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tuesday morning knitting club

i drop the car off for a wof and wander in for coffee and a quiet read. between taking

and making my order, the smiling barista gives instructions on the art of the sock.

(i take a peek at what the barista is wearing and those socks of hers DO appear to be hand-made.)

beside the knitter, her daughter – frowning in concentration – knits another ragged white row

(her first project, i later find out). they are joined, by a whirlwind of a woman, who

proudly announces she can’t knit to save her life and she thought about joining

stitch-n-bitch, but she can’t stitch, so (i’ll leave the rest for you to figure out).

the talk turns to taxidermy and the glory of the gory details. the barista sits…

leans in… asking about blood and guts and whether it smells. i’m eavesdropping,

pretending to read, but really just flicking the pages; and, when i laugh out loud at the twists

and turns in the conversation, nobody seems to mind.

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we leave our new island paradise behind tomorrow to spend three weeks in the uk at a wedding and catching up with some friends.

i’m looking forward to seeing everyone and spending time in london again, and i’m now also looking forward to our return and making friends with the ladies at the knitting club in our local coffee shop.