6 Packs Quotes

That face. That body. And you know he’s packing. Look at the angle on that dangle.

My Top Ten Reasons To Live 10. Stars in a really dark sky 9. Driving across the country 8. Nirvana 7. My mom 6. Our dog pack 5. Gay bingo 4. Mud fights 3. Kissing 2. Magic marker tattoos 1. Pink socks

Neal stood, kicking free of the clinging curtain. "I'll kill you." I drew the firestar and pointed it at him. "I don't think so." "She is pack now," Sylvie said. "You fight one of us, and you fight all of us." Edward raised his eyebrows at me. "What is going on, Anita?" "I think I've been adopted," I said.

Sweet weeping baby Jesus he has a six-pack to beat all six-packs!

No matter what happens, you will always be Pack. Because you have that loyalty and restraint. Not human, not whatever, but Kate. Unique and different, but not separate.

I was the badass Consort and he was the grim Pack’s executioner. Hugging him in the hallways would be entirely inappropriate.

You want me to level, here it is: I need you. I need you because I love you. Three months without you will be hell. But even if we weren’t together, I would still need you. You’re a good fighter, you’ve worked as a bodyguard, and you know magic. We may not have many magic users, but we don’t know if those packs do, and if they hit us with magic, we have no way to counter.” He spread his arms. “But I love you and I don’t want you to be hurt. I’m not going to ask you to come with me. That would be like stepping in front of a moving train and saying, ‘Hey, honey, come stand next to me.’” I hopped off the wall and stood next to him. “Anytime.” He just looked at me. “I’ve never killed a train before. It might be fun to try.” “Are you sure?” “One time I was dying in a cage inside a palace that was flying over a magic jungle. And some idiot went in there, chased the palace down, fought his way through hundreds of rakshasas, and rescued me.” “I remember,” he said. “That’s when I realized you loved me,” I said. “I was in the cage and I heard you roar.

You hope Raphael survives this?" Luke said."Come on- how many people has he killed? Magnus turned cold eyes on him. "Who among us has bloodless hands? What did you do, Lucian Graymark, to gain yourself a pack- two packs- of werewolves?

I didn't know where love would lead me, but my pack would always be at my side. More than anything else, that was what mattered.

Was he hungry? He'd had an enormous breakfast, but the transition from the glimpse had taken a lot out of him. Did they serve lunch in Hell? Should he have packed a snack? Why was he suddenly thinking about food?

I’m not really blessed at keeping friends. But you are. I truly respect that. I know how special your friends are to you, how protective you are of them. And it means…quite a bit to me that you’ve invited me into your pack and made me feel welcome. No…it means everything, really. Without this, without your friends, I’m very much alone.

Javier opened her makeup kit, held it edge to edge with the dressing table, and swept everything--every vial, brush, tube, and bottle--into the kit with his forearm. Laura gaped at him. "That stuff is worth hundreds of dollars." He shrugged, then shut the kit. "That's how SEALs pack makeup.

It must be very tiring for the Consort," Lorelei said next to me. [...] "Perhaps a mount could be brought...?" Lorelei suggested. Out of a corner I saw both Barabas and George freeze. Yes, I know I've been insulted. Settle down. "Thank you for your concern. I can manage." "Please, it's no trouble at all. You could hurt yourself. I know that even something minor like a twisted ankle would present a big problem for a human..." Do not punch the pack princess; do not punch the pack princess... "We wouldn't want you to struggle to keep up." Okay, she went too far. I gave her a nice big smile. Curran's face snapped into a neutral expression. "We just got here, baby. It's too early for you to start killing people.

How long could we do this before you started bitching?" Simon said as we turned down another street of apartment buildings. "What?" "We've been walking for two days now, and you haven't complained once. It's damned annoying, you know." I looked at him. "If you don't complain, then I can't complain. Not without sounding like a whiny little snot.

So, you tumbled that wolf you were with?” Mercy was too much a pack animal to take offense at the personal question. She grinned. “How did you know it was me?” “Do I look senile to you?” ... “Yes,” Mercy said. “And I'm not doing it again.” If she kept telling herself that, maybe her traitorous body would actually notice and shut up with its demands. The older woman gave her a sour look. “Damn shame. What, you like them prettier?” A snort. “In my day, we liked men who looked like men.

It does help your case that you’ve got as much dick in your jeans as you have in your personality.

Where the fuck was her phone? Probably in the gutter, right alongside her dignity. See, this was why she was single.

See, I’m a big guy. I’m just about 6’8 in my boots. A slab of muscle on a frame that’s almost comically large.... “So, are you completely proportionate?” It takes me a second, maybe two, before I realize that he’s asking whether I’m packing a peashooter or a rocket launcher in my shorts.

Kye had scowled and said, “I don’t like you anymore; you didn’t come back when you said you would.” Then he’d wrapped himself around her leg and said, “Okay, I forgive you.” The kid didn’t hold a grudge long.

Because you’re trouble. You might look harmless enough, but I know crazy when I see it.” He tapped her nose. “You, little raven, are far from sane.” She smiled. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Riley closed her eyes. “I’m getting that déjà poo feeling.” “Déjà poo?” Tao echoed. “The feeling that I’ve heard all this bullshit before.

Would’ve been here sooner,” growled Wolfe, calling the pack off with a quick gesture. “But that bitch tied me up. Had to wait for the dogs to gnaw through my ropes.

I don’t like what I don’t understand, and I just don’t get the human race. They do the weirdest fucking stuff. Dress their pets in little outfits. Lie that they walked on the moon. Vote for Donald Trump. None of that makes sense to me. (Tao on why he doesn't like humans)

you're all so overprotective you'd be delighted if you could pack your mates in cotton wool and put them inside glass bubbles.' Sascha started laughing so hard, she almost dropped her egg roll. 'I think that's Lucas's secret fantasy.' Her mate growled at her. 'All I said was that you looked a little tired. You didn't have to blow a gasket.

The two of them were sat at the circular desk in the library, waiting for 1pm so they could go for lunch. Kayleigh

For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack. Jordan

You know, Cynthia, there are no guys standing around with their pants down, so I can’t help but ask myself why the fuck you keep opening your mouth.” Sawyer

Maybe it's the TV commercials. They make you hate everything they try to sell. God, they must think the public is a halfwit. Every time some jerk in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck holds up some toothpaste or a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of beer or a mouthwash or a jar of shampoo or a little box of something that makes a fat wrestler smell like mountain lilac I always make note never to buy any. Hell, I wouldn't buy the product even if I liked it.

It's amazing what sometimes gets accomplished via an initially jarring but ultimately harmless shift in thinking. Is cutting the organs out of a dead man and stitching them into someone else barbaric and disrespectful, or is it a straightforward operation to save multiple lives? Does crapping into a Baggie while sitting 6 inches away from your crewmate represent a collapse of human dignity or a unique and comic form of intimacy?

Life’s challenges aren’t supposed to paralyze you, they’re supposed to help you discover who you are.

she’d packed up her mother’s life in boxes for storage

It doesn't matter to me if you're the other half of my soul or not. You're in my soul. I don't know how you got there, I really don't but you are.

It shouldn’t hurt when I watch you leave the room, should it?

I’m thinking about fucking your mouth, to be exact.” “Of course you are,” she said drily. “You’re a boy. Boys are delusional.

