Weekends are different when you’re retired. They just don’t have the same intensity. Errands and appointments and even socializing can be spread out over seven days instead of just two. It’s a good thing.
Another very good thing is that the thumping and bumping that I’ve heard over the last couple of days and nights was not the return of the flying squirrels. If that sounds like the title of a horror movie, it’s because that’s how I was viewing it. When we first moved here, a nest of flying squirrels had set up a home base in our attic. Sounds emanating from the attic bore no resemblance to scampering mice. Either the mice were wearing cleats or there was something more ominous up there. Our regular “bug guy” had to call in the specialized crew to get rid of them. It wasn’t fun or cheap.
I heard the remembered sound of thumping during the night and then again the next morning. Needless to say, I was ready to leap into panic mode and call the exterminator. Fortunately, I live with a reasonable person who didn’t immediately jump to the same conclusion.
Frank suggested that, because of the recent heavy winds, it might be the decorative wooden wind chime that hangs under the light on our back deck banging against the house. Well, the wind chime is now in the garage, and the “flying squirrels” are gone.
Yet another reason I’ve been happy to have this guy around for so many years.