A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a large room, waiting for my name to be called. I had my knitting with me, of course, and I was perfectly content to pass the time creating something pretty for a friend who’s going through a rough time right now.
People came and went as they arrived or as their names were called. I wasn’t so engrossed in knitting that I didn’t notice the ebb and flow. I’d been working on my project for about fifteen minutes when a woman from ‘way over across the room came up to me and smiled a huge smile. She pointed to my needles and yarn and smiled even bigger, nodding her head.
“Oh, do you knit, too?” I asked. I could tell she couldn’t really understand me, so I held up my knitting and pointed to her with a questioning look on my face. “Yes!”, she nodded happily. “My English not good; I take lessons! Is beautiful!” she exclaimed, and pointed to the shawl I was working on.
“You do good!” I replied, nodding my own head. And for the next few minutes, we communicated our love for knitting through pantomime, nods, and smiles. I showed her the yarn, and let her feel it. She looked at my needles, too, smiling the whole time. Pretty soon, she went back to where the rest of her family was waiting, and as their names were called, she waved to me as she walked by.
Just after this lovely woman left, another woman, sitting closer to me, came over and, with an accent different from the other woman’s said, “I think it’s beautiful too!”, and she too, touched the yarn with a rapt smile on her face. “Do you knit?” I asked, and she said that she did. We exchanged a few words, and then her name was called and she left the room.
I returned to my knitting, a smile on my face and one in my heart. Knitting is a universal language, I’ve been told. And that day, to my delight, I knew that the statement was true. The three of us would never have spoken if it hadn’t been for a ball of yarn and two knitting needles. Our common language was knitting, and it was a wonderful connection.