In a world of chaos, there’s Susan.
Her steps, short and rhythmic, move her around the neighborhood every single day, rain or shine. She walks slowly, with purpose – admiring the world around her, but also looking forward as though to see the finish line up ahead.
It was many years ago that I first said hello. That hello morphed into brief, friendly chats that, over time, turned into conversations about who she is. And who I am.
We found commonality. I learned about her love for knitting, and how she makes dolls for homeless children. I shared that one of my clients is the Miami-Dade County Homeless Trust. So, from that connection, we went deeper. She inquired about my three children, whom she had seen with me. I gladly shared highlights of each. Over the years these two points – dolls and kids – became the anchor of our conversations.
“Tell me about the dolls you’re making,” I would say.
“How are the kids? They are getting so big,” she would say as she gave a slow, sideways tilt of her head.
Even after long seasons when we would rarely see each other, she would have already calculated what grades my kids had advanced to. She would remember what schools they attended, who had changed to a different school, and who was going to graduate. We never really talked about their names, but she remembered the “boy” and his updates and then the two girls – the “oldest and youngest.” My friend Susan is special, but not in the way most people might think when they first lay eyes on her.
I told her that one day I wanted to write a story about her and her doll-making talents. And this was the year.
With a little coordination and touching base with her sister, who lives a few blocks from her, we set a date. I was excited to see where she lived in our neighborhood. I entered the white painted iron gate, which, other than color, is so similar to the iron gate that greats visitors at my house. She opened the door and immediately I was transported back into time to an apartment that so perfectly reminded me of my Aunt Marge’s home. Quaint. Memories abound – everything she needs is here. And in the corner, with a lamp stand as its partner, was the well-worn, high back chair where she knits morning, noon and night. She ushered me into her bedroom where she had plastic grocery-shopping bags full of colored yarn. It was there she held up an array of rainbow-colored dolls that you will never find on sale at Target.
Each one is a work of art, some for boys and some for girls.
She tells me that knitting was something her mother taught her to do. I thought about what a gift that was – both the time her mother spent with her and the gift of knitting that now benefits others.
Susan deserves the accolades of Miami‘s greatest philanthropists. She is more than a doll maker for unhoused children. She’s a hope-maker. She’s a smile-maker. She’s consistent as the da
y is long, cranking out eight or nine unique dolls, every single month, without fail.
I just ran into Susan again this morning on a walk and told her I was working on her article. Her two-word sentence, “Oh good!” belied the excitement on her face.
I wonder how many more Susans are out there, just waiting to be discovered through a quick hello, that turns into a few extra exchanges, that turns into being known.
When wearing her work hat, Lisa Mozloom is a media and presentation training coach and PR practitioner at The M Network, but at home she is a woman passionate about raising three teens and loving her husband.



