MEETING NEW PEOPLE

A couple of months ago, Mike and I attended the wedding of my great-nephew, Patrick, in Kamiah. At the reception, we sat in this large, noisy hall with my sisters and their husbands. Of course, we're all family and comfortable with one another, but across the table from Mike and me was a couple we didn't know. We made introductions all around and tried to include them, but actual conversation didn't really happen until Mike began to ask questions. The process went on for a while. Somehow we got to the subject of dogs: we mentioned our German Shorthair waiting in the pick-up, they also have Shorthairs, and now genuine interest developed, talking about dogs and bird hunting.

"Finally," said my sister Joni into my ear. "He found the common thread. You have to ask questions." Joni, a "people person," is hearing impaired and augments her ability to hear by reading lips. She had been observing rather than hearing the effort to find common ground. I envy her that skill, especially in social situations where I just can't quite hear.

We spent several enjoyable mornings in Moss Point with Mike's boyhood friend, Richard. We didn't meet his wife, Martha, until the evening of the class reunion. Martha and I sat across from one another at dinner but conversation was difficult in the crowded, noisy room.

"What do you do at the farm?" she asked me. I listed several farm activities that didn't really touch what we do there. Explaining what we really do there would involve too many words, I thought. And then I added, "My sewing room is there." I figured if we were looking for a common thread, we just as well know . . .

"What do you sew?" she asked. I shouted back: "Some fashion sewing. I'm not really a quilter. I'm still working on that first one. And I like to make doll clothes." If the room had suddenly gone quiet, I would have been telling everyone.

"Do you know about the American Girl dolls?" asked Martha. Oh! We are off and running, I think. If only I could tell her in ten words or less how excited I am about this topic. I signed up for emails from the company and I just received my first hard copy catalog. "I've been researching them," I shout. "I'm thinking of getting one." (I wonder if this conversation is annoying Richard and/or Mike.) I could tell her about all my doll plans which somehow are on a back burner. It's too complicated to shout to her over the din.

Martha explains that she sews for her granddaughter's American Girl doll. She has just finished making a red, white, and blue outfit, I believe, as a birthday gift for her granddaughter's friend. (If this lady will take on birthday gifts for her granddaughter's friend, then she is truly dedicated, I think to myself. She would fit into the sewing circle. She'd be at home with Chris and me where it's just okay to talk about it.) She has lots of patterns, she says. Don't buy patterns, she adds. And then I can't believe my ears – she's offering to lend me patterns. She'll send them to me, she says, so that I can copy and return. (Oh, it's really too bad, I'm thinking, that Martha and I didn't visit sooner in a quieter place.)

"Where do you get your fabrics? Do you have a stash?" She asks. Hah! Again, many things run through my mind, but I say, "My stash is not so big these days. My daughter encourages me by giving me fat quarters for Christmas." I could tell her about the stash we let go when we moved my mother from the big house, about my penchant for buying remnants, the teddy bears I made, the diminutive dolls left over from my '50's childhood, about promising my mother I would finish her work by dressing an antique doll, about my interest in 1930's quilt patterns, on and on. I wonder about her stash, if she makes anything besides doll clothes, what kind of sewing machine she has. I'm really not doing well here, I think to myself. I just can't express the enthusiasm I'm feeling.

"My fingers just don't work the way they used to," she says with a look of dismay. My heart goes out to her. I don't remember what I said, but I'm thinking of how I've always struggled to make my fingers do it well and how many envelopes I ruined while addressing wedding invitations. What matters is that we keep at it, that we do what we love to do. Besides, what does her granddaughter care? This doesn't have to be heirloom sewing.

"There's a fabulous quilt shop in Ocean Springs," she says. "You should come back so we can go there." We agree it was too bad she had been busy these past days, too bad we didn't know sooner . . . "I think I should start my quilt efforts by making some smaller things," I say. "Doll quilts," she responds. "I'm saving patterns," I shout.

"We should have taken a picture of Richard and Martha," Mike commented later. Yes, another missed opportunity. What were we thinking?