A few months ago, on the Discovery Channel show How Its Made, they had a segment on buttons, showing some of the different types and methods of manufacture. Can you picture how cool it was to see them make a layered color button, and then it roundedly ground away some of it to the middle, with the edges being the upper layers, so you see all the gradations! Then they showed other types, too. It was spell-binding!

I used to enjoy playing with the buttons in my mother’s button jar.

Somewhere around here, I have a vintage card of tiny buttons for Barbie clothes; it’s branded and everything, in crinkly plastic, on an aged card and stuff. Those are probably my “best” buttons at the moment, since I don’t have a collection. I’ve been wanting to start getting some to use as clasps for bracelets, and of course for knit and crochet items. I don’t know where to start, though . . . .

My button story, is rather meaningful to me this week, as my favorite aunt is fading away towards death. On my wedding day almost 11 years ago, between the wedding ceremony and the reception, as I was greeting the people who had been invited to the ceremony, one of the tiny pearl(ish?) buttons at the inside wrist popped off, and I didn’t know what to do! This button held the sleeve close around my lower arm, and without it, it sort of flopped around and didn’t keep the pretty point where it belonged on the back of my hand. My favorite aunt came to the rescue, with a sewing kit whipped out of her purse, and I stood there as she held my hand/wrist, hand-sewing that button back on. I haven’t seen or talked to her near as much as I now wish I had; hopefully she’ll go peacefully and with little discomfort. I do not relish the thought of her passing, but hope for peace and rest for her, from her ills. I will be remembering this happy memory of her, as I try to get through the funeral and burial.

Thanks for the prompt that led me to type this out.

My mom rarely sewed anything from scratch after I was four, but she had a gift for bringing out the best in ready-to-wear items. Her crowning achievement, in my personal estimation, occurred when I was seven and preparing for my first communion.

For those who have not lived through the ordeal of a Catholic first communion, it is one part sacrament and one part little girl prom. My contemporaries frequently lined up for Jesus in tiny white dresses that cost one hundred dollars or more, complete with fine fabrics, dressmaker details, even hand-beading or embroidery. My family happened to be of the demographic that balked at the thought of a one hundred dollar dress that would be worn once. As I was dragged from catholic goods store to mall to children’s boutique, I kept pointing to the princess dresses and my mom kept selecting the more modest offerings. Ultimately, a dress was selected on my behalf which manifested little glamour besides some sheer fabric, the requisite amount of ruffles, and an uninspired machine-embroidered border. I was disappointed.

In the month that followed the purchase, my mom went to work on the dress and its accompanying veil. Like Cinderella’s mice, she carefully added details to it– strings of craft pearls, additional stitching here and there. And to that uninspired machine-embroidery on the skirt, she sewed cards and cards of pearl buttons. I thought all of her fiddling wouldn’t make a bit of difference, but the final result shocked me. The dress looked, to my seven-year-old eyes, prettier than any of the others we’d seen in stores, especially for the pearl details on the skirt, for which no other little girl in my communion cadre had a parallel.

This photo doesn’t really show my mom’s button handiwork as much as the sheer excesses of fabric and ruffles– the blessed event did take place in the eighties, after all. If you look really closely at the photo, you can see the uppermost row of pearl buttons adorning the lace above my sash. Sadly, the buttons are lost with the dress they adorned– I hope they’ve gone to some other would-be princess. My younger sister had a finer ready-made dress purchased for her when she turned seven, and I believe my grandmother had something to do with my younger cousins getting some really ostentatious threads. I still believe I got the coolest dress of the lot of us.

Sure enough, the next time I went down the street– half looking for the shop–it had turned into a trendy upscale tourist spot. The button man was gone.

I had forgotten about these buttons, but saw them in a sewing basket that I had put together for my daughter. It was a large woven basket that I had put a collection of old buttons into including these unique Hungarian buttons. For what is a sewing basket but a collection of memories along with the practical everyday sewing items? Surely it must contain a bit of mystery for future generations to ponder over.

To see some of the buttons: http://www.flickr.com/photos/piroska/603421436/

when my (now ex) stepsister turned sixteen, a friend gave her a beautiful, cascading handmade necklace made entirely of thread and those delicate wondrous buttons. it made the most magical tinkling noise and caught the light, and seeing my little sister in it was the first time i really let myself admit just how much she had grown up. after her father and my mother divorced, we’ve sadly lost touch, but i think of her whenever i see those buttons.