The exercise:
Write about: the telegram.
Chopped and hauled wood. Got a haircut. Looked for work.
That about sums it up for today.
Mine:
"Sir, a telegram has arrived for you."
The man being addressed, seated in a plump chair with a drink in his right hand, continues to stare at the dancing flames in the fireplace before him. The servant who had addressed him, the message held tightly in his left hand, remains standing in the doorway.
Several minutes pass without any change in the scene, save for there being slightly less wood in the fireplace and, therefore, slightly more ash.
"Sir," the servant tries again after clearing his throat, "a telegram has arr-"
"Put it on the table," the man says, nudging his left elbow toward the circular surface he had indicated, "and get out."
The servant does as requested, as unhurriedly as he can manage. He does not wish to taint the room with the stench of his fear. His master does not look kindly upon such transgressions.
"And lock the door behind you!"
Having returned to the safety of the doorway, the servant is glad to know that his master could not possibly have seen him jump, like a startled child, at the shouted command. He, again, does as he was told, before fleeing with silent steps to the sanctuary of the hotel's front desk.
The man does not pick up the telegram. Does not even look at it. He does not need to. He knows who it is from and, minus a few specifics, what she has to say. And he is in no hurry to read her words.
It is, in some ways, a surprise that he does not simply feed it to the flames. At least, for someone who does not know this man well.
I, on the other hand, know him all too well. For I am his son. I still think of myself as such, at any rate.
Even though I have been dead for all these years...
Tuesday November 24th, 2015
The exercise:
Write two haiku about: Spider-Man.
Because why not?
Max was plenty excited to see snow this morning, and was quite determined to get out there and make a snowman. Unfortunately there wasn't really enough to make a proper one, plus the wind was absolutely howling (still is, actually).
But we got out there a little while after breakfast (with the tune of Now can I go outside and make a snowman? on repeat) and made a tiny one together. Maybe five inches high, but it was enough to satisfy him.
For now.
Mine:
He can spin a web
of any size, but also
enjoys hand knitting
* * *
"Amazing. Spidey.
Wall-crawler?" Please, Mary Jane.
Just call me Peter.
Write two haiku about: Spider-Man.
Because why not?
Max was plenty excited to see snow this morning, and was quite determined to get out there and make a snowman. Unfortunately there wasn't really enough to make a proper one, plus the wind was absolutely howling (still is, actually).
But we got out there a little while after breakfast (with the tune of Now can I go outside and make a snowman? on repeat) and made a tiny one together. Maybe five inches high, but it was enough to satisfy him.
For now.
Mine:
He can spin a web
of any size, but also
enjoys hand knitting
* * *
"Amazing. Spidey.
Wall-crawler?" Please, Mary Jane.
Just call me Peter.
Monday November 23rd, 2015
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: roses.
Looks like I've got company again tonight. He doesn't seem particularly sick during the day, other than being more tired (and cranky) than usual. So I'm hoping this will pass fairly quickly.
Found time to chop and haul wood this morning. Which is good, because it is currently snowing pretty hard out there.
Max will be so pleased when he wakes up tomorrow and looks out the window.
Mine:
Miranda closed the door behind her as she entered her hotel room and paused to regain her composure in the soothing darkness. The first three breaths were shallow and ragged. The two that followed were more controlled but still too rapid. It was three or four breaths later that she remembered to breathe in through her nostrils and out through her mouth.
Which was when she finally noticed the smell.
She pawed the wall to her right until she finally found the light switch. The sudden brightness hurt her eyes and reduced her vision down to a pained squint. Swearing softly she edged her way further into the room she'd called home for the last five nights.
"Hello?" she called out as the smell grew stronger.
There was no answer. Nor should there have been. The only people who had entered that space since her arrival had been Miranda herself and the cleaning staff. As far as she knew.
"Is anyone in here?" she tried again. "Because if so I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong room..."
The narrow hallway opened into the living area and Miranda pulled up short. On the coffee table someone had placed a black ceramic vase filled with white and red roses. Even from fifteen feet away she could tell that they had been heavily perfumed.
"Ugh," she muttered. That was before she saw the envelope leaning against the vase. The words that followed that discovery were... quite definitely unladylike.
Miranda didn't need to see the handwriting to know who was responsible for this "gift". The keynote speaker had not left her alone since the conference had begun. She was a happily married woman but no rebuffs were working, no discouragement so much as acknowledged. This, however, this was going too far. Stronger measures were obviously required.
Steeling herself for the task ahead, she turned on a heel to go find him. As it happened, she didn't have to go very far.
He was standing right behind her.
Write something that has to do with: roses.