You’ve been playing me. That’s brilliantly devious.

Pack or clan, they took care of each other.

Your Grace seems out of breath. I do hope you’re not being chased by an overly enthusiastic heiress?” “Pack a light bag, Craven,” Maximus snapped. “We’re going to London to help a murderous lunatic escape from Bedlam.

It was what came of being a primate with a body built for the Pleistocene savanna. Fear and relief and lust and joy were all packed into the same little network of nerves somewhere deep in his amygdalae, and sometimes they touched.

Tao smiled a little smugly. “Riley doesn’t like the mall, she only shops online.” Dante gaped. “Dude, do not let her go. Like ever. Seriously, a woman who doesn’t like the mall is a gift from God—accept that gift with gratitude and grace.

You're not listening to me, are you?" Blinking, Riley looked up from her seat at the breakfast bar. "I am," she lied. "Oh yeah?" said Tao, doubt heavy in his voice. "What did I just say?" She pursed her lips. "I'm still processing it." "What exactly are you processing?" "Let's not revisit the past, Tao.

NEW RULES 1. Create your own path. 2. Be grateful for what you have AND demand what you deserve. 3. Lead now—from wherever you are. 4. Failure means you’re finally IN the game. 5. Be FOR each other. 6. Believe in yourself. Demand the ball. 7. Lead with humanity. Cultivate Leaders. 8. You’re not alone. You’ve got your Pack.

I am so glad Todd and I eloped,” she said sincerely. “There was no way to salvage the wreckage. But I think that you deserved this, and I'm very happy for you.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Then she whispered, “He is really, really a hottie. How did you mange that?” “Brat,” I told her, and gave her a hug. “Todd’s not exactly chopped liver.” She smiled smugly and took another sip. “No he’s not.” “He could be,” said Ben from behind me, his British accent giving him a civilized air that he didn’t deserve. “Do you want him to be chopped liver, darling?” I turned, making sure I was between Ben and Nan, “My sisters are off-limits,” I reminded him. A flash of hurt came and went on his face. With Ben, it was even odds whether the emotion was genuine or not -but my instincts told me they had been. So I continued in a mock-chiding tone, “Ruthie is too young for you, and Nan is married to a very nice man. So be good.” Nan had caught the flash of hurt, too, I thought. She was softer than our mother, more like her father in temperament as well as looks. She couldn’t stand to have anyone hurting and not do anything about it. She sighed dramatically. “All the pretty men, and I’m tied to just one.” Ben smiled at her. “Anytime you want to change that…” I poked him in the side-he could have slipped out of the way, but he didn’t bother. “Okay,” he said, backing away with exaggerated fear. “Ill be good, I promise. Just don’t hurt me again.” He was loud enough that all the people around us looked at us. Adam pushed his way through the pack and ruffled Ben’s hair as he went by him. “Behave Ben.” The Ben I’d first met would have snarled and pulled away from the affectionate scold. This one grinned at me, and said, “Not if I can help it, I wont,” to Adam.

DAY 6: Pineapple Spinach 2 cups fresh spinach, packed 1 cup pineapple chunks 2 cups frozen peaches 2 bananas, peeled 1½ packets stevia 2 cups water 2 tablespoons ground flaxseeds

My mother says I am a pack rat. So what? Pack rats are probably very nice animals. And I bet they’re prepared for anything. I know I am.

Lance Orion came for me. He loves me like a pack mate.

Gator laughed. “My mate thinks me the most perfect specimen of manhood.

The pack was better with Anna in it, in ways far more subtle than he or his da had expected. They had hoped for calm—they had not expected happy.

Paranoid,” he snickered. “That’s a result of all the coffee, you know.” I gasped dramatically. “You shut your lying face, Austin King. I won’t have you speaking badly of my one true love.

PROSCIUTTO- AND SAGE-WRAPPED DATES (Serves 6)   INGREDIENTS 24 fresh sage leaves 12 dates, halved, pits removed 1 pack prosciutto, each slice sliced lengthways down the middle 2 Tablespoons maple syrup   Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place a sage leaf on each date half, wrap with prosciutto, place flat side down on a baking sheet. Bake 10 minutes. Brush with maple syrup and serve.

Mercy didn’t get embarrassed easily, but her cheeks flamed now. Because if Riley knew she was in heat—like a freaking wild cat!—then so did the rest of her own pack. “So what, you followed me hoping I’d lower my standards and sleep with a wolf?” She intentionally made “wolf” sound about as appetizing as “reptile.” Riley’s jaw tightened under a shadow of stubble a shade darker than the deep chestnut of his hair. “You want to claw at me, kitty-cat? Come on.” Her hands clenched. She really wasn’t this much of a bitch. But goddamn Riley had a way of lighting her fuse.

It would be hard to pick up a cruise ship. Impossible, actually. Unless you’re Superman. You’re not Superman. You can’t fly and you don’t have a cape. You also don’t have x-ray vision or the ability to shoot red-hot beams out of your eyes—both of which would be cool.” He looked at her in sheer exasperation, shouting, “Why are we talking about Superman?” “Because it’s distracting you!

The raven flew in circles around the wolf, taunting him. Then they raced through the woods alongside each other. Tired, the raven perched herself on his back as he padded back to the clearing. On their way, they passed two enforcers. Dominic blinked at the sight of them. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day.” Trick raised a brow. “Or ever.” Deep inside the raven, Riley smiled.

I almost cave. But I know by now that voice of reason is the enemy. Inside me there is a coward who fears discomfort. That coward will offer solace in the form of excuses. But it is the coward who grooms a man for his defeats. The coward who makes him accept them because he is accustomed to finding a good reason to quit. The coward inside can only be killed one way. I toss down my pack and don my training kit.

She blinked. “What?” “Hit me,” Tao repeated, sensing just how on edge she was. “You’re gonna snap if you don’t get it all out of you. Don’t worry; I can take a punch from an itty-bitty thing like—motherfucker.” He stroked his jaw, trying to ease the pain pounding through it thanks to the blow she’d just dealt him. “You weren’t supposed to be that enthusiastic about it.” She shrugged, smiling sweetly. “Sorry.” Yeah?

God, she detested tequila. In fact, while every part of her ached and death seemed so close, she detested everything. Except Tylenol. All she needed in her life right then was Tylenol. Or maybe to just crawl into a hole and crash.

Eventually, Ky leaned forward, arms on the table, and said, “It ain’t against club rules to fuck another brother’s sister,” he snarled. “But it’s fucking bad taste, in my book.” Ky flitted his hard eyes between me and Cowboy. “Bad enough it was one of you fuckers, but the fact that it’s two of you really pisses me the fuck off.” Ky clenched his fists. The silence hung heavily over the room, so I responded with the truth. “We love her.” Ky stilled. Styx’s body tensed. Slowly, Ky lifted his head. His face was beet red, and I could see the brother wasn’t handling all this shit well. And then Ky said evenly, “The only reason you’re not packing your shit is because Sia loves you assholes too.” My heart kicked into a sprint. Cowboy shifted in his seat.

That’s because I don’t hunt. I’m a male lion. I weigh six hundred pounds. Do you really expect me to scamper through the brush after deer? When I want a steak, I want a damn steak. I don’t want to chase it around the woods for two hours and then eat it raw. I have food brought to me, and the only time I get off my ass is when something threatens the Pack. I’ve been on exactly one hunt in the last three years. I went because I had to go, and once they ran off, I found a nice warm rock and had myself a nap in the sun.

