Pieces of Me_CRUMBLING WALLS_The Secret Ingredient To Baking_Neeta
Catalog Guide:
Pieces of Me
It was 1977, and I was 12 years old when I found out I was invisible. It happened in the cafeteria at school when Jimmy Moyers asked my best friend out. We were eating lunch, and I was sitting right next to Marybeth, but he never saw me. We’d been in somewww.onedoor.cc of the same classes for a year, but his eyes have never met mine. I was a non-entity. Marybeth knew I liked him of course, but she seemed to forget that when she agreed to the movies.I was invisible at home too. With four brothers and sisters it was easy. I was quiet, and I didn’t cause drama like my sister did. What finally cinched it for me...
CRUMBLING WALLS
Break through barriers-physical, mental, invisible-as though an ultimate requirement of youth branded Katalyst Smith upon birth and grew within her alongside her zest for life.The community college dropout cared little for History, her intended major, due to passive reviewing of what she judged as boring. She preferred to be free in embrace of life during a time new information about the world, the people in it, and their aspirations rode the winds that circulated through her community. Stagnant Falls was a small city in comparison with River Heights that shared its border. Mostly homemakers, ...
The Secret Ingredient To Baking
My mother always use to tell me the secret Ingredient to baking is to use magic. I never understood what she meant by using magic to bake, that is until she told me what the magic is.Baking with my mother has always been the greatest joy of my life, and it still is as an adult. I continue the tradition of baking with my daughter Emily.My fondest memory I have of baking with my mother is during the holiday season. I would wake up early on Christmas Eve, join my mother in the kitchen, and we bake together.My mother would lay out all the ingredients on the kitchen counter and she would tell me a ...
Neeta
I wiped off my forehead instinctively- more like a habit rather than a need. The stuffy old kitchen, which has bore years old stains of curry stains and sticky sweetness, was then filled with steam and humidness. I could sense the whiff of biryani from the counter, the punchy fragrance of rezala and all other dishes that I had hastily prepared. It smelled of routine tasks and paroles, like a worn-down laptop with dilapidated keys and dimming screen. To me, it was more a duty to be fulfilled, less a kingly meal.I always had this unique quality, that I could taste a food from just its fragrance....