I'm back in a doctor's waiting room for the fourth time in six days, but at least it's a different doctor and different patient. I brought along the necessary accoutrements for a longish wait - knitting and a book. I had started to think of this knitting as my "sick sock" as I've only worked on it in medical waiting rooms, but it clearly needed a new name. The book on my Kindle is a pre-pub from NetGalley that I am making myself finish; it is definitely not my cup of tea. But I had a lovely encounter that made me gleefully abandon the bad book and rename my sock.
I sat there knitting and counting the number of patients they had stashed in exam rooms during the last hour when a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman came in. After he had checked in with the snooty receptionist he turned around, observed me for a few seconds, and sat right down next to me. He told me (in his delightful-to-listen-to accent) that he had grown up in Scotland, watching his mother knit socks for soldiers in World War II. He said that she must have knit more than 100 pairs, and he wished that she had knit him a pair, especially because he was her favorite son (the only son in a family with six girls). He had known immediately what I was making and told me that it made his day to see someone knitting a sock and be reminded of his "dear, sweet mother". I told him I wished that I was a faster knitter so I could make him a pair of socks myself, and it had also made my day to be associated with such a wonderful person who had knit selflessly for so many others. He told me that his mother's name was Serena, and I replied that this pair would now be known as Serena Socks. He beamed broadly, patted my arm, and told me to knit on in peace.
This encounter made up for all the crappy time I've recently spent in waiting rooms, and will evoke wonderful feelings of happiness and peace every time I work on the Serena Socks.