This trio of scissors is not a matched set. They are all pinking shears, those zig zag edging tools which at one time were in the sewing basket of every serious seamstress because using them helped keep the edges of seams from raveling and fraying. The pair on the left belonged to my Mother, those on the right were my grandmother's. My own pinking shears are the ones in the middle. Now they all belong to me, and I haven't used any of them in years. But recently, I took them to be sharpened. I was not surprised when the scissor man told me Grandma Terrell's pinking shears could no longer be sharpened enough to make a difference in the way they cut. He was able to sharpen the other scissors, however, so they will be ready if and when I decide to choose fabric and pattern, lay out the tissue pieces, and cut the garment sections before stitching seams.
It is strange to think that an art I once practiced regularly has become only occasional for me. In fact, the only times I plug in my electric sewing machine are when I want to mend or alter something, or stitch up a doll's dress for my granddaughters. I only know of one or two women who still make their own clothes.
Because fabric and sewing accessories are expensive, off the rack clothing is often less expensive and less time consuming. But I miss honing that skill. My 10 year old granddaughter has asked me to teach her to sew. I think I had better practice before I do. The pinking shears are sharpened and ready!
