DIng Dong, Tibby Calling

Over the last few months, Heidi taught our cat Tibby to ring a bell when she wants to out on the deck for a little fresh air and cat grass nibbling. Now that she's got it, Tibby rings the bell an aggravating number of times. Recently we've noticed that she doesn't even go outside every time we open the door, and so it has occurred to us that ringing the bell is a much broader form of communication. 

Perhaps when she dashes downstairs first thing after the alarm goes off, she is ringing it to say "Good Morning." And when she jingles the bell right when we're about to leave the house, she could be saying, "Don't go!" or "Come back soon!" When she rings it at mealtime, the message is definitely, "Yay! Hurry up with that!"

We laughed about her insistent ringing with our friend when she stayed with us this weekend. "Maybe you should have bells all over the house," she suggested. "It might clarify her intentions!"

Common Casting

"It says here that the actor who played Doc was in Glee," I reported to Delaney as I reread the Playbill for Back to the Future at breakfast the morning after seeing the musical.

"What??" she shook her head in a moment of cognitive dissonance. She loved Back to the Future, she is a huge fan of Glee, and she was also excited to hear Heidi and I have been re-watching that show since May. She whipped out her phone and rapidly tapped the screen. "It says here he played a hotel clerk in 2012."

"Oh my God," I laughed. "I know just who he was." I stood up and went over to the TV. In short order, I had the final episode of season 2 on the screen. "Remember when they have the pillow fight at the hotel in New York City at nationals?" I scanned quickly through the episode, and there he was. Despite being over a decade younger and minus the mad scientist wig, we recognized him immediately.

"That's hilarious," Delaney laughed as we sat back down.

I picked up the Playbill. "Oh my gosh!" I said a minute later. "It says here that the actor who played Lorraine played Anne Boleyn in the national tour of Six!" It was a show we had seen together two summers ago at the National Theater.

"What??" Delaney said and shook her head again.

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.