S H E


She softly came into my life without her crown

To whisper, to shed light and to turn me upside down

As soft music, she spoke through her pictures

And once I saw them, I adored her features

Something is daily pulling me to her marvellous cave

To appreciate her fountain of beauty  to which I crave

She gave me something I won't lose

Even if I drank too much *****

She gave me something to keep in heart

So that we won't ever part

Something I look at and see her in mind

Then slowly move to heart to bind

Now that I am totally stunned and sedated

It is too hard for me to be eliminated.



Sam Burton ©



Today is Sunday, Oct. 5, the 278th day of 2014 with 87 to follow.

The moon is new. Morning stars are Jupiter, Mars and Uranus. Evening stars are Mercury, Neptune, Saturn and Venus.



In 1876, the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, now Texas A&M;, opened. It was the first public higher education institution in Texas.

In 1883, the Orient Express train made its first run.

In 1895, the U.S. Open men's golf tournament was first contested. It was won by Horace Rawlins.



A thought for the day:



You can become a winner only if you are willing to walk over the edge. -- Damon Runyon





QUOTES for the day:



It is the desire of the good people of the whole country that sectionalism as a factor in our politics should disappear...

------------------------

He serves his party best who serves his country best.



Rutherford B. Hayes



You're dealing with the demon of external validation. You can't beat external validation. You want to know why? Because it feels sooo good.





Barbara Hall, Northern Exposure, Gran Prix, 1994



“So much of what we call management consists in making it difficult for people to work.”

Peter Drucker



"A champion is afraid of losing. Everyone else is afraid of winning."



Billie Jean King



POETRY





AEDH Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven



W.B. Yeats


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

About this poem


"Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" was originally published in Yeats' collection "The Wind Among the Reeds" (John Lane, 1899).

About W.B. Yeats


A poet and playwright, Yeats was born in Dublin in 1865. He received the Nobel Prize in literature in 1923. Yeats died in France in January of 1939.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience.


This poem is in the public domain.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate







Vocabulary

"Bona fide" is used to mean good faith, sincerity. It is the evidence of one's good faith or genuineness -- often plural in construction; evidence of one's qualifications or achievements.

Health and Beauty



Pumpkin Seeds



Have you ever toasted pumpkin seeds at Halloween? Don't wait until the holiday to eat them. Pumpkin seeds are a great source of iron, zinc, calcium, and magnesium, and area also high in omega-3. One handful a day makes a big difference.





CHINESE FOOD

In Canada, Thanksgiving is just over one week away. As an alternative to turkey, how about serving Cantonese Roast duck for Thanksgiving dinner?



Cantonese Roast Duck



By Rhonda Parkinson



Author Deh-Ta Hsiung writes: This is the duck with a shining reddish-brown skin seen hanging in the windows of a good Cantonese restaurant.

Serves 10 - 12 as a starter, or 4 to 6 as a main course. (Note: total preparation time does not include the time needed to dry the duck before cooking).

Ingredients

    One 4 1/2 lb (2 kg) oven-ready duckling
    2 teaspoons salt
    4 tablespoons maltose or honey
    1 tablespoon rice vinegar
    1/2 teaspoon red food coloring (optional0
    about 1/2 pint (280 ml) warm water
    For the Stuffing:
    1 tablespoon oil
    1 tablespoon finely chopped spring onion
    1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh ginger root
    1 tablespoon caster sugar
    2 tablespoons Chinese rice wine (or dry sherry)
    1 tablespoon yellow bean sauce
    1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
    2 teaspoons five-spice powder

    Prep Time: 30 minutes
    Cook Time: 60 minutes

    Total Time: 90 minutes

Preparation

Clean the duck well. Remove the wing tips and the lumps of fat from inside the vent. Blanch in a *** of boiling water for a few minutes, remove and dry well, then rub the duck with salt and tie the neck tightly with string.

Make the stuffing by heating the oil in a saucepan, add all the ingredients, bring to the boil and blend well. Pour the mixture into the cavity of the duck and sew it up securely.

Dissolve the maltose or honey with vinegar and red food coloring (if using) in warm water, brush it all over the duck - give it several coatings, then hang the duck up (head down) with an S-shaped hook to dry in an airy and cool place for at least 4 - 5 hours.

To cook: preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. (200 degrees C./Gas 6). Hang the duck head down on the top rack, and place a tray of boiling water at the bottom of the oven. Reduce the heat to 350 degrees F. (180 degrees C., Gas 4) after 25 minutes or so, and cook for a further 30 minutes, basting with the remaining coating mixture once or twice.

