Houseguest Evicted

I put off doing laundry for a long time. I bought more socks and wore scorned shirts from the back of the closet. I really wanted to know if the basement poison had been effective, but I didn't want to know badly enough to open that door.

But I did, yesterday. I flung the door silently and suddenly open, turned on all the lights, and remained alert for any signs of movement. Nothing. I stared at the pieces of dryer lint that had fallen from the wastebasket. Just lint. Then I saw the tiny lump lying near the water softener. The dead houseguest.

I didn't stay to look at it closely. I went back upstairs to wring my hands and pace. I was sort of happy that my problem might be taken care of and considered for a while just leaving the evidence there and hoping that it would evaporate. I settled upon this idea for long enough to go back down and put in a load of laundry, but the room just felt so creepy and I could not stop staring at the corner where the body lay. I was worried that it might move.

So I gave myself a pep talk. I reminded myself that I have extensive babysitting experience and I have handled stuff that smells and looks bad. Hands can be washed. I can hold my breath.

I found two pieces of cardboard and put on cleaning gloves that reached my elbows and sturdy shoes. I held my breath, tried not to look at what I was doing, and used one piece of cardboard to nudge the body onto the other piece of cardboard.

What happened was unexpected and I do not like the unexpected. I had thought that I would be moving something that was heavy and meaty. It wasn't. The body was light and dry. Wispy. Fragile. An empty shell. The faint memory of a mouse. A ghost. The tail was horrifying but I could not take my eyes from it.

My hands were shaking but I was OK while opening the front door. When I turned the door knob, the body fell off the cardboard, close to my feet, and I screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Nobody came to save me, and I am disturbed by that. So then, the body was at my feet and I had to calm myself and do the cardboard process again. I dropped it outside, several feet from the house and out of sight.

I'm still shivery while in the laundry room. I can hear noises there.

The Stolen Child

From The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue:

I crept back into the house, and pretended to be reading the sports page when he came in. My father stared at me hunched over the newspaper, my long fingers wrapped around a coffee cup. The wet belt of his robe dragged along the floor like a chain. Soaked, disheveled, and unshaven, he seemed much older, but maybe I had not noticed before how he was aging. His hands trembled as if palsied, and he took a Camel from his pocket. The cigarette was too wet to light despite his repeated attempts, so he crumpled the whole pack and tossed it in the trash can. I set a cup of coffee in front of him, and he stared at the steam as if I had handed him poison.

"Dad, are you all right? You look a mess."

"You." He pointed his finger at me like a gun, but that's all he said. The word hung in the air all morning, and I do not think I ever heard him call me "Henry" again.

**

The Stolen Child chronicles the lives of Henry Day. The original Henry Day ran away from home as a child and concealed himself in a hollow tree. He was taken by a band of changelings and replaced by one of their number, a double, the new Henry Day. The first Henry became a changeling himself and was renamed Aniday. The chapters are in alternating points of view between Henry, who is working hard to dispel the Day family suspicions, and Aniday, who is struggling with his new identity in the shadowy edges of the forest.

I really did enjoy this one, especially the first couple of chapters, in which the structure of changeling abilities and motivations were explained. But after that things got bogged down. Henry and Aniday lived their separate lives, rarely intersecting as much as I hoped they would. Henry had some initial hurdles to overcome, but otherwise was a mostly dull human. Aniday had his own troubles but was mainly just wandering in the woods. I didn't feel much sympathy of either one of them, and I think that I was supposed to. I hoped for an explosive confrontation of an ending, and it came, but it felt somewhat flat and dry.

But overall I am still intrigued and haunted by this one. I love the concept of impostors. I love secret identities. I love the concept that you can never really know someone, even if you have lived with that person for decades.

The Soup Season

Actually, it has always been soup season for me. But now is the really serious soup season. I make at least one huge pot per week, sometimes two, from October until May.

Yesterday, I made this irresistable Sweet Potato, Corn, and Jalapeno Bisque. It was velvety, colorful, and comforting, while being strikingly low in fat, sparse on ingredients, quick to make, and cheap. I had everything on hand except the molasses, and I really regret not making a special trip out to buy it. I used some wildflower honey in its place, but there really is no substitute for molasses. I topped the bisque with shredded monterey jack cheese, which was just the thing to make up for no molasses. I think that next time I make it, I may add bacon or black beans to make it heartier, or serve it alongside some roasted shrimp. Or for a lazier version, substitute canned pumpkin puree for the sweet potatoes.

My freezer is now completely emptied of corn. Kind of shameful, so I won't discuss how much corn was in there a couple of weeks ago. I really want to make this recipe for roasted corn pudding in acorn squash, but it hurts me to think that I would need to buy corn to do it.

Items I received in the CSA last week were:

1. Sweet potatoes. I used half for the bisque, and will make oven fries with the rest.

2. Hot peppers: lots of them. Very timely for the above recipe.

3. Celeriac: I have often yearned to try celeriac, but have been sort of afraid that the grocery clerks will ask for a price check on a rock. I have some recipes for mashed celeriac, but I think that it may end up in a stew instead.

4. Yellow-skinned, yellow-fleshed potatoes that are not Yukon golds, but look like them.

5. Red-skinned, white-fleshed potatoes

6. Kohlrabi. I got one bulb, and then found another that some unadventurous person had abandoned in the choice box. Probably the same sad person that tossed a fennel bulb in there months ago, which I also took. Kohlrabi puree is on my mind.

