I love buttons. Big ones, small ones, pearly, wooden, metal, shapely, or whatever is an excuse to buy an article that has ‘buttons’ as the accessory. I have inherited my attraction and love for buttons from my Mother. I still remember my Mom’s old tin Band-aid™ can that held extra buttons for the article of clothing that might shed one in the washing machine only to be replaced by another ‘like’ version. Buttons were trimmed off the old garments before they were torn into strips for purposes I have yet to know. What I know is not much went to waste in our household growing up. So the buttons were saved. When my sister died, amongst her earthly possessions was a little tin can…filled with buttons. I can only imagine someone else finding this and wondering what to do with it. I saved it. I still have her buttons, along with my Mother’s buttons and of course an eclectic collection of my own. I sometimes use them, like the