SCISSORS

“It’s Spring again. Everyone got so excited they wet their plants…” – Garden sign

I remembered spring one year, when I was eight, I think. Dressed like a little doll, in my easter best. A new dress  my mother had just made. A new one every year. This one was pale blue with ruffles and lace. Lace everywhere springing out of finely sewn seams.

My hair had been done in cloth rag curls, overnight. Annoying things.  A trial run  for Easter. All tightly  cemented with  spray,  so curls  danced happily. They bopped about  my eyes like caterpillars.

We were supposed to go for easter photos. Half an hour, she said. Don’t move…..check….don’t move….

The bucket of scissors was  by the front door.   

The  lawn mower died,the day before,  so my mother had donned her  famous railroad train overalls. Tied up her hair in a white cotton scarf; slipped on mud encrusted gum boots. Then came the choosing of  the scissors. My job was to choose which one she would use. 

She knelt  on the long grass and the snipping would commence, while she said  things under her breath. Usually,  derogatory observations about lawn mowers.

The neighbours came out to wave. To offer their lawn mower.  But no. My mother was made of sterner stuff.  She continued her campaign. 

Snip, Snip, Snip…..

My mother rolled up her sleeves, and  said she’d just be a few more minutes. Then we’d go out.

I’d been told not to move.  I formed a thought about that. 

The bucket of scissors was so close . They were so inviting.  And those darn curls so annoying.

Bop, bop, bop they went.

Snip, snip, snip , went I.

Curls fell fast and furious.

I twirled around in my new easter dress and black shiny shoes.  Hair fell like rain. 

Pretty soon I changed tactics and cut off the lace on the dress. Soon I had a nice pile at my feet.  

No more, bop, bop, bop….

When my mother saw my handiwork , she didn’t say too much. She started laughing. Unexpected. Spontaneous. For her. Funny, I hadn’t heard her laugh for a long time. 

The year before, my father had died, I remember her sewing into the wee hours. All those late nights with long hours.  She still did that, for years to come.The sewing machine whirring away like a wonderful purring cat in the night…..

There were no Easter photos that year, when I was eight…... 

I was too busy cutting the grass with scissors. 

Photographs 2023