An excellent international newsagent here gets in Burda and a nice polite man always calls me to tell me when it is in. So four nights ago I went down around 10:00 p.m. and picked up this interesting issue. Of course the streets in the downtown area are pretty hard to drive on, this is an old city with narrow streets near the waterfront, and with all the snow piled up on the edges they are even narrower. I had to sort of park the car half up on a snowbank beside the newsagent just to leave enough room for the other cars. I then spent about 15 minutes sitting in the car reading the issue by the car light in the cold.
When I got home I realized that in my excitement I had let one of my nice red knit-by-me (which means one thumb was about 1 1/2" longer than the other) felted mitts get lost along the way.
Today coming home from a meeting downtown I had a brainwave and detoured my way over to the newagent's street which was even narrower now because of a few intervening snowstorms.
Well wouldn't you know it. There right in the middle of the street, looking really alone and dirty and flattened by a thousand cars was my missing red mitt. We were so happy to see each other.
This made me think that it is sometimes worthwhile to go back and try and pick up important things you had left behind, that so often it's just too much trouble, but maybe something is waiting for you to remember.
So when I came home tonight I decided to call up one of my nieces on the other side of the country, she's 10, and we had an interesting talk about sewing which she has just started to do and how sleeves are hard, and I noticed how little her voice sounded. And tomorrow I am going to call an neighbour from my old street 20 years ago who faithfully sends me a card every year, and who doesn't hear from me much because I just get too busy and never get organized to send cards back.
And then I am going to think about what to sew from that magazine.