This is one of those blog entries that I either have to write really well about or have a picture of a cute animal to make interesting to most people other than myself. But I’m writing about it anyway, for one of the the same reasons I make art and have a blog, in the hopes of connecting with someone else. Sometimes it’s many people, sometimes only one person, and sometimes it seems I’m the only one who gets it. But I do believe there are other people out there who understand the idea of getting really excited over something that is really very mundane.
Of course, sometimes the passion or excitement a person conveys is enough to draw people in. When I was in school, one of my classmates was passionate about Jeeps. I had never thought twice about Jeeps before meeting him, but by the end of the first semester, I found myself looking at Jeeps and telling Mike about it whenever I saw one.
So, about 20 years ago, my mother bought me a Gingher Shears for my birthday. This was very special. My mother used to sew when I was growing up making clothes for my sister and me , curtains for the windows, costumes for plays and Halloween. For years, she used a dull shears, never buying a new one, or getting hers sharpened. When she bought me the Gingher, I knew it was one that she wanted, but wouldn’t buy for herself.
A few years ago, when I started making quilts, my Gingher quickly dulled. I guess I inherited my mothers aversion to a sharp pair of shears and put off getting mine sharpened until they would not longer cut. I asked around at fabric stores and hardware stores, but I couldn’t find anyone to sharpen my shears. I finally bought a cheap pair of scissors and kept up my quest for a sharpener. Last week when I went to JoAnn Fabric to get some supplies I thought I’d try again. The woman cutting my batting said “I don’t know anyone who sharpens scissors, but we use this.” She held up a piece of black and orange plastic about 5 inches square and 1 inch deep. I asked if they’d work on my Ginghers and she said “I don’t know, but they work on these” She held up her orange handled scissors. I was a little reluctant being a bit of a snob about my Ginghers that didn’t cut, but for eleven bucks I thought I’d give it a try.
Well, it worked! I kissed the black plastic sharpener and cut and cut and cut. Then I sharpened my cheap pair of shears and my antique scissor that should cut thread but didn’t…. until now.
Now I don’t think my excitement over finding a scissor sharpener can compete with Mike’s passion for Jeeps, and I’m not even sure how long it will last. Once I get used to being able to sharpen my scissors whenever I want, it’s possible the whole thing, sharp shears, scissor sharpener, and the immediacy of it may become mundane to me too. But right now, just thinking about it makes me smile. And if this is one of those things that only I get, I can always call my mom, I have a feeling she’d understand.