Armitage Acts of Kindness December 9, 10, 11, and 12

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Francis Dolaryde at the theater.

 

Do you know that “special” level of hell? The one they reserve for child molesters and people who talk at the theatre?*  On Thursday night at a Henderson Symphony Christmas concert, I sat across the aisle from two women who are going to that “special” level. Never have two more obnoxiously loud people “graced” an orchestra audience with endless prattle about their work, their lives, and what Kim and Kanye named their new kid. It did not matter how many people turned and glared at them. I secretly wished Hannibal really would eat their livers or Francis Dolarhyde really would pay them a midnight visit.  After the intermission the seats surrounding them were  empty, and had there been anyplace else to sit, I would have moved, too. The worst thing was that these to women were my age – old enough to know better, and too old to care about Kim and Kanye.

But I digress. My father plays viola in this orchestra. He drives over an hour into town, and because there was going to be rain and high winds the next morning,  which meant snow on Mountain pass, he decided to drive back home to beat the weather instead of spending the night with me.

Cut to pies. My late grandmother was a lousy cook except for pies. She made glorious pies with heavenly, flakey crust. Any leftover dough she would spread with butter,  layer with cinnamon and sugar, and then roll up, cut into pieces, and bake.  For as long as she lived, they were a favorite treat in our family. On Thursday I made some for my father to eat on his drive back home – my random act for December 10th.

December 9th I brought in a five pound bag of tangerines for students who wandered through the library. They were gone by the end of first period. It makes me happy because I have no words at the thought of eating a bag of vending machine hot fries for breakfast, which is what I see many of my students do.

December 11th I took a Bourbon Pecan pie down to the main office. It was very popular.

Tomorrow I am taking an even bigger Bourbon Pecan pie into the 800 office where my supervisor works because he raved about the pecan pie in the main office and how he only got a little bite of it. His eyes got big when I said I’d baked it and that I would bring him one on Monday.  (Seriously. What is it with men and bourbon pecan pies?)

Yesterday I waited at six in the morning to hand a Christmas tip to the man who delivers my newspaper late five out of seven days a week.  At least the paper still comes, and it doesn’t get stolen as often as it did in my old neighborhood.

And today? Today I stayed home in my pajamas all day, read books, and listened to the Armitage and Wesley commentaries on Hannibal. More on that tomorrow. No act of kindness today unless you count me letting Thorin Oakenpuppy live another day because he is so damn cute and not killing him for chewing up a bubbler head in the garden irrigation system and lifting a leg in the livingroom right in front of me.

Did I mention that he is cute?

*I wish I could take credit for that line, but it belongs to the ever witty Joss Whedon, from “Our Mrs. Reynolds”, episode 6 of Firefly.