A friend of mine shared a post with me today on Facebook. It said “like” if you remember your mom’s button box. So, naturally I liked it. It made me remember all the good times I had playing with the buttons by sorting them and running my fingers through them. I am the least compulsive person in the world. I could never keep anything sorted in my life. But I loved to play little sorting games with those buttons. As an adult, I actually put some of them into a shadowbox, and had them mounted professionally.
I have a button box now, but I don’t have nearly as many buttons. The reason for this is simple. I don’t rip buttons off of things before giving them to Goodwill. Yes, that’s how my mother managed to accumulate all of those buttons. She would take buttons off of blouses or coats before giving them to Goodwill or to St. Vincent DePaul. Now, why would you do something like this? What on earth is Goodwill going to do with garments with no buttons? They would have to buy buttons and put them back on the shirt or coat before selling it. Her rationale was the people were employed by Goodwill this way. They could hire them to sew buttons back on. Oh boy.
I feel like it was less of an altruistic endeavor than it was that she wanted to keep those buttons. It was her guilty little pleasure, taking those buttons and keeping them. Now, that I can understand. I wish she would have just admitted that. I love buttons too. Buttons are beautiful. They are this tiny, little, functional piece of artwork that reside on your clothing. In fact, they’re so artistic that the Amish don’t wear them. That in and of itself validates their place in the world of art.