To serve: let the duck cool down a little, then remove the string and pour out the liquid stuffing to be used as gravy. Chop the duck into bite-sized pieces, then serve hot or cold with the gravy poured over it.

Courtesy of Deh-Ta Hsiung.

JOKES



Skeleton in the closet



A very large, old, building was being torn down in Chicago to make room for a new skyscraper. Due to its proximity to other buildings it could not be imploded and had to be dismantled floor by floor.

While working on the 49th floor, two construction workers found a skeleton in a small closet behind the elevator shaft. They decided that they should call the police.

When the police arrived they directed them to the closet and showed them the skeleton fully clothed and standing upright. They said, "This could be Jimmy Hoffa or somebody really important."

Two days went by and the construction workers couldn't stand it any more; they had to know who they had found. They called the police and said, "We are the two guys who found the skeleton in the closet and we want to know if it was Jimmy Hoffa or somebody important."

The police said, "It's not Jimmy Hoffa, but it was somebody kind of important."

"Well, who was it?"

"The 1956 Blonde National Hide-and-Seek Champion."



Quick Quotes



"It was different when we were kids. In second grade, a teacher came in and gave us all a lecture about not smoking, and then they sent us over to arts and crafts to make ash- trays for Mother's Day." --Paul Clay

---

"We should have a way of telling people they have bad breath. 'Well, I'm bored...let's go brush our teeth.' Or, 'I've got to make a phone call, hold this gum in your mouth.'" --Brad Stine

---

"Doesn't it bother you when people litter? The most creative rationale for throwing an apple core out the window is 'It will plant seeds for other threes to grow.' And, of course, our highways are lined with apple trees--right next to all the cigarette bushes." --Nick Arnette



Republican or Democrat?



A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am." The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be a (political party)." "I am,"replied the man. "How did you know?" "Well," answered the balloonist, everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a (political party)." "I am,"replied the balloonist. "How did you know?" "Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you're going. You've risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met but, somehow, now it's my fault."



Birthday Gift

A husband went to buy a birthday gift for his wife. Some friends had been invited over that night to celebrate her fortieth, and he wanted to get something special. At the store he spotted some cute little music boxes. One blue one was playing "Happy Birthday."

Thinking they were all the same, he chose a red one and had it gift-wrapped. Later, at dinner, he gave it to his wife and asked her to open it...

When she lifted the lid, out came the tune to "The Old Gray Mare, She Ain't What She Used to Be!"



Blonde Convention



80,000 blondes meet in the Kansas City Chiefs Stadium for a "Blondes Are Not Stupid" Convention. The leader says, "We are all here today to prove to the world that blondes are not stupid. Can I have a volunteer?" A blonde gingerly works her way through the crowd and steps up to the stage. The leader asks her, "What is 15 plus 15?" After 15 or 20 seconds she says, "Eighteen!"

Obviously everyone is a little disappointed. Then 80,000 blondes start cheering, "Give her another chance! Give her another chance!" The leader says, "Well since we've gone to the trouble of getting 80,000 of you in one place and we have the world-wide press and global broadcast media here, gee, uh, I guess we can give her another chance." So he asks, "What is 5 plus 5?"

After nearly 30 seconds she eventually says, "Ninety?"

The leader is quite perplexed, looks down and just lets out a dejected sigh -- everyone is disheartened, the blonde starts crying and the 80,000 girls begin to yell and wave their hands shouting, "GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"

The leader, unsure whether or not he is doing more harm than damage, eventually says, "Ok! Ok! Just one more chance -- What is 2 plus 2?"

The girl closes her eyes, and after a whole minute eventually says, "Four?"

Throughout the stadium pandemonium breaks out as all 80,000 girls jump to their feet, wave their arms, stomp their feet and scream...

"GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE! GIVE HER ANOTHER CHANCE!"





Have a super nice Sunday!

could you please
preheat the oven
to 450°F?

thanks!
now
can you please
shove me in there
and close the door tightly?

