A Little Thing Called Joy
By Patricia Crisafulli
The store occupied a tiny slice of prime real estate, with its front door painted bright red and two narrow display windows decked out with tinsel and lights. It was an architectural anomaly, the corner angling from the main shopping district to a side street instead of making the sharp, 90-degree turn. And right in that beveled corner sat Wish Craft, a yarn store.
The pun of a name drew some curiosity, whether it sold books on spells or books on knitting. Once inside the shop, which fanned out in a wedge shape with a large room in the back, customers found shelves of yarn in all fibers and colors and supplies from the tiniest crochet hook for making lace to a loom that stood four feet high.
Developers approached from time to time, inquiring about that quirky space, expounding on its potential. The bookstore next door, for one, wanted to expand with a café on the corner. But Carla and her Wish Craft weren’t going anywhere—especially since she and her late husband, Earl, had bought the building thirty-two years ago. Storefront leases and three apartments on the second floor brought in a comfortable income that more than paid for the taxes and the upkeep. So Carla could sit on a stool with a high back behind the counter and knit all day, while customers drifted in for supplies. Even if the door hardly opened, Carla had her dog, Burly, for company and, since early December, her niece Miranda, who’d needed a job between semesters.
The small brass bell jangled as a blast of unseasonably warm air funneled into the store. December, and nearly 55 degrees.
“Hey, Aunt Carla,” Miranda called out. It was Saturday, and she normally arrived around ten. Today, it was quarter after.
At 20, she was midway through her junior year at Carla’s alma mater: a big state school some three hours away. When Miranda had asked if any of the stores downtown needed help over the holidays, Carla had immediately offered her niece a position. The first few days, Miranda had busied herself decorating, but after that, there wasn’t much to do. Carla could knit ten hours a day to keep up with her orders for sweaters, hats, mittens, and vests for Christmas. Miranda often sat with her phone or an iPad, scrolling from screen to screen.
“Just in time,” Carla said, greeting her niece. “I’m dying for a chai tea and didn’t want to leave the store.”
Miranda squinted her eyes. “Umm, I think you could have put up the ‘back in 15 minutes’ sign and not miss anybody.”
Carla reached into her purse behind the counter and extracted a twenty-dollar bill. “How about getting us both a chai tea latte, or whatever you’d like.”
The bell sounded again as Miranda left, leading Burly, a black-and-white dog of indeterminate breed, on a leash for a walk.
Miranda strolled with Burly through the downtown, past familiar businesses from her childhood and several new ones. She lingered at the front window of a boutique where a mannequin modeled a mini skirt over tights, with a belted shirt and a bomber jacket. Looking past the display, she took in the customers who crowded the shop and two of them who exited with bags in both hands.
At the coffee shop down the block, Miranda tied Burly’s leash to the end of a bicycle rack and promised to be right back. Waiting for their chai tea to-go, she thumbed a query into ChatGPT: What can a yarn store do to attract more business at the holidays? The suggestions were typical—decorate, run specials. The idea of offering workshops wasn’t bad, but her aunt was too busy with her knitting projects that had to be completed by Christmas.
As they headed back to the store, Burly sniffed the grass along the edge of the town square. Miranda glanced across the green to the community Christmas tree where a group of Girl Scouts in their uniforms and sashes were tying on homemade decorations. With a tug on Burly’s leash, she left the square, smiling at the memory of her own scouting days when she had collected badges for every activity possible and had been the top cookie seller in her troop for two years in a row.
Two people were in the store when she returned, which cheered Miranda mightily. She settled Burly into his dog bed with a chew toy, then drifted over toward the counter to listen and observe. One customer was clearly an avid knitter who talked patterns and stitches with Carla. The other browsed, then picked up a learn-to-knit kit. Her aunt was a master class in merchandising, Miranda thought. Simply by showing customers the beautiful creations that seemed to flow from her knitting needles, Carla sold them on both the idea of knitting and the supplies they needed.
Miranda searched the store, wanting to keep her hands busy and contribute in some way to the shop other than fetching coffee and tea and taking Burly for walks. Then she thought back to the Girls Scouts at the community tree and headed to the craft section.
Carla picked up her knitting after the customers left, but her curious eye was on Miranda. Her niece was intent on something, and she didn’t want to interrupt whatever train of thought was carrying her along.
“Can I use these?” Miranda asked, holding up a package of Popsicle sticks for crafting and a skein of white synthetic yarn.
“Help yourself to anything,” Carla said and felt her curiosity pique as Miranda settled into one of the chairs in what they called the knitting corner where customers could bring in their projects and get advice.
