My Rosemary had endearing obsessions. Every time I open one of my kitchen drawers to take out a pair of scissors (Rosemary called them “the scissor”) I find these five. All except for one are not sharp. Rosemary cut pizzas, raw chicken and just about anything else with a scissor.

The Scissor - That Singularity

I have a shoe box in our bedroom closet filled with gloves of all kinds including very expensive Italian leather ones. The white ones, I found recently in a separate drawer, to me seem to be as pristine and pure as Rosemary was.

In one corner of this scan there is a black Italian leather purse, Rosemary's, that is now the one I carry wherever I go. In it I have my wallet, my Mexican covid mask and my sunglasses. In that closet there are many lovely, some big, some small, Italian leather purses.

In my office desk, where I am now writing this, is a pair of Italian scissors that Rosemary tried to get from me. I put my foot down. They belonged to my grandmother Lolita who had a fetish for scissors. I wonder?

And they are extremely sharp. They have never been close to a chicken carcass.