Constrained writing
"Constrained writing" is supposedly a literary genre. An example of this form would be a novel written without using the letter "e", or some other arbitrary limitation. It showed up on a list from Wikipedia in a post to a book group. Never knew that's what these works were called.
Absolutely flawless today, everything suddenly exploding into bloom, swarming with bees, and exuding fine fragrances, so heady even my mom's old nose can detect them. Today we looked at some ripening raspberries, and she recalled growing purple ones, a cross, she said, between red and black ones. I've never heard of such a variety, and upon a spot of googling, found at least three varieties of purple raspberries which sound as if they'd thrive monstrously well out here. Anything brambly goes apeshit in this climate.
On the way back from a run and workout, I passed a trio of boys around 8 years old, all on razor scooters. They greeted one another economically - "'sup?" - and continued some kind of communication while fiddling around on their vehicles. One little guy had a nifty way of spinning his scooter in a 360 while holding the handle bars, nonchalantly every so often as he muttered to his cohorts. The topic seemed to be about who was out of school already and who was not. When they started scooting and maneuvering all over the streets and hills, I could see them growing up to be surfers.
Such a lovely walk this evening, down to Lake Union, in a glistening lowering sun. Up the hill again into a cool breeze.
Absolutely flawless today, everything suddenly exploding into bloom, swarming with bees, and exuding fine fragrances, so heady even my mom's old nose can detect them. Today we looked at some ripening raspberries, and she recalled growing purple ones, a cross, she said, between red and black ones. I've never heard of such a variety, and upon a spot of googling, found at least three varieties of purple raspberries which sound as if they'd thrive monstrously well out here. Anything brambly goes apeshit in this climate.
On the way back from a run and workout, I passed a trio of boys around 8 years old, all on razor scooters. They greeted one another economically - "'sup?" - and continued some kind of communication while fiddling around on their vehicles. One little guy had a nifty way of spinning his scooter in a 360 while holding the handle bars, nonchalantly every so often as he muttered to his cohorts. The topic seemed to be about who was out of school already and who was not. When they started scooting and maneuvering all over the streets and hills, I could see them growing up to be surfers.
Such a lovely walk this evening, down to Lake Union, in a glistening lowering sun. Up the hill again into a cool breeze.
posted by isabelita at 11:48 AM
2 Comments:
We call kids like that grommets, but it's not a kind term, unless the kid can rip...which many can.
there's a handful of teens that windsurf these parts, and they can rip. Understated, they speak with actions not words...and the volume is loud. Not unlike most are measured - not to mention some political nutcases who suggest that polls don't matter. The polls do matter because it is a direct reflection of how people feel about their actions/inaction.
To the grommet we suggest practice makes perfect and we all start in the same place. Too bad Al Queda don't surf. Wouldn't the world be a better place of Al Queda was a surf club?
Sure as hell depends upon who does the polling, and for whom the polls toll.
Grommets. Great term!
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