I'll probably scream
and flail
but,
ignore that

I need a fire to be lit
under my ***
since I clearly
cannot light one
by myself

1pck. pre- cooked lasagna noodles
2 jars spaghetti sauce w/ onion&garlic;
17 oz. Ricotta cheese
1 t. sweet basil
1 t. oregano
1 egg
1 lb.ground, browned Italian sausage
3 cups mozzarella
1 cup grated parmesian

Preheat oven(with some innocent play)
Mix:
Ricotta(to add some excitement)
Basil and oregano(to spice it up)
Mix in beaten egg(to add stability)

Use ungreased 8x10 pan(to hold the comfort of it all)

Layer:
1 cup sauce(to swap a sweetened kiss)
Even out1/4 sausage(to add some spontaneity)
Place pasta in row(to layer with anticipation)
Spread ricotta(mixed with the above)
Sprinkle 1/4 mozzarella( to stretch the imagination)
Repeat steps 1-5(until pan is full of emotion)
Parmesian on top( to please)

Bake 1 hour at 350•( to heat up the love)
Cool 45 minutes( to lay in each others arms)

Without worry I sit and wonder
When the next batch will come.
Dough rolled out, stretched and pulled,
Broken into pieces and stuck in the oven. Without the confines of an cookie cutter; natural in every way. An free form of emotional bliss laid flat on the pan.
I patiently wait, green plate on the table waiting for the oven to preheat.
The dough rises becoming smaller.
I only hope you understand
How lovely it is to be near someone you love.
Without the concealment of air tight bags they are free, the cookies that bake in the oven soon to be placed on a plate, devoured.
Introduced to the seduction of crumbs that come together; sweet, delightful
Before it fully hardens.
Soft, delightful.
Skinny dipping in an pool of cookie dough.
An illusion of things whole until broken apart by lips in full desire.
Drenched in saliva of deep need
Simultaneously becoming an memory
As well as a part of smiling lips.
The mistletoe that hangs above the heart.
Waiting for another batch made by your hands

Fruit pizza
I’m eight years old
Running around the house with a cape tied around my neck
Ingredients:
Sugar cookie dough
Strawberry cream cheese frosting
Sliced fruit of choice
My teddy bear’s name is Kate, after baby Kate from Arthur
We had to stop watching that show because my sister started acting like D.W
I told Kate everything because she was the best at keeping secrets
I didn’t realise she couldn’t talk back to me
Preheat oven to 350
Eat cookie dough because no matter what mom says, it’s not really going to **** you
Spread cookie dough evenly on a pizza pan
As the youngest of seven loud siblings of various ages, I had to learn at a young age how to be heard
I can yell with the best of them, but you would never know given my quiet tendencies today
I still haven’t completely grown up yet
In my mind, I’m still that little girl who read picture books and made up games like hurricane and the tripping machine
Let cookie cool
Wash fruit and slice it neatly
In my mind, I am still the little girl who did things because she wanted to and therefore got put in time out a lot
Spread strawberry cream cheese frosting on cookie
In my mind, I am still protected by the shelter of my parents
In my mind, Kate can still talk
Place fruit in a circular pattern on the frosted cookie
Cut into even pieces
I’m eight years old
Fruit pizza.

How to cook a gourmet (whatever the hell that means) dinner:

Step 1: Send your boyfriend a text inviting him over for a romantic, candlelit home-cooked gourmet dinner.

Step 2: Remember that you are forever alone and don’t have a boyfriend.

Step 3: Go buy mass amounts of chocolate and cry about it.

Step 4: Get over it and invite over your grandmother instead.

Step 5: Preheat the oven to 975 degrees

Step 6: Freak out about the fire in your oven and turn it off.

Step 7: Open all your doors to let the smoke out.

Step 8: Get out all the ingredients you need for the recipe you are
following.

Step 9: End up eating most of the ingredients before you even get to
use them.

Step 10: Spill oil and wine all over your recipe book (umm pffft the
wine is TOTALLY one of the ingredients, that’s why you had it out… heh heh… yeah…)

Step 11: Panic and try to dry it off by taking the book outside and waving it around.

Step 12: Watch in horror as all the pages in your book tear and fly off
into the wind.

Step 13: Chase hopelessly after the pages down the block screaming
swear words and having a heart attack.

Step 14: Politely smile and wave awkwardly at your neighbour who
hates you.

Step 15: Yell an apology across the street to that other neighbour who
REALLY doesn’t like you with the little five year old daughter who is
now repeating all of your colorful vocabulary words you just yelled.

Step 16: Reluctantly accept the fact that your recipes are gone. And also
that you have just contributed to the global problem of littering the
streets.

Step 17: Walk back to your smoke-scented house in shame.

