The Normal Loaf of Bread

B: Ah, ha! What a lovely loaf a bread that is. All golden brown, and crusty on top. In a rather nice braid too. Why, I don’t think I’ve seen such a lovely loaf as this. I’ll bet that baking-queen sister of mine made it. Hey, sis! Is that a normal loaf of bread over there? And did you make it?

S: Yep, I made it! Normal… h’mm. I’m not quite sure what you mean by that…

B: Well, ye know. Normal.

S: In what sense? What kind of bread isn’t normal?

B: Sourdough, French baguettes, that kind.

S: Well, this one isn’t either of those, so I guess it’s normal.

B: It doesn’t look normal though. Is it the kind Mum always makes?

S: She makes different types… Well. One basis with a bunch of variations.

B: And is this starting from this basis? Does it have all that leftover stuff in it, like, oatmeal, rye flour, corn flower, rice, stuff that makes it not normal?

S: Yeah, it’s basic. Flour and water. (nods) No, none of those things.

B: Bah, no. That’s too normal. You’re saying this is only flour and water?

S: No. That’s the foundation for all breads. Both normal and abnormal.

B: Okay, let’s put it this way. What type of bread would you name that mound of delicious looking substance over there? (points)

S: Challah.

B: Hala? Whatsat?

S: A Jewish type of bread.

B: Jewish, eh? Why’d you make Jewish bread?

S: ‘cus it sounded good.

B: I wonder if that would be considered normal…

S: Huh? What? You’re not getting racist towards Jewish, are you? It’s only a loaf of bread after all.

B: No way, I’m just trying to figure out why it looks so tasty.

S: Looks? Don’t be deceived by looks.

B: Fine! Can I eat it?

S: S’long as you don’t care if it’s normal or not. Go ahead!

On Procrastination

"Why put off 'till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well?" ~ Mark Twain

Well, Mr. Twain I will tell you why. The paper is due tonight. Or it was anyway...I'll admit it, I have a problem with procrastination as well. If it is due in a week, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in two weeks, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in a month, guess when I'll do it? Did you guess the night before? Wrong- two nights before. *sigh* One day I will learn (I just hope it's not the hard way). So, I started writing this essay on The Epic of Gilgamesh just a couple days ago. Not a great idea, by any means. Sure I *thought* about writing it about everyday but the idea never appealed to me much so I put it off. And I put it off again. And then some more. Till Wednesday when I completely freaked out and started writing. Today I put the finishing touches on it..after I had written most of it this morning. Thanks to my great friend Miss B. I did not turn in a jumble of words, but a somewhat coherent essay *g*. Thank heaven for friends who can write and proofread beautifully. Now the terror has subsided. We await the grade...but hey, I got it in. Next time I'll start earlier...next time...

~Sarah



Tip: Do not put it off anymore. Yes you! What are you waiting for?...go get 'em.

September 11th

In Memoria

Such was the breeze seven years ago...
such was the sky.
Such was the silence before it came,
preceding the defining cry.

Following shortly after, the second
relentlessly broke through.
Flames and bloody smoke appeared,
and from the gash it grew.


And along with a thousand prayers,
those who stood below, watching, froze
faces uplifted towards the ruin
the devastating smoke then rose.

Along with a three thousand cries
they fell
broken. burning. murdered.
into fiery Hell.

Into a heap the crumbled
like a clot of sand grasped-
And scattered through the wind
Forget not this evil past.

How many children were lost that day?
How many babies to orphanages thrown?
How many brides left wedded?
How many fathers never came home?



TIP: Don't forget.

Fairies

Like, here's a poem.

Fairies

The night you painted fairies step

Across the withered grass

Where pale moonlight falls, but slips

And licks the blades to glass

Whisper not, but light and quick

Feet never brush a sound

Wreathed in only a shining star

Behind your tiny crown

Where do you winged pixies play?

Where are your rings of fire?

Ringlets drip across the brooks

And circles wrung through briar

Fields are swayed and pulled amiss

Trees often lose their fruit

Sands are scattered with pebbles and stone

While gardens you twist out of suit

Yet never are you found by eyes

Nor ever felt or heard

Yet always you are there to see

And speaking without words

TIP: Have a little fun sometimes.

An Interesting Wedding.

A few days ago, I was skimming through an old notebook, to see if it was suitable to use for school, when I espied a little poem. I must've written it years and years ago, when I was extremely bored. It had me laughing for the longest time though. Here 'tis!

The Phosphide Blue-eyed Shanghaied Bride

The bride
she cried
because the groom
hid her broom
then someone who lied
saw her love
with a dove.

He had tried
to hide
but shied
at the sight
of a mite;
so it he fried
hence then it died
and he set it aside
next to the roadside
and went to find his bride.

The bride
she spied
him and she eyed
him then she dried
her tears
which ran down to her ears.

The wedding was then known worldwide
when the bride- she glided-
next to the groom
(who had retrieved her broom)
they then matched stride
side by side
and were both full of pride
and looked dignified-
then they collide....

The bride and groom
decided, for a honeymoon,
to go far and wide
on a joyride.
But instead of a saddle, a sack,
the sat horseback
so the bride was terrified
the she might slip and slide
and he disqualified.

From an unknown source
she found a bit of remorse,
changed her course,
and set aside
her fears
and stopped her tears
because she went cross-eyed.

TIP: Don't mess with other peoples' brooms.