One thing in particular struck many of us as amazing: all along the beach, there were no horses!   This was a surprise for you?   Yes, we found it astonishing. This huge army had brought with it not one single horse or pack-mule! All their transport was mechanised.

I’ve seen people grieve over the years. I’ve seen how easy it can be for them to become selfish while it’s happening. A person can get so wrapped up in their own pain that they feel alone, like nobody else can feel that level of pain. They forget that others are hurting too. Maybe

I wasn't sure if i was embarrassed or just irritated. Cursing, I held the packet to my chest and stomped off. I turned around to send him one last seething glare and ran smack dab into a tree. Or at least it felt like a tree. But trees weren't warm. And they didn't have 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 Good Lord, 8? Eight pack? And dear God i was counting. I had touched each muscle. And great my hand was firmly places against the guys stomach. I jerked my hand back and closed my eyes. "Were tyou just counting my abs?" His voice sounded amused. It also sounded like a movie star voice, the type that makes you want to jump into the TV screen. It was deep, strong and had a slight accent I couldn't place. British? Scottish?

Space Shuttle toilets have always been mounted on the floor, but you would not call them normal. The original shuttle toilet bowl featured a set of 1,200 rpm Waring blender blades positioned a brief 6 inches below the sitter’s anatomy. The macerator would pulp the feces and tissue—meaning, if all went well, the paper, not the scrotal, variety—and fling it to the sides of a holding tank.

Why? That was Half Tail, passed along and scent-marked. Perrin hesitated before answering. He had dreaded this. He felt about the wolves as he did about Two Rivers people. They have caged Shadowkiller, he thought at last. That was what the wolves called Rand, but he had no idea whether they considered Rand important. The shock filling his mind was answer enough, but howls filled the night, near and far, howls filled with anger and fear. In the camp horses whinnied fearfully, stamping their hooves as they shied against the picked ropes. Men ran to calm them, and others to peer into the darkness as if expected a huge pack to come after the mounts. We come, Half Tail replied at last. Only that, and then others answered, packs Perrin had spoken to and packs that had listened silently to the two-legs who could speak as the wolves did. We come.

There were mists over the river and clouds on the mountain and the trucks splashed mud on the road and the troops were muddy and wet in their capes; their rifles were wet and under their capes the two leather cartridge-boxes on the front of the belts, gray leather boxes heavy with the packs of clips of thin, long 6.5 mm. cartridges, bulged forward under the capes so that the men, passing on the road, marched as though they were six months gone with child.

I'm thinking about fucking your mouth, to be exact.” “Of course you are,” she said drily. “You're a boy. Boys are delusional.” He smiled. “You're not going to let me feel what it's like to slide my cock in your mouth? That doesn't seem fair. I go down on you all the time.” “Oh, I won't deny you eat pussy like a champ.” He laughed. “Like a champ?” “Totally. But you know, over seventy percent of erectile dysfunction cases are caused by having too many blow jobs.” “They are not.” “They could be.

Philby now went in for the kill. Elliott had tipped him off that he would be cleared by Macmillan, but mere exoneration was not enough: he needed Lipton to retract his allegations, publicly, humiliatingly, and quickly. After a telephone consultation with Elliott, he instructed his mother to inform all callers that he would be holding a press conference in Dora’s Drayton Gardens flat the next morning. When Philby opened the door a few minutes before 11:00 a.m. on November 8, he was greeted with gratifying proof of his new celebrity. The stairwell was packed with journalists from the world’s press. “Jesus Christ!” he said. “Do come in.” Philby had prepared carefully. Freshly shaved and neatly barbered, he wore a well-cut pinstriped suit, a sober and authoritative tie, and his most charming smile. The journalists trooped into his mother’s sitting room, where they packed themselves around the walls. Camera flashes popped. In a conspicuous (and calculated) act of old-world gallantry, Philby asked a journalist sitting in an armchair if he would mind giving up his seat to a lady journalist forced to stand in the doorway. The man leaped to his feet. The television cameras rolled. What followed was a dramatic tour de force, a display of cool public dishonesty that few politicians or lawyers could match. There was no trace of a stammer, no hint of nerves or embarrassment. Philby looked the world in the eye with a steady gaze and lied his head off. Footage of Philby’s famous press conference is still used as a training tool by MI6, a master class in mendacity.

It’s about to rain forks and knives,” Winterborne reported, water drops glittering on his hair and the shoulders of his coat. He reached for a glass of champagne from a silver tray on the table, and raised it in Tom’s direction. “Good luck it is, for the wedding day.” “Why is that, exactly?” Tom asked, disgruntled. “A wet knot is harder to untie,” Winterborne said. “The marriage bond will be tight and long lasting.” Ethan Ransom volunteered, “Mam always said rain on a wedding day washed away the sadness of the past.” “Not only are superstitions irrational,” Tom said, “they’re inconvenient. If you believe in one, you have to believe them all, which necessitates a thousand pointless rituals.” Not being allowed to see the bride before the ceremony, for example. He hadn’t had so much as a glimpse of Cassandra that morning, and he was chafing to find out how she was feeling, if she’d slept well, if there was something she needed. West came into the room with his arms full of folded umbrellas. Justin, dressed in a little velveteen suit, was at his heels. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs in the nursery with your little brother?” St. Vincent asked his five-year-old nephew. “Dad needed my help,” Justin said self-importantly, bringing an umbrella to him. “We’re about to have a soaker,” West said briskly. “We’ll have to take everyone out to the chapel as soon as possible, before the ground turns to mud. Don’t open one of these indoors: It’s bad luck.” “I didn’t think you were superstitious,” Tom protested. “You believe in science.” West grinned at him. “I’m a farmer, Severin. When it comes to superstitions, farmers lead the pack. Incidentally, the locals say rain on the wedding day means fertility.” Devon commented dryly, “To a Hampshireman, nearly everything is a sign of fertility. It’s a preoccupation around here.” “What’s fertility?” Justin asked. In the sudden silence, all gazes went to West, who asked defensively, “Why is everyone looking at me?” “As Justin’s new father,” St. Vincent replied, making no effort to hide his enjoyment, “that question is in your province.” West looked down into Justin’s expectant face. “Let’s ask your mother later,” he suggested. The child looked mildly concerned. “Don’t you know, Dad?

On 28th July Austria declares war on Serbia. On 29th July the Emperor declares: ‘I put my faith in my peoples, who have always gathered round my throne, in unity and loyalty, through every tempest, who have always been ready for the heaviest sacrifices for the honour, the majesty, the power of the Fatherland.’ On 1st August Germany declares war on Russia. On the 3rd Germany declares war on France, and then the following day invades neutral Belgium. And the whole pack of cards falls: alliances are invoked and Britain declares war on Germany. On 6th August Austria declares war on Russia.

