Now Playing: Tchaikovsky, Symphony No. I, in G minor, Op. 13, "Winter Daydreams."

Don't ask me why this particular symphony is so appealing, particularly on a hot August day. The second movement is especially gorgeous: a clear, harsh, bracing horn line above the orchestra.

Somehow this blog has managed to languish again. I guess summer just doesn't seem to proffer very interesting reading material to the rest of the world. Also, we've been scurrying all over the place this summer: not only the U.K. adventure, but also a week in Michigan with Scott's family, a week at the RP international conference in Marion, Indiana, and now a long weekend in Oklahoma with my family. The Beetle is certainly racking up the miles.

Thankfully, Michigan was nice and peaceful. We stayed at a cabin by a lake near Superior, in the Lower Peninsula, and took a day to visit the Upper Peninsula, too. Highlights included swimming almost every day, playing in the campfire almost every night, and watching Scott's ten-year-old nephew Joe land an enormous, sleek, powerful walleye.

Oh, yes: and getting to see a real live honest-to-goodness flying squirrel! It had the courtesy to make an appearance on our first evening by gliding across the open space above the campfire, clinging to a big birch tree, scampering up the trunk when we shone the flashlight on it, and then poking its head out at the first big branch it came to so that we could get a good look at each other. Since I was a child, I've been convinced that North American flying squirrels are legend--akin to Bigfoot--but no, they're real. Furry, flying, fat, and fascinating.

Our other animal adventure of the summer also included a flying mammal. This one was not quite as welcome, however. Last week Emmaline visited us, and one evening when we were saying good-night in the upstairs hallway, I happened to glance over to the frame around the hall closet. The small, brown, furry creature clinging to the door frame stopped me in my tracks: a bat. In the house. Hanging by its feet from the upper lintel. Twitching its ears amicably as we talked.

Scott looked up a Wiki How article, helpfully entitled, "How to get rid of a bat in your house," accompanied with ridiculous little cartoon drawings. Guided by this, he bundled the bat into a couple of towels, which he then rushed downstairs. I was waiting at the front door to fling it open and could hear the bat chittering confusedly as Scott raced past. He dumped the towels on the lawn, and the bat came crawling out on its claws, opened its wings, flew a lap around the front yard (I thought it was going to try to fly inside again!), and disappeared into the evening.

Quite an event. No more of those, please. Bats are awesome creatures--as long as they're outside.