Two nights ago Barry and I bake a pizza on our deck grill. First, I grill the veggies: zucchini, yellow squash, onions, red pepper, garden jalapenos. Oil the store-bought crust bottom before lavishing pizza sauce across the top. Sprinkle with grilled veggies and Mexican cheese.
Carefully arrange on grill and bake for maybe eight to ten minutes.
Out comes the pizza, wa la, doesn’t it look good, let’s eat, Barry.
First, let me open up the deck umbrella and set the table–hey, wait a minute, there’s mysterious “droppings” beneath the umbrella–I’m afraid to put my hand up to crank open the umbrella–um, Barry!–I think there’s a bat living in our umbrella!
Barry limps to the rescue, good man, his new knee replacement up for the job.
We remove the umbrella and prepare to disengage sleepy-eyed bat when I remember: “Oh, wait a minute–the CAMERA. Must take pics of the little fella.”
We’re so often scared of creatures like bats, mice, spiders and snakes when we first encounter them. They strike us as creepy-crawling, unpredictable creatures.
Yet, on closer look, they often appear sweet and–almost–cute. As my camera approached the sleepy-eyed bat, I began to fall in love with it.
Barry urges me to get the camera closer to Mr. Bat’s face. He isn’t moving. He blinks like a small child who is confused after waking. He doesn’t know what to do next.
Aren’t you in love with this bat, too?
Don’t you think he’s adorable? (Yes, yes, perhaps he is a she. We shall never know, as the camera did not get that close.)
Barry now asks for his wood-splitting gloves. He dons them. Picks up Mr. Bat who suddenly wakes fully up, all scared and frightened, and bites Mr. Barry’s glove. Fortunately, the bite does not penetrate the glove.
Mr. Barry lets Mr. Bat free. Off he flies into the woods.
It is time to eat. We set the umbrella back on the outdoor table. We cut the pizza into nine slices.
We eat. Mmmmm, good!
The story is not over. After the bat flies away, I want to tell you immediately about “The bat who came to supper” when my deepest inner voice quietly says, “It’s time to take another blogging break. It’s time to quit telling stories for a while.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding! I just finished a month of 200-word blogs and now I can write 1,000 word stories again and you’re telling me it’s time to QUIT TELLING STORIES? What will people do if they don’t hear about events like our bat visitor?”
Of course, the deepest inner voice remains silent. I sigh a long-suffering sigh. Ladies and gentlemen, do not EVER disregard your deepest inner voice. When it tells you to take another blogging break, you listen. Even if your surface impulse is to tell 1,000 more stories.
Yesterday I beg, “Can I PLEASE tell them the bat story?”
No reply. (Your deepest inner self will let you do what you want, but it always knows best.)
This morning, “Can I at least PLEASE tell them that I’m taking another blogging break?”
Readers, I’ve snuck in to this blog like a bat hiding in an umbrella and I’m telling you quickly before the deepest inner self finds out. Then am outa here until the deepest inner self suggests otherwise.
Until we meet again in a week or month or who knows?
Happy summer and may you find a million mysteries to marvel and a million smiles to share. Loving this life–and loving you.