Weekending Up North: Thai Sundays

Sunday, Halloween, was an adventure at the cottage. We thought we'd get away this time around and escape the usual celebrations that involve clogged pores (makeup) and too much alcohol and have a peaceful respite at the cottage. Sure-- what could go wrong there?

The good news is that most things didn't go wrong. I found myself laying on the sofa much of the day, catching up on some work and watching lots of television (including one of my favorites, Tootsie). By the time dinner rolled around, I was ready to stretch my legs, move away from the well-tended fire Paul had put together for us, and cook up something warming and cozy to go with our mood.

Peanut sauce was on the docket, served over brown rice with chopped tomatoes and green onions. I'd have used tofu, but I forgot it at home, so I replaced it with some marinated, sliced portabella mushrooms sauteed garlic and olive oil. An improvement, really. I start cooking the rice, get a few things going on the stove, and go out to chill in the living room for a brief break.

Paul was sitting near me-- here is a transcript of our conversation:

What the bat looked like swooping around upstairs...

Paul: "Is that--."

Suz: "What? Is What?"

Paul: "Is that-- a bat?"

Suz: "NO. Shut up."

Paul: "Is it...? Yes. That is definitely a bat"

Suz: "Shut up.  No. There is not a bat."

Paul: "There's a bat."

Suz: "Nooooooo. Oh my gosh. What are we going to do? I don't know what to do. Paul, I don't know what to do."

During this meeting of the genius minds, a small, winged creature soared around in swooping circles in the loft of the cottage, seemingly looking for either a way out or someone's blood to suck.

As I freaked out and put the dog in one of the bedrooms so he wouldn't *get rabies* (because that is obviously what would happen if he was left out...), Paul put on a parka and a baseball cap, covered his hands with windsurfing gloves, and grabbed a broom from the garage (longer reach than a tennis racket).  I shut off all the burners for dinner (except the rice-- gotta love the slow cooking food!), hoping that we would get back to it before the bat breath in the house polluted my delicious meal.

What the bat was probably *actually* like..

Paul crawled upstairs and fought with the now invisible bat, and to no avail. We shooed the bat, we opened one of the skylight windows, we opened the front door and turned off the lights, we rattled forks against empty plastic containers. We were a sight. We were hilarious.

The bat, now safely nestled between one of the log rafters and the center beam of the house, wouldn't budge. He wanted to hole up for a little nap, and even soapy water wasn't going to get him out. Eventually, hunger, impending office hours and my own dwindling fright led us to leave the bat to his own devices, taking turns watching for him to begin circling again.

I finished dinner-- it was a delicious feast, even better than the first time I made it, and we were satiated and comforted by its warmth in our bellies.

We slept on the first floor and left the cottage before the bat could resurface the next day. Did we get away? Yes. Did we celebrate Halloween? Not really, but we certainly got a taste of the season that no party in metro Detroit could have provided.