How have I survived in Cincinnati for the past six years without my new favorite lunch spot? Today’s discovery, the Bluebird Bakery in Glendale, offers a range of sandwiches, quiches and soups. I wonder if the tomato bisque comes in gallon-sized to-go containers.
Two display cases tempt customers with all sorts of luscious treats: scones, brownies, cookies. My mom and I select our old friend, the brownie. I pick up some cookies to bring home to the boys to surprise them after school.
On the way out, I turn to my mom and whisper, “Over there. Let’s send some cookies to that table over there.” It’s an older couple enjoying a nice lunch out.
“But they’ll see us.” My former CIA-agent (see Grinning Jack-O-Lantern for explanation) has turned timid on me since our last excursion of kindness espionage.
“I’ll buy them on the way out. They’ll never know.”
My mom’s not sold. “How about we deliver them to an elderly neighbor again?” she asks.
“But this is really random,” I counter.
She nods her head to agree but ducks out the front door to get away as quickly as possible. I see her hiding behind the car.
“Could you send four cookies over to that table there?”
“Any special occasion?” The cashier asks.
“No. Actually, I don’t know them.”
She smiles. “I love that!” I love it, too.
Mission accomplished, I’m out the door and back to my mom before the cookies are delivered.
“Won’t they think it’s a little weird?” My mom is in the car now still worried the couple inside the café will see us.
“I hope they think it’s a little nice.” No, what I really hope is that they will be so delighted by the surprise that they decide to pick a table to send cookies to on their way out and the cycle continues all afternoon.