I missed my last appointment to donate blood because I was at urgent care for my own needs, which did not include blood. But I was able to make arrangements a few weeks later. Happily I met a friend who was also in the queue for being poked, and we began to chat. Another woman who was crocheting asked if we would like her to move so that we could sit closer. We said we would. 

 

"That is my kind action for today," she said gathering up her yarn. "I made myself a promise to do one daily." She did not seem interested in impressing me, though she did. 

 

"But you are donating blood, so that makes two," I suggested. 

 

"Do you crochet?" she asked us, changing the subject. "I make hats when I am waiting at the airport and hand them to strangers."

 

The impression went deeper.

 

Her fingers flew as she chatted, and I pictured the faces of people stranded at the gate waiting to board, being gifted a brand new hat. People she would never meet again. 

 

My friend, the one who has been in my life for twenty some years, heard her name called. In a few minutes she returned, having not quite passed the test for hemoglobin. 

 

"I could hang around and get a photo of you, to write a story," she offered. 

 

"Yes, please!" I said. 

 

I loved that she knew for sure that there was a tale woven within this ordinary moment, waiting to be told. 

 

When it was my turn, I did pass the test, the one that grants me the chance to give something I did not make and would not otherwise give a second thought. Yet the nurses thanked me, as if it matters. I guess it does. 

 

I don't expect to meet the crocheter again, but I think I will remember her. Her commitment to acting generously keeps me warm, even without a hat.