Six months and thirty-seven posts ago (or so — I must confess that I didn’t count all that carefully) the curling season started. At least eight of those posts were sort of about curling — clearly I talk about it far too much. Last week the season ended and I’ve been reflecting on it (by which I really mean ‘wallowing in self-loathing’) ever since. The season ended on a Thursday night with the final games […]
Saturdays are a lot of things; mostly they’re for breakfast at the Insomniac Capriform Cafe, the odd errand and shopping for the week. And shopping for the week usually involves the local farmers’ market. Last Saturday was the year’s first really nice spring day so there were lots of people at the market. Lots of vendors. Lots of shoppers. And a few Space Tourists. While I was standing around chatting to a pleasant young lady […]
Curling is nothing like life. One of them involves desolate expanses of ice littered with obstacles where you try to annihilate anyone that gets in your way and the other is a winter sport played by… You get the idea. Nothing at all alike. (Except that alcohol sometimes makes both easier.) Sparing, though, is different. In one fairly tenuous way, it is a little like life. (More on that later.) I’ve mentioned before that a […]
Writers play games. Sometimes they create feghoots — very short stories replete with horrific puns. Sometimes they pen drabbles — exactly one hundred words but paronomasia isn’t required). Some truly demented ones attempt 55 fiction (guess what that is). Now Vincent dares me to write a fifty word story. I can’t do that.