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I love coffee. Sometimes people try to switch my coffee to decaf when I’m not looking. I can always tell the difference. I also like Pringles, but only the reduced fat kind because they crunch better when you bite into them and they don’t leave grease on your fingers. I’m…

About Me
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As part of our quest to support women’s issues, Katana Photography is excited to announce our first ever Celebrating Survival contest!
Having any kind of cancer is frightening and confusing. In recognition of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Katana Photography is welcoming all survivors from all forms of cancer to participate…

Weekly Photo
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When I was looking to buy my wedding invitations (back in April), I found a lot of designers on Etsy. After narrowing it down to a couple different designs/companies, I contacted both for their pricing list. One was pretty significantly more expensive–almost $2 per invitation more. Which I think all…

Weekly Style
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When talking to people about photography, I hear one phrase over and over again: Kids and dogs are the hardest subjects to photograph.
I, personally, don’t have this problem with my clients…kids and dogs are among my favorite things to photograph. Maybe it’s because I like to have any excuse…

Weekly Puppies
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Last week, Sean and I had our morning coffee on the balcony and watched as the Enterprise shuttle was pulled down the Hudson on a tug boat. It’s on its way to the Intrepid and I can’t wait to see it up close at the museum!

Weekly Coffee

Perspective

It had been a frustrating day. My earphones were in and I was knitting on the subway ride home. I had a long trip and it was rush hour, so I was of course thrilled when I saw the subway car wasn’t all that busy. I grabbed a seat and a woman who had been standing next to me on the platform sat down next to me. She stared at my hands as they went to town on the baby blanket. I ignored her–like most of us in the city. That’s what we do…we ignore each other.

I saw her lips moving, but with my headphones in it just looked as though she were singing along to some Toto–that’s right, TOTO! Old school. I took out my headphones out and raised my eyebrows at her. I was all prepped to be annoyed, come out swinging. But I looked into her soft gray eyes, little wrinkles around the corners and I felt my body relax. I recognized her–she had been on the train a week before and she had asked about my knitting then, too.

Me: I’m sorry. What did you say?

Her: It’s coming along nicely…fast, too.

She had an accent of some sorts–Spanish was her first language I could tell.

Me: Thanks. It’s a surprisingly easy pattern to follow. It just looks fancy.

Her: It’s just lovely. May I?

She gestured to the yarn, asking to touch it. I nodded and she closed her eyes as she felt the soft alpaca yarn on her fingertips. She kept her eyes closed as she spoke.

Her: I used to know how to crochet and knit. My mother taught me such a long time ago but I just can’t remember.

There was a sadness to the way she spoke. It was a hollow whisper even though she was speaking at a normal volume. Something caught in my throat.

Me: I could show you sometime. It really is easy. Are you on this train a lot?

She nodded.

Her: Depends on what you define as ‘a lot.” I used to live in the homeless shelter in Park Slope. I go back to visit friends and volunteer still.

I had never known anyone–truly known or had a conversation with anyone I knew had been homeless.

Me: Where do you live now?

Her: They placed me in a home in the East Village. I can’t afford a television and I was thinking that knitting would be a cheap form of entertainment.

I nodded. What else could I say? Just as I was about to ask her her name, she jumped off the seat, wished me well and hopped off the train. I kicked myself for not getting her name. Not giving her my card. Not thinking of anything else to say to her.

Every day that I travel into the city, I look for her. I have bags and bags of yarn at home and I would love to give her some of it. In my head I call her Rosa–I don’t know why. She just seemed like a Rosa to me.

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