Titles, Inc.

Back To High School

Grandparents Day at the high school, so Art and I were met by Natalie in the school lobby.  Highland Park High School is a big place.  We walked to the lunchroom where we were met by a team of videographers who were asking each grandparent whether he/she wanted to be interviewed.  Sure.  The question addressed to me was,  "What was a happy memory of your own high school days."  “I hated every moment of it,” I said into the mike, “we had just moved and the school district lines separated me from my friends.  I, alone, went to this high school.  But I showed them – I didn’t speak to anyone for four years.”  The team of two thought this was so funny.

The school principal greeted us all, and the high school class president played little games:  Which grandparent came from the furthest away? (Three from Florida.)  Who has the most grandchildren? (One had 17.)  Who graduated from the same high school?  (Several hands.)  And more of the same.  A string quartet was playing in the background, but I noticed them only when the principal thanked them and they got up to leave.

We went to Natalie’s first class, The Band.  Natalie plays the baritone sax, or as popularly known (I didn’t know it), the Bari.  Wow, are they good!  The teacher/conductor was as animated as if he were conducting The Philharmonic.  I couldn’t understand what he was asking of them each time he interrupted the playing.  They sounded masterful to me.

A very early lunch period next, and as we returned to the lunchroom I looked into the classrooms we passed.  Large tables with several computers on each.  Where were the aisles of little desks?  Obsolete?  In the lunchroom we found an empty table and surprise!  Natalie flips out a large purple plastic table cloth and then centers a flowering plant on it and sets it with heavy plastic dishes.  The hoi polloi stopped to stare as they passed our elegant set-up.  We were joined by her friend with grandma and another classmate with his grandma.  They ate cafeteria fare, we dined on the food Natalie brought in her backpack.

Then on to an architecture class where we saw her current project, a kitchen, from every angle on her computer.  Architecture?  In high school?

After this class, to the auditorium where we were entertained by the school Jazz Band, and different dance groups.  So wonderful, it was hard to remember these were high school performances.   Finally, on a large screen were the videos with the interviews that had been taken when we arrived.  I watched for me intently.  Alas, I ended up on the cutting room floor!  Everybody else answered all the various questions addressed to them very solemnly.

Visiting time was over, grandparents were dismissed, and the students continued on to their next classrooms. I went to my store.

For the first time ever, I had left the store unattended.  In the morning, I had prepared a sign to hang on the door announcing when I would return.  I had to run in for tape to attach it to the glass, and then we went on to the high school.  When I returned in the afternoon, my key in the lock indicated that I had not locked up.  I found a note tucked in the door from the police department sternly cautioning me against leaving the store unlocked.  There was mail on my desk.  The next morning the mailman affirmed what I had guessed; he was alarmed when he walked into the dark store and hollered for me with no answer, so he phoned the police.  He never noticed my sign.  A bit of excitement added to a delightful day.

So now I have a little idea of the current activities at our granddaughter’s high school.  I keep being reminded – the olden days weren’t the best after all.

----Florence

Sing a Song of Six Pence

Guess what – never mind the joke that your waiter is really an actor waiting for his next role.  It’s a stereotype.  Because it is our accountant who is an actor in real life.  Or is the actor an accountant in real life?  Anyway David, a cracker-jack accountant, comes to the house at tax time, and patiently asks the same questions of us every year.  We stack up every paper and he sorts through the mound for the right numbers.  But he has never broken into song while doing it.

He told us he frequently understudies for roles in Chicago theater.  The other day he phoned to tell us he was scheduled to play one of the lead roles in a current local play, so we obligingly bought tickets (mention my name for a discount) and dutifully attended the show.

He was great!  It was delightful!  The play was a musical, an operetta actually, called "She Loves Me." There are very few spoken lines, they converse in song.  I could follow the male singers, but although the women had splendid voices, I could not catch their lyrics.  I now understand that it is the high range voice that eludes me (also holds true with tots' high-pitched chatter.)  No loss, the acting defined the story while the laughter from the audience helped establish the mood.

It is so much fun to watch a performance where you know one of the characters personally.  Why, I didn’t know he was that gallant, that charming, that handsome!  And that his voice resonates with music.

Curtain calls to wild applause.

A theater official appears at our side and sternly tells Art that it is forbidden to take pictures of the show.  An equity ruling, and did you take pictures? she asked, looking at this rather large camera hanging from his neck.  Art had thoughtfully snapped pictures only during the raucous moments so that the shutter would not be heard, but somebody noticed, obviously.  We kept assuring her that he took pictures only at the curtain call for a friend-actor.  This mollified her somewhat, as she stood there scowling, but she didn’t – what? Confiscate the camera? Remove the disk?  Smack his hand?  Art has made his career on taking pictures he wasn’t supposed to take. This was a gift for the friend so he felt innocently justified.  The day Art starts following the rules is the day he stops being a photographer.  I do admit to being distracted by the camera; it breaks my absorption into the fairy tale in front of me.

Afterward, David’s friends assembled in the “ballroom” upstairs where celebratory wine was offered.  I recognized a book buyer in the room and found that we both are clients of David, whose accountant persona was missing all night.

I look forward to next year’s tax time when I will encourage the accountant to bring the singing actor to the table with us.  And yes, he loved the photos of himself on stage.

----Florence

Come-As-You-Are Social Evening

A collector of Art’s photography and my shop’s rarities invited us to dinner.  “Casual, come as you are.”   We were told it was the house in back of the one fronting the street.  Knowing the street and its elegant homes I supposed this single guy lived in the coach house.

We took the driveway that branched to the back and drove up to two huge doors guarding the entrance with its little dial-up box.  “Come in,” his voice replied, and the doors slowly swung open.  We found a place to park among the other cars, and he greeted us in the doorway.  No, it wasn’t a coach house.  It was a house fronting Lake Michigan.
 
I will not describe the house.  Open a decorator magazine for the page with something palatial.  After he took my coat and introduced us to the other guests, he must have noticed my eyes popping and my mouth hanging open.  “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
 
We made the tour.  Then upstairs on this glorious winding staircase with shallow risers making it very easy to walk up.  “There is an elevator, but I never use it,” he said.

“Wow,” I said, in the first bedroom.  “This is a guest bedroom,” correcting my mistaken assumption.   He took us to the Master Bedroom.  I was happy for its lived in look.  Clothes scattered, bed not made. 
 
Back in the corridor I motioned to the three large wardrobes along the long wall.  “These are very handsome”, I said, “Did you choose them yourself?”  “They are built in,” he said, and opened the double doors of the first wardrobe.  Inside was a large bedroom.  What a great joke!  The other two wardrobes are just storage containers as one might suppose. 
 
Each floor was a grand circle.  There was no getting lost.  You just continue roaming until you get to the starting point.  I would love to see a blueprint.  Even having walked through it, I cannot understand the architecture.
 
We returned to the dining room with the table set comfortably for sixteen.  Delightful, accomplished young guests.  One beautiful couple (and I mean that literally – movie-star-beautiful man and woman) had their infant with them and took turns holding the baby.  Food was set out on the buffet.  Never mind what we ate: it was delicious. 
 
And here’s the best part.  The ultimate best part.  The host has a chef!  His own personal cook!   Not just for parties.  His very, very own cook! 
 
How’s that for whip cream on the cake.  It even beats opening a secret wardrobe door.
 
Don’t ask me what I’d like to eat today.  I’ll sit down, just put in front of me.  Aaaaahhh!
 
----Florence