Empty Space and Longing

I parked by the old knitting shop today to meet a friend for a walk.  But first I just stared into the windows.  I stared into the windows, into the empty space and just wondered out loud to Karen- where did that little community go?   Love does not even describe the feeling of having that little room in the middle of town; having that room filled up with people of all ages; folks who came to look at the yarn, sit at the Laura's white farm table; maybe knitting together or maybe just solving some basic problems like what to make for dinner.  It was a teeny tiny port in the storm in the middle of a busy day, in the middle of busy lives.  

It has a realtor sign in the window and it turns out the rent is even higher now, really ruining my little fantasy about starting up again.  But it just seems so clear that every community needs a little shop to stop by and sit at; to stop by and look at the colors of yarn; the colors of personalities; the fabric of knitting; the fabric of lives.   Back in the old days every house had a sewing room, or so I'm told.  It was a place to fix things; a place to create.   And I sort of imagine that people met up and patched everyone’s pants on Tuesdays.   They probably exchanged some strategies about what to do with their broody chicken or maybe their broody kids.  Possibly, they felt connection to people because it turned out their neighbor had a broody chicken, too. And that connection felt really good.   I miss you, little knitting shop.  I miss that little tiny space that was made enormous by the people inside.   Google is a great "invention" but googling about dinner ideas is just not the same.