."
"What? All of them? How is that even possible, dude?"
"Something about the sushi you served them at your party last night. I thank my guardian angel I didn't eat any of that crap."
"Same, bro. I was too busy drinking to eat."
"Yeah, I noticed. Anyway, we're two hours from curtain so here's the second thing: there are no other models available. So you two are going to have to wear the outfits on the catwalk."
"What? Hell no, bro. Hell no."
"Then Mrs. Fletcher will fail you and you won't get the last credit you need to graduate this year. She just told me that herself."
"Dude..."
"Oh, and she sends her best wishes and says she is very much looking forward to your show. And, I think it's safe to say, even more so now that you'll also be modelling your designs."
Write something that takes place at: the fashion show.
After a very, very quiet morning around the house, we took Max into town for a lunch out. While we were eating there was a rather impressive downpour, with a brief period of hail. I don't think it hit the farm, at least I haven't heard any complaints about it damaging apples, but it was rather worrisome while it lasted.
It also cooled things off significantly and cleared away the lingering smoke. So when we stepped outside after it had finished it was... fantastic.
Fingers crossed for continued clear skies for the foreseeable future.
Mine:
"This was the best idea I've ever had bro."
"No doubt. I never would have thought of it myself. I mean, fashion designer? That sounds so g-"
"Right? But then you give it some more time and you realize you can design the skimpiest, sheerest outfits and then g-"
"Get the hottest girls on campus to parade around in them! Seriously, dude. I'm so jealous I didn't think of it first. At least you're letting me hang out backstage though. That's super awesome of you."
"For my best bro? Of course! And, again, sorry I couldn't invite you to the pre-show party at my place last night. No way I wanted too many dudes around, you know what I mean?"
"Obviously, dude. Obviously. I mean, I guess you had to have Sheldon there, since he's your, like, director or whatever. And he's not the least bit of competition for you anywaaa... hey Sheldon! What's up my man?"
"Whatever. Listen, I've got two things to tell you guys and you're not going to like either of them."
"Bro... maybe you should just not tell me either of them then?"
"Yeah, not an option since the first is: all your models are in the hospital with food poisoning."
"What? All of them? How is that even possible, dude?"
"Something about the sushi you served them at your party last night. I thank my guardian angel I didn't eat any of that crap."
"Same, bro. I was too busy drinking to eat."
"Yeah, I noticed. Anyway, we're two hours from curtain so here's the second thing: there are no other models available. So you two are going to have to wear the outfits on the catwalk."
"What? Hell no, bro. Hell no."
"Then Mrs. Fletcher will fail you and you won't get the last credit you need to graduate this year. She just told me that herself."
"Dude..."
"Oh, and she sends her best wishes and says she is very much looking forward to your show. And, I think it's safe to say, even more so now that you'll also be modelling your designs."
Saturday August 29th, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: oops.
Our farm is just east of Osoyoos. This morning I got all the way to the western edge of town before realizing that I'd forgotten the tomatoes and onions (normally they'd go on the truck Friday night but I thought it was going to rain overnight so I left them on the porch at Kat's parents place).
I may not have said oops but I'm not about to use what I actually said as a prompt.
I came back to get the forgotten produce and it ended up being worth my time, as I sold all of the cherry tomatoes and onions, along with about half of the bigger tomatoes.
I imagine that if it hadn't poured rain for over an hour during the (typically) busiest portion of the market I would have sold even more of them. More apples too, but I did okay with those. Oh well. We desperately needed the break from all this dryness so I'm not going to complain.
Too much.
Mine:
Look at all the pretty pictures -
Oops, I meant to say art!
I just punched a hole in this one...
I guess that wasn't smart.
Write a four line poem about: oops.
Our farm is just east of Osoyoos. This morning I got all the way to the western edge of town before realizing that I'd forgotten the tomatoes and onions (normally they'd go on the truck Friday night but I thought it was going to rain overnight so I left them on the porch at Kat's parents place).
I may not have said oops but I'm not about to use what I actually said as a prompt.
I came back to get the forgotten produce and it ended up being worth my time, as I sold all of the cherry tomatoes and onions, along with about half of the bigger tomatoes.
I imagine that if it hadn't poured rain for over an hour during the (typically) busiest portion of the market I would have sold even more of them. More apples too, but I did okay with those. Oh well. We desperately needed the break from all this dryness so I'm not going to complain.
Too much.
Mine:
Look at all the pretty pictures -
Oops, I meant to say art!
I just punched a hole in this one...
I guess that wasn't smart.
Friday August 28th, 2015
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: colorful language.
I spent a lot of harvesting time today within earshot of the guys working on the new house. That's all I have to say about that and the prompt.
Not a great pick today, but hopefully there will be enough of various different things to make for a decent market tomorrow. Also keeping my fingers crossed that if it does rain then people still come out and enjoy the fresh air and produce - it's been long enough that it shouldn't be a reason to stay indoors. As far as I'm concerned, anyway.
A breeze started up mid-morning, which seems like the first time the air's moved in a week. At first it just pushed the old, stale smoke away and replaced it with fresh, new smoke. But by this evening I was able to see the furthest I have seen since this whole mess started.
Hoping for some more wind and a little bit of rain the next couple of days to fully clear out the valley.
Mine:
"Don't even start, I'm not in the mood for this silver."
"Are you brownsilvering me?"
"I'm dead serious, aquamarine. If you don't drop it I will fuchsia you up."
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: colorful language.
I spent a lot of harvesting time today within earshot of the guys working on the new house. That's all I have to say about that and the prompt.
Not a great pick today, but hopefully there will be enough of various different things to make for a decent market tomorrow. Also keeping my fingers crossed that if it does rain then people still come out and enjoy the fresh air and produce - it's been long enough that it shouldn't be a reason to stay indoors. As far as I'm concerned, anyway.
