We never did end up going to the dental hospital yesterday. All that happened this morning, instead. I managed to get the baby down for a nap and I sat with a long black coffee and my journal in a cafe for a while. It made me think what I'd write about when I had the chance this morning, which is now actually this afternoon. As I sat and noted down the words people said and how they looked it occurred to me I should write about exactly that today. It's an old occupation, one I call people watching, but my mother calls watching the passing parade.

There's something about just watching the people as they go about their day. I like to look for patterns; such as what people are wearing on their feet. It's cold right now, yet people are wearing sandals and thongs (those being the kind you wear only on your feet and not on another part of the body). I find this interesting. My feet are the first place to feel the chill of winter. As soon as I slip on a pair of shoes I feel warmer, even if I leave my arms bare. The shops are warm, though, too warm. I need to slip off my jacket and my baby's little cap and jacket once we get inside. But to go about with no socks and wear summer footwear, I don't think I understand.

Then there's the girls who insist on wearing crop style tops, with spaghetti straps and low, hip-hugging jeans. They finish this outfit off with a warm and woolly scarf. I think if you’re cold you could try wearing a jumper or a jacket.

Anyway, I don’t just watch for fashion disasters or misdemeanors, after all, I’m not the fashion police. I like to see how people appear. I watch and think how I would describe that nose, those eyes, that hair, her shape, his slouch, and so on. I imagine mini-dramas for these people, but don’t often dwell on them. The images flick in and out of my mind, but occasionally latch onto something good. I know when that happens because I’ve veered off the people watching and into fully-fledged daydreaming. But that’s a good thing. Several short story ideas have come to me this way. For the most part I like to sit and be a receiver, a spectator to humanity, a bench chair psychologist.

This activity is closely related to eavesdropping. I enjoy that activity, too and am not ashamed to admit it. There’s always something priceless people say in passing. I love that I catch the snippets of their conversations rather than know the whole thing. It makes my brain work to figure out what they were on about. Like the lady who called to her mother, “Hurry up, I want to get home in time to wash the sewing machine.” Did she really want to wash her sewing machine? I’ve never heard of the activity before, but it’s never left me alone. I know that phrase or something like it will eventually appear somewhere in my fiction.

Lately though, I like to watch other mums with their babies. I zone in on prams and my eyes focus on the babies nestled into the cocoon of blankets. I take in the mums and how they appear and my imagination starts in on their stories. I know it’s just that radio transceiver thing, it has a name but I’ve forgotten it, working in my brain because I have good reason to be interested. But I think I’m looking for someone to inspire a story in me, a story of motherhood. Who knows, maybe I’ll see the character I’m looking for tomorrow.