Much Ado About Much Ado

This fall Rocco was in his school’s Shakespeare play, Much Ado About Nothing. He was Borachio, which everyone mispronounced as bo-rah-chee-oh but no one, not even the producer, could get everyone to pronounce as bo-rah-kee-oh.

I should know. I was the producer.

Yes, after six years of ducking into the bathroom whenever the outgoing producer even looked my way, after six years of hiding out on the concessions committee, after six years of shuddering at the thought, I found myself in charge of the whole darn thing. (At least, all the behind-the-scenes things, not the actual directing of actual actors.)

It was as messy as The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, only a lot less funny. No one thought it was funny, for example, when I sent out a letter saying to turn in the time-stamped applications on October 3 and that THE OFFICE WILL NOT ACCEPT THEM BEFORE OCTOBER 10.  Or when I realized we were projected to come up $1,000 short. Or when a principal actor came down with the flu on opening night. No one laughed. They must have missed their cue.

Fortunately, the parents were very forgiving, we didn’t end up all that short, and the principal actor rallied to put on an amazing performance.


(Rocco is the shifty looking character in a black hat and dark sunglasses.)

All this is to say that I did not have time to make Rocco one of the thematic bouquets I usually make when my kids are in a play. Plus, it’s hard to make a thematic bouquet for a play you can’t understand a word of, even though you are the producer.

Fortunately, the cats were up to the task.



Not too bad for their first bouquet, eh?

Chicken noodle soup
Italian bread
Pumpkin pie

Kitty Cats!

You know when you try so hard not to do something, so very very hard not to do something, like to not eat one more cookie or to not say “chicken butt” when someone says “Guess what?” For a while you do all right. You do not eat the cookies. You do not mention chicken butts.

But then you think, what’s one more cookie when you know you are ultimately going to eat the whole box? Or you are greeting fifth graders as they come into the classroom and one of them says, “Guess what?” And you just.can’

I have been trying so hard, so very very hard not post a zillion cat pictures and videos on this blog.

But you know what?

That’s right. Chicken butt!

And…the dam has burst.




Sharing a little catnip:

Matcha catching mice in her sleep:

Matcha, growling and hissing to tell Boba not to play with her favorite tiny gray mouse:


PXL_20221118_200020127.PORTRAIT (1)

Chinese hotpot

Every Day is Thigh Day

If you want to get the full experience out of this blog post, click this link and play the song as you read along. It will be well worth the five-second ad you need to wait through.

Ready? Okay good.

So last August, Kevin and I were in the car when one of my all-time favorite songs came on: Everyday by Buddy Holly. You know the one. Everyday, it’s a-getting closer, going faster than a rollercoaster…

One of the things I love about the song is the light slapping sound that keeps a steady beat throughout the whole thing. I’ve always thought it sounds like a kid running down a street in flip flops in the summer. slap slap slap slap slap slap… But what exactly was making that sound, we wondered.

My immediate guess was that someone was slapping another kids’ cheeks while they stood solemnly beside Buddy Holly. Maybe there was even an automatic slapper with rubber flaps on it spinning around, and the kid was just standing there taking it. The thought made us giggle.

Kevin drove on.

The slapping sounds continued.

Then I pulled out my phone and looked it up and you know what? My guess wasn’t all that far off. The answer to the question What makes the slapping noise in the song Everyday by Buddy Holly is…Jerry  Allison’s thighs.

Yes, Jerry Allison, the percussionist for Buddy Holly, stood on stage slapping his thighs for the two minutes and six seconds of the song, night after night after night.

Suddenly we were flooded with questions. Do Jerry Allison’s thighs qualify as a musical instrument? Could someone else learn to play Jerry Allison’s thighs?  How do you tune Jerry Allison’s thighs? If Jerry Allison can’t make it to the show, can someone else play their own thighs?

We Googled Jerry Allison to get some answers, and the crazy thing is that he died the very day before we were having this conversation. I was left with no other choice than to believe that the ghost of Jerry Allison’s thighs was speaking to me in the car, urging me to look them up and eventually commemorate them in this blog post.

I was honored (but not surprised) that his thighs chose me. I hope this post have given them the proper respect and recognition they deserve. I pray that Jerry Allison’s thighs have the closure they need to join the rest of Jerry Allison in the afterlife.

If you aren’t listening to Everyday yet, do yourself a favor and put the song on. It’s a real thigh-slapper.

Mashed potatoes
Green beans
Vanilla cupcakes