A breeze started up mid-morning, which seems like the first time the air's moved in a week. At first it just pushed the old, stale smoke away and replaced it with fresh, new smoke. But by this evening I was able to see the furthest I have seen since this whole mess started.
Hoping for some more wind and a little bit of rain the next couple of days to fully clear out the valley.
Mine:
"Don't even start, I'm not in the mood for this silver."
"Are you brownsilvering me?"
"I'm dead serious, aquamarine. If you don't drop it I will fuchsia you up."
Thursday August 27th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the dig.
Construction on the new house continues. They're working on the deck on the outside and the flooring on the inside. And still doing lots of digging, which invited today's prompt.
The smoke was again slightly better today. I can now see the outline of the hills to the west of town from our front porch. The moon this evening was very red, but at least it was visible.
Hoping for continued improvement tomorrow as I harvest for Saturdays farmers market.
Mine:
During the day the dig site is a buzzing hive of activity. Machines rumbling this way and that, men talking and yelling... mostly yelling actually, now that I think about it. Hammering, scraping, scooping, unloading shards of rock.
A man could get a headache from all that chaos even though he was standing half a mile away, well beyond the towering fence that marked the perimeter of the construction zone.
Night, though, is a very different story. All the machinery is at rest, dark lumps casting strange shadows in the moonlight. The men have gone home to their wives or girlfriends or empty beds. Tools have been put aside and silence reigns supreme.
The hole itself is a yawning, toothless mouth of darkness. To stand at its edge and look down is to stare into the abyss. A man could think of jumping and falling into forever, never landing, never stopping. Just an endless flight into... nothingness.
Night. That's when I like to visit the hole the best. I guess you could say that I don't have much choice in the matter. And, sure, you'd be right.
It's not like I'm allowed on site during the day...
Write about: the dig.
Construction on the new house continues. They're working on the deck on the outside and the flooring on the inside. And still doing lots of digging, which invited today's prompt.
The smoke was again slightly better today. I can now see the outline of the hills to the west of town from our front porch. The moon this evening was very red, but at least it was visible.
Hoping for continued improvement tomorrow as I harvest for Saturdays farmers market.
Mine:
During the day the dig site is a buzzing hive of activity. Machines rumbling this way and that, men talking and yelling... mostly yelling actually, now that I think about it. Hammering, scraping, scooping, unloading shards of rock.
A man could get a headache from all that chaos even though he was standing half a mile away, well beyond the towering fence that marked the perimeter of the construction zone.
Night, though, is a very different story. All the machinery is at rest, dark lumps casting strange shadows in the moonlight. The men have gone home to their wives or girlfriends or empty beds. Tools have been put aside and silence reigns supreme.
The hole itself is a yawning, toothless mouth of darkness. To stand at its edge and look down is to stare into the abyss. A man could think of jumping and falling into forever, never landing, never stopping. Just an endless flight into... nothingness.
Night. That's when I like to visit the hole the best. I guess you could say that I don't have much choice in the matter. And, sure, you'd be right.
It's not like I'm allowed on site during the day...
Wednesday August 26th, 2015
The exercise:
Write about: the hypocrite.
Smoke was marginally better again today. At this rate the air should be back to its regular quality by December. Or maybe Saturday, when it is finally supposed to rain.
It's gotten to the point that I'm not even going to complain about it raining on market day.
Mine:
Standing bright and brash
In the public eye,
He pretends to be
One hell of a lie.
For in the safety
Of solitude
He reveals his true,
Cruel attitude.
So listen not to how
He talks the talk,
But watch instead how
He walks the walk.
Write about: the hypocrite.
Smoke was marginally better again today. At this rate the air should be back to its regular quality by December. Or maybe Saturday, when it is finally supposed to rain.
It's gotten to the point that I'm not even going to complain about it raining on market day.
Mine:
Standing bright and brash
In the public eye,
He pretends to be
One hell of a lie.
For in the safety
Of solitude
He reveals his true,
Cruel attitude.
So listen not to how
He talks the talk,
But watch instead how
He walks the walk.
Tuesday August 25th, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: owls.
I can actually see some of the lights on the other side of the lake this evening, so things must be a little less smokey out there. Hurray!
This morning's harvest went very quickly but I had no interest in lingering in the garden. So I got caught up on a few emails before taking my turn with Max. Kat took him to gym time at the community center this morning, which they're doing this week in order to give the kids of the town some indoor activity while this smoke limits outdoor playtime. Very thoughtful and very much appreciated (apparently it was very well attended).
Fingers crossed tomorrow will see the end of the worst of this crappy air quality we've been dealing with. Regardless, I am unlikely to take clean air for granted any time soon.
Mine:
The wisest creatures
in the night seek their prey in
silent, soaring flight
* * *
Hidden in plain sight,
snowy owl awaits his prey
in a wintry field
Write two haiku about: owls.
I can actually see some of the lights on the other side of the lake this evening, so things must be a little less smokey out there. Hurray!
This morning's harvest went very quickly but I had no interest in lingering in the garden. So I got caught up on a few emails before taking my turn with Max. Kat took him to gym time at the community center this morning, which they're doing this week in order to give the kids of the town some indoor activity while this smoke limits outdoor playtime. Very thoughtful and very much appreciated (apparently it was very well attended).
Fingers crossed tomorrow will see the end of the worst of this crappy air quality we've been dealing with. Regardless, I am unlikely to take clean air for granted any time soon.
Mine:
The wisest creatures
in the night seek their prey in
silent, soaring flight
* * *
Hidden in plain sight,
snowy owl awaits his prey
in a wintry field
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