sweets for the sweet

When I moved into my former apartment in 2013 I became acquainted with the kids in the building within a day or so. I’m also Italian, so per my contract, I feed people. For example, on Halloween I’m always crewing a show. But every year before I left for the night, I’d put out candy for the kids. When I got home, I’d be met with thank-you doodles attached with snippets of duct tape. Our young generation is resourceful.

The pair of siblings across the hall, a little girl about 8 and her brother, about 6, had particularly warmed to me, and I returned the favor. She would tilt her head to the side and say a very shy and almost lyrical ‘hiiiii.’ Her little brother loved to shoot baskets and could play for hours. But when I came home and was headed to the front door, he would let the basketball drop and run to open the door for me and grin.

Obviously this warrants liberal sharing of what I bake. Most recently it’s been cookies. One of the moms upstairs had an in-patient operation a few weeks ago, and since I didn’t know which apartment was theirs, I asked my little neighbors if they knew. Of course they did. I said, ‘Stay right there,’ then ran and got some cookies I’d been saving in the freezer. I told them to take a few out for themselves and bring the rest up to Alice and her sister. They must have been distracted by the first part of the statement and missed the second part, because a few minutes later I heard a knock on the door. There they were, asking for clarification with their faces full of frozen chocolate-chip cookies.

Last week I was baking again, with my kitchen windows open. I heard the kids scampering back and forth on the gravel driveway, helping their uncle wash his beautiful Mustang*. I looked out and saw the kids carrying a big bucket to the car. A batch of cookies had just come out of the oven, so I raised the window screen and asked if they wanted some. ‘Yes, thank you!’ I wrapped up three cookies and went back to the window. The little boy raised the bucket, Oliver Twist-style, and I about laughed my butt off. Told you they were resourceful.

Chucked in the three cookies, which made all of us happy.

On Monday I moved. No one was around that day. I took my cookie jar, very well worn and well used, and tucked a goodbye note to the kids under the lid. Then I left it next to their door.

*Car, not equine.