January 21: My favorite parking garage (yes, I’m the kind of person that has a favorite parking garage) is tiny and old. It’s a little rickety and way too narrow for modern vehicles. It is always packed. There are mirrors on the walls so drivers can see who’s coming up and who’s coming down so we don’t all collide as we move into the one-way rows. I like it because when I get the timing right, I’m basically driving in ascending or descending circles. It’s like the world’s most boring roller coaster — on sedatives. Just my speed.

Tonight, I could hear the booming bass of what I was sure was a car full of teenagers roaring around my garage with no regard for sedated rollers like me. I slowed to a stop before their car was even visible in the mirror ahead and inched ahead. The driver of the boom-booming car saw me in the same mirror, and sure enough it was a car full of kids, though they might’ve been in their 20s, not teens. I’m getting to the age where everyone under 30 looks too freaking young to drive.

I looked at the driver, he looked at me. Someone turned their music down. He motioned for me to go first, I motioned to him to go first. We laughed. Three guys in the car all motioned for me to go. Joe yelled, “You first!” The driver laughed and pulled ahead, and I followed. As we came to the first row of parking spaces, brake lights came on in a sweet space right next to the stairs. The boom-booming driver stopped to let that car back out. Then, some guys in the backseat of the boom-booming car looked back at us, and the car moved on and around the bend, leaving the sweet space open.

That was pretty cool.

Joe and I went to see our roommate in Richard III at Bruka Theater here in Reno. The show was great, with a dream sequence that will stick with me for a long time, and Lynn’s final speech was so rousing I had to bite my lip to keep from yelling “Amen!”

Joe is 10. He’s never seen Shakespeare or been to a small theater, so before the play started we went over what the play was about, theater etiquette, and the fact that we could leave at the intermission or stay for a party afterward, but there would be no wandering during the play.

Bruka is a small, intimate theater, so Joe’s whispered questions were louder than he meant. I reminded him to whisper and eventually limited him to questions during scene changes, which worked well. But when he dozed off around 9:30pm, his breathing bordered on snoring. I kept touching his nose and lips so he’d wake a little. He’d ask, “Did I miss Lynn?” or “Who died?” always in a quiet whisper, remembering, even in sleep, to be courteous to other patrons.

He was the only child there. But no one seemed irritated or harumphy or anything. He was welcomed to the party afterward. And allowed to just hang out and watch the party from a tall chair, where he compared the actors to their characters and talked to me about Richard’s deceits and death. Though he hardly talked to anyone, he didn’t want to leave. But by 11, I was tired, and he agreed to go. He chattered all the way home.

That was pretty cool too.

Category: Niceness
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Cindie Geddes

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