Pre-Ramble:  Where is Ozzie Osborn when you need him?  For the past two nights, my daughter and I have ended up shrieking down into the basement because there was a bat in the house. There’s nothing like waking up at 2 a.m. to the unmistakably creepy sound of bat wings wafting around in the airspace above your head.

Suffice it to say, I am not a fan of the bat … I’ve blogged about this before … give me a mouse or spider any day. Thank goodness for the kindness of friends and neighbors and the blissful ignorance of youth.

Bat Whisperer – On Bat-night-#1, we called in fearless, highly capable Canadian neighbor and self-proclaimed “Batman” who was able to search and dispatch in under 3 minutes using a tennis racket and plastic bag. This is a tough, can-do guy — shovels snow in shorts. There you go … No big deal … Done.

911-BAT – So, on Bat-night-#2, Batman (see above) was somehow not answering his phone (… ) …  Frantic daughter and I, bivouacked in the basement again, hovered over our cell phones weighing the pros and cons of waking up folks on our contact list in the middle of the night. Tapping the police seemed extreme. Did we really need 2 squad cars and Gunner the sniffer dog storming the perimeter?  …

We ended up settling on one of my daughter’s good friends, a second year student at Westpoint who was home for a couple weeks. We figured if he could make it through boot camp he could probably go toe-to-toe with a flying rodent. This fine young man didn’t bat and eye when we presented our case (still in delirious REM sleep phase, no doubt) and was on the scene in a matter of minutes. He took a few practice strokes with the racket (nice form) and commenced to the task at hand.

All in all, it took he and my daughter just a few minutes to “round ‘em up and move ‘em out.” (Daisy and I were supervising operations from behind the basement door … ) Lots of giggling and loud clunking sounds, followed by a slamming door and the clatter of cookie sheets and tennis rackets hitting the front porch. Bat-be-gone!  Boo-yah!

Bat-iquette?  So, now the issue becomes, what is the proper protocol for acknowledging this heroic act of kindness? The individuals in question, after all, have gotten up out of a dead sleep, slogged over to the house and flailed around for as long as necessary to get the potentially grizzly job done. Surely, some kind of remuneration is warranted.

After much deliberation, a nice bottle of wine for the Batman seemed fitting … something fruity with notes of mosquito. For Westpoint, a party-sized bag of his favorite kettle-corn (a big hit in the barracks) and a few $$ … com-BAT pay.

The Take-Away: No token gift can convey the depth of my gratitude to these two, princes really - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!  And, please keep your phone by your pillow.

Pre-Ramble: So, I was on my way home from a string of errands and had to stop at the grocery store for a few things. I LOATHE grocery shopping, by the way. There has got to be a better approach to that whole urban hunting and gathering process.

I think the Jetson’s had it right … you’re standing on some kind of conveyer belt that takes you over to a button, which when pressed, causes the desired food items to appear in the special chute. Jane Jetson was totally able to bypass the incredibly tedious sequence of grocery shopping steps … so tedious in fact, that I am too lethargic and annoyed to list them for you now.

Note: When you walk into the grocery store, JUST TAKE A CART.  Never reach over and grab one of those little hand-held baskets thinking that you only need a few items — THAT IS NEVER THE CASE.  Don’t set yourself up for the walk of shame back to the front of the store, loaded down with all kinds of random stuff, in front of everyone. (They know you’re going back for the cart.) 

So, I had been shivering all day (springtime in Minnesota) and was going to make chili for dinner. (I make a fabulous turkey chili with secret ingredients in it — can’t really talk about it.) I had 5 or 6 items in my cart (I totally could have gotten by with just the hand-held basket) and was standing in the express line. 

As I scanned the trashy magazine titles, a tallish, disheveled, older man holding two frozen pizza boxes under his arm tentatively shuffled over. His movements were halting and awkward, as if he felt that he was taking up more physical space than he rightfully should. As I inched along, I realized that both of his hands were shaking with what must have been some kind of tremor disorder. I couldn’t help noticing that he was having trouble negotiating the credit card scanner and shepherding his pizzas past the register. A couple times I thought about jumping in to help, but to do so seemed inappropriately disempowering somehow, a violation of his pride and independence.

As we stood across from each other at the bagging station, the man looked at my items and then at me and spontaneously said, “It looks like you’re having a party!”

Puzzled, I glanced back at my stuff … the few random chili ingredients, a box of strawberries, and a bag of tortilla chips. I looked up, smiled and replied, “No, just dinner … ” then added, “You’re the one who looks like you’re having a party … pizzas … my girls love pizza!” 

The man was now struggling with the stack of bags, so I casually lifted his pizza boxes, slid them into a bag with handles and extended it out to him. His eyes now twinkling, he thanked me, explaining that he had recently hurt his back, and how hard it was to do things, and how he was just a mess. 

Smiling back at him, I said something lame like, “That’s gotta be tough.”  He nodded, hands still trembling, and began shuffling toward the doors.

The Take-Away: That brief and seemingly inconsequential exchange was three days ago, but remains fresh in my mind for two reasons  … 1. the act of grocery shopping was profoundly more challenging for this man than it ever could be for me (just quit my whining already); … and 2. the fact that a simple bag of chips looked like a party to this man still makes tears well up in my eyes. It’s a huge reminder of the attitude of gratitude that is so often lost in busy days and weeks. I want to remember to celebrate everyday as a precious gift. And, I wish I would have invited him over for the party.