But paging through it for the first time while actually sitting on the trail was less reassuring than I’d hoped. There were things I’d overlooked, I saw now, such as a quote on page 6 by a fellow named Charles Long, with whom the authors of The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 1: California heartily agreed, that said, “How can a book describe the psychological factors a person must prepare for … the despair, the alienation, the anxiety and especially the pain, both physical and mental, which slices to the very heart of the hiker’s volition, which are the real things that must be planned for? No words can transmit those factors …” I sat pie-eyed, with a lurching knowledge that indeed no words could transmit those factors. They didn’t have to. I now knew exactly what they were. I’d learned about them by having hiked a little more than three miles in the desert mountains beneath a pack that resembled a Volkswagen Beetle. I read on, noting intimations that it would be wise to improve one’s physical fitness before setting out, to train specifically for the hike, perhaps. And, of course, admonishments about backpack weight. Suggestions even to refrain from carrying the entire guidebook itself because it was too heavy to carry all at once and unnecessary anyway—one could photocopy or rip out needed sections and include the necessary bit in the next resupply box. I closed the book. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Of ripping the guidebook into sections? Because I was a big fat idiot and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, that’s why. And I was alone in the wilderness with a beast of a load to carry while finding that out. I wrapped my arms around my legs and pressed my face into the tops of my bare knees and closed my eyes, huddled into the ball of myself, the wind whipping my shoulder-length hair in a frenzy.

How many did you eat?” I asked. “Eight,” Slug answered, breathing heavily. “Eight quesadilla triangles?” I said, grossed out. Slug shook his head. “No… eight full quesadillas,” he said, again pronouncing it wrong. “Dude,” I said, my jaw dropping to the floor. “That’s, like, um… four times eight… thirty four slices!” Naomi quickly corrected me. “Thirty two slices.” “Thirty two slices!” I repeated. “This kid can pack ‘em away!” Wyatt said, bringing another plate of quesadillas to the group. “Gidgy…” Slug said, reaching for his twin sister, who was scooting away from his greasy fingers. “I might need a stomach transplant after this.” “Gross,” she said. “Don’t touch me. And stomach transplants aren’t a real thing.” “Giiiiidgy!” Slug groaned. “We’re twins! Your stomach is an exact match for mine! Only you can save me! I only need half of it. The other half’ll grow back!” “Dude,” Gidget said, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t have my stomach.” “But what if I need it?” Slug whined, sliding lower in his chair. “You’re just gonna—” And then Slug let out the grossest burp I’d ever heard in my life. It was loud, and it was bad. Like, my eyes started watering. Slug instantly sat up in his seat with a smile beaming across his face. “All better,” he said, reaching for another quesadilla on Wyatt’s plate. “Mmmm, gimme, gimme, gimme!

To eat responsibly is to understand and enact, so far as one can, this complex relationship. What can one do? Here is a list, probably not definitive: 1. Participate in food production to the extent that you can. If you have a yard or even just a porch box or a pot in a sunny window, grow something to eat in it. Make a little compost of your kitchen scraps and use it for fertilizer. Only by growing some food for yourself can you become acquainted with the beautiful energy cycle that revolves from soil to seed to flower to fruit to food to offal to decay, and around again. You will be fully responsible for any food that you grow for yourself, and you will know all about it. You will appreciate it fully, having known it all its life. 2. Prepare your own food. This means reviving in your own mind and life the arts of kitchen and household. This should enable you to eat more cheaply, and it will give you a measure of “quality control”: You will have some reliable knowledge of what has been added to the food you eat. 3. Learn the origins of the food you buy, and buy the food that is produced closest to your home. The idea that every locality should be, as much as possible, the source of its own food makes several kinds of sense. The locally produced food supply is the most secure, the freshest, and the easiest for local consumers to know about and to influence. 4. Whenever possible, deal directly with a local farmer, gardener, or orchardist. All the reasons listed for the previous suggestion apply here. In addition, by such dealing you eliminate the whole pack of merchants, transporters, processors, packagers, and advertisers who thrive at the expense of both producers and consumers. 5. Learn, in self-defense, as much as you can of the economy and technology of industrial food production. What is added to food that is not food, and what do you pay for these additions? 6. Learn what is involved in the best farming and gardening. 7. Learn as much as you can, by direct observation and experience if possible, of the life histories of the food species. The

Karen Arnold, a researcher at Boston College, followed eighty-one high school valedictorians and salutatorians from graduation onward to see what becomes of those who lead the academic pack. Of the 95 percent who went on to graduate college, their average GPA was 3.6, and by 1994, 60 percent had received a graduate degree. There was little debate that high school success predicted college success. Nearly 90 percent are now in professional careers with 40 percent in the highest tier jobs. They are reliable, consistent, and well-adjusted, and by all measures the majority have good lives. But how many of these number-one high school performers go on to change the world, run the world, or impress the world? The answer seems to be clear: zero. Commenting

This idea, however, came to nothing: the corridors, which were packed with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley, were impossible to negotiate while wearing the Cloak. Harry stowed it regretfully back in his bag, reflecting that it would have been nice to wear it just to avoid all the staring, which seemed to have increased in intensity even since he had last walked down the train. Every now and then students would hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at him. The exception was Cho Chang, who darted into her compartment when she saw Harry coming. As Harry passed the window he saw her deep in determined conversation with her friend Marietta, who was wearing a very thick layer of makeup that did not entirely obscure the odd formation of pimples still etched across her face.

PREACHER’S WIFE PINEAPPLE CASSEROLE (Betts Hager) Ingredients 2 (20-ounce) cans pineapple chunks packed in juice, well-drained 3/4 cup sugar 6 tablespoons self-rising flour (see Note below) 2 cups grated Cheddar cheese 4 ounces Ritz crackers 1 stick butter, melted NOTE: Be sure to use self-rising flour, not all-purpose, as it already has the other necessary ingredients included. Instructions Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spray a 2-quart or 8 x 8-inch baking dish with cooking spray. In a medium bowl, mix the sugar and flour. Then, add pineapple and cheese and stir until there are no more dry particles. Spoon this mixture into the prepared baking dish. Crush crackers by pulsing in a food processor and add the melted butter with the machine running until it has the texture of wet sand. Add the crushed cracker mixture to the top of the casserole. Bake about 25 minutes until the top is lightly browned.

But one strand of conspiratorial thinking has proven quite eerie, and that is the extraordinary number of elevens associated with the attacks. There are eleven letters in ‘New York City’, ‘The Pentagon’, ‘George W. Bush’ and ‘Afghanistan’. New York was the eleventh state admitted to the union. American Airlines Flight 11 was the first plane to hit the Twin Towers, which incidentally looked like a giant 11, with 92 people aboard; 9 + 2 = 11. United Airlines Flight 175, which struck the South Tower, was carrying 65 people; 6 + 5 = 11. Meanwhile, 11 September is the 254th day of the year (2 + 5 + 4 = 11), with 111 days remaining. Even the popular rendering of the date – 9/11 – adds up to eleven (9 + 1 + 1), as well as resembling the US emergency number, 911. Coincidence? It gets weirder. On 11 March 2004, ten coordinated explosions on four packed commuter trains killed 191 people in Madrid. Numerologists were quick to point out that the date not only contained another eleven and added up to eleven (1 + 1 + 3 + 2 + 0 + 0 + 4 = 11), as did the number of victims (1 + 9 + 1 = 11), but also that it fell exactly 911 days after 9/11.

