Dough and Homework
At about three o’clock I was at my mom’s desk working on my brainstorm for this story. I got an idea and asked my mom. “Mom how old was i when i got stitches.” “You were four when that happened I have pictures on Facebook if you want to look at them and can you go on Pinterest and find a recipe for berrocks,”she exclaimed I started her computer and opened Facebook and Pinterest. I looked at the album called “ChinaTown and stitches.” I found the photos with me and a cut on my forehead and the recipe for the bedrocks.Then I remembered that I do not recall anyone talking.So I asked. “What did you tell dad.” I asked “He was not there,”she answered. She already knew I was doing a brainstorm for my personal narrative at the time.
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“Ok thanks,” I replied “Should probably pick something you remember better than then you got stitches from when you barely five year old,” She advised. “Yea,” I confessed. “Why don’t you do what you are doing what you are doing now writing your personal narrative brainstorm,”She offered. “And why would you do that ?”I questioned. “Well, do you remember any times your live changed or any better ideas for your narrative?” She interrogated. “No… fine I guess that will work okay yea thanks for helping me with that,” I answered. “How long does it take to cook the berrocks?” She questioned. “Two hours for prep.” I replied “Oh you should start making it,” she recommended. “Ok I will,” I answered. After the dough rises for TWO HOURS I see that it has overflowed the largest bowl in our entire house. “Why didn’t you watch the dough? And why did you put a towel on it there was no way it was not going to overflow.”I
Letter from Birmingham Jail is a letter that explains the controversy that occurred when the clergymen purportedly criticized Luther’s entrance into Birmingham. Luther King Jr writes this letter to the clergymen who had insinuated that the situation of racial discrimination was in control by the law administrators and was not to be intervened by King and his group, the outsiders. The letter is published by the program of Teaching American History - Ashland University and dated on the day and date upon which the letter was written. The statement from the author may be excerpted from his argument that I am here for organizational ties and because there are lots of injustice here and I’m here to restore and fight for human rights (The
“Then how do you explain all the things that still happen to them now?” Savannah then asked me now sounding implacable.
“It was kind of a festive occasion and it was a bowling alley party. So now drinks are involved, jokes are involved, different type of mood. So then it’s like, ‘Let’s try breakfast…’ take it easy and just go little bit by little.”
I think the best part of my narrative is my introduction and conclusion. My introduction sets a mysterious tone by stating “I always wondered how would my life…” By starting the
“Hmm, sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” he replied rather vaguely.
Dad's in a pretty good mood; he's preparing his patented breakfast. Mounds of fried potatoes, potatoes sliced with a knife into little squares then fried in lard in a cast iron skillet. Two more cast iron fry pans are filled with scrambled eggs; a fourth pan is brimming with bacon. There are several sheets of his invention, cinnamon rolls made from Bisquick dough with sugar added, rolled thin, spread with a thick coating of butter, pounds of homemade strawberry jam, raisins, more sugar and cinnamon. Rolled up, cut about an inch thick, placed on a cookie sheet and baked. They're a real pleasure to eat hot with even more butter melting over them but the cookie sheet with the spilled jam cooked into cement is a bugger to clean. Dad never does the dishes. That's a kid job.
As I sat in my fourth grade English class listening to my teacher tell me "you have a book report due in just two short weeks" and I thought to myself how am I ever going to do this? I have never been a good writer and I have no idea where to begin explaining the book "Little House on The Praire" and presenting it in front of the class without being embaressed as all get out.The day went on as I thought about it more and more the bell rang. I ran out to my mom's car and stated "Mom I have a book report due in just two short weeks and I cant do it. She said "why not honey" I said " Im just not s good enough writer" She said " yes you are and yes you can and you will do a fantastic job at it. That is when I realized I am a writer.
"We are the merchants of flesh. We are the providers of an unreachable decadence to the common masses. There was a time when people witnessed a young virgin pushed down a fiery pit so their god wouldn't let it erupt. It's quite an obverse metaphor, considering we are gunning for the eruption. I ask you this though...... has people changed? No, we will never change. The only thing that has changed is that instead of a volcano we've got a camera and two souls willing to commit the rituals and sacrifice, and a director." While Reginald was openly soliloquizing Dough was initially going to walk straight to the exit and forever turn his back on the place. But, in spite of all the bellyaching he couldn't conjure up the will to vacate the
The core problem presented in this case primarily resolved around border control issues that both the United States and Mexico are facing. The issue consisted of immigration, drug trafficking, and violence. All of the issues more so arose because of the lack of police funding and police enforcement on drug and border related issues. The lack of police funding causes some of the law enforcement in Mexico to look for their money elsewhere, and drug money is the easiest and most untraceable outlet for them. The United States is impacted the most by the problem and this is why they are offering to help Mexico. Drugs are being solicited into the United States from Mexico and the immigration from Mexico to the United States is steadily increasing
When I first tried to make bread, it was a disaster. I mixed and kneaded the dough and I let it rise for a few hours. But when I checked on it, the dough did not rise to the top of the loaf pan. This was strange, but I thought nothing of it at the time
I was in high school the first time I had to write a narrative. I was a freshman. This was Ms. Bradley’s first time teaching at Union Christian Academy. On her first day, she gave us our syllabus and said, “I do not accept late work, especially on writing assignments.” We, literally, sat there stunned. My freshman class had it very easy during eighth grade year. We were not expecting this. As I looked through the syllabus, I saw that our first assignment was due in a week and it was a narrative. At this time, I did not even know what a narrative was. Ms. Bradley explained that a narrative was an account or story of events. It could be either true or false. Our narrative had to be true. It had to be a true account of something that happened to us over the summer. She wanted to gauge how are writing skills were. Our narrative had to be at least two to two and a half pages long. I chose to write my first ever narrative on my trip to Fort Worth, Texas. Once again, I was plagued with writer’s block. I had the story in my head, but everything I
“I would be honored to invite Demetri Ford and his little sister, Tiana Ford, to the stage!”
In the novel The Call of the Wild, Buck, the main character has an internal conflict. Buck struggles between the natures of how he was raised, which was civilization and an instinctive savagery from his ancestors. Buck lived in a civilized manner in the beginning of chapter one, but he had to adapt to his surroundings when he was kidnapped and taken, to the Yukon Territory. Buck’s new environment caused him to revert back to his primordial instincts and unlearn his previously civilized nature.
Looking through this thread so far, pretty much last as usual thanks to my writing style, I was surprised to see there are no fellow procrastinators in the class. This is a stark contrast from my recently departed high school class. We would all get rubrics and prompts at least a week in advance and we would all begin our assignments on the same day: the day before the assignment is due. Sometimes it was utter chaos in the library in the morning of or the lunch period right before. Sometimes others would forgo the whole early or late ordeal and have no paper to turn in at all. We were young, we were wild, we were all so very stupid. But then again this is college, this is a different animal, and many have seen the error of their ways and chosen
Back in middle school around the 6th grade I was a bitter person. Having been hurt from past and present situations I was not keen on forming relationships with other people. I always kept to myself, never causing any trouble and sure to keep far from it by turning the other cheek. Then one day the student occupying the seat beside me mistakenly took my school pack believing it to be his own. I had only become aware of the mistake after he had begun leaving out the classroom’s door. Before he was able to reach the schools exit i managed to catch up to him; informing him of the mistake he made. With that brief encounter a small friendship began. Everyday afterwards the same student would spark a conversation with me before classes began. He