Fair play to you

I conditioned the air because it was clammy inside and we couldn’t open the windows. The ducks were still at the lake and in the morning everything looked ghostly with that mixture of fog and smoke. I slapped my chest and winked at the lake, gave my daily wish then walked back home thinking about work. I topped off my coffee and got online, put my headphones on and wrote. The alarm went off for the kids and I unplugged it. I closed the windows as I wasn’t sure if it was fog or smoke out there. We all joined our daily sync at 8:30 and said good morning. We got Charlotte tested for ADHD and started her on Ritalin and she hummed as she did the dishes. The dog lapped the water and it got dark faster than you think it would. On Wednesdays I shampooed and there was an odd feeling to that. My hair stylist said all the women in Paris only shampoo once a week and that’s why their hair looks so good, and ever since I do the same. I circled the yard with dog poop bags in my socks and slippers. Tried to get out between meetings for some light though the air quality was bad. We had salmon for dinner and gave the dog the skin and the girls pitched in for the dishes. This is the time of year we’d be going to the fair but of course now we wouldn’t, though Dawn said you could still go there for takeout and we got into a fight over why anyone would.



Categories: humor, microblogging, writing

Tags: , , , , ,

8 replies

  1. And we say “Geronimo.”
    I feel like every sentence here is a condensed story. Just add water.
    Did you see Van coming out with a couple of anti-lockdown songs? The lyrics that I’ve seen are… not transcendent.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh poor Van. No I didn’t see those “anti-transcendent” songs or lyrics. But thanks for the Geronimo line, I was needling Charlotte with that last night. Just add water, like that. So funny (or not) I stopped following you and just assumed you were taking time off with the camping etc. alternate realities.

      Like

  2. How to gut the days with the ash of hours. I don’t think we are quite privy to how lavishly life dissolves until we write of it with the bevel it deserves. I still read you recurrently, Bill! I’ve been having rough patches, is all.
    I still wish I could write like you. I guess that’s something for another life. A temple-driven-life, I suppose.

    Liked by 1 person

    • You write like an otherworldly, extraterrestrial sage! Come on JM…I do appreciate your reading and presence here, thank you. And what you said a while ago about pulling out the poems…can’t recall the way you phrased it exactly but it was spot on. They take more time to “dig up,” perhaps. I don’t take much time here, I “post and run” as a friend once said. Sorry for your rough patches and hoping now that we’re well beyond August you can look forward to some relief. Be well, through the “ash of hours.” Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  3. co-existing on the fringes of what the world is offering up right now

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Didn’t know the Paris women shampoo once a week. Your posts always keep me in awe and how I wish could write like you, winning hearts and a delight to read, Bill.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey friend! That’s kind but just keep at it and your writing will grow with you! You have the heart and mind for it and surely the soul…it comes through…be well, smile…and thanks for visiting this week! Always nice to hear from you. Bill

      Liked by 1 person

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