7. Garlic

8. Winter squash: One heirloom acorn and one delicato. Trixie is so thrilled!

9. Red crispy lettuce head

10. Carrots: a GIANT bag of GIANT carrots.

That was the second-to-last delivery. This week is the last. I am already cautiously leafing through cookbooks and wondering what to do when the CSA veggies are gone. Can I really just pick any old recipe and make it?

Housemate Update

I have spent some time thinking about my mouse fears and about rodent psychology.

What am I really afraid of? I am afraid about how fast mice can run. I am afraid that they will race up my legs, up my torso, and into my hair.

I slept on that thought, and then woke up realizing that the fear is far-fetched. The mouse is afraid of me. There is no reason for me to be timid. I am tall and powerful.

The encounter in the laundry room was a problem of poor communication. I did not announce my presence clearly enough. Turning a sweater inside-out is a nearly silent process. If the mouse had known that I was there, then it would not have intruded.

The solution is to state my intentions clearly. I should say, HERE I AM. I WILL SORT THE LAUNDRY NOW. WILL TAKE APPROXIMATELY FIVE MINUTES. The mouse will think, Ah yes. Superior species here. Will stay hidden. I should repeat this every 30 seconds or so, and some foot stomping now and then should help to maintain my solitude. Problem solved.

Then Terminix came today. (On a Saturday morning!) The outdoor utility hook-ups look fine, so sign of entry. But there is a small gap in the garage door. The guy suggested that the mouse came in the garage through that gap, waited until I showed up and opened the door from the garage to the house, and then followed in after me.

I was disturbed by the explanation. I stated that I did not believe it. I make sounds when I walk, I said. My feet stomp around. He laughed. He said that mice are not very afraid of people, and footsteps are not that frightening.

So, the theory is gone. I feel horrified that something may have have scurried after me through the door without me noticing, while my thoughts were occupied with greeting Trixie and post-work snacking and juggling mail and purse and lunch bag. How could I be so oblivious? How could I not feel that presence around my feet? What else am I unaware of? Is there a wild turkey in the guest room closet as well? The pangs of ankle vulnerability have returned.

I need to get the garage door fixed and buy some taller socks.

Shepherd's Pie

Last night I pulled a piece of salmon from the freezer to defrost in the fridge. I tentatively planned on having it along with roasted broccoli and a crunchy green salad for dinner.

Then I went outside today and was pounded by icy winds and snow flurries and realized that there was only one reasonable option for weekend eating.

So I made shepherd's pie. Beneath the top "crust" of mashed potatoes (crispy on top and creamy elsewhere), lies a rich beefy filling that is brimming with herbs and vegetables: carrot, onion, garlic, green beans, and red bell pepper. There is no comfort food more filling and humble than this pastoral pie. I ate an embarrassing amount.

Bear with me while I gloat: all of it was made from scratch (including the mashed potatoes and gravy, though I did not make my own beef stock) and took me one hour to complete (including peeling, boiling, and mashing potatoes).

***
In other food-related news, here is the CSA update. I haven't mentioned it in a while, mostly because I have been overwhelmed with the quantities lately. It seems like I spend more time rearranging the fridge than cooking.

One of my good friends gave me an excellent recipe to use up some red bell peppers. I thought that I had two of them, but upon exploring the fridge, I found five. No big deal, I thought. Use three, leave two. I could make chili or stuffed peppers later. But then I got another CSA delivery. And I received SIX MORE red bell peppers. So yeah, I may need to make those stuffed peppers soon and freeze them for later eating.

I also received a sign-up form for next year's share in the CSA. I don't have to sign up now, but I get a small discount if I do. I am slightly indecisive. The quantity of food is enormous, and I often wish that I could shop at the farmers market instead. But the CSA has really stretched my creativity. I doubt that I would have become a kohlrabi fan on my own. I imagine that I will probably sign up again. I begged for beet greens, arugula, cauliflower, and rhubarb in the CSA survey, so I guess I should renew, in case my dreams are granted.

Here is a list of the items that I have received in the last two deliveries:
-Lettuce head, red and crispy
-Onions
-Broccoli
-Winter squash: Finally! One acorn (a huge heirloom kind that looks like butternut) and one round colorful one called carnival.
-Beets, red and white striped ones!
-Red bell peppers, lots and lots
-Jalapeno peppers
-Bok choy
-Celery
-Garlic
-Potatoes: fingerling, white, and red-skinned ones. I now have EIGHT bags of potatoes in storage, many of them still completely full.
-Spinach
-Kale
-Cabbage
-Carrots: I now have THREE giant bags of carrots in the fridge. Time to make carrot-dill soup and carrot cake again.
-Salad mix
-Ruby heart radishes: these are so spicy that they bring tears to my eyes!
-Leeks: two more beautiful giants.

I made home-made chicken stock this week, which helped to decrease the quantities of some of the above.

Cashews contain Cashew

Bag, side 1:

Bag, side 2:

Again

Tonight I hefted the laundry basket downstairs, full of self-righteousness about having unpacked my suitcase only four days after arriving from out of town. A tidy person, me. I set the washer to fill and picked the first sweater from the basket, lifting it to turn inside-out.

I caught a glimpse of movement from the side of the dryer.

The light was behind me, so of course it might have been the shadow of my arm.

I studied the room. I pulled one sweater arm free, then the other.

A teeny face peeped at me from the side of the dryer. I dropped the sweater.

I screamed, then boldly stated, GO LIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, which got Trixie upset from her perch upstairs, and I bolted away with the laundry basket (didn't want the sweaters to become a cozy bed). I had to leave. My ankles felt so vulnerable. I left the washer running, empty, which is sad, but I'm not going down there again. Then I called Terminix.