haploid gnu year

Well, another holiday season sputters out.  A pretty calm one.  Sixty-five people signed the guest book, plus a significant number who were too young to do so, or too confused, or had to protect their identity from galactic spies.  No music, I'm afraid.  It was too cold to use the porch comfortably.

(I didn't know more than half of the people who dropped by to eat and drink, and my normally suspicious nature does make me wonder how many saw a loud open party and just walked in.  Hey, look at all these hardback science fiction books.  They've got so many, they won't mind if we borrow a couple . . .  I've heard of this Jules Verne guy; here's a nice hardback with funny drawings . . . .)

Of possible historic interest:  For the first time in more than a half century, the smoking area outside was not used.  We haven't had smoking inside since my mother died, but the screened porch used to be a smokers' haven during parties.  Less and less used over the years, and this year none of the ashtrays were besmirched.  (I assume people smoking dope wandered farther into the yard.)

Another change, more regretted, is that I didn't set up a telescope outside.  I'm still not up to lifting any of the large scopes, and I'm not quite foolish enough to set up the lightweight Questar unsupervised on a night when hundreds of strangers are wandering around.  "Say, Jimmy," a rapscallion says while lifting the scope with one hand, "How much you think this thing might be worth?"

Lots of people brought covered dishes and bowls of goodies, and as usual we had a long night of noshing.  Even after the New Years' Day gathering, with a couple of dozen munchers, we still have enough for another pretty large party.

I made my traditional bacon feast on New Years' morning.   Gay was making an egg and sausage dish in the oven, so I stood and fried seven or eight pounds (eating perhaps a pound in the process).   The guests did a yeoman job on the leftovers, but we still have bits and pieces jamming the refrigerator.  They'll be gone before February, I hope.  Not counting fruitcake.

Joe