Rachel’s Thoughts: My First Rare Steak

I was going to use this for a creative sketch declamation, but wasn’t sure if it quite fit the guidelines. So.

Many, many, many moons ago, I had my first rare steak.

Malevolently. That was how it felt like the steak was staring at me. It was the kind of steak that had probably sat on someone nice in a previous life. I had ordered my bloody slab of cow medium to well done, and this was just so…not. I mean, the edges were singed and all, but I prefer my food dead, thank you very much.

Anyway, there it was, sitting on my plate like it owned the place. The cook had refused to take it back, jabbering something in Dutch about the World Cup. Apparently Holland was playing Spain and, being smack-dab in the middle of Amsterdam, he didn’t feel obliged to provide customer satisfaction on such an important night. Evidently he wasn’t concerned about customer safety, either, because this was precisely the sort of steak that might at any moment pull a Calvin-and-Hobbes move and attack me with my own fork. My personal theory was that he too was intimidated by the gimlet eye of the beastly thing, and was secretly chortling about it back in the kitchen. And still the steak just sat there oozing blood, defying me, practically daring me to try to eat it.


The Rejoicing Heart: Autumn in Moscow

Moscow is a pocket of joy, especially today. The sky is blue, but it’s not a friendly, midsummery sort of blue; it’s more like the color you see on a forty-five degree fall day, the kind where the sidewalk dances under your feet and the buildings meet the sky. It’s the kind of day that doesn’t need coffee to survive, where you can almost hear the words to the tune that composes the world. The lichen on the tree glows yellow in the noon sun, smiling up at the God that made it.

Bentleigh thinks we’re made of music. I agree. At the smallest level, we are composed of sound waves, and so is everything else in the world. This, perhaps, is why certain songs and certain kinds of weather speak more to us than others: our internal songs are the same.
This day is my day. It’s the sort of day that Bradbury would say anything could happen, and something always would. Simple pleasures gleam brightly in this weather, and coffeehouses are, for once, less happy places than the sidewalk. Usually in November it’s better to be in where the air is warm and smells like an eloquent mix of coffee and pumpkin bread, but not today. This is a streetside day. If knew how, I would dance down the sidewalk, but I can’t quite hear the beat well enough in the breeze. My feet wouldn’t be in the right key.
I think my soul is made of Chris Brown and Bach. If you gave Bach a beat instead of a basso continuo, his music would be today.
Some people hate it. Their rhythms are off, their keys wrong. For them, it feels crooked, like the way their feet jolt on the dancing sidewalk. Their equilibrium is off, and they don’t know why. But they know they don’t like it.
These are the Morning people. They prefer dawn, and rain, and Calvin and Hobbes. Which are good at the right time, but today is a Far Side day. It sings of sunshine and evening, of that afternoon glow that hits about thirty minutes before complete and utter darkness. Today is rap counted to a waltz.
Maybe some people just can’t feel the music. Perhaps that is the sixth sense that sends shivers down people’s spines, when the wind hums a minor chord and they can feel the effects without feeling the beauty.
Too many people try to get where they’re going without listening along the way. They miss so much, like remixing Chris Brown’s Forever. You just can’t do that with that piece. The Music of the Spheres is at a crescendo today, and tomorrow it will be gone. We are the Evening people.
Tomorrow, Moscow will be someone else’s pocket of joy. The sunshine will sing a pitch they can hear, and they will be able to dance to the earth’s beat. I will miss it, but I know that my music will come again. God is a Divine DJ, and he always plays our requests.

Rachel’s Thoughts: A Series of Unusual Events, Part 3: Flathead Lake Monster

Flathead Lake is an innocent lake in Northern Montana, the largest freshwater lake in the Western United States. But does some mysterious creature lurk beneath its tranquil surface?

Like Loch Ness, rumors have flown for decades regarding a mysterious beast dwelling in the water. Witness accounts describe the creature in ways that make it closely resemble Nessie; similarities which have led to speculation regarding its authenticity. Perhaps the monster of Flathead Lake is a myth created to attract more tourists…but like Loch Ness, several different people have ‘seen’ the monster-or evidence of it- over several different years in several different locations.

In fact…my parents and I recently spent a weekend at Flathead Lake, and while we were sitting on a dock reading one morning large wakes rocked the dock. We didn’t see what caused the waves (all three of us were, as I said, reading), but when we looked up as the dock wiggled around, there was nothing on the lake. There were no boats, swimmers, jet skis, or any other man-made devices that could have caused the wake.

Is the Flathead Monster simply folklore…or something more?


Rachel’s Thoughts: A Series of Unusual Events, Part 2: The Loch Ness Monster

Loch Ness, Scotland, has a claim to fame that only one other place in the world can brag of. It has its very own monster, and its name is Nessie.

People have taken pictures and videos, but with so many faked images out there it’s impossible to tell which ones are real and which ones are hype. However, the fact remains that a great number of people have been sighting it since as early, possibly, as the 7th century. Or at least, they claim they have.

Is Nessie real? Is it simply, as some claim, a giant sturgeon-like creature? Or is it something…different?

What do you think?


Rachel’s Thoughts: A Series of Unusual Events, Part 1: The 9th Legion

In approximately 117 AD, Britain was occupied by the Roman Empire. One day, probably foggy, the famous Ninth Legion marched off into the blue horizon, and was never heard from again. People have speculated on what did in fact happen to them; theories range from practical “they were transferred and disbanded” to something along the lines of getting zapped by extraterrestrials. However, there is no evidence whatsoever to corroborate the theory of their innocent disbandment; the last known record of the 9th was of when they were near York, England.

But the curiousest thing is that to this day we have found neither bones, nor armor, nor any traces at all of the 4000-6000 men who marched off that day…

What do you think happened?