Saturday, July 26, 2014

July 25 – Yesterday, today: three scenes


Friday: writing. Time disappears. First it was morning, next thing I know it's 2 pm. I've made tea, eaten lunch, made more tea: I know this because of the dishes in the sink. But mostly I've been writing. First not enough words, then too many. Now editing, crossing out big swathes of words at first (always the sentences I laboured over, the one I laid down first and used as guides for the next 700 words – they're the ones that have to go). Word count: still too many? Carve away a few more phrases. What about now? Now I'm deleting words one by one, winkling them out of their sentences the way you pry a bit of lobster meat out of its shell. Sometimes I hyphenate something just to trick the computer, but that's a type of magic you shouldn't overuse.

Deadline met, I walked up the street for gelato: my prize. I haven't been to that place for a year or so. I don't know how it stays in business, but then again, $5 for a tiny cup of ice cream? Maybe I do know. Sour cherry swirl and pistachio: I asked for the flavours in English and endured the eye-roll of the teenage girl behind the counter. They bring their Italian cousins over for the summer to work in the shop. She probably imagined a couple of months at the beach, but instead she's stuck on a middling strip of Yonge Street serving ice cream to yuppies while some Italian radio station blares, music echoing off the laminate floors and smeared aluminum table tops.

On the way home I stopped over in the park. It was full: dogs bounding through the grass, tennis courts busy, splash pad full to bursting with squealing kids. I sat on a bench under a tree and read my mail. Such mail! I sent some postcards out into the world a while back and now I'm reaping the rewards. Good mail is one of my favourite things. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, wafting the smell of barbecued chicken my way. I headed home.

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