She surprised me recently with a gift that was so sentimental and touching, that I'm willing to completely forgive and forget the accusations of food poisoning. This lovely women handed me an antique tin filled with her collection of buttons.
I've had my eye on my own Grandmother's button collection for years. It's now in the safe possession of my Aunt Cindy and I hope one day I'll be entrusted with it. It's filled with mother of pearl, cut glass, pressed glass and colored celluloid buttons; little baubles pretty or special enough to be clipped off of their garments and saved. There are buttons from my great grandmother in the box, old buttons, newer buttons. It's like a living history of my family. I sewed five of my grandmother's little tiny pearl buttons onto a hand knitted cashmere cardigan for my cousin's baby boy. Newer buttons are added, some older buttons are reused. The collection changes, albeit slowly. It's strangely mesmerizing to run fingers through the stash, watch them shimmer and hear them click, to think about the generations that have kept and passed on the button box.