Something else changed when querinalo changed. Our immortality began to become—it is difficult to explain. None of us began to age, nor did we lose our vitality. Rather it was as if what was resilient within us began to stiffen. Traits of character became not merely habits, but defining elements. I suppose for me that it was fortunate — or unfortunate, given my current situation as your prisoner — that one of my defining traits has always been curiosity. Curiosity is one of the seeds of creativity, so that remained to me as well, but many of my associates were less fortunate. "Remember that Virim recruited us all because we shared a certain idealism. However, I fear that not much time needs to pass for idealism to become dogmatism. This was the case for many of my associates. They became dogmatic, but not regarding the same things." Firekeeper wondered what dogs had to do with ideas, but thought she understood. Dogs, like wolves, were pack animals, but unlike wolves, dogs retained a juvenile desire to follow. So these spellcasters had been Virim's dogs, and when this stiffening happened, they had become even more doglike. It made sense in a way.

Living in this niche therefore requires both individual and collective creativity, intensive cooperation, a tolerance for strangers and crowds, and a degree of openness and trust that is entirely unmatched among our closest primate relatives. Compared to fiercely individualistic and relentlessly competitive chimpanzees, for instance, we are like goofy, tail-wagging puppies. We are almost painfully docile, desperately in need of affection and social contact, and wildly vulnerable to exploitation. As Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, an anthropologist and primatologist, notes, it is remarkable that hundreds of people will cram themselves shoulder to shoulder into a tiny airplane, obediently fasten their seat belts, eat their packets of stale crackers, watch movies and read magazines and chat politely with their neighbors, and then file peacefully off at the other end. If you packed a similar number of chimpanzees onto a plane, what you’d end up with at the other end is a long metal tube full of blood and dismembered body parts.6 Humans are powerful in groups precisely because we are weak as individuals, pathetically eager to connect with one another, and utterly dependent on the group for survival.

Eat either three regular-size meals a day or four or five smaller meals. Do not skip meals or go more than six waking hours without eating. 2. Eat liberally of combinations of fat and protein in the form of poultry, fish, shellfish, eggs and red meat, as well as of pure, natural fat in the form of butter, mayonnaise, olive oil, safflower, sunflower and other vegetable oils (preferably expeller-pressed or cold-pressed). 3. Eat no more than 20 grams a day of carbohydrate, most of which must come in the form of salad greens and other vegetables. You can eat approximately three cups-loosely packed-of salad, or two cups of salad plus one cup of other vegetables (see the list of acceptable vegetables on page 110). 4. Eat absolutely no fruit, bread, pasta, grains, starchy vegetables or dairy products other than cheese, cream or butter. Do not eat nuts or seeds in the first two weeks. Foods that combine protein and carbohydrates, such as chickpeas, kidney beans and other legumes, are not permitted at this time. 5. Eat nothing that is not on the acceptable foods list. And that means absolutely nothing! Your "just this one taste won't hurt" rationalization is the kiss of failure during this phase of Atkins. 6. Adjust the quantity you eat to suit your appetite, especially as it decreases. When hungry, eat the amount that makes you feel satisfied but not stuffed. When not hungry, eat a small controlled carbohydrate snack to accompany your nutritional supplements. 7. Don't assume any food is low in carbohydrate-instead read labels! Check the carb count (it's on every package) or use the carbohydrate gram counter in this book. 8. Eat out as often as you wish but be on guard for hidden carbs in gravies, sauces and dressings. Gravy is often made with flour or cornstarch, and sugar is sometimes an ingredient in salad dressing. 9. Avoid foods or drinks sweetened with aspartame. Instead, use sucralose or saccharin. Be sure to count each packet of any of these as 1 gram of carbs. 10. Avoid coffee, tea and soft drinks that contain caffeine. Excessive caffeine has been shown to cause low blood sugar, which can make you crave sugar. 11. Drink at least eight 8-ounce glasses of water each day to hydrate your body, avoid constipation and flush out the by-products of burning fat. 12. If you are constipated, mix a tablespoon or more of psyllium husks in a cup or more of water and drink daily. Or mix ground flaxseed into a shake or sprinkle wheat bran on a salad or vegetables.

JUMBO GINGERBREAD NUT MUFFINS Once you try these jumbo-size, nut- and oil-rich muffins, you will appreciate how filling they are. They are made with eggs, coconut oil, almonds, and other nuts and seeds, so they are also very healthy. You can also add a schmear of cream cheese or a bit of unsweetened fruit butter for extra flavor. To fill out a lunch, add a chunk of cheese, some fresh berries or sliced fruit, or an avocado. While walnuts and pumpkin seeds are called for in the recipe to add crunch, you can substitute your choice of nut or seed, such as pecans, pistachios, or sunflower seeds. A jumbo muffin pan is used in this recipe, but a smaller muffin pan can be substituted. If a smaller pan is used, reduce baking time by about 5 minutes, though always assess doneness by inserting a wooden pick into the center of a muffin and making sure it comes out clean. If you make the smaller size, pack 2 muffins for lunch. Makes 6 4 cups almond meal/flour 1 cup shredded unsweetened coconut ½ cup chopped walnuts ½ cup pumpkin seeds Sweetener equivalent to ¾ cup sugar 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1 tablespoon ground ginger 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg ½ teaspoon ground cloves 1 teaspoon sea salt 3 eggs ½ cup coconut oil, melted 1 teaspoon vanilla extract ½ cup water Preheat the oven to 350°F. Place paper liners in a 6-cup jumbo muffin pan or grease the cups with coconut or other oil. In a large bowl, combine the almond meal/flour, coconut, walnuts, pumpkin seeds, sweetener, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and salt. Mix well. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs. Stir in the coconut oil, vanilla, and water. Pour the egg mixture into the almond meal mixture and combine thoroughly. Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups. Bake for 30 minutes, or until a wooden pick inserted in the center of a muffin comes out clean. Per serving (1 muffin): 893 calories, 25 g protein, 26 g carbohydrates, 82 g total fat, 30 g saturated fat, 12 g fiber, 333 mg sodium BRATWURST WITH BELL PEPPERS AND SAUERKRAUT Living in Milwaukee has turned me on to the flavors of German-style bratwurst, but any spicy sausage (such as Italian, chorizo, or andouille) will do just fine in this recipe. The quality of the brat or sausage makes the dish, so choose your favorite. The spices used in various sausages will vary, so I kept the spices and flavors of the sauerkraut mixture light. However, this makes the choice of bratwurst or sausage the crucial component of this dish. You can also add ground coriander, nutmeg, and

Small Change Snack Tips 1. Limit a snack to approximately 200 calories maximum. 2. Turn coffee or a tea into a snack by adding a cup of low-fat milk or soymilk. 3. Do not have a carbohydrate alone (such as an apple or a serving of crackers); you will still be hungry. Instead, pair a carb with a lean protein or healthy fat. Have low-fat cheese with your apple, or some peanut butter on your whole grain crackers. 4. It’s okay to have carbs alone before bed (such as a piece of fruit) because it doesn’t need to keep you full—you’re about to go to sleep. 5. Don’t double dip. For instance, don’t do string cheese and nuts, or string cheese and yogurt. Instead, choose one high-fiber carb and one lean protein or healthy fat; otherwise your calories (and fat) can add up. 6. When you eat straight from the bag, box, or can, you’ll consume more. Preportion items like nuts in resealable snack-size bags. 7. Try to keep snacktime to three hours after you have eaten. If you eat it too close to your last meal, it won’t do its job for the next meal. 8. If buying an energy bar, read the label and look for more fiber and protein, less calories and fat. 9. Just because it’s a “100-calorie pack” doesn’t mean it is a healthy snack. Make sure it offers some fiber and protein or healthy fat—and if not, skip it.

