Labor Day weekend--most "normal" Midwesterners will be grilling hot dogs and scarfing coleslaw with their family members. It's supposed to be inhumanly hot this weekend, so I'm sure many people saner than I will be hanging out in environmentally-controlled locales, enjoying that wonder of modern technology, air conditioning.
I, on the other hand, am going to be wearing 4-6 layers of clothing and camping in a tent all weekend. We're going to Fair at New Boston!
The plan is to leave here--Grand Rapids--at about 10:00 (fifty minutes from now), pick Mike up on the way, and all of us will head down to Springfield, Ohio, from there. To facilitate this, Samantha stayed at my house last night. Of course, nothing can ever be simple, so this week has been quite a saga in and of itself. I've not been able to get enough sleep, Samantha came down with a sinus infection, and to top it all off, well. At 4:39 a.m. today, I awoke to a little shake of my shoulder. "Katie," Samantha whispered. "There's a bat!"
"Where are we?" I mumbled. "What? No bat."
"Your house! There's a bat in your house!"
Stumbled out to living room. No bat, and all the windows have screens on them. Samantha wonders if maybe she dreamed it. Go back to bed. Fall asleep. Indeterminate amount of time later, Samantha's back. "I definitely did not hallucinate it this time; there is a bat!"
Stumble out to kitchen. No bat. Turn on all lights available. No bat. Look out onto back porch. "THERE HE IS!" cries Samantha. I don't see it, but I immediately shut the window that opens into the main part of the house, and she shuts the door. Then I look.
Holy crap, there's a bat!
Dilemma. It's somewhere between four and six a.m. What to do about the bat flying a grid pattern in my three-seasons porch. Decision? Go back to bed, deal with bat later.
Wake up this morning. Bat has escaped. Samantha checks main rooms while I shower. No bat. Leaving town in 40 minutes, still have to pack the last of the toiletries, etc. Decision? Leave bat, figuring he will either escape the way he came in, show up hungry and allow himself to be caught later, or die. Which might be slightly morbid, but any of those three options would mean there would no longer be a bat in my house with minimal effort on my part, and I find that I am all right with that!
So. Barring any more acts of bat, we're off to New Boston!