Hugh John Macdonald School - Searchlight Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

Page 49 text:

COMPOSITIONS By Elsie Sader 9-13 23 Compositions! That -word brings a shiver to my spine. To make me write a composition is one of the worst punishments that a teacher could inflict upon a pupil such as me. There are a lot of other things that I could do to pay for my crime but no! They always have to hand out a few sheets for a composition. First, I have to find a topic. Of all the wide selections, I cannot find any that is suitable at this dismal moment. After finally deciding to write upon the easiest topic, I have to find a topic sentence for the first paragraph. Alas! I can think of no such sentence, and so I write the paragraph bitterly hoping that the teachers might by chance find a topic sentence. By this time I can foretell the future far enough to see that I f 11 have the same trouble through the whole stupid composition and naturally I do. When I finally hand the composition in, I usually get it back to do over again and so I sit down to try painfully to make the best of my ability! THE TRUE APT OF BAKING By Sandra Dolberg 9-13 One rainy Saturday afternoon, having nothing to do, I finally decided to bake a cake. My mother and sister had just left for the afternoon, and I would have a little peace and quiet for a while. I leafed through a recipe book until I found what I was looking for. I creamed the butter, not noticing the piece of paper I had failed to remove. After rescuing the paper, I con¬ tinued. I set the oven at the suggested temperature, and greased the pans. I sifted and measured the dry ingredients accurately (I thought. In a matter of about ten minutes I had the batter mixed up and the cake ■was reader to go into the oven. When the bell rang, I put the cake in the oven and hoped for the best. I had just started to clean the sink, containing dishes, mixing bowls, and countless other gadgets, when the ' phone rang. It was my friend. Blank Blank, who had just heard some juicy gossip and hastened to pass it on. We gabbed on and on; I had completely forgotten about the cake in the oven. All of a sudden there was a horrible smell, like that of burning rubber. Horrors! My cakel It w as too late. The cake was burned to a crisp, and had fallen in, I felt so miserable that I could have cried. Why did this have to happen to me? I always have bad luck with the culinary arts. When my mother came home I was still cleaning the kitchen. After a few hours of ridicule at my expense, everything was unusually normal. Next day I planned on making another cake. This time I used a cake mix that was guaranteed to be easy enough for a child to make. I can prove differently! I just wasn ' t meant to be a good cook!