I would like to begin the Day 10 update on my Finish-My-Course-One-Café-At-A-Time Writing Tour Sabbatical by giving a shout-out to my wonderfully geriatric friend Agnes, who signed off our phone call today with a cheery admonition to ‘go write today’s blog’. It’s been a long day, and I was in need of encouragement – so thanks to her, here I am. (I’m sorry, but no, I can’t tell you where she lives.) 

I made my way out to Camden today, and had coffee and toast at Village Lane Café, at the Showground-end of town. The coffee was fantastic, so I had two. I sat in the beautiful sunshine of a fresh-to-warmish June morning, and read over, with growing dejection, what was required for the final assignment for this module. Sigh. Able to select my own topic, I’ve settled on a marketing proposal. The scope is to secure funding for a program to help small business/single-operators build an online presence – and yes, I picked that one because I thought I might learn something. But given the work involved, I have realised that I may have to adjust my course goal to Get-As-Much-Of-My-Course-Done-One-Café-At-A-Time etc. Sigh.

They are paving the footpaths in the main street of Camden, and from what local chat I overheard, there is no end in sight, and the works have been going on for a year! But that’s about all of the local colour I saw today. The weather was beautiful, the town is beautiful, everything looked fresh and lovely after the rain overnight; the service at Village Lane was wonderful, I got a lot of work done…..I can’t believe it, but I have nothing diverting for you with regard to my travels today. Maybe you want to jump to the prompt?

I did, however, finish reading Grapes of Wrath last night, and I tell you, I was not prepared for the way it ended. Yet when I look back, in a way, I was. It was a stunning ending, but I would argue that it fits with the whole theme of the story. What we give, how we give to each other. How we don’t give to each other. And every now and then, I would find myself drawing parallels between Tom and his family, and Ishvar and Om. Different time, different world, same journey. What are we doing to each other?

Having spent over four weeks in the Dust Bowl of 1930s America, I am a bit startled at now finding myself in Malmkoping, Sweden. I’ve started a Jonas Jonasson novel, The One Hundred Year Old Man Who Climbed Out The Window and Disappeared, and have already laughed out loud a couple times. It’s an odd sensation after the sobering road I took through middle-America. I am never going to forget the ending.

Writing Prompt #182

A busy morning slowing down, he began to move among the tables, clearing the dishes and cups. A heated argument erupted from one of the booths down the back, and he quickly headed toward the source. He arrived. He regarded the scene before him.

‘Can I get you ladies another round of lattes?’ he decided to ask brightly, hands clasped and outstretched.

The women paused in tableau. One had her hands tight around the other’s throat; the other had her hands snarled in the one’s hair.

‘Actually, I’d love one. You, Liz?’