The golden knitting needle

Behind the main street, there is an alley, and in that alley, there are several little shops. One of them is the wool shop from Aunt Jans. There you can buy soft cuddly toys and dolls. In the back of the shop stands an old rocking chair where an old lady often sits and is rocking back and forth. Her silver-grey hair shines in the little yellowish light that comes in through the windows. Her hair twisted into a stately bun and held it together with two knitting pins. Her hands are attentive, and every now and then she stands up to serve one of the few customers.
Through the glasses, which are sitting half on her nose, she looks at her dolls and cuddly toys that she has made herself. Suddenly she puts her feet on the floor so that the rocking chair comes to a stop and she gets up. She feels the stiffness in her hips and legs, she carefully steps up the stairs.
“How long will I be able to keep this up,” she whispers. “If all of you would cooperate a bit, I wouldn’t have to climb the stairs every time.”
She placed al the dolls and cuddly toys on their place and she hopes they will remember where they belong next time. She looks around and smiles at each of the dolls and cuddles. Then she walks back to her rocking chair to return to work diligently. She is very proud of her store. All dolls and cuddles are made by herself. They come in all shapes and sizes and sit or stand in the store. She knows them all by name. There are a lot of rascals, but that is because she made them that way. She likes a little vice. In between, she secretly has a few favourites. Like Piet the rat, Kees de goose and not to forget Buckley leg de goat, but more about that later.
And then I am there too. I am a bear, just a bear crocheted by the old woman decades ago. She was still young at the time and I remember that I was very impressed by her beauty. Oh, I remember her soft warm hands sliding over the wool putting me together little by little. What I did not like was the tickling of the wool and it was not pleased that my name tag was sewn to my skin with a needle. If you look closely you will see my name “Without name” on the label. No, that needle was not nice. When I think back, I still feel those stitch.
I am always sitting in the shop window and from there I can keep an eye on everyone. Whether they are, inside or outside, nothing escapes me. Sometimes people come to buy a doll or a Cuddly and then the adventures come naturally.

The End