Step 18: Look through pictures of scrumptious-looking meals on
Pinterest.

Step 19: Get inspired and decide to put your brilliant idea of creating your own recipe into action.

Step 20: Get out your frying pan and throw a bunch of random ingredients in.

Step 21: Put out yet another fire and realize that marshmallows, sprinkles, raisins, baking soda, orange peels and liquid gasoline probably wouldn’t have tasted very good together anyway.

Step 22: Wonder what the hell is wrong with you.

Step 23: Get distracted by the television for half an hour.

Step 24: Try to microwave 2 week old mac and cheese you forgot to
throw out.

Step 25: Watch as your microwave malfunctions and spontaneously
combusts.

Step 26: Decide to clean it up later because you just cannot even deal
with it right now.

Step 27: Fill a *** with water to make pasta and try to boil the water.

Step 28: Somehow manage to burn the water.

Step 29: Wonder how that even happened?!!!!

Step 30: Give up and call the pizza delivery guy.

Step 31: When you grandmother arrives have her take a seat in the
kitchen.

Step 32: Call an ambulance when she has a heart attack seeing the mess
in your kitchen.

Step 33: Get ready to leave and drive after the ambulance to the
hospital with your grandmother once the pizza arrives so you can
bring it with you. Get a call from the pizza place.

Step 34: Listen to the manager explain that your pizza spontaneously
burst into flames in the oven and they are terribly sorry there will be a
delay in the delivery due to this.

Step 35: Pass out.

While it rains
We sit in a window
Looking out waiting for it to stop
Our life goes into a limbo

All this precious time in our lives
We waste on waiting
For something or someone
To happen

We wait for the light turn green
For our laundry to be done
We wait for the over to preheat
Or for reciprocated love

This limbo we live in while we wait
Gives us nothing but grey hairs
As our precious time slips away

Patience is a virtue
When it comes to the right things worth waiting on
But how much time is wasted in that limbo
On things that aren't worth the wait?

It's a fine line
Deciding when it's appropriate to wait
But it's not worth it when we put our lives on hold
With or without patience
We grow old

In the end
We all have an end
How many of your pages are filled with words and events
Instead of ellipses (...) which is
The limbo we sit in while waiting

© Nathan Pival 2016

It's about who you know in a room
full of strangers. Often times it's
fashioning a blindfold while
squinting to hear whispers.

Some may even consider the use
of a napkin to blot lipstick so a
collar presented at a later time
can be given a delicate touch.

And the manipulative know that
it's easier to **** someone with a kiss
than to completely rely on *******.

And lest we forget the crude that
claim ignorance when referring to
spit slowly sliding down someone's
skull as proper lubrication.

This all proves that ****** fluids
that contribute to a body of work
is priceless, especially Crimson.

To manage this all requires an
everlasting recipe. This is cake
made with blood, sweat, and tears
compared to the uncooked cake
left dormant in a box.

Preheat the oven.
Lower the libido.
More sugar..
A Country Crock...
Serve cold.

Potatoes, chicken, milk and some broth.
Those are ingredients I brought.
for a hopefully well done dinner,
that the home could enjoy together.

Mince some garlic, dice the potatoes.
Preheat the ***, add oil. Here it goes.
Garlic then potatoes to the ***.
Some salt and pepper to hit the spot.

Prepare the broth, and then the chicken.
Add the chicken. Then some stirring.
Add the broth and start with the boiling.
Lower the heat and do some waiting.

Check it some time, and stir it a bit.
When it boils over, lower the heat.
About 30 minutes, it's now done.
**** heat. Add milk. Stir again. Have fun.

-------------------------------As seen on Taste.com*-----------------------------

Ingredients:
One will need a portion of the following:
1) 50g of self-imposed isolation (optional: w/ drawn curtains)
2) a tablespoon of misguided misanthropy (store brand does the trick)
3) a propensity for experiencing negative stigma
4) ethyl alcohol enough to form parasitic relationship (approx: half bottle of grey goose)
5) 1kg of pervasive fear of the unknown (found in Future aisle amongst acquaintanceships, unwelcome hypotheticals)
6) a 3/4 cup of ground self-loathing  + the root
7) lettuce
8) tomato
9) cucumber
10) onions
11) avocado

Method:
Step one: place self-imposed isolation in a slow cooker along with misguided misanthropy. Cook on low for 8 HOURS. This will make LONELINESS.

