On a sticky August evening two weeks before her due date, Ashima Ganguli stands in the kitchen of a Central Square apartment, combining Rice Krispies and Planters peanuts and chopped red onion in bowl.
Eve hugged her, hard. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “What happened to the old frosting?” Shane, sitting at the table, raised his hand. “Took one for the team.” “Jesus, you ate it? All of it?” “Nah.” He held up the bowl that was sitting in front of him. There was still about half a cup left. “Couldn’t finish it all.” Eve blinked and looked at Claire, who shrugged and said, “I always thought he was sweet.
Since it was there, Larkin got another bowl, spooned up stew for himself. “He fights with us. We’re an army.” “An army? Talk about delusions of grandeur. What are you?” she asked Glenna. “Witch.” “So, we’ve got a witch, a sorcerer, a couple of refugees from Geall and a vampire. Some army.
Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
Well then," Roen said briskly, "are you sleeping?" "Yes." "Come now. A mother can tell when her son lies. Are you eating?" "No," Brigan said gravely. "I've not eaten in two months. It's a hunger strike to protest the spring flooding in the south." "Gracious," Roen said, reaching for the fruit bowl. "Have an apple, dear.
And Max, I've put some scraps in a bowl for your dog," Mom said. "It's on the floor, by the back door." The flock and I went still. Uh-oh, I thought. Total stomped up to me, his glare accusing. "A bowl on the floor!" he seethed. "Why don't you just chain me to a stake in the yard and throw me a bone!
Mexico admits you through an arched stone orifice into the tree-filled courtyard of its heart, where a dog pisses against a wall and a waiter hustles through a curtain of jasmine to bring a bowl of tortilla soup, steaming with cilantro and lime. Cats stalk lizards among the clay pots around the fountain, doves settle into the flowering vines and coo their prayers, thankful for the existence of lizards. The potted plants silently exhale, outgrowing their clay pots. Like Mexico's children they stand pinched and patient in last year's too-small shoes.
With the notebook resting ominuslously on Janie's bed, Janie procrastinates. Does her homework first. And pours herself a bowl of ceral. Breakfast - one of the five most important meals of the day. Not to be skipped.
Who would then deny that when I am sipping tea in my tearoom I am swallowing the whole universe with it and that this very moment of my lifting the bowl to my lips is eternity itself transcending time and space?
No one had ever called her wild before. She wanted to be wild now, for him. Wild seemed more enticing then a bowl of berries.
My mother is currently associating with some undesirables who are attempting to transform her into an athlete of sorts, deprave specimens of mankind who regularly bowl their way to oblivion.
What is meditation?... It is fleeing from the self, it is a short escape of the agony of being a self, it is a short numbing of the senses against the pain and the pointlessness of life. The same escape, the same short numbing is what the driver of an ox-cart finds in the inn, drinking a few bowls of rice wine or fermented coconut-milk.
There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water. "What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia. "Your new school uniform," she said. Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet.
When it's raining pudding, hold up your bowl.
I can't imagine the scientists wanting me to walk into the lab and start fiddling around with some big bowl of electrons they had out.
The most work he did on [the urinals] was to run a brush once or twice apiece, singing some song as loud as he could in time to the swishing brush; then he'd splash in some Clorox and he'd be through. ... And when the Big Nurse...came in to check McMurphy's cleaning assignment personally, she brought a little compact mirror and she held it under the rim of the bowls. She walked along shaking her head and saying, "Why, this is an outrage... an outrage..." at every bowl. McMurphy sidled right along beside her, winking down his nose and saying in answer, "No; that's a toilet bowl...a TOILET bowl.
Old Cob tucked away his bowl of stew with the predatory efficency of a lifetime bachelor.
With lacquerware there is an extra beauty in that moment between removing the lid and lifting the bowl to the mouth, when one gazes at the still, silent liquid in the dark depths of the bowl, its colour hardly differing from that of the bowl itself. What lies within the darkness one cannot distinguish, but the palm senses the gentle movements of the liquid, vapour rises from within, forming droplets on the rim, and the fragrance carried upon the vapour brings a delicate anticipation ... a moment of mystery, it might almost be called, a moment of trance.
Oh, its big enough,” he said patronizingly, “but somehow I was expecting…you know.” He gestured with his hands, indicating something roughly the size of a house cat. “It’s the Mortal Cup, Jace, not the Mortal Toilet Bowl,” said Isabelle. -Jace & Isabelle, pg.349-
Yeah, but I forgot to take my George Orwell-shaped multivitamins along with my breakfast bowl of Big Brother Os this morning.
Another two-bowl morning?" - Damien Maslin asking Zoey Redbird if her love of cereal was the reason she was almost late for Vamp Soc class
And what could be a hotter ticket than the improbable triumph of 'The Book of Mormon,' the musical-comedy moon shot of the season? Its creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, of Comedy Central's 'South Park,' are the most unlikely Rodgers and Hammerstein team ever to bowl a thundering strike.
In the period where I had to live the life of a citizen - a life where, like everybody else, I did tons of laundry and cleaned toilet bowls, changed hundreds of diapers and nursed children - I learned a lot.
Bullfighting has some of the elements of a sport or contest, and in the United States most people think of it as a sport, an unfair sport. If you're in Spain or Mexico it's absolutely not a sport; it's not thought of as a sport and it's not written about as a sport. It has elements of public spectacle, but then so does, for example, the Super Bowl. It has elements of a deeply entrenched, deeply conservative tradition, a tradition that resists change, as you pointed out.
The truth is the Super Bowl long ago became more than just a football game.
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