A sewing student this week wanted to alter her Halloween costume. This was not a difficult fix, and we still had time for fun. She opted to make a dress for her doll. Happily for me, many dolls these days are the same size, so I had a pattern ready. After she pulled a sweet floral print from the shelves, we began tracing and cutting. Sometimes when she was working on the next piece, I trimmed up the one she had finished, just to make seams straighter. We added lace to the hem, and elastic to the sleeves without any trouble. When we got to the armhole, I paused. 

"May I do this for you?" After countless such garments, I can attach the two with nothing but spit. Wetting my fingers replaces pins, or a gathering thread nicely. She nodded. 

There is a balance between offering too much help, and leaving someone to flounder. I am mindful of this when I do or do not step in. Leaning too far diminished the child's sense of autonomy.

The other day John and I went to lunch with a young couple. I had never met the woman before and wondered how we would make her feel at ease. Before they arrived, my cousin walked into the bakery, and joined me in line. He began an effusive description of the opera he went to the night before, the one that was written by another of our cousins. A woman composer, as it happens. I was enchanted by his enthusiasm, even though I have never been to any operas besides Amahl, which I love. He was still explaining when the young couple arrived, and I introduced them to one another, including the part about the opera. 

"I love opera!" she exuded. Really? They easily kept talking while we waited to reach the front of the line. 

God knows I can mostly piece together conversation with people I have history with. But maybe He knew that a brand new person was a curve too tricky.