Gooseberry High

Are you there God? It's me, Margaret Jesse. I moved today. I'm so scared God. I've never lived anywhere but Buffalo before.

I know we haven't talked in awhile, but I swear to You that I was just about to visit. I uh... noticed it's getting pretty windy out there and I was wondering how long you're planning on keeping that up? I'm not trying to sound ungrateful or anything, but I sort of had plans that don't involve the Cunninghams.

If you could just do me this one solid and help me out with the weather, I promise I'll go to midnight mass on your birthday AND mass next Sunday too. Deal?

Thanks, Big Guy. We'll catch up soon.


P.S. - If you could put in a good word with Santa for me, I'd really appreciate it.

It's been... this many... hours... since McBride... arrived... in Hamilton...

He was only supposed to visit for the day and then the ice storm made it so he couldn't leave safely.

"Who could have possibly known that portkeys would be affected by ice storms, anyway? Really?" They ask in an attempt to calm my nerves. McBride could, I insist through pleading tears. He probably knew all along.

[Each of the below items is added to the original entry and manually time-stamped by Quinn as they happen.]

11:03 am. We've been told by The Authorities that falling trees and power lines make it dangerous to loiter outside.
We shouldn't go outside.
We can't explore.
We can't skate.
We can't play hockey.
We're snowed in.
I'm going to burn this house down.

11:18 pm. I have informed in no uncertain terms that if I try to burn the house down I'm grounded for life.

House remains standing and unsinged.

1:12 pm. Flo ranks every Stanley Cup championship game by level of violence, and therefore by relative entertainment value.

3:29 pm. It took her 2 hours.

3:58 pm. Photo albums have emerged. Considering murder.

4:16 pm. Have been informed once more that the punishment for matricide and/or patricide and/or McBrideicide also includes a life-long grounding.

All residents remain alive.

For now.

5:49 pm. Gord gives fashion show of experimental projects made from his store's upcoming yarns, including:

• Bioluminescent shrug, yarn from glowing sheep in Scotland.
• Socks that quiver, yarn from a rare breed of "Nunavut quivering qiviut." Or so I'm told.
• Ultra-grippy mittens, yarn from a particularly stubborn breed of rabbit related to the Angora.

6:31pm. The ultra-grippy mittens were so ultra-grippy that it took Gord twenty minutes to pry his hands from the doorframe. That's entertainment I would pay for, if it didn't also include being stuck in this house right now.

7:07pm. Got high with parents. Urge to murder and/or burn dissipating. Thank God.

7:36pm. Flo tries to reenact the Ender's Game movie, should keep day job. (Day job is currently 'nothing.' Suggestion stands.)

7:50 pm. Gooseberry, do you know why I like Canada so much? Even in the middle of a big fuckin' freakin' ice storm, in Toronto, in the Air Canada Centre, in our Hour of the Lord right now, the Leafs are about to face off against the Red Wings. … Of course, I have no way of knowing what's going on because the power's out. Any good samaritans want to keep me updated on the score? The withdrawal is starting to hurt.

(McBride would probably demand the score for the Bruins–Sabres game that's starting right now, too, but just remember who you love more, Gooseberry.) (It's me. You love me more. My team takes priority.)

9:04 pm. My parents just offered to jam with McBride. They own a didgeridoo. Send help.

9:37 pm. Jam session delayed while rest of household bickers about band names. Abandoned propositions include: 'Rush 2,' 'Rush 3,' 'The Good-Time Family Band,' 'Rush 4.' My suggestion of 'Please No.' was immediately shot down.

[Because this entry is written kind of unconventionally, it would be helpful if the timestamp (like "9:04pm") is included in a comment's subject if that comment would have been written during/about a specific thing above.]

holy god, gooseberry TAKE ME BACK.

it has only been like 70 hours and i have already been forced to go to the nitehawk with my nieces and watch 'frozen' SEVEN TIMES. SEVEN. SO FAR. if you have not yet had the mis good mis FORTUNE. IF YOU HAVE NOT YET HAD THE i-don't-know-which-prefix-fits-best-here-FORTUNE - well, don't. really.

first time? totally okay. legit disney movie - plot holes. sure. whatever. they happen to the best of us. idina menzel has the voice of a very gifted angel who will inevitably win a shit ton of awards for this. we laughed. we cried. it was a wonderful experience for everyone involved.

SEVENTH time? the plot is more holes than plot. the movie is unraveling before my eyes. where was the foreshadowing? is hans just a really incapable villain? does he have an evil twin nobody bothered to tell us about - because, really, ain't nobody planning on shanking a bitch they smile at soppily WHEN NO ONE IS LOOKING. is he just a method actor? why didn't they use the PERFECT AND TOTALLY AVAILABLE POINT for a dramatic and darker reprise to 'love is an open door' that was readily available?

HOW IS 'LET IT GO' A GOOD MESSAGE FOR ANYONE? yeah, sure, i totally have a job and responsibilities and shit but, y'know what dudes? screw that noise! people were mildly surprised that i went straight up 'carrie' on some bitches at my dinner party? SO SCREW THEM ALL. and now i'm gonna freeze ALL their asses and SING about it. also, for someone who had no idea how to use their super magic ice powers five seconds ago, you sure as shit got into some advanced interior design and fashion like REAL QUICK. your learning curve is INSANE. and trying to murder your siblings? yeah, sure, man. hella polite. you're a model citizen.

and where the everliving hell were blonde dude's parents? did he just wander off into the fucking woods with his miniature reindeer, never to be heard from again? did NO ONE look for him? what did he EAT IN MAGIC ICE LAND with only rock trolls to raise him? was he kidnapped by the weird, rock-trolls? did the trolls kill his parents? was he already an orphan? why is there NO INFORMATION ON THIS.

AND THE TROLLS. trolls are not jolly. they do not sing things. but, i mean, okay. no-mag suspension of belief glasses on BUT STILL. and, don't get me wrong here, trolls are definitely a part of scandinavian mythology as a whole? but EVEN THOSE trolls? would not want to marry you off to semi-attractive gingers. they'd either force you to become their child-bride and pet their hair at night or they'd straight up assault you.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND. also, i respect the fact that my sister has to go out, but i don't WANT to go see it again tomorrow.


wow, sarah. hurtful.

The quiet around campus is simultaneously nice and unnerving. On the one hand, I am sleeping very late and very deeply and being awakened only by a silent sunrise. On the other hand, it's really eerie late at night being in the middle of the woods with far less noise than usual. You wouldn't think that having so many fewer people would make that much of a difference, but every year it does.

It also makes falling asleep a lot more fraught with tiny noises that seem enormous.

It's SO GOOD to be home, you guys. I mean, I miss all of you terribly of course, but I get to spend my day with this adorable little guy...



(There are singe marks on the page, scattered in different places)

I've decided to call him Goose*. If it wasn't so wonderfully warm here, he'd be happy to help. Or at least as much as his little self can right now. My current mission is convincing mum and dad that he should actually be my Christmas present. I don't think I'm asking for much. ;)

*Name is still being debated by parentals