I Do It in Public

People always think of grandmothers and knitting like they are peanut butter and jelly. Great conversations are started about grandmothers and their impact on our lives. I went into Midas for a routine oil change one day and took my knitting inside with me while I waited for them to service my car. An elderly man walked in the store ten minutes later and made arrangements for his brakes to be checked and then sat down a couple of seats away from me. At first he just sat and read the newspaper that had been lying on the table in front of us, but it wasn't long before he noticed me and my knitting. He watched me for a few moments and then smiled and chuckled slightly at a memory that had made its way back to his thoughts. After a moment longer he turned slightly toward me and told me a story about his grandmother. She had been a charming old lady who's passion was knitting. Whether it was a pair of socks or a hat or a vest, she was always hastily chugging away at a project with a crinkle on her brow from the concentration and a slight smile on her face. When he would visit her, she would be sitting in her favorite dark brown, wooden rocking chair knitting away. A blue and white checkered quilt would hang on the back of the chair and a white cushion with a large blue flower on it was attached to the seat with strings tied underneath the chair. When she rocked, you could hear the chair creak with old age and extensive use. He told me how he loved to visit her and sit in front of her chair, just listening to the creak of the chair, the quiet clack of the needles as she knit, and the stories she told of her adventures from when she was "his age". 

He laughed as he told me she loved to tell the same stories over and over again, but somehow the stories always got more exciting and outrageous with each telling. I sat and listened to some of the stories his grandmother had told him, but it wasn't long before one of the mechanics came by and informed me that my car was ready. I reluctantly paid for the service and said goodbye to the old man who had kept me entertained with stories of his grandmother's wild youth. This is what happened to me one seemingly ordinary day not just because I knit, but because I do it in public. I will never forget my experience that day and how I reminded a stranger of someone he loved very much.