Five Minute Friday – She

 I missed the party last night.  This cold has had me over a barrel these last few days so I very responsibly 🙂 and wisely chose bed last night.  If you don’t know yet,  Five Minute Friday is about this gorgeous community who writes brave every week and then l inks up with the lovely Lisa-Jo Baker.  Have 5 minutes to spare?  You should try it some time.

Word:  SHE


The bus rumbles under my feet, the vibration travelling up through the soles of my feet and lulling me to a drowsy yet watchful state.
She gets on at the stop after mine.  Her and her dog.  A gorgeous golden retriever with the weight of his task strapped to his back.  He is her constant companion and for this short bus ride he is free to lay at her feet and rest until he needs to be responsible for her safety once again.
We sit facing each other on the bus, her and I, and I am ashamed to admit that because she is blind, her eyes empty of recognition I can watch with curious intent, without fear of her knowing that I am transfixed.  For out of her bag she produces yarn in the colour of the ocean and circular needles with which to knit.
She adroitly holds the project in her right hand, the tips of the needles held together with an expertness that indicates this is not her first project and counts the stitches with her left, her lips moving in a silent metronome to her fingers.
Once satisfied that her stitches are all there and accounted for she proceeds with her first knit, then a purl, then a knit, then a purl.  And wait is that a cable she is working on in the ocean of yarn that sits in her laps, waves across the blue?
Suddenly there is nothing, no one else on the bus and my focus becomes singular as I grasp the difficulty in knitting when one can’t see.  This was not some simple scarf that she was building with back and forth monotonous rows.  No, this was a labour of love and she was loving every minute of it.
She has finished one row and then she must once again pinches the ends of her needles together and counts.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5… and so on.  She double checks, triple checks even for one lost stitch would be the ruination of her project.
I have watched my Oma and my mom knit on countless occasions, the clacking of their needles soothing and mesmerizing.  And while doing this they carry on conversations, sip cups of coffee and referee children all with out missing a beat.  But this woman, the one knitting water must count and recount before proceeding to the next row. Every. Single. Time.
And it made me wonder the speed at which this world travels.  The busyness that moves us from space to space our heads spinning madly with tasks and chores and to do lists. Do we ever just stop to count each stitch we have made during the day and count it as good?  Or do we continue with the frenetic and frenzied until we unravel.
She reminds me to slow down.  To take a moment and bask in the comfort of monotonous, the joy of the every day and count.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – each stitch a blessing.
I have not seen her on the bus again.  But I hope I do and maybe the next time I’ll get up the courage to take out my headphones and ask her why she knits and what she is making.


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