I’ve been a teeny tiny bit obssessed with buttons for a while.
When I was younger, I remember sitting with my Grandma’s button box (an old cigar box with a flappy lid), and running my hands through the buttons. Some were fairly new, some older than me. Some were picked off old shirts or blouses, some were still tacked to the card.
They all had stories.
And when Grandma died, that was the only thing I asked for from her house, to remind me of happy times playing with buttons before eating bananas and custard to the soundtrack of “the problem solver who gets results” on the radio. Problem was, Grandma didn’t have one button box. By the time mum found the button box I wanted, I had inherited an ice cream tub and several other boxes full of buttons. As well as some embroidery thread, cotton reels, pins… And if an object has a story, I can’t turn it away.
So now, I have an ice cream tub, a quality street tin, and a tupperware box of buttons that I can call my own.
As well as a mug…
And some brand new coasters from The Boy…
And a picture from my friend Princess Helen…
Oh, and a few other things….
I’ll stop there. Buttons make me happy, and I’m grateful for the people who know this.