My friend C's store is called The Giggle Patch, after an imaginary place her daughter toyed with as a child. The Giggle Patch is a yarn and bead shop where people buy fine yarn, learn to knit, and make jewelry. But it is so much more than that.
Because my friend has such a giving and welcoming heart, it's a place where people can bring a cup of coffee, plop down on the little burnt-orange sofa, kick back, and relax. Someone in that restful situation might occasionally even giggle. When the shop opened two years ago, I found myself relaxed on that sofa quite often--in the afternoons while waiting for school to let out, early on Saturday mornings with a latte from My Favorite Place for Joe, on days when I taught remedial knitting classes, and on those odd occasions when I even manned the store for the day.
I have loved The Giggle Patch, although of course I have loved my friend even more. She is a joy. She is also moving to Georgia, following her husband who has been transferred there. When I found out earlier this summer, I was deflated and wanted to cry. I think the only reason I didn't, at least not right away, is because I didn't want to add the burden of my sorrow to C's already heavy load of packing up her house, selling the excess, selling her house, and saying "good bye" to her daughter who will stay here to work. She will also be closing The Giggle Patch.
There was a possibility of selling it to a delightful woman who would continue its success, but it wouldn't be the same, would it? Even if this woman, someone I barely know, were to allow me to lean back on the sofa with my feet on the table and a cup of coffee in my hand, it wouldn't feel right. I suspect it would feel like sitting in the formal living room of a stranger, and I shouldn't stay more than a minute or two. I wouldn't feel quite at home the way I have felt with C as the owner.
I'll find another source for yarn, I'm sure. But I won't find another Patch, with C waiting with open arms always ready for a hug. I will miss her and her yarn-shop hospitality. And I will miss her welcoming smile that always greeted me when I walked through the shop door.
This little girl is the store logo that we designed together. I dressed her for the seasons like a paper doll in all the marketing pieces. I will miss her, too.
Because my friend has such a giving and welcoming heart, it's a place where people can bring a cup of coffee, plop down on the little burnt-orange sofa, kick back, and relax. Someone in that restful situation might occasionally even giggle. When the shop opened two years ago, I found myself relaxed on that sofa quite often--in the afternoons while waiting for school to let out, early on Saturday mornings with a latte from My Favorite Place for Joe, on days when I taught remedial knitting classes, and on those odd occasions when I even manned the store for the day.
I have loved The Giggle Patch, although of course I have loved my friend even more. She is a joy. She is also moving to Georgia, following her husband who has been transferred there. When I found out earlier this summer, I was deflated and wanted to cry. I think the only reason I didn't, at least not right away, is because I didn't want to add the burden of my sorrow to C's already heavy load of packing up her house, selling the excess, selling her house, and saying "good bye" to her daughter who will stay here to work. She will also be closing The Giggle Patch.
There was a possibility of selling it to a delightful woman who would continue its success, but it wouldn't be the same, would it? Even if this woman, someone I barely know, were to allow me to lean back on the sofa with my feet on the table and a cup of coffee in my hand, it wouldn't feel right. I suspect it would feel like sitting in the formal living room of a stranger, and I shouldn't stay more than a minute or two. I wouldn't feel quite at home the way I have felt with C as the owner.
I'll find another source for yarn, I'm sure. But I won't find another Patch, with C waiting with open arms always ready for a hug. I will miss her and her yarn-shop hospitality. And I will miss her welcoming smile that always greeted me when I walked through the shop door.This little girl is the store logo that we designed together. I dressed her for the seasons like a paper doll in all the marketing pieces. I will miss her, too.
Comments
And Woohoo, Rich! When I have meetings in the mornings you get to beat me to Robyn's comments box.
Drat!
I wish her well, and hope you manage to still use the shop, after all we need the "stitching bints" to keep going!!!