English Gingerbread Cake Serves: 12 to 16 Baking Time: 50 to 60 minutes Kyle Cathie, editor for the British version of The Cake Bible (and now a publisher), informed me in no uncertain terms that a book could not be called a cake "bible" in England if it did not contain the beloved gingerbread cake. When I went to England to retest all the cakes using British flour and ingredients, I developed this gingerbread recipe. Now that I have tasted it, I quite agree with Kyle. It is a moist spicy cake with an intriguing blend of buttery, lemony, wheaty, and treacly flavors. Cut into squares and decorated with pumpkin faces, it makes a delightful "treat" for Halloween. Batter Volume Ounce Gram unsalted butter (65° to 75°F/19° to 23°C) 8 tablespoons (1 stick) 4 113 golden syrup or light corn syrup 1¼ cups (10 fluid ounces) 15 425 dark brown sugar, preferably Muscovado ¼ cup, firmly packed 2 60 orange marmalade 1 heaping tablespoon 1.5 40 2 large eggs, at room temperature ¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons (3 fluid ounces) 3.5 100 milk 2/3 cup (5.3 fluid ounces) 5.6 160 cake flour (or bleached all-purpose flour) 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (or 1 cup), sifted into the cup and leveled off 4 115 whole wheat flour 1 cup minus 1 tablespoon (lightly spooned into the cup) 4 115 baking powder 1½ teaspoons . . cinnamon 1 teaspoon . . ground ginger 1 teaspoon . . baking soda ½ teaspoon . . salt pinch . . Special Equipment One 8 by 2-inch square cake pan or 9 by 2-inch round pan (see Note), wrapped with a cake strip, bottom coated with shortening, topped with a parchment square (or round), then coated with baking spray with flour Preheat the Oven Twenty minutes or more before baking, set an oven rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 325°F/160°C. Mix the Liquid Ingredients In a small heavy saucepan, stir together the butter, golden syrup, sugar, and marmalade over medium-low heat until melted and uniform in color. Set aside uncovered until just barely warm, about 10 minutes. Whisk in the eggs and milk. Make the Batter In a large bowl, whisk together the cake flour, whole wheat flour, baking powder, cinnamon, ginger, baking soda, and salt. Add the butter mixture, stirring with a large silicone spatula or spoon just until smooth and the consistency of thick soup. Using the silicone spatula, scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Bake the Cake Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a wire cake tester inserted in the center comes out clean and the cake springs back when pressed lightly in the center. The cake should start to shrink from the sides of the pan only after removal from the oven. Cool the Cake Let the cake cool in the pan on a wire rack for 10 minutes. While the cake is cooling, make the syrup.

Clingmans Dome in the middle of the park. Then, it’s downhill to Virginia, and people have told me Virginia is a cakewalk. I’ll learn soon enough that “easy” trail beyond the Smoky Mountains is as much a fantasy as my dream lunch with pizza…uh, I mean Juli, but for now I’ve convinced myself all will be well once I get through the Smokies. I leave Tray Mountain Shelter at 1:00 with ten miles to go. I’ve eaten the remainder of my food. I’ve been hiking roughly two miles per hour. Downhill is slower due to my sore knee. I need to get to Hiawassee by 6:00 p.m., the check-in deadline at Blueberry Patch Hostel, where my mail drop is waiting.5 I have little margin, so I decide to push for a while. I down a couple of Advil and “open it up” for the first time this trip. In the next hour I cover 3.5 miles. Another 1.5 miles and I am out of water, since I skipped all the side trails leading to streams. Five miles to go, and I’m running out of steam. Half the strands of muscle in my legs have taken the rest of the day off, leaving the other half to do all the work. My throat is dry. Less than a mile to go, a widening stream parallels the trail. It is nearing 6:00, but I can handle the thirst no longer. There is a five-foot drop down an embankment to the stream. Hurriedly I drop my pack and camera case, which I have clipped over the belt of my pack. The camera starts rolling down the embankment, headed for the stream. I lunge for it and miss. It stops on its own in the nook of a tree root. I have to be more careful. I’m already paranoid about losing or breaking gear. Every time I resume hiking after a rest, I stop a few steps down the trail and look back for anything I may have left behind. There’s nothing in my pack that I don’t need. Finally, I’m

CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES 6 tablespoons chilled butter ( ¾ stick, 3 ounces) 12-ounce package semi-sweet chocolate chips (two cups—I used Ghirardelli’s) ½ cup firmly packed powdered sugar (confectioner’s sugar) 6 egg yolks 1 Tablespoon rum, brandy, flavored brandy, or vanilla extract   Put an inch or so of water in the bottom half of a double boiler and heat it to a gentle boil. Cut the butter in chunks and place them in the top half of the double boiler. Add the chips and then the powdered sugar and set the top half over the bottom half. Put on the cover and let everything melt while you…   Beat the egg yolks in a small bowl with a whisk. Whisk until they’re thoroughly combined, but stop before they get fluffy or lighter in color.   Stir the chocolate until it’s completely melted. It will be thick, almost like fudge. Remove the top half of the double boiler and set it on a cold burner.   Stir several spoonfuls of beaten egg yolk into the chocolate mixture. When that’s incorporated, stir in several more spoonfuls. Keep adding egg yolk in small amounts, stirring constantly, until all the egg yolks have been incorporated and the chocolate mixture is smooth and glossy.   Stir in the rum, brandy, or vanilla. Put the lid back on the top of the double boiler and refrigerate the chocolate mixture for 3 hours. To Decorate Truffles: finely chopped nuts powdered (confectioner’s) sugar chocolate sprinkles shaved chocolate cocoa powder finely shredded coconut   Warning: This next step is fairly messy. If you like, wear disposable plastic food-server gloves. You can also lightly grease your hands, or spray them with Pam or other non-stick cooking spray so the chocolate won’t stick to your fingers.   Form small balls of chilled chocolate with your hands and roll them in bowls of the above ingredients.

