Laura and I, along with Helina, who used to live with us some years back, went to Border's this morning. Helina hoped to find some special books, and I just went to see what inspiring things might be there. We're broke, after the 1700 gallon septic tank draining, and I had no attention of buying anything. I merely tossed a notebook and a pen in my purse, in case anything needed jotting or sketching down.
That I found an intriguing CD, Battlefield Band's 'Happy Daze', is probably predictable. That I bought it anyway is also probably predictable. After that extravagance, I went about in search of interesting art books. I sat down at a large walnut wooden table with a pretty book of Japanese architectural motifs and savored the unique oriental beauty therein.
Across the other side of the table, a father and child sat. I was careful not to stare at the brown haired and lightly bearded father, with his blond haired boy. But I could hear them, as I pretended to only have interest in the book before me. The father was teaching his young son how to use scissors. He was so gentle and patient, I could not help but be impressed. He told him how someone taught him how to use scissors when he was young. ''Who did?'' the son asked. ''My first teacher, Miss Berry, showed me just like I'm showing you.'' With that, he showed him how to hold the scissors, careful to not push right-handed use. ''Small cuts,'' he advised. ''Small and slow. If you take too big a cut, you won't be able to stay on the line. You'll do fine if you pay attention.'' How true that is with most everything in life.
By the time Laura found me, the son had already begun to achieve some success with cutting on those printed lines.