I have nothing against flies per se. I mean, I’m sure they serve some useful
purpose in nature. Like climbing all over food that’s been left out while
regurgitating onto whatever they’re eating part of their last meal, which
many times consists of garbage or dung. But I harbor these swift insects no
ill will in general, provided they’re not harassing me with constant buzzing
or biting me or my animals. So long as they stay out of sight and sound,
they are safe from my vengeance. But woe be it to the tiny flying animal I
find within my vacinity.

The Bremers’ have a multiplicity of fly swatters. My house has one, which I
can never find when I need it and so am usually forced to resort to a rolled
up sheet of newspaper. But insects rarely find their way into my house,
well, flying insects, that is. We seem to have our fair share of roaches.
But

(A slight pause while I answer the ringing phone, have a short conversation
in which the caller and I acknowledge predicting each being on the other end
of the line, spotting a fat black fly, retrieving a fly swatter from its
roost on top of the fridge, and swatting the poor sucker into a window pane,
before handing the phone to someone else.)

But…
—
But after writing this much I went to a picnic (where I consumed a hamburger,
Sprite, and Cheetoes and played volley ball with cadets), the airport, made
rhubarb pies, watched a movie and shot off a bunch of fire works. So I
didn’t have much time to write about the day’s events.

We’re leaving for home tomorrow, probably around noon, and it’s after 2 now.