CAKE whole black peppercorns whole cloves whole cardamom 1 cinnamon stick 2 cups flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon baking soda ½ teaspoon salt 3 large eggs 1 large egg yolk 1 cup sour cream 1½ sticks (6 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature 1 cup sugar 2 large pieces fresh ginger root (¼ cup, tightly packed, when finely grated) zest from 2 to 3 oranges (1½ teaspoons finely grated) Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 6-cup Bundt pan. Grind your peppercorns, cloves, and cardamom and measure out ¼ teaspoon of each. (You can use pre-ground spices, but the cake won’t taste as good.) Grind your cinnamon stick and measure out 1 teaspoon. (Again, you can use ground cinnamon if you must.) Whisk the flour with the baking powder, baking soda, spices, and salt in a small bowl. In another small bowl, whisk the eggs and egg yolk into the sour cream. Set aside. Cream the butter and sugar in a stand mixer until the mixture is light, fluffy, and almost white. This should take about 3 minutes. Grate the ginger root—this is a lot of ginger—and the orange zest. Add them to the butter/sugar mixture. Beat the flour mixture and the egg mixture, alternating between the two, into the butter until each addition is incorporated. The batter should be as luxurious as mousse. Spoon batter into the prepared pan and bake for about 40 minutes, until cake is golden and a wooden skewer comes out clean. Remove to a rack and cool in the pan for 10 minutes. SOAK ½ cup bourbon 1½ tablespoons sugar While the cake cools in its pan, simmer the bourbon and the sugar in a small pot for about 4 minutes. It should reduce to about ⅓ cup. While the cake is still in the pan, brush half the bourbon mixture onto its exposed surface (the bottom of the cake) with a pastry brush. Let the syrup soak in for a few minutes, then turn the cake out onto a rack. Gently brush the remaining mixture all over the cake.

pine nuts and toss gently again. Green Bean, Tuna, and Mushroom “Casserole” One of my favorite things from my Midwestern upbringing is the green bean and mushroom casserole at Thanksgiving—probably the same one that was on your holiday table, thanks to the canned-mushroom-soup marketing campaign. This is my grown-up version of that casserole, which has all the comfort appeal of the childhood dish, but way better flavor and nutritional value. Make it with a one-to-one ratio of mushrooms to green beans, and have some fun with the beans, if you like—you can grill them, slice them thin and use raw, use pickled green beans, or use a mix of all of the above. » Serves 4 Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Extra-virgin olive oil 2 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled 1 pound wild mushrooms, wiped off and cut into bite-size pieces (about 6 cups) One 5-ounce can oil-packed tuna, drained 1 pound green beans, trimmed 1 cup heavy cream 1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice ⅓ cup Dried Breadcrumbs Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add salt until it tastes like the sea. Meanwhile, add ¼ cup olive oil to a skillet that’s large enough to hold all the mushrooms and beans and still have some room to stir the ingredients. Add the garlic and cook slowly over medium heat to toast the garlic so it’s very soft, fragrant, and nicely golden brown—but not burnt—about 5 minutes. Scoop out the garlic and set it aside so it doesn’t burn. Increase the heat to medium-high and add the mushrooms. Season generously with pepper and salt and sauté, tossing frequently, until the mushrooms are nicely browned around the edges, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the tuna and toss to incorporate. Keep this warm until the green beans are ready. Add the beans to the boiling water and boil until they are just a bit beyond crisp-tender, 4 to 7 minutes. Drain them thoroughly in a colander and then add them to the mushrooms and tuna. Add the cream, toss all the ingredients to coat, and simmer until the cream has reduced to a nice cloaking consistency and all the flavors are nicely blended, 6 to 9 minutes. Add the lemon zest and lemon juice and toss. Taste and adjust with more salt, pepper, or lemon juice. When the flavors are delicious, pile into a serving bowl and top with the breadcrumbs.

TREASURE CHEST COOKIES (Lisa’s Aunt Nancy’s Babysitter’s Cookies) Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. The Cookie Dough: ½ cup (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) salted butter, room temperature ¾ cup powdered sugar (plus 1 and ½ cups more for rolling the cookies in and making the glaze) ¼ teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons milk (that’s cup) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 and ½ cups all-purpose flour (pack it down when you measure it) The “Treasure”: Well-drained Maraschino cherries, chunks of well-drained canned pineapple, small pieces of chocolate, a walnut or pecan half, ¼ teaspoon of any fruit jam, or any small soft candy or treat that will fit inside your cookie dough balls. The Topping: 1 cup powdered (confectioners) sugar To make the cookie dough: Mix the softened butter and ¾ cup powdered sugar together in a medium-sized mixing bowl. Beat them until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add the salt and mix it in. Add the milk and the vanilla extract. Beat until they’re thoroughly blended. Add the flour in half-cup increments, mixing well after each addition. Divide the dough into 4 equal quarters. (You don’t have to weigh it or measure it, or anything like that. It’s not that critical.) Roll each quarter into a log shape and then cut each log into 6 even pieces. (The easy way to do this is to cut it in half first and then cut each half into thirds.) Roll the pieces into balls about the size of a walnut with its shell on, or a little larger. Flatten each ball with your impeccably clean hands. Wrap the dough around a “treasure” of your choice. If you use jam, don’t use over a quarter-teaspoon as it will leak out if there’s too much jam inside the dough ball. Pat the resulting “package” into a ball shape and place it on an ungreased cookie sheet, 12 balls to a standard-size sheet. Push the dough balls down just slightly so they don’t roll off on their way to your oven. Hannah’s 1st Note: I use baking sheets with sides and line them with parchment paper when I bake these with jam. If part of the jam leaks out, the parchment paper contains it and I don’t have sticky jam on my baking sheets or in the bottom of my oven. Bake the Treasure Chest Cookies at 350° F. for approximately 18 minutes, or until the bottom edge is just beginning to brown when you raise it with a spatula. Remove the cookies from the oven and allow them to cool on the sheets for about 5 minutes. Place ½ cup of powdered sugar in a small bowl. Place wax paper or parchment paper under the wire racks. Roll the still-warm cookies in the powdered sugar. The sugar will stick to the warm cookies. Coat them evenly and then return them to the wire racks to cool completely. (You’ll notice that the powdered sugar will “soak” into the warm cookie balls. That’s okay. You’re going to roll them in powdered sugar again for a final coat when they’re cool.) When the cookies are completely cool, place another ½ cup powdered sugar in your bowl. Roll the cooled cookies in the powdered sugar again. Then transfer them to a cookie jar or another container and store them in a cool, dry place. Hannah’s 2nd Note: I tried putting a couple of miniature marshmallows or half of a regular-size marshmallow in the center of my cookies for the “treasure”. It didn’t work. The marshmallows in the center completely melted away. Lisa’s Note: I’m going to try my Treasure Chest Cookies with a roll of Rollo’s next time I make them. Herb just adores those chocolate covered soft caramels. He wants me to try the miniature Reese’s Pieces, too. Yield: 2 dozen delicious cookies that both kids and adults will love to eat.