She watched her niece form an X with two Popsicle sticks and begin winding yarn around the four arms. Of course, Carla smiled—Ojo de Dios, Eye of God, though normally that craft used multicolored yarn. Miranda was making an all-white creation. She’d see how it turned out, Carla thought, and put her attention back on the cuff of the sleeve she needed to finish before lunch.
Miranda set what she’d made on the counter. She was a biology major in her third year of college, not a child looking for a gold star. If these little crafts had any merit, she could trust Aunt Carla to tell her the truth.
“Oh, they’re snowflakes,” her aunt said, holding up one of the white Eyes of God that glittered with sequins and sparkles, with a rhinestone button in the center.
“That was the idea. You think people will get it?” Miranda chewed her bottom lip.
“They will if you hang them in the window with a sign,” Carla said.
Miranda displayed her first two creations on different lengths of yarn, making it look like a little flurry of white and glitter. She printed off a sign on the store computer and added stickers to the corners: No snow this Christmas? Make your own snowflakes!
A short while later, the Girl Scouts were the first to arrive with their mothers, asking about snowflake kits and classes. Hearing Miranda’s hesitant reply—“I’ll have to ask my aunt”—Carla slipped off her stool behind the counter and approached the group goggling the snowflakes.
“Let’s see. How about we say $7 a person—that includes a lesson and the cost of the supplies? Group discount,” Carla said.
They eagerly agreed, and soon mothers and daughters were in the crafting area with Miranda who doled out sticks and yarn and helped the younger children start their winding. When the crafts were nearly completed, Miranda plugged in the glue gun as the girls picked out the sparkles and spangles to decorate their snowflakes.
“Can we buy kits to make more at home?” one of the mothers asked.
Carla nodded. “Miranda will put the necessary supplies together, making sure you have plenty of yarn.”
One of the women lingered at a display of imported Scottish wool. “I used to knit,” she said wistfully. “But it’s been years.”
“Like riding a bicycle,” Carla said.
“Meaning you never forget?”
“No, more like you get bumps and wobbles along the way—then it’s smooth going,” Carla joked.
Two of the women left with needles, yarn, and knitting instruction books.
By six o’clock—far longer than she usually worked—Miranda had put up four more snowflakes in the window and added a sign that said Craft Classes Available—Children Welcome!
“Did we make any money on this?” Miranda asked as Carla tallied the day’s receipts.
Carla slipped her arm around her niece. “We made enough. Most important, people came into the shop who hadn’t been here before. They’ll tell their friends and they’ll come, too.”
People came—parents and children, senior citizens, even a book group who had attended a local author signing at the store next door. They bought their kits, made their snowflakes, and bedazzled them with sparkles. Some were truly beautiful—like the one made by a woman who had glued sequins radiating out from the center like rays of light. Some were more of the Charlie Brown variety—loopy and lumpy, made by the smallest hands.
Burly stayed out of the way, but sometimes after a group of children left, Miranda found sequins in his fur and more than one glob of glue where little hands had given the dog a good-bye pet.
Miranda came in earlier and stayed later each day. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail and started wearing a smock as she put together kits, held workshops, and gave impromptu tutorials to people who showed up to make a snowflake. From the counter, Carla watched it all with delight as she kept knitting. Finally, on December 23rd, she finished the last stitch on a pair of mittens that were picked up a little after four o’clock that afternoon.
Carla put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. She did a quick tour of the store, noticing supplies that needed to be reordered, far more than usual. Then she made her way to the crafting area, where Miranda was putting together kits for a Sunday school class coming in on the afternoon of the 28th—even though the store would normally be closed until after New Year’s.
“You know I haven’t made one yet,” Carla began, reaching for two of the Popsicle sticks.
“You need my help—or have you worked with yarn before?” Miranda laughed.
Carla wrapped the yarn from one side of the X to the next, then the next. “I did need your help. You brought far more people into this store than I ever would have imagined.”
“I guess they like crafting.” Miranda reached down to scratch Burly’s ears, then picked up two Popsicle sticks.
“Maybe,” Carla made three more passes around the Eye of God snowflake. “People do like making something with their own hands. But it’s not just that.”
Miranda smirked. “Maybe it’s the appeal of taking classes taught by a true master of Girl Scout art.”
“Definitely,” Carla chuckled. “But honestly, it’s what they experience while they’re here. Fun, relaxation.” She completed the last round for her snowflake, a blank canvas ready for sparkles. “And a little thing that’s in rare supply these days. Joy.”
Outside, darkness descended, from dusk to evening that came early on these shortest days of the year. Inside the little store, its light shining through the windows, they sat together—niece and aunt—and made another snowflake.