Wednesday March 22nd, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the mute.

Bakery was fairly slow for most of the day. Did have a lady buy 13 loaves (for herself and some friends, I believe) late afternoon, so that helped. Plus Shannon did want 15 loaves in the freezer for a restaurant order, so it wasn't a problem, really.

Just was a lot of bread to deal with at end of day.

Miles came down with a nasty sounding cough yesterday, so Kat took him to the doctor this afternoon. I guess he's got laryngitis, but it's not too severe.

Not much worse sounding than an infant with a hoarse throat though.


Little Ricky never spoke a word to nobody, as best anybody could tell. That don't mean he didn't communicate though. He had his ways, you know?

Like, if he was wearing one of his red shirts? You best keep your distance, man. He had the fire in him them days. And that temper of his was not something you wanted to mess with. Burning, burning hot, man.

And if he was wearing his black hat? He was sad about something, that's for sure. No way to know what, of course, but I guess the details didn't matter much. I mean, if he wanted somebody to know what was bringing him down he'd have told 'em, right? But he never did, so...

And then there were the times he wouldn't shave for weeks. Months, even. That was trickier business, that's for sure. Because you wouldn't even realize something was up, right? Not until the hair on his cheeks got thick enough for you to see it.

Poor Ricky had hair as yellow as sunshine, so it took a while for it to show.

Anyway. That facial hair was a sure sign that something was troubling him. Driving him to distraction. Keeping him up at night. That boy done got obsessed when certain thoughts or ideas or people (pray that it wasn't you, man) got stuck in his head.

You know, for a kid that never said nothing, Little Ricky sure had a lot to say...

Tuesday March 21st, 2017

The exercise:

Write two haiku about: pride.

Dealt with a migraine for most of the day, so that made things... unpleasant. The rain didn't help much either.

Finally got out of the house mid-afternoon to take the boys for a walk around the farm. That helped everyone, I think, and it was a reasonable temperature despite the clouds. Plus the rain was kind enough to ease off for a while.

Back to the bakery tomorrow. Hopefully without too much of a migraine hangover.


It has been said that
pride goeth before the fall.
So... I guess we wait?

*     *     *

She is overly
fond, I think, of her massive
poodle collection

Monday March 20th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about something that is: nigh.

Spent the morning with the boys and actually managed to get a few errands done. With StrongStart off the options menu for the duration of spring break, I'm hoping for warmer weather to allow for more outdoor time.

We ended up at the park for maybe half an hour just before lunch, but the wind made me feel like I was pushing it. The boys didn't seem to mind though.


Currently things are not
Happening the way that I would like.
Although it may be true that
Nothing comes easy and
Getting used to new things is hard,
Everything must evolve.

Sunday March 19th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: signs of life.

Apologies for the excessively late posting. Spent the day pruning blackberry bushes and being outside as much as possible in order to enjoy the warmer weather.

Apparently that tuckered me right out.


Scorched and smoking black earth
Has a dark story to tell:
They must have made their homes
From things which burn very well...

You're looking for signs of life
In this bleak, miserable hell?
Well, my friend, I'm afraid that
You'll find yourself S.O.L.

Saturday March 18th, 2017

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about something that has been: uprooted.

Crazy busy morning at the bakery. Ended up closing about an hour early, as all I had left was one piece of carrot cake and one ciabatta loaf.

Still took me another hour to get out of there, as I'd pretty much done zero cleaning at that point.

Looking forward to a day off with family tomorrow.


Excavator digs, lifts, tears;
Apple tree roots reach for the sky -
Making way for fine wine grapevines,
As today's taste buds have passed them by

Friday March 17th, 2017

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the jackal.

Bakery was more of the same today, just two loaves to put in the freezer, along with four croissants. Spring break is starting for schools here in BC tomorrow, so we'll see if things manage to sell all the way out.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I really enjoy working at the bakery. We're friends in the back, always laughing and having a good time together. And the vast majority of customers are happy and appreciative of the goods for sale.

Plus we get to listen to whatever music we want to (within reason during opening hours).

The work can be hard and the hours long, but it's everything else about being there that serves to keep bringing me back, week after week.


I like me life. You go on and judge me all ya like, ya hear? This job suits me just fine, thank ya very much.

Now quit ya gripin' and hand over ya bloody wallet already, yeah?

Thursday March 16th, 2017

The exercise:

Write something which takes place in: the canyon.

Similar day to yesterday at the bakery, just with nicer weather outside. No complaints with that.

Pretty sure I was going to say something else here but can't remember what that was. Like, not even the slightest of clues as to what I was thinking.

Ah well. On with the writing then.


"I think we're lost."

"What? How would that even be possible? There's only one direction we can go in!"

"I don't know. I'm just pretty sure we're not where we're supposed to be, that's all."

"Well, yeah. We're stuck in a canyon with hundred foot cliffs on both sides of us and we're running out of water. I'd say we should probably be somewhere else too."

"That's not what I meant. I'm just getting this... feeling... that we're not welcome here."

"That's fine by me. I wouldn't want this place to decide that I'm a pleasant guest who should never leave. Now come on, we need to find shelter before the damned sun roasts us in our boots."

"Or before we're eaten."

"Eaten? By what, you lunatic? The boogeyman?"

"No... those wolves over there."