Bob Treen

Word...👇

I'm not sure what they've been learning from their teachers... but I don't think they're able to teach me anything. 🤦‍♂️

"My husband thinks I'm wasting my time. Every Wednesday morning, I drive to Riverside Nursing Home. Not to visit anyone. I don't know a soul there. I go to sit in the lobby and knit. Been doing it for three years now. I'm 67, retired teacher, got nothing but time. The staff thought I was confused at first. "Ma'am, who are you here to see?" "Nobody," I said. "Just sitting." They let me stay. I think they felt sorry for me. But I noticed something. Residents would shuffle past, some in wheelchairs, most alone. They'd see me knitting and slow down. Stop. Watch. One woman, Agnes, finally asked. "What are you making?" "Scarf. For nobody in particular." "That's a waste," she said. "Probably," I agreed. "Want to help?" She looked startled. Like I'd offered her the moon. "I haven't knitted in 40 years." "Good. Then you won't criticize my terrible stitches." She sat. I handed her needles. Her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten. Next week, Agnes brought two friends. Then five. Then eight. The nursing home staff moved us to the sunroom. Called us "the knitting circle," though we mostly just sat together, hands moving, talking about nothing important. Grandchildren. Weather. The awful meatloaf they served on Tuesdays. But here's what I noticed, these women started showing up to meals. Getting dressed instead of staying in robes. One woman, Clara, hadn't spoken in months according to staff. Started telling stories about knitting blankets during the Depression. The scarves piled up. Terrible, uneven scarves in every color. "What do we do with these?" Agnes asked. "Give them away," I said. We donated them to the homeless shelter. Every month, a pile of scarves made by women everyone had forgotten about. Then last winter, something happened. A homeless man came to the nursing home. Asked to meet the knitters. Staff was confused but brought him to our circle. He held up a green scarf, terribly made, one end wider than the other. "I got this at the shelter in November. Wore it every night. There was a note in the pocket. 'Made by Agnes, age 81. Stay warm, friend.'" Agnes's hands flew to her mouth. "I'm in an apartment now," he continued. "Got a job. Saved that scarf. Wanted to say thank you. Nobody ever made me something before. Made me feel like I mattered enough to keep living." Agnes cried. We all did. My husband still thinks I'm wasting my time. Driving across town to knit with strangers. But Agnes died last month. Peaceful, in her sleep. At her memorial, her daughter found me. "Mom talked about Wednesdays constantly. Said it gave her a reason to wake up. You gave her three good years." The circle still meets. Eight women, ages 74 to 93, making terrible scarves for people who need to know someone cares. I'm not saving the world. Just sitting in a sunroom, knitting with lonely women. But sometimes that's exactly what saving the world looks like." . Let this story reach more hearts.... . AI image is for Demonstration purpose only. . By Mary Nelson