remember this is a story…a fiction story
So Isabel walks in again today. The mystery shopper. Every once in a while she appears, buys three skeins of silk, whispers a little something to us and glides out the door like a movie star. We have no idea who she is but we know she knits and hooks rugs so that is enough for us. Today she bought the hand dyed champagne and Roses silk that was hanging in the back.
See I had been trying a new tea, hibiscus, and I hated it. It was awful I thought though Leana who works with me said, “It’s medicinal.” For what? I’d asked her and all she said, “is for what ails ya.”. Me? Tea is for joy. Tea is for rest. Tea is for hope. I don’t like the thought of tea for medicine, it takes the good right out of it.
Tea should be lovely. The hibiscus was a lovely colour. I will give it that. That is all I will give it. I might as well have taken a bunch of rose petals of my bush and soaked them in hot water. Not fit to drink in my opinion.
Since I could not drink it and did not want to waste itI took it into the dye kitchen and threw it over three skeins of silk. Then brewed another pot and did the same. Out came ” Champagne and Roses”, a soft blend of rose and cream. Looks like I’ll be ordering more hibiscus tea but I won’t be drinking it. In two weeks Imelda will be back looking tall and gorgeous with that as a cape around her. And to think it al started with a bad cup of tea.
I would have told her but she intimidates me. When ever she comes in I feel a bit frumpy with my flats and my five year old dresses. I took a customer’s advice on letting them sit out a season so they feel new again but still when I put them on I remember their history, where they’ve been and how they made out. They are still my old dresses after all even if they’ve had a summer’s rest.”
Isabel sort of glides around the room. She is tall, with natural curls. She wears lots of linen but it never looks wrinkled. She could be a former a model or the ceo of some internet company, or the wife of someone famous. I have no idea. She doesn’t try to make me feel that way. When she comes in I feel like I am in high school and she is the popular girl, and I am the girl who just spilled her spaghetti on the front of her dress in the cafeteria. I hide this well of course, or at least I think I do.
So after Isabel slid out of the studio I went into the back room to help unpack a bunch of wool. Mostly I like taking it out of the bags and feeling it and smelling it. As one customer says,” I’d like to take a bath in it.” Stacking it neatly and pricing it is not my best skill. Every time I touch the wool my mind goes to what I can make with. Greens become hills and Valleys, Blues, I am sailing across the ocean. Red, I am a flamingo dancer. I did though, stick with it and stack the wool and while I did it I heard Evie, the non pregnant Evie, I might add, giggling on the phone in the dye kitchen. Obviously she did not know I was there, and thought probably that I was gone out looking for candy or chocolate. She was giggling like a sixteen year old. I started to eaves drop then remembered that I shouldn’t so I called out to her about the pricing gun. It was firing off tags faster than I could find the wool. I just wanted her to know I could hear her. If I had to let her go on, I might have figured out who was tickling her fancy these days but I am trying to be good so I announced myself.
I walked, out with a big Ralph from the Simpson’s smile on my face, and said., “I don’t even wanna know.” Of course I do but she seemed to have gotten enough satisfaction from the phone call for one day.
“Evie is getting it” I sang as I walked by. I couldn’t help myself. then I sang, “…and it’s been a long long time.”