Strange and lovely

With two full days to get through waiting for my son and husband to do other things, I went to a yarn shop in Knoxville. Even though the sign indicated the shop would open at 10, I know knitting shops. I have seen those signs on doors of shops that didn't open all day. It has been a running joke with us as we have traveled out of our way in cities to arrive at shops that are not keeping their posted schedules.

I have also had mixed receptions at yarn shops: one shopkeeper acted as if I were trespassing when I touched her sample knits; one shopkeeper snorted when I said my fair isle techniques were not as neat as hers (this was a long, long time ago); some keepers keep out of my way; some are friendly.

I arrived too early, went to get coffee, played with the iPad a while, then returned to the shop. OPEN! Score.

I wasn't planning to buy much, but I so infreqently get to touch and see finished garments that finding a good shop is always a treat even if I am not buying much and even if the shop is not friendly. This shop (Loopville) is a great in-between shop. Not too much attention, but plenty when I asked for it: an invitation to peruse their magazines and books, an invitation to use their shop computer to look at my Ravelry queue.

Good conversation, too. I shared my thoughts on yarn with one of the workers, and we hit it off. Similar tastes in patterns, yarns, eco-friendliness. She was very helpful, and the more we talked the more we had in common. I have just started a new career journey, and she was just ending a career in the same field; she has just started working in a yarn shop, and I long to be able to do that someday when I have taught all I can stand to teach.

I left the shop with a bag of yarn--not too much and not too expensive--and a feeling that even though I am not prone to finding new friends, I am capable of it. Given the time and opportunity and pool of people, I can do it.

That experience gave me something to compare to my experience back at the baseball camp where I sat for hours waiting for my son. No one there had anything to say to me, even though many of the people sitting around know me and my kid. I was, in fact, being ignored (probably because I am a shy person perceived as being a snob and probably because I am indeed a snob about books, cheese, knitting, and pretenders).

I know that the shopworker wanted to make a sale--it IS her job, of course--but she wasn't faking her genuine conversation. I prefer that. I can make small talk if I have to, but I'm perfectly happy waiting for good conversations to happen organically. If I can have good conversation once every few years with a fellow knitter, book lover, and composition instructor, I'll wait for it.