Scissor Tales

Scissors. Is there any more important tool in our sewing box? Maybe the needle and thread, the thimble, seam ripper, etc., but who's counting?
Memories of scissors: Growing up, you best not use mom's sewing scissors for cutting paper. There was no worse infraction of the rules than that. Even if you snuck them for one little wrapping job, she knew. It was like there was a secret scissor-watching gremlin keeping track of their every cutting task! How did she know? I'm not so sure how she knew, but now I'm the one who knows. My kids, now grown, know that you best not use mom's scissors with the black handles for cutting anyting other than fabric. And if you value your future, you're better off not using them at all. Those are my scissors. In a world of sharing just about everything, scissors are sacred. They are in my sewing area and that's that. Leave them right where they are or I'll hunt you down, wake you up, whatever it takes to get you to confess to having pilfered them. Lesson learned: Don't mess with mama's scissors.
Missing: Woe be to the people in the room when I discover my scissors are not where I left them. A hunt will ensue and all within hearing distance will be recruited. First will come the "Where did I leave them?" moment. Then, most likely, Who took them?" will come next. The search will go on, looking over, under, in, and out of furniture. And if they're not found, the "pouting" phase will begin. Lesson learned: Don't mess with mama's scissors.
Scissor vacation: My husband recently had the wonderful notion of taking my scissors to be sharpened. He had called me from work and said that the hardware store near his job said they could do them and have them back the next day. Really a nice thing for him to do! That night, I gathered all my sewing scissors, including my small snips and a pair of pinking shears, and put them in a box. Five pair of scissors total. Entrusted to the man I love and the hardware store I didn't know. It was a risk, but it was one worth taking to have a nice sharp edge that would cut through fabric like a hot knife cutting butter. Right? Every day I asked, "Are they done with the scissors yet?" Every day he would say, "They haven't called yet." A week went by. No scissors. I couldn't cut any fabric. I was starting to get the shakes. This was getting serious. I only had one pair of snips and an old pair of pinking shears at home. Of course, my rotary cutter was in the drawer with fresh blades nearby, but it isn't the same. After a week passed, I asked him if he had called them since they didn't call him. Feeling my scissor withdrawal, he decided to stop by the hardware store. And lo and behold, they never sharpened them. I asked him to bring them home, where they'd be safe, cared for, and loved. That night, he did bring them home and though they are in the same nonsharpened state, they're ready to be used anytime I feel like it. No more jonesing over scissors. Lesson learned: Don't mess with mama's scissors.
Bottom line: All in all, the lessons are the same. Our scissors are an important part of our sewing lives. All of our tools are. We're the surgeons of fabric and design. They are our scalpels and we need them to perform our magic. The bottom line will remain the same for ages to come. And we all know what that is - Lesson learned: Don't mess with mama's scissors.
Got any scissor tales to share? Click on comments and feel free.