Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Pushing The Walker (Running Is Impossible) With Scissors

Mom has one little recurring OCD tic. She can go weeks without it hitting and I'll think she's somehow past it and then for no reason I can figure: out come the scissors.

We have scissors everywhere in the house. I, of course, have my own for beard and mustache pruning. But (and this is intentional on her part) every drawer in the kitchen contains one pair of scissors. They're all surgical grade medical scissors (Mom is an ex-nurse, after all) and some of them probably have antique value, as well. And every now and then, Mom gets the urge to cut.

She sits on the couch and cuts paper. She cuts squares, strips, various sizes and shapes and lays them all out on her table. She slips them under the place mat, aligned and squared up neatly. She stacks them. Eventually she throws them out or forgets about them and I throw them out.

Last night I caught her contemplating cutting out lines from a typewritten letter a friend had sent her. When I asked her "Why?" she said "I want to cut these out." I said, "I know, but why? If you do it you won't be able to read the letter anymore." She thought for a minute, couldn't figure out an answer, got mad and tossed the letter and scissors down.

After she went to bed, I put the scissors back in their drawer. As far as I can tell she hasn't mentioned them or missed them.

Until next time.

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