Mom’s scissors

I’m sentimental. I think I got that trait from my Mother (no offense Dad.) :) But, she kept things…old drawings my sister and I made when we were little, our first locks of hair, report cards, our dance recital programs, and of course photos. I think she liked to collect and document our journey through these little everyday things.

She meticulously stored them away in labeled folders and envelopes (another OCD organizational habit I got from her.) There are things in those folders that I remember, and things I don’t. Going through them is like taking a trip back through time. Now that I’m older, I am thankful she did that. There is something about looking back on your past and seeing where you came from, and knowing where you are headed.

I still save things like my Mom, but in the vain of trying to not “store things here on earth” I am trying to be choosy on what I do save. There are a few things worth saving, and two of those things would be her sewing scissors. And not because they are well-made and in good shape (they are) but because she was the first person to teach me how to sew.

I don’t remember the first project we did together, but I do remember many times sitting at the foot of her sewing table listening and watching her peddle away on her Kenmore sewing machine. She would even sometimes enlist me to cut out the patterns or pin them to the fabric. And other times I would just sit on the floor doing my own little craft project. It is these little memories that come back at strange moments. They make me smile, or shed a tear, and I think of her.