Pilots Leaving Airports Need Experience.

I show the class what one person sees on a small screen. I don’t speak or move, but everyone looks toward me during lessons. I make tiny things large enough for the whole room. What am I?

I sit and lie dormant prepared to burn. A knife in my gut, an explosion returned. Jam what is popped, my tail to the wall. Butter, jelly or cinnamon? Why not try them all?

I never grow old and I never decay, I was even found where the pharaohs once lay. A term of endearment your sweetheart might say, made by small gatherers that work hard all day. I'm stored in waxy hexagons, perfectly aligned, a geometric treasure that’s one of a kind.

I hold life saving liquid for when you are traveling long distances. I can also be a kitchen in which soldiers eat