You know how people interrupt their own story to think hard (and out loud) about how long ago the thing that they’re talking about happened? They get that faraway look in their eyes and completely derail their train of thought and the conversation you thought you were having?
Now that I’m become increasingly aged I understand why we do that.
Pattern: Undulating Rib Socks
Yarn: Claudia’s Handpainted (pretty sure)
Colorway: Who knows, and if I did it’s long discontinued
I had always been so bored by these conversations that I never expected the experience of how personally fascinating it is that, for example a yarn has been in my stash for +/- 13 years. I remember visiting Seattle, back when Seattle still felt like “home”, and going to Acorn Street Shop with Cindy and those intervening years disappear. Past experience butts with the present like the ends of a piece of
string yarn forming a loop. I’m not thinking about all that’s happened since that occasion; I’m marveling at that the fact that for a beat it feels like none of it has.
And then my brain sorts itself out and I’m back and realizing I’ve lost my audience and the thread both because nobody’s interested except the speaker in how long ago things happened or the thing that happened before or after as you try to pinpoint the year and season.
We forget our age until we are reminded of it.