No, I realized my fondness for the House on a wintry Saturday morning when I was in the dining hall eating breakfast and doing some tutorial reading. At about 9:00 a.m., the fire alarm went off.

Those darn Dunster House fire alarms. I should explain that only a few weeks ago, middle-of-the-night awakenings were a way of life. We would bumble down the stairs in our bathrobes and pajamas and congregate in tight little clusters in the courtyard. We'd complain (It's cold. It's so cold out here. It's really, really cold); scan the crowd (oh, look--they're already sleeping together. I give them three weeks); describe what dreams we were having before the klaxon interruption (...then I hand in my blue book and I realize that everyone in the room is pointing at me and my TF is saying she'll take off points for showing up in the nude....)

On this particular Saturday, however, the alarm went off in the morning. And because our alarms usually went off every weekend night at oh, 2:30 a.m. or so, I wondered if this new, daylight alarm signaled an actual fire. I picked up my copy of Song of the Lark, grabbed my glass of orange juice and evacuated the dining hall along with the other five or six early-risers.

In the courtyard, I watched sleepy little Dunsterites toddle out of their entryways, squinting in the light. It was pretty cute, actually.

But what really moved me was the beautiful incident afterwards. The alarm was finally turned off, and I went back inside the dining hall. Everyone else in the courtyard moved to the dining hall, too. Specifically, to the Breakfast Bar. To the bagels.

And praise be, there were bagels in abundance. We joyfully embraced; the fire alarm wasn't real, and the Mealtime Messiah had provided enough raisin bagels for the entire House.

Then we all sat down at one long table and broke bagels together and sang the Dunster House National Anthem and gave thanks for living in Dunster. Tears ran down my cheeks. What a House, I thought to myself. What a House.

It would be neat if that had happened.

What really happened was, some people crowded around the Breakfast Bar to grab bagels. A lot of people went back to bed. Everyone was fairly cranky. I read two more pages of Song of the Lark, but not before I paused to smile and shake my head thoughtfully.

What a House, I thought to myself. What a House.   --Molly B. Confer

Eliot House

My most Eliot experience was undoubtedly my very first: attending the renowned Fete after getting into the House (and, as our t-shirt reads, you didn't).

No ordinary formal, this. The experience began as my companion and I came in sight of the Eliot tower, shining brilliantly under a bright and extensive collection of flood lights--which must also make for an equally impressive electric bill. (This is my theory on Eliot's traditionally dreary Green Cup performance. After all, this is the house which protested the abolition of paper cups in the dining hall.)

We entered through a nifty gauntlet of candles to see dancing in the courtyard. Real ballroom dancing. With a real dance floor. And an orchestra. In a tent on the lawn.

My kind of place.