DOC’S BRAN-OATMEAL-RAISIN COOKIES Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. ¾ cup raisins (either regular or golden, your choice) ¾ cup boiling water 1 cup white (granulated) sugar ½ cup brown sugar (pack it down when you measure it) ¾ cup (1 and ½ sticks, 6 ounces) salted butter, softened to room temperature 2 large eggs ½ teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon ¼ teaspoon grated nutmeg (freshly grated is best) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) 1 and ½ cups dry quick oatmeal (I used Quaker Quick 1-Minute) 2 cups bran flake cereal Place ¾ cup of raisins in a 2-cup Pyrex measuring cup or a small bowl that can tolerate boiling water without cracking. Pour the ¾ cup boiling water over the raisins in the cup. Stir a bit with a fork so they don’t stick together, and then leave them, uncovered, on the counter to plump up. Prepare your cookie sheets by spraying them with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray, or lining them with parchment paper that you also spray with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray. Hannah’s 1st Note: This cookie dough is a lot easier to make if you use an electric mixer. Place the cup of white sugar in the bottom of a mixing bowl. Add the half-cup of brown sugar. Mix them together until they’re a uniform color. Place the softened butter in the mixer bowl and beat it together with the sugars until the mixture is nice and fluffy. Mix in the eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Add the salt, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla extract. Beat until the mixture is smooth and well incorporated. On LOW speed, add the flour, one-half cup at a time, beating after each addition. Continue to beat until everything is well blended. Drain the raisins by dumping them in a strainer. Throw away any liquid that remains, then gently pat the raisins dry with a paper towel. With the mixer running on LOW speed, add the raisins to the cookie dough. With the mixer remaining on LOW speed, add the dry oatmeal in half-cup increments, mixing after each increment. Turn the mixer OFF, and let the dough rest while you prepare the bran flakes. Measure 2 cups of bran flake cereal and place them in a 1-quart freezer bag. Roll the bag up from the bottom, getting out as much air as possible, and then seal it with the bran flakes inside. Squeeze the bran flakes with your fingers, crushing them inside the bag. Place the bag on the counter and squash the bran flakes with your hands. Once they’re in fairly small pieces, take the bag over to the mixer. Turn the mixer on LOW speed. Open the bag and add the crushed bran flakes to your cookie dough, mixing until they’re well incorporated. Turn off the mixer, scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula, and give the bowl a final stir by hand. Drop the dough by rounded Tablespoonfuls (use a Tablespoon from your silverware drawer, not one you’d use for measuring ingredients) onto your prepared cookie sheet. There should be 12 cookie dough mounds on every standard-size cookie sheet. Hannah’s 2nd Note: Lisa and I use a level 2-Tablespoon scooper to form these cookies down at The Cookie Jar. Bake Doc’s Bran-Oatmeal-Raisin Cookies at 350 degrees F. for 13 to 15 minutes, or until golden brown on top. Remove the cookies from the oven, and let them cool on the cookie sheets for 2 minutes. Then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. Yield: 2 to 3 dozen delicious cookies, depending on cookie size. Hannah’s 3rd Note: Doc had to warn the Lake Eden Memorial Hospital cooks not to let the patients have more than two cookies. Since they contain bran and bran is an aid to the digestive system, patients who eat a lot of these cookies could be spending a lot of time in the little room with the porcelain fixtures.

EASY FRUIT PIE   Preheat oven to 375 degrees F., rack in the middle position. Note from Delores: I got this recipe from Jenny Hester, a new nurse at Doc Knight’s hospital. Jenny just told me that her great-grandmother used to make it whenever the family came over for Sunday dinner. Hannah said it’s easy so I might actually try to make it some night for Doc. ¼ cup salted butter (½ stick, 2 ounces, pound) 1 cup whole milk 1 cup white (granulated) sugar 1 cup all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) 1 and ½ teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 1 can fruit pie filling (approximately 21 ounces by weight—3 to 3 and ½ cups, the kind that makes an 8-inch pie) Hannah’s 1st Note: This isn’t really a pie, and it isn’t really a cake even though you make it in a cake pan. It’s almost like a cobbler, but not quite. I have the recipe filed under “Dessert”. You can use any canned fruit pie filling you like. I might not bake it for company with blueberry pie filling. It tasted great, but didn’t look all that appetizing. If you love blueberry and want to try it, it might work to cover the top with sweetened whipped cream or Cool Whip before you serve it. I’ve tried this recipe with raspberry and peach . . . so far. I have the feeling that lemon pie filling would be yummy, but I haven’t gotten around to trying it yet. Maybe I’ll try it some night when Mike comes over after work. Even if it doesn’t turn out that well, he’ll eat it. Place the butter in a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan and put it in the oven to melt. Meanwhile . . . Mix the milk, sugar, flour, baking powder and salt together in a medium-size bowl. This batter will be a little lumpy and that’s okay. Just like brownie batter, don’t over-mix it. Using oven mitts or potholders, remove the pan with the melted butter from the oven. Pour in the batter and tip the pan around to cover the whole bottom. Then set it on a cold stove burner. Spoon the pie filling over the stop of the batter, but DO NOT MIX IN. Just spoon it on as evenly as you can. (The batter will puff up around it in the oven and look gorgeous!) Bake the dessert at 375 degrees F., for 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until it turns golden brown and bubbly on top. To serve, cool slightly, dish into bowls, and top with sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream. It really is yummy. Hannah’s 2nd Note: The dessert is best when it’s baked, cooled slightly, and served right away. Alternatively you can bake it earlier, cut pieces to put in microwave-safe bowls, and reheat it in the microwave before you put on the ice cream or sweetened whipped cream. Yield: Easy Fruit Pie will serve 6 if you don’t invite Mike and Norman for dinner. Note from Jenny: I’ve made this by adding ¼ cup cocoa powder and 1 teaspoon of vanilla to the batter. If I do this, I spoon a can of cherry pie filling over the top.

Social contexts provide ubiquitous cases of the same point: If one bottle of beer costs £1, six individual bottles may cost £6, whereas a six-pack costs £5.

Toda libertad que puede ser concedida, también puede ser suprimida.

Las tres joyas del taoísmo son la compasión, la moderación y la humildad…

cuanto antes confiesas tus errores, antes puedes irte a cometer más.

La ironía puede ser espontánea, mientras que para el sarcasmo hace falta voluntad. El sarcasmo hay que crearlo.

«Los héroes conservadores no existen».

cercana, como era Joppa… ¿Quién sabe cómo habrían influido esos aspectos en Cristo cuando era niño? Hay historiadores que defienden que Yeshua de Nazaret habría

WATERMELON COOKIES Preheat oven to 325 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 1 package (.16-ounce) watermelon (or any other flavor) Kool-Aid powder (Don’t get the kind with sugar or sugar substitute added.) 1 and ⅔ cup white (granulated) sugar 1 and ½ cups softened butter (2 and ½ sticks, 10 ounces) 2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) ½ teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon baking soda 3 cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) ½ cup white (granulated) sugar in a bowl Hannah’s 1st Note: When Brandi makes these cookies, she rolls them out on a floured board and uses cookie cutters. Rolled cookies take more time than other types of cookies, so Lisa and I modified Brandi’s recipe for use at The Cookie Jar. Mix the watermelon Kool-Aid with the granulated sugar. Add the softened butter and mix until it’s nice and fluffy. Add the eggs and mix well. Mix in the salt and the baking soda. Make sure they’re well incorporated. Add the flour in half-cup increments, mixing after each addition. Spray cookie sheets with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray. You can also use parchment paper if you prefer. Roll dough balls one inch in diameter with your hands. (We use a 2-teaspoon cookie scooper at The Cookie Jar.) Roll the cookie balls in the bowl of white sugar and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a standard-size sheet. Bake the Watermelon Cookies at 325 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes (mine took 11 minutes) or until they’re just beginning to turn golden around the edges. Don’t overbake. Let the cookies cool on the cookie sheets for no more than a minute, and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. Yield: Approximately 6 dozen pretty and unusual cookies that kids will adore, especially if you tell them that they’re made with Kool-Aid. Hannah’s 2nd Note: Brandi’s mother baked these cookies to send to school on birthdays. She

fármacos y el perdón pueden convertir el morir en un momento gozoso:

soy un infiel descreído de Dios. Al menos, así voté en las últimas elecciones.

Qué coño, seguro que hasta hay monjas de alguna orden dispuestas a echarte un polvo por simple caridad. O como acto de penitencia.

no somos más que políticos: vociferantes putas de la retórica.

políticos: vociferantes putas de la retórica.