Looks like I've got company again tonight. He doesn't seem particularly sick during the day, other than being more tired (and cranky) than usual. So I'm hoping this will pass fairly quickly.
Found time to chop and haul wood this morning. Which is good, because it is currently snowing pretty hard out there.
Max will be so pleased when he wakes up tomorrow and looks out the window.
Mine:
Miranda closed the door behind her as she entered her hotel room and paused to regain her composure in the soothing darkness. The first three breaths were shallow and ragged. The two that followed were more controlled but still too rapid. It was three or four breaths later that she remembered to breathe in through her nostrils and out through her mouth.
Which was when she finally noticed the smell.
She pawed the wall to her right until she finally found the light switch. The sudden brightness hurt her eyes and reduced her vision down to a pained squint. Swearing softly she edged her way further into the room she'd called home for the last five nights.
"Hello?" she called out as the smell grew stronger.
There was no answer. Nor should there have been. The only people who had entered that space since her arrival had been Miranda herself and the cleaning staff. As far as she knew.
"Is anyone in here?" she tried again. "Because if so I'm pretty sure you're in the wrong room..."
The narrow hallway opened into the living area and Miranda pulled up short. On the coffee table someone had placed a black ceramic vase filled with white and red roses. Even from fifteen feet away she could tell that they had been heavily perfumed.
"Ugh," she muttered. That was before she saw the envelope leaning against the vase. The words that followed that discovery were... quite definitely unladylike.
Miranda didn't need to see the handwriting to know who was responsible for this "gift". The keynote speaker had not left her alone since the conference had begun. She was a happily married woman but no rebuffs were working, no discouragement so much as acknowledged. This, however, this was going too far. Stronger measures were obviously required.
Steeling herself for the task ahead, she turned on a heel to go find him. As it happened, she didn't have to go very far.
He was standing right behind her.
Sunday November 22nd, 2015
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: just like old times.
Max has a cold. My cold? I'm not taking credit for it.
Regardless, he's sick. As I'm typing this he's sleeping beside me on the couch, because he's wanting to be close. I put him to be earlier and when he woke up he came out here and gave me grief for not still being there... three and a half hours later.
It's reminding me of when he was very little, of the nights I'd be typing my blog one-handed because he was asleep on my other hand.
At the moment I am appreciating the fact that he is beside me and not on me.
Mine:
"What's it been? Like thirty years?"
"More like forty. More than that if you want to talk about when we spent any quality time together."
"Say it ain't so!"
"Sorry, dear friend, but it is, in fact, so."
"Man, it feels like that was just yesterday. Doesn't it?"
"Well..."
"Oh, come on! Look at us! Drinks in hand, ladies all around... it's just like college!"
"Yeah... except now we're in a retirement home and all these ladies are using walkers and wheelchairs to get around."
Write something that has to do with: just like old times.
Max has a cold. My cold? I'm not taking credit for it.
Regardless, he's sick. As I'm typing this he's sleeping beside me on the couch, because he's wanting to be close. I put him to be earlier and when he woke up he came out here and gave me grief for not still being there... three and a half hours later.
It's reminding me of when he was very little, of the nights I'd be typing my blog one-handed because he was asleep on my other hand.
At the moment I am appreciating the fact that he is beside me and not on me.
Mine:
"What's it been? Like thirty years?"
"More like forty. More than that if you want to talk about when we spent any quality time together."
"Say it ain't so!"
"Sorry, dear friend, but it is, in fact, so."
"Man, it feels like that was just yesterday. Doesn't it?"
"Well..."
"Oh, come on! Look at us! Drinks in hand, ladies all around... it's just like college!"
"Yeah... except now we're in a retirement home and all these ladies are using walkers and wheelchairs to get around."
Saturday November 21st, 2015
The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the trick.
Kat, Max, and I took a trip up to Oliver this morning to check out their annual craft fair. We managed to find a few Christmas gifts, Max got a little toy panda from one of the vendors (we'd just bought a gift for Natalie from them), and then we got out of there before Max could get fully tired of being in a crowded place with lots of interesting things he wasn't allowed to touch.
Though he did have a blast smelling all of the sample soaps at one of the stalls. I imagine those bars were wiped down after we left, seeing as he was practically stuffing them up his nose.
Anyway. It was a sunny (and cold) day and it was an enjoyable one for all of us. Sounds like a pretty good Saturday to me.
Mine:
It seems so simple
But it works every time.
And if no one's hurt
Then it's not really a crime...
Write a four line poem about: the trick.
Kat, Max, and I took a trip up to Oliver this morning to check out their annual craft fair. We managed to find a few Christmas gifts, Max got a little toy panda from one of the vendors (we'd just bought a gift for Natalie from them), and then we got out of there before Max could get fully tired of being in a crowded place with lots of interesting things he wasn't allowed to touch.
