She knits all the time. She is elderly and toothless. I see her often walking with a metal grocery cart that is half-filled with various balls of yarn and other small knitted projects. Sometimes I see her in the mall or sitting at the bus stop, always knitting and looking busy.
My son and I saw her once in Cameron Park. He wanted to give her some money as she appeared to be homeless. He pulled out a crinkled five-dollar bill from his wallet and gave it to her. She gleefully accepted but would not let us leave without something. She offered scarves, mittens, hats, and neck warmers – all machine washable. I cautiously took the grey neck warmer, the first though coming to my mind was ,”Is it clean?”
But although she wore several knitted leggings under her two knitted skirts, she did not smell or look slovenly. She just looked tired. I wonder where she lives? Somewhere along the highway, I’m guessing. Maybe in the senior’s co-op up on the hill of Cardston Court? I never see her around that building though. But she appears to have somewhere to go for shelter and showers.
Maybe one day I’ll gather the courage to strike up a conversation with her. I’d like to offer her something more. Her knitting is ambitious and lovely. No patterns though, just solid colours.
Something to keep her occupied alongside the whooshing of traffic on the road mere inches away from her worn feet.
Amongst the constant high-pitched screams of ambulances, she sits quietly, making quick but steady eye contact with those who walk by, unbothered by all the drama around her.
I smile at her and she smiles back, then quickly bowing her head to watch her fast fingers move the needles.
Something for her to give to others, keeping the community cozy and warm.
Where does she get all the yarn would be my first question. Maybe that’s too bold.
blaak sheep 