I spoke too soon. Yesterday was one from the Warm Place. And I do not mean Houston, Hereford, or Highland Park. We had a staff meeting that began at 9:30 and ended at 12:15, effectively doing to my workday what various debts and deductions do to my take-home. So, no break in the morning, and I worked through most of my lunch hour, stopping for about 20 minutes to step away from my desk and drink a pint of milk and inhale one of those ginormous double-chocolate muffins of which I am so fond. And then it was resume the position.
I got one good-sized report done for Attorney A, and most of a Motion and all of a middle-sized report [due yesterday] done for Attorney B. And since I had a truncated lunch, I took the remainder of it in the form of an early exit. Which was a relief, because at 3:30 I wasn’t sure that I would be able to get Attorney B’s report done in a timely manner, but I finished it at 4:28.
I caught the bus to the train station, caught the earlier train, where at the second stop a man got on who spent the next half hour ranting and cursing into his cell phone. Naturally, he sat behind me. He wasn’t very loud, but he was loud enough that I contemplated turning around and offering him a home acupuncture session via my 00 circular needles. Beginning with his tongue. I thought about all the things I would like to say to him, and then he got off the phone and noticed my knitting. He leaned forward and asked, “What are you knitting?”
“A sock.” And then I asked him, “May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.” Or something equally genteel.
“If you take another call between here and your station, would you mind not using that kind of language again?”
“You were dropping F-bombs right and left.”
At which point he apologized most civilly and profusely, and we had a lovely visit for fifteen or twenty minutes until we pulled into his station, and five feet from the end of the car his phone rang and he fired up the bomb bay.
But maybe I planted a seed.
When I got to Lorelai, all I wanted was to hold as many of the Bitties as would let me. Secondborn had called me Tuesday night when I was sitting at Sonic with my as-yet-undiscounted dinner to invite me over for lasagna. Thankfully, there were leftovers last night, and the Bitties were amenable.
Once all of the short people were soundly asleep, we put in the first episode of the second season of Pushing Daisies. And then I ran by the pharmacy and picked up another round of the magic goop that is healing my feet, watered my plants in Fairyland, started the draft for this post, and went to bed as happy as I had been when I woke up.
Here’s your semi-random act of kindness for the day. My sister sent me this link in an email. It’s a quick way to provide free mammograms to women who can’t afford it. I checked it out on snopes.com, and it’s true. I am also going to put the link on my Facebook page.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!