Durhl's Tidbits of Texan Wits

Mother’s Scissors: Golden Memories of Childhood Days

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Spring is not my season for housecleaning. Summer is my selected choice because it brings warm winds and waterless evenings that clutch-crawl toward the nap of temperatures nearing the century mark. It’s too hot for outdoor activities, so I sit indoors and clean our closets, cupboards, and from under beds. Recently, while cleaning out the utility closet, I came across a small cardboard box labeled “Mother’s records,’” written with marker on the top.

I had not looked inside that box since I placed it there after my mom’s funeral four years ago. As I sat there among the winter clothes hanging from straggled, mothproof hangers and other larger boxes memories rushed in fluid form through my memory-scape. Opening the box, I noticed numerous old bank statements now wrapped together by a long, disintegrated red rubber band. Even though Mother had little formal education, she had always balanced her checkbook each month. Underneath the statements was a small writing tablet that had “Recipes” written on it. At the top of the first page was printed, “Durhl’s Favorites.” Below was a listing of five desserts and how each was to be made. Measurements like a “little dab, a pinch, a bunch, a handful and sip” were used to make peach cobbler, banana pudding, coconut cream pie, Dutch chocolate cake, and BTS. I’ll explain that BTS stuff later.

Mother’s Scissors: Golden Memories of Childhood Days
Photo: Pixabay

Some of the earliest memories of my mom were when she gave me a hug and prepared some of those wonderful foods for me. There was always a lot of hugging, but the food sometimes got a little scarce. Both were dispensed with only the love a caring Mother could give.

At the bottom of the box lay a pair of black scissors. They were nicked and scraped and had splashes of red paint on the thumbhole side. Picking up the scissors filled me with lost events, which helped me to recall all the important roles these scissors played in my early life. I could see myself sitting on the front porch atop an apple crate on a hot summer afternoon as Mother cut my hair using those scissors. Mother would place an old beanie cap on my head and cut off anything that escaped that cap. Sometimes this practice endangered my big ole jumbo ears.

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