Using the "Good" Scissors

My mother had a nice pair of Gingher scissors that were to be used ONLY on fabric.  She did a lot of garment construction - clothes for her kids -  but later she became a quilter.  As children we were roundly and soundly clobbered if we took the "good" scissors and used them to cut up paper or magazines or newspapers.

Fast forward to about six months ago when I saw a much smaller pair of Ginghers that called my name. I could not resist the siren song of having a really, really good pair of scissors so I took the plunge.  They came in a lovely little box which I kept open on my cutting table so I could admire them then and relish the pride of ownership.  It was enough for me to just have them. I was content to keep them,  save them for something "good."

Fast forward again to about two weeks ago when I crashed and burned on a baby quilt for my niece. I've been doing this long enough to know that when things go south you need to just. walk. away. and come back later when the fog clears.  I decided to take a bag of leftover quilt scraps and try my hand a paper piecing hexagons. (Note:  do not start paper piecing hexagons - EXTREMELY addictive.)  I went to grab a scissors to trim up the hexies when, for some unexplainable reason, I busted out the Ginghers.

You know where this is going.  I could not believe the difference.  Like a hot knife through cold butter, this thing sliced and clipped like a laser.  I was  thrilled with the results, the ease of cutting, the razor crisp edges. Like dawn breaking over Marblehead (local joke) I realized it was STEWPID to keep things "for good."  What if I get hit buy a bus tomorrow?  What was I waiting for?  WHY DO WOMEN DO THIS?  Because honestly I know I am not the only one. Every woman on the planet has something put away "for good" and most of those things will never see use or the light of day. Why do we do this?  So we have something to look forward to?  Is the "looking forward to" part better than the actual joy of using it or wearing it or whatever the hell it is we're trying to capture?  I don't know, but I don't think so. I'm not getting any younger and I'm tired of waiting.  Not only am I going to use these Ginghers, but I'm gonna bust out some cash and pick up one of the new Gingher Seam Rippers.  You heard me. Retractable blade, beeuches.  Who says quilters are old ladies with afghans in their laps?  I'm armed and dangerous.  I run with scissors. ( Really, really GOOD ones. )

1-800-RATIONALIZE

With the multi-whammy of additional, unexpected income taxes due, an expensive major appliance "shitting the bed" (Joe's favorite saying and I've just picked it up because....it's so.... accurate), finding out the source of my knee problems is a torn meniscus and the upcoming one year anniversary of the loss of my Dad all rolling up on me.........well, I kind of had a meltdown. "Kind of" in the sense that I didn't actually throw anything (hey, I've grown. Besides, I don't wear high heels anymore and I'm out of spackle) but everything else cut loose in a peri-menopausal-chronic-pain-grieving-hormonal rage of tears, angst and depression.  My dark Irish side can throw down with the best of 'em.

So what to do?  I needed to drive.  Serious "get out of Dodge" driving. That isn't possible here because it's too congested and populated. No wide open spaces and long reaches of road and open sky.  This therapy always worked for me when I lived in Nebraska but in Massachusetts - well, it's not happening.  I still wanted to make a road trip and maybe do a little retail therapy ( a logical response to a cash-strapped crisis, right?) and pick up some Kaffe Fassett fabric I've been coveting for, oh, years.  Seriously coveting.

[caption id="attachment_2521" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I did not buy ALL of these....just some...."][/caption]

Normally I would call my sister Pat before embarkation. Pat is the queen of rationalization.  You can call her and ask her about anything  and she will give you really good reasons to 1) do it or 2) buy it.  What I came up with would pale in comparison but I think it was pretty respectable in a dark, depressive kind of way.

Mother's Day is approaching.  I was not blessed with motherhood and my mother has been gone many years but I'm still pissed off.  She was 69. Pancreatic cancer.  (Insert "f" word here....)  Those of us with infertility and failed adoption issues have always found MD to be a trauma-inducing "holiday" that personally guts me like a fish.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade - right?  I started thinking about all the MD presents I've never received, all the cards and flowers and - well, that adds up to some serious cash, right? So, feeling sorry for myself, I felt free to go ahead and spend a little of what my husband and/or kids would have spent.  Bingo - rationalized.

I had a lovely time at Portsmouth Fabric getting overwhelmed by bolts and bolts of amazingly beautiful fabric.  That alone made me feel better. Quilters will understand how that works.  I even had some laughs with the staff as a siren kept sounding in the distance and we couldn't figure out what it was until some guy stuck his head inside the door and said, "I think that is the siren from Seabrook!"  (Local nuclear power plant. I am not kidding.)  I stood there and thought about where I was and if there was indeed a core meltdown I'd be dead pretty fast.  Then I kept shopping.  What better place to be?  My husband and family all know I love them - we never separate without saying so - and I'm pretty much right with my Lord.... so I kept shopping and discussing (with the shop ladies) where the nearest bar with the best food was just in case it really was the "end of time" or something. I figured I'd fare pretty well at my judgement if my Mom saw me with a vodka tonic in my hand - she'd claim me in a minute just to have a sip or two. Or three.

Then I drove back home and listened to another podcast from Pray As You Go.  You have got to love the Jebbies, they come up with some really good stuff.  Anyway, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of sorting out and a whole lot of mental housecleaning. When I got home I made a new sign for my sewing room and put a copy of it in my bathroom.



It's out there.  It's all around me.  I have a feeling it would save me a lot of the time I spend worrying - AKA threading beads on a string with no knot at the end. I'm going to find joy every day.  Wish me luck. I need some joy.

PS - here is a great start.  I never watch these things but for some reason I did this one. WOW.

Caine's Arcade