Author: Katherine J Krein

The word bread has been entering my thoughts frequently this past week.

Over a week ago I was thinking about the word sacrament which lead me to the word eucharist, which is known by many as the Holy Communion. This is a ritual commemoration of Jesus’s last supper with his disciples. It comes from Greek eucharistia for “thanksgiving”. And “breaking bread” is a way of saying you are sharing your food with family and friends.

This week I got into a conversation with a boy in one of my classes about cooking. He told me that he likes to cook. When I asked him, “What do you like to cook?” , he responded that he liked to cook bread, and he specifically mentioned Monkey Bread.

I let our conversation end since school work was waiting for his attention. After school I researched Monkey Bread since I was unfamiliar with this name. I found a very easy recipe using Pillsbury Grand Biscuits. While I was looking at pictures of Monkey Bread, I thought it looked like it would be perfect for breaking bread with my family this coming Thanksgiving.

Just the other day I was picking up laundry detergent at the store, and I saw a large wall filled with Oreo cookies. Normally, I try to avoid these since they can be very addictive. Something made me take a closer look, and this is when I saw the Limited Edition Gingerbread Oreos .

As you can see the breads I have been seeing this week are both sweet breads. This thought made me remember a Persian meal I was served in Paris long ago.

There are sweet breads and then there are sweetbreads. “Sweetbreads” have a very misleading name because they are not sweet nor are they bread. They are the thymus and pancreas glands of animals.

When I was served a meal of sweetbreads long ago, it was whispered to me that it was pig brains, so I am not sure what I ate. I did not eat very much of it despite the risk of being rude to our host.

Historians think they are called sweetbreads because they are richer and more delicate than typical meats, and they are breads because the old English word for flesh was “braed”.

Today I am focused on the phrase…”bread upon the waters”… What does this mean? There are many interpretations of this phrase. The one I like has to do with spreading goodness into the world without the expectation of getting anything back in return.

This is an attitude I would like to adopt because expectations can set you up for disappointment and resentment, which is even worse. I would like to try and spread goodness for its own sake, and for no other reason.

As you can see here, words can be very tricky and have different meanings for different people. Words are symbols and language is an art form. When one is trying to understand the written word, we should look beyond our own personal connection to the words, and look into the history of their roots.

When reading the words of those that have lived before us, we cannot always rely on our first interpretation of their words. The author’s intention is not always how we interpret it.

Hopefully, the water under your bridge flows freely like a river.

A stench can arise in stagnate water unless care is taken to maintain it.

Time is like the flowing river under a bridge.

It constantly moves in one direction.

When you look down the water is never the same.

Change is inevitable.

Bottles with notes are carried away.

You can watch it for a while, but never forever.

We do not have the vision of God.

We must accept there are forces beyond our human control.

We can run simulations in hopes of forecasting the future.

However, even the best simulations cannot possibly predict

All the factors in an open system.

We must be humble, and not imagine powers we do not have.

Many things can hide in plain sight. It can be very frustrating to look and look for something that has been right under my nose the whole time.

It can be both startling and unnerving when I can suddenly see magic in the natural world. By magic I mean something so incredibly rare and beautiful that it defies logic, and it is more incredible when it is found in unlikely places.

The truth is the beauty has always been there. It is my vision that has been too selective and narrow.

How can our vision miss these things? Why isn’t our vision wider and more encompassing?

When our velocity is moving too fast we can miss many things we pass without seeing. Also our minds have a tendency to discount and dismiss things we feel are unimportant. Our mind and our vision narrows down to one track as we race toward a goal. When we slow down and open our minds and our hearts, our vision can expand and have more depth. When this happens we are less likely to miss miracles that can hide in plain sight.

My goal this year is to search for all the talent that is hidden in our students that might have been missed in the past.

I once lived on a Subtle Lane. It was a lane that ended since it looped around like a horseshoe or a cul-de-sac.

To get there you had to drive on a Hunter Road and then enter a Blue-Gate Lane, which led to Subtle Lane.

I like the word “subtle”. It comes from Latin “sub”– meaning beneath plus “tela”–meaning weaving.

It is interesting to think that we lived beneath the weaving.

My old house number is another story.

Behind the fence along our backyard property line lived John Riggins of Redskin fame. It was rumored he had a pig or pigs that lived back there behind the fence. I never saw evidence of this nor did I ever see him.

This was during the era of “The Hogs” of Redskin fame. They were the offensive line that protected John Riggins and Joe Theismann. “The Hogs” helped the Redskins under coach Joe Gibbs win three Super Bowl championships.

And then there were the “hogettes”. They were a group of men that were huge fans. They would dress up in old lady drag outfits and they would wear pig snout noses. They would cheer on the team looking like this.

Their era has ended. The Redskins have recently been pressured to change their team name in order to be more culturally sensitive.

I never really got into watching football. My father’s favorite team was the Kansas City Chiefs.

As for Subtle Lane, we lived in a nice house with a pool in the backyard. My parent’s marriage ended there.

I lost my shadow for awhile, whether it went somewhere

or whether I was blinded, I will not know.

It is larger than life now on my bedroom walls.

Outside, beyond the four walls of the house, it fades away.

My eyesight becomes filled with living breathing color,

And my shadow seems to shrink.

Shadows still exist when the sun shines brightly in the sky.

My camera brings them back for me.

Life outside is much more exuberant than shadows.

Life is touchable, and I can stroke it with my hand.

When night falls and I am back inside the walls

My shadow clings to me, and sometimes it can appear

Larger than life, even though it has no weight.

“Guantanamera…” (Cha, cha, cha.) “Guantanamera…” (Cha, cha, cha.)

I keep thinking about a woman dancing down the street, wild and free. (Step, step, step.)

She moves forward three and then back three. This repeats over and over. (Step, step, step.)

Her hips move with exaggeration, keeping time with the beat.

She changes her pattern by sliding left three and then sliding back right. This too repeats.

Seamlessly she returns to her previous motion, swinging her hips forward three and then back three again.

If her forward strides are longer than her backward strides,

She can dance slowly and sensually down the street.

The eyes of men follow her, though none dare interrupt her.

They know she will cue them when she is ready.

This music is running through my head and ears.

I let it go and it keeps coming back to me.

I can see myself in this woman. I was born in Guantanamo Bay.

My hips are getting older now. I think this syncopated motion could

Warm them up and do them good. The Caribbean is calling out my name.

“Guantanamera …” (Cha, cha, cha.)