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Fly-by-night bugs not getting best of writer

Sharon M. Kennedy

I was settled in bed the other night, all set to read another chapter in Maeve Binchy’s “The Lilac Bus” when I heard the whirl of a winter fly. You know what I mean. As we turn up the furnace, those half-dead flies hidden throughout the house start to surface.

The one trying my patience was spinning around on its back on the ledge beneath my bedroom window. I threw off the covers, grabbed a Puffs, and put the creature out of its misery.

As I returned to my book, it wasn’t long before another fly decided to interrupt my reading. This fly, I’ll call him George, was alert enough to know better than to land on his back.

He was walking around the perimeter of the lamp above my head. Once again, I put down my book, reached for a tissue, and attempted to terminate the fellow, but George outsmarted me.

He flew to the ceiling light and took up lodging in the glass shade. Well, I thought, I might as well leave him alone. I’m not going to stand on the bed, hit my head on the low ceiling, and most likely break the shade as I reach for George. He wasn’t making any noise so I found my place and continued reading.

Naturally, I fell asleep. When I was a kid, I used to marvel that Gram always fell asleep while reading. The book or magazine she was enjoying ended up covering her face, and I wondered why she didn’t awaken. Now I understand.

There’s something about growing old and falling asleep while reading that puts us in a deep trance. It takes more than a book across our nose to awaken us. It takes the humming of a fly.

George had left the safety of his hiding place and decided to walk on my glasses. With great care and a minimum amount of movement, I caught him in my hand. If you’ve ever held a fly you know it’s not a pleasant sensation. I quickly deposited him in a tissue and washed my hands.

By this time sleep had left me, as had my interest in Maeve’s story. I put some crackers in a bowl and turned on Netflix. It was 11:30 p.m. I found a rather dull documentary and munched on Spicy Buffalo Wheat Thins until I gave myself heartburn. Then I took a Prilosec and turned off the television. As soon as my bedroom was dark and quiet and I was ready for sleep, I heard the whirl of another fly attempting to upright itself.

I knew the night was going to be a long and sleepless one. You know how that goes. You toss this way and that, fluff your pillow, and dial your electric blanket up or down a notch, but nothing helps. As a last resort, you turn on the radio and hope soft music lulls you to sleep but the opposite happens. You’re just nodding off when a commercial for some ridiculous product blasts through your bedroom. The announcer shouts the 800 number four times, promising a miracle cure for the only ailment you don’t have. Sleep has left you, and for the next two hours you lie in your warm bed and worry.

It happens to all of us. Those sleepless nights when the wind is blowing and we worry the leaning birch tree will crash through the roof. Or the rain is pounding and we know everything in the garage will be floating by morning. Now that winter’s here it’s the snow on the roof that keeps us awake. We should have shoveled it, but we kept putting it off. We justify our procrastination because there’s no point in removing roof snow until it’s a foot high or we hear the rafters crumbling like dry toast.

As for flies, the past few nights have been quiet. I’ve watched Netflix or read a book without interruption from insects. Maybe they decided to stay put and die where they were instead of in a lotion free Puffs. Whatever the reason, I think my battle with them is over.

Don’t you just love a happy ending?

Editor’s note: Sharon M. Kennedy of Brimley is a humorist who infuses her musings with a hardy dose of matriarchal common sense. She writes about everyday experiences most of us have encountered at one time or another on our journey through life. Her articles are a combination of present day observations and nostalgic glances of the past. She can be reached via email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. In addition, Sharon has compiled a collection of stories from her various newspaper columns. The title of her book is “Life in a Tin Can.” Copies are available from Snowbound Books on North Third Street in Marquette.

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