Though he did have a blast smelling all of the sample soaps at one of the stalls. I imagine those bars were wiped down after we left, seeing as he was practically stuffing them up his nose.
Anyway. It was a sunny (and cold) day and it was an enjoyable one for all of us. Sounds like a pretty good Saturday to me.
Mine:
It seems so simple
But it works every time.
And if no one's hurt
Then it's not really a crime...
Friday November 20th, 2015
The exercise:
Write four lines of prose about: gold.
Other than a headache first thing this morning, today was the best I've felt in a while. Hopefully I'll be completely over this illness when I wake up tomorrow. That would be nice.
Not least because we're running low on firewood at the house again. So much for that stockpile.
Mine:
"You find any gold in the river today?"
"Not even enough to fill in the gaps in my teeth. What about you?"
"Well, I did pull out a nice pair of high heels that might have been yellow once upon a time..."
Write four lines of prose about: gold.
Other than a headache first thing this morning, today was the best I've felt in a while. Hopefully I'll be completely over this illness when I wake up tomorrow. That would be nice.
Not least because we're running low on firewood at the house again. So much for that stockpile.
Mine:
"You find any gold in the river today?"
"Not even enough to fill in the gaps in my teeth. What about you?"
"Well, I did pull out a nice pair of high heels that might have been yellow once upon a time..."
Thursday November 19th, 2015
The exercise:
Write something that has to do with: two of a kind.
I appreciate that there will be differences (likely many of them), but that's the best I could come up with for a somewhat appropriate prompt for today's writing.
Mine:
We are now, in case you haven't figured it out already, expecting our second son to arrive in early April. And as I said up there, I'm sure this little boy will be unique in ways I can't even imagine right now, with his own interests and personality and temperament. But at the end of the day, barring a mistake in the ultrasound reading, we're going to have a pair of boys to raise.
To be completely honest, my first reaction was disappointment. For a very long time my ideal picture of a family was one son and one daughter. Didn't matter the order, just wanted one of each. And I'm sad that I won't have the opportunity to raise a little girl. Because we are absolutely, one hundred percent done after this one. A family of four is great.
Also: we are not going through this whole pregnancy thing ever again. I speak for both of us on that one.
That initial feeling passed fairly quickly though, which I kind of figured it would. I'm getting excited about having another boy. Plus there's a comfort in knowing that we've been through this (at least the first three years) with a boy before. There will be new challenges and joys, obviously, but we've got the basics down. More or less.
Kat shared my disappointment as well, though I think it was stronger for her. Missing out on the mother-daughter bond is a tough one. I don't want to go into too much detail on her side of things, but I did want to mention the first response was mutual.
Things started really coming around for both of us when we sat down and started discussing potential names. I could feel the excite building. We've got a couple picked out already, with a clear front runner, but we'll be keeping that to ourselves until it is time to make it official.
I will say this though: after Kat informed Max that he was going to have a little brother, she asked him what he thought we should name him. His response?
"Max!"
No, sweetie. Just... no.
Write something that has to do with: two of a kind.
I appreciate that there will be differences (likely many of them), but that's the best I could come up with for a somewhat appropriate prompt for today's writing.
Mine:
We are now, in case you haven't figured it out already, expecting our second son to arrive in early April. And as I said up there, I'm sure this little boy will be unique in ways I can't even imagine right now, with his own interests and personality and temperament. But at the end of the day, barring a mistake in the ultrasound reading, we're going to have a pair of boys to raise.
To be completely honest, my first reaction was disappointment. For a very long time my ideal picture of a family was one son and one daughter. Didn't matter the order, just wanted one of each. And I'm sad that I won't have the opportunity to raise a little girl. Because we are absolutely, one hundred percent done after this one. A family of four is great.
Also: we are not going through this whole pregnancy thing ever again. I speak for both of us on that one.
That initial feeling passed fairly quickly though, which I kind of figured it would. I'm getting excited about having another boy. Plus there's a comfort in knowing that we've been through this (at least the first three years) with a boy before. There will be new challenges and joys, obviously, but we've got the basics down. More or less.
Kat shared my disappointment as well, though I think it was stronger for her. Missing out on the mother-daughter bond is a tough one. I don't want to go into too much detail on her side of things, but I did want to mention the first response was mutual.
Things started really coming around for both of us when we sat down and started discussing potential names. I could feel the excite building. We've got a couple picked out already, with a clear front runner, but we'll be keeping that to ourselves until it is time to make it official.
I will say this though: after Kat informed Max that he was going to have a little brother, she asked him what he thought we should name him. His response?
"Max!"
No, sweetie. Just... no.
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