It's interesting, the way the mind wanders in times of quiet, repetitive work. While a small part of your concentration is required for the work at hand, the rest of your metals powers are free to roam.
A chance comment from a friend came back to me as I made stitch after stitch, and brought to mind memories of strange moments. There were many strange moments during the years spent working in the City. Strange sights, strange places, but mostly strange moments with strange people.
There was the down at heel Marilyn Monroe look-a-like, who would come into the jewellery shop to try on pearls, despite never buying anything. Never dropping her act for a second, though neither she nor I seemed convinced. Or the time a blind, elderly gentleman stumbled off the bus and I offered to walk with him through town. Arms linked, cane tapping in front of us, I navigated him through the morning peak hour foot traffic while he began a story in a strange and babbling way, about some men trying to steal his bag. He sounded a little drunk, or a little mentally unbalanced, but we strode on. The tale culminated in him acting out the part of the story where he swore very loudly at those remembered men, arms and cane flailing. I wondered if he knew that all eyes were on us as he continued to yell, swear and swish his cane. People quickly moved away from us. Others were unsure if I was the culprit, or some sort of hostage. I could not wait for my work building to give me the chance to escape.
Strange moments happened while we were travelling overseas too, of course. While waiting at a bus stop on my way home from work in Athens, a man sat next to me and started talking to me in Greek. I spoke back in English and he shook his head and motioned to look at my book. It was a paper back copy of 'The Kite Runner' and I had been looking forward to passing it on to my husband to read. English books are a sacred commodity when travelling on foreign soil. He took the book off me, turned it over in his hands. He opened the cover and flicked through several pages before quickly and violently ripping through the spine without a word. He handed the book back to me and folded the cover and pages neatly in half and then half again and tucked them into his pocket. The locals sitting around us howled with laughter. I found out later that he was the local "harmless" homeless man.
I have many more such stories. I always did seem to attract strange moments with strange people. Or perhaps these moments are just going on around us all the time and you have had your fair share too?
Strange the way the mind wanders when you are crocheting...
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