the point in winter

It was the coldest day of winter so far, clocking in at -2 f/-19 c. Being the hardcore of haymarket, we elected to trek to the Point at night to burn our Christmas tree.



Do we need lighter fluid? someone asked, and was reassured multiple times that the tree would combust almost immediately and without struggle. No one, however, took into account the task of massaging a flame out of a lighter while standing on windy lake shores.

After 10 minutes of bumbling with flameless results, Glenn caught a single sheet of twisted newspaper which sparked the tree at last. (He and Ben kept jumping around somewhat IN the firepit, to the distress of Lauren. She calmly requested Ben stop picking up the burning tree.) We stood circled around ignoring our toe-cicles and sipping spiked hot chocolate (soy milk, mexican hot chocolate, kahlua, & peppermint schnapps).




The tree was quickly naked of needles, but we couldn't feel our fingers much less stand to stick around for the grand finale of total disintegration. Ben volunteered to stomp out the tree and the rest of us returned to the car, marvelling at our original plan to WALK to the Point and saying grace that our idiocy had not reigned.

email to the house, 5 august

Glenn came into the room tonight carrying clean laundry. "Would it be unusual to, like, have a squirrel in your house?" Apparently he accidentally scared off an unidentified scurrying object which skittered down the hall with more energy than our cats can muster. In honor of this exotic incident, I thought I'd post an email I sent in August. This has been a reoccuring battle, to BJ's dismay.

So this morning I chased a squirrel out a few times. The weird thing was he seemed to have paper in his mouth.

I said to him, "Squirrel, is THAT what you'e risking a trip into our house for? Get the fuck outta here you knucklehead." Admiring my guidance counseling, he zig-zagged over to the heater then agreeably leapt out the window where the fan is.

I went down the hall but a few moments later heard some rustling in the common room again. Walkin down the hall, I spotted no Haymarketeer in the social area... but zeroed in on the squirrel, who was (I kid you not) squeezed next to the board games beside the orange couch and tearing off Sesame Street wrapping paper with its paws and mouth. "All right you little bugger! Get OUT!" And I chased him out the window. He dropped his crumble of gift paper so I threw it out the window after him (I'm not being cheap about the paper, just enforcing the no-squirrels policy). He paused and looked at the paper with curiousity, but decided not to fetch it and bounced off.

I turned the fan on high, so the engine and noise would scare off squirrelly scavengers, and came to alert y'all via email. I made it to the second paragaph before I had to chase the creature out of the room AGAIN.

The squirrel can get in even if the window is open an inch. Please close the windows when you are not in the room.

Thank you,

The Squirrel Sheriff

Even vegetarians don't appreciate rodent invasion (Horton was a housemate):
the Rat Hunters last winter.

we owe you one, haymarket

Sitting in the kitchen last night eating cherries and watermelon with Kate, I told Glenn that Kate and I had spoken many hours about serious things while leaning on the kitchen island... that the Haymarket community had kept me stable.

"What would you have done without Haymarket?" Glenn nodded.

"Broken up with you, for sure," I confessed. I know with the dramas our relationship wouldn't have survived without my house as an outlet for discussions.

"Well," said Glenn quite seriously. "I owe a lot to Haymarket."

Kate smiled. "I think we all do."

if only our convos were as savory as our menus

I cooked last night: pasta alfredo, grilled cheese, carrot & cilantro soup, tomato slices with basil, and a nice salad with strawberrys, pears, radish and mozzarella.

Cooking for Haymarket is always a pleasure as it becomes more of an event than a chore, and the rotation allows me to be extravagant when I do make meals. My last brunch: paella, quiche, tomato with sage, garlic mushrooms, citrus & spinach salad.

Informal press conferences answering questions about our lifestyle for mystified co-workers have given must of us a lineup of regular suspects, question-wise, and some of the greatest curiousity surrounds our feeding set-up. Who cooks and how often? Who chooses the grocery list? And a reliable "VEGETARIAN food? I couldn't do it." Although generally once I rattle off the last meal I had cooked then even the meat-eaters of the bloodiest variety acknowledge that they might be able to survive a proper vegetarian meal.

Kate takes the title for absolute culinary royalty, and in the old days I'd say Craig rocked the refection as well, although his withdrawal over the last lonely months in the house resulted in some dishes along the lines of "lentil casserole" or some such chaw and glutch. (Craig, I desperately miss your dicing prowess.) One of the most vivid memories I have of Floyd's application was the mouthwatering bit about earning his voyage on a boat off Africa by cooking for an international crew.

Don't get me wrong, there are some bummers of meals. I recently "roasted" a tray of veggies that looked more like ashes then asparagus by the time I remembered to take them out. Or Ed's infamous gumbo prepared with 4 CUPS of butter that only enhanced the naturally slimey qualities of okra.




Sue me - the texture of body fluids is just not a turn-on to my taste buds.




Plus we all have our lazy cooking nights. And in fairness spaghetti and stir fry are valid, delicious dishes. I even crave macaroni and cheese sometimes - may deities forgive tastes developed during the nutritional indiscretions of my youth - which means I lick my lips at Megan's "Tex Mex Macaroni Surprise" that looks like a school cafeteria lunch but turns out to be quite tasty.

My true test will be when Glenn visits, whether I can serve up tofu in a tasty form that doesn't make his eyes cross - or whether he'll ask the omnivores in the house to smuggle him out to Ribs n' Bibs.