Step two: preheat oven to 200C fan-forced. take loneliness from  slow-cooker then douse in alcohol before placing in oven. it's meant to burn (you're meant to burn.)

Step three: bring a *** to boil and throw negative stigma in to cook until it softens.

Step four: cut pervasive fear of the unknown into strips and braise.

Step five: plate pervasive fear and negative stigma. this combination is the foundation.

Step six: chop vegetables and mix into standard garden salad, then plate (one may plate how they wish, presentation -- to you, at least, matters not, or little; here's the one who wears tracksuit pants to parties. your parents have to remind you to brush your hair). garnish with self-loathing, decorate plate with the root of self-loathing.

Step seven: plate loneliness. truest to the recipe if loneliness is focal point of the plate. if it's cooked properly it will bleed. so will you -- just give it time.

Happy cooking!!

Ingredients being the surprise
But just the simmer the flavor that makes you wise
The Baked Potato of words to peel
The salad of everything coming together with the Salad Dressing of emotions being real
The meat being the solid contrast within words written
Just let the words digest after being eaten
Take in the aroma and the let the words dazzle your senses
What’s cooking in your oven mind?
Did you preheat your words?
A good serving of words with hearty details
Fill your wordy cup high to the prim
Now write and just let the reader take it all in
Fresh from the oven
Poetry words you haven’t heard
Words with fire come with the desire
As a Poet, it’s all about inspire
Well the *** of words is all tender and done
Have you been served in the poetry meal?
It’s not a McDonalds nor Burger king
It’s poetry being the thing.

House party
Heart attack

I need some ******* air

Alright, (gasp)

Card game over breakfast
Solitaire

Unsure of what to choose
In regards to the near future
Grin and bear it
For the kids, I guess
The whatever friends I somehow amass

Hit the road
No point in checking
My reflection
Too undecided

Preheat the oven
Getting baked

Sky's gray
The way I like it
Half a smile earned

Turn a corner and regret it
Feelings are too sensitive
In that
They get shattered
And splinter up my gut

**** it

Whatever

Half way inside
Biding my time
Leather jacket
Smells like grass
Fresh cut cut-ups get drowsy

I'm barely sentient myself
Don't think about hell itself
Not that much thought crossed
That welcome mat

Laugh along
All a death tome
Singing dead songs
Getting high on
One human or another

Smoking me out

Of the house

Sky is dark now
Just how I like it
Another half smile

Looking past
I see the lights
Same lights blinding some other guy
Somewhere the sky isn't so perfect

Here, the lights blinding me
Are all around
Clowns, the lot of them
annoying....

So glad i made it
So glad to see
You didn't die inside your house
And could show up to my party
To validate me
I'd sooner berate you and your
Guest

Ugh

How you can live live
So depressive
Then bounce back with
Idiots
Crowding up the place

Beyond me

Anyway
Stopped by to drag doubt
Through the place
And show my face

To much disappointment
I guess I expected
As much

Preheat the oven, three hundred fifty.
Half cup butter that's melted, nutty brown.
Unsweetened chocolate added brashly
And allowed time to cool, the brew to crown.

Mix thorough, eggs and cup of sugar, two.
Temper well lest ova scramble, desired.
One cup of warm water to mixtured brew.
A few more steps ere decadence acquired.

Half three teaspoons soda, one quarter salt
Nine quarter cups flour, we now must sift.
A quarter cup of milk which we exalt.
One teaspoon vinegar provides the lift.

Bake half an hour, as scent your nostril fills.
And now we dine upon this food, devil's.

Boiling waters bubbling
While I preheat my oven
Broil the bake
Add a little salt I shake
Flavor my life with every mistake
Throw in some sweat for a Lil taste
Work ******* preparing my self
Not one bit is a waist...

Agony and misory
Suits me emotional and phisicly
Let out the box
I'm a beast
I tare **** up
When I wake up
And B4 I go to sleep
24/7 I scream with out a peep
I'll bring u to hell and it's all my treat
Wolf on the pral looking for the sheltered sheep
Designed to Rome the streets  but I trust no one
So no one rides with me
No witnesses no one can speak
Till death do me part
No one will hear a peep
I live my life solo
Drained from the sun
That's y I live at night
With a full moon I have my fun

PREHEAT oven to- actually, forget preheating
Earth's already clambered up 1.6 degrees Fahrenheit
and it will rise more

STIR INTO LARGE BOWL:
3 ounces looming catastrophe
6 cups all purpose fear
1 large, orange ruler
3/4 cup civil disobedience
1/2 cup hope, preferably white, use with modesty
a tinge of spiritual desperation

MIX IN SEPARATE BOWL:
1-2 cups oppression
2 tbsp. government inaction
1 tbsp. unspeakable terror
a dash of existential dread

Fold wet ingredients into dry bowl and mix until smooth. Kneed like you need it.

