Stating the Obvious

"Do you guys have season tickets, or do you just buy seats for the shows you want to see?" Heidi's friend Betty asked. We were standing on the Kennedy Center terrace at the golden hour. A jet streaked through the bright blue sky over our heads, and the last warm light of full-day shone on us, our fellow patrons, the river, and the city.

"We rarely come at all," I confessed, appreciating the scene through the eyes of a visitor. It had taken us less than 20 minutes to get there, parking was easy, and we were set to see the national tour of the Tony-nominated musical Back to the Future.

Her eyes widened a bit, perhaps in disbelief.

"But we really should," I finished.

The Plumber

I was in the middle of shaping sourdough loaves, canning blueberry preserves, and chopping vegetables from the garden for dinner yesterday evening when a gush of water came from beneath the drawer by the sink. 

"Uh oh," I said to the empty kitchen and stooped to investigate. The drain pipe behind the drawers had come loose, and all the warm sudsy water from the bread bowl was now running onto the floor. "I need some towels!" I called to Heidi.

Once the mess was cleaned up, it took a minute to figure out what I could and could not do, given the current situation. I looked around at all my projects in progress and made a few mental calculations as to how to complete them with the least amount of water. 

Heidi put out a call to her water aerobics group for a plumber recommendation, and within minutes she had someone on the phone who agreed to come in the morning. "He's a little odd," our neighbor had said, "but reliable and reasonably priced."

When he arrived at nine, we found Brahim to be a brusque man who had some trouble fitting into the tiny space where the drawer usually goes. Within five minutes, he had given up and informed us that his colleague Roberto would be there later in the day to make the repair. Once he had gone, we tried to figure out what Roberto could do that Brahim could not. "Is he smaller?" we wondered. "Smarter? Better equipped?"

It was then that the phone rang, and Brahim told us he was on his way back to fix the problem himself. And he did! Within another five minutes of his return, the pipe was patched, and water was running again. "I figured it out, and I came back!" he told us excitedly, and I imagined him driving his van down the road with a scowl until inspiration struck.

"Thank you so much!" I told him. "I know it was harder than you thought."

"Yes," he agreed, "it was."

And as promised? His fee was quite reasonable.

I Got This

 It seemed like a good idea.

"What do you think about getting 10 pounds of blueberries?" I asked Heidi as I browsed the website of the dairy that delivers our milk and eggs.

"Is that a lot?" she reasonably asked in return.

I thought back to the days when my mom would take us blueberry picking in New Jersey. After a morning at the beach, the farm was on the way home. In my memory, we ate as many of those big fat Jersey blueberries as we picked. Even so, I also recall coming home holding several full containers in our laps.

Mom made blueberry jam, blueberry pie, blueberry muffins for the freezer, and she froze a bunch for later. I can still see all those indigo marbles bouncing all over the kitchen the time someone accidentally spilled the container. 

"It is kind of a lot," I admitted to Heidi, "but I think we can use them all."

But when they were delivered this morning, ten full pounds in a waxed half-peck box, I confess I had my doubts. That is, until I saw the printing on the side of the cardboard: Whalen Farms, Shamong, New Jersey.

A quick search showed me that this farm was on the edge of the Pine Barrens in South Jersey, between Long Beach Island State Park and our childhood home, the same area we used to go picking.  I tossed a handful into my mouth and my worries vanished.

Fashion Fight

I read recently that there is a battle of sorts between Millennials and Gen Zs over the appropriate length of socks. To be honest, I wasn't surprised about the sock thing, mostly because I noticed them creeping up the calves of the kids at school last year. Very few middle schoolers wear ankle socks with their Crocs, slides, or sneakers.

I was interested in the intergenerational drama, though. Now that they are the third generation, those Millenials seem to be getting what fer. First, Gen Z came for their skinny pants, a campaign that took a few battles and a pandemic to finally win, and now? Their ankle socks are under siege too. 

As usual, the rally cries from either side were anecdotal appeals to perception, just like the skinny jeans baggy jeans disagreement.

"Long socks make my legs seem longer," claimed a Gen Zer.

"Long socks make my legs seem shorter," countered a Millenial.

I'm kind of glad I'm out of it. As a member of an emeritus generation, I feel free to adopt whatever I like on my own timeline. (Although it is kind of gratifying to see Millenials get a little of the grief they generously gave us.)

Even so? Bottom line:

Trend buying makes my wallet feel lighter.

What We Wanted

Word today that Francine Pascal, creator of The Sweet Valley High series of books for teen readers, has died at the age of 93.

Back in 1993 when I first started teaching, my students had an independent reading requirement. They were supposed to read a minimum of 20 pages per day from a book of their choice, record their progress on a log,  and carry their book with them during the school day. It was not a perfect system, and of course, there was never 100 percent compliance, but in my experience, the expectation did help build a community of readers. 

I did weekly checks where students reported to the class what they were reading and whether they would recommend it, and there were a few really popular titles and series. Along with The Babysitter's Club and Goosebumps, Sweet Valley High was usually at the top of the most recommended list. The SVH tales were soapy but ultimately clean-cut, with a valuable lesson at the end. 

And? Kids read them.

Really?

It was a dreary day here in Atlanta, so after we dodged some rain showers to walk the dogs, we headed over to the Museum of Illusions. Heidi does a lot of lessons on the brain and perception, so many of the exhibits were of special interest to her, and teachers actually visit for free. The place also has QR code cards that you can set up and scan so that the installed cameras will snap you in any crazy optical illusion you choose.

The place was small and pretty popular on a Sunday afternoon, but as we made our way through, we and our fellow patrons were very good at taking turns at the interactive exhibits. An hour or so later, we were back out in the muggy Atlanta afternoon, but everyone agreed that the museum had been really fun. 

And for me and Heidi? The price was worth flipping for!

Sign Me Up

The thump thump of a bass line and the muffle of amplified lyrics pounding through the trees late this morning alerted us that something was going on in Piedmont Park. A little research revealed that it was the annual Atlanta Ice Cream Festival, "Sweet and Healthy Fun for Everyone!"

"Ice cream? Healthy?!" you may ask, and the answer is yes-- for this event, Atlanta combines ice cream and wellness. In addition to "everyone's favorite dessert," there were other non-food vendors, music, food prep demos, line dancing, and loads of other fitness and wellness activities, too.

Unfortunately, our schedule for the day did not allow us to attend the festival, but as contradictory as their concept may seem, the message that everything can be enjoyed in moderation and balance made perfect sense to me. "Satisfy your sweet tooth and learn more about maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle, all in one place!"

Now that's a slogan I can get behind!