Bake in oven for 50 years, or until crispy brown, OR until the house burns down because you baked it too long, because you're out of time, because the planet's on ******* fire, because we've lost all touch with ourselves and you need the rest of the human race to lose their pride and politics and
devolve
into
simplicity


the promise of bread
burnt to a blackened
crisp

First, of course,
you must preheat the oven
probably somewhere around 330-350 because I can't remember the last time I was told otherwise.

After that, you must make sure you have all the ingredients.
Check your pantry, your cabinets, even the smaller white fridge many of us horde away in our family garage.

You'll need a pencil or a keyboard.
Maybe an old typewriter if you're trying to make a true romantic.
If you're lucky, all you will need is some imagination, not even paper.

If you do need paper, try and find some with lines.
A small piece of paper ripped out of some adorable Barnes and Noble notebook we all bought at one point or another.

On the paper, you'll tell a story.
It doesn't have to be good, but it must be true.
True not in a way that it actually happened, but true in a way that it flowed from you with honesty.

Once your story is finished you can crumple it up.
Put it in a bowl, probably a metal one made for mixing.

Then you can pour in some water, to justify your creative thirst.
Add some spices, these are your flavor, your thesaurus.

After this grab something. Anything. Something you like or something you hate. Chocolate chips, ketchup, pickles, sprinkles. These are your characters. Or if you write nonfiction, maybe they are you.

Then depending on your abundance or lack of ambition, you will mix it. Mix it a lot, or mix it a little. Add in some imagery, similes, or metaphors and let your readers try to decipher your writing. Or keep it simple, orderly and clear.

Then, grab some oven mitts. Pour your masterpiece into a pan -whichever you deem appropriate. And voila, wait for your writer to cook.

The cooking time is unique to each of you. Some of us take much longer than others. But that's okay, no matter how long it takes you to bake we will all need to cool off in the end.

And then of course,
once you're cool.

You start all over again.

>    
>
> There's been some
> speculation about
> what was in her head,
>
> But baking blind was
> not her style, even
> with unleavened bread.
>
> Though she could  
> have had a fetish, like
> cooking in the dark,
>
> Thus why her preheat
> was not on, because she
> couldn't light the spark.
>

I have spun up a mountain of silk ideas to cushion "my shelter in place" habitat from making papaya bread to challenging my malinois to sit still –I am well aware one of these will prove to be impossible– she has got more energy than me.  

I turn on the oven and decide to leave out the eggs and oil from the recipe–respice finem baby. I crank up my headset and delve into post-90's Columbian pop.

Risky domicile nonsense and dreams of well-behaved dogs make up the soft web I inwardly sit on while Juanes plays and I wait for the oven to preheat to 350 degrees.

Today is...? seconds the hour is seven more than than 2 dozen
& two pints of ounces minus 2 licks
When the number of hits uses 6 more to shut the door
( 2 dozen 2 pints (hits and licks stay together for 1 makes 3 not 4)...
...Thus three is minus the main number which be 2
(used 2 thrice, okay , alright)
Which is thus 4 hundred and twenty 1 where 1 is the tricky sum
And now 1/2 that a whole body turkey is not a huge rotisserie lamb
Then add or subtract the velocity tunnel of oven
gloved thermal coated love
When it begun it makes 3 and a week times 3 though 1/2 was a 4 or 3
Now that's how much time it might take to confusedly
cook todays Thanksgiving Turkey
But most people estimate a perfect ten or fifteen
plus their trifecta groove as we took a twenty
But usually its' more a 30 to forty five
if you don't want to burn the outside of the Turkey, so using a
lower temperature we were off by twenty...
But a good preheat and maybe that's closer to 10 which allows a dip
of ladle for gravy real quickly- then taken from the oven
Hurry the smash and dash for the potatoes and veggies
so in that window either begin them early
Or take off the tin wrap before 1/2 and splice the skin holding the legs and cut the coccyx and we're on our way to relatively good timing!
Oh and make sure the maple honey coated yam slices aren't burning...
Whelp...As you can see it's food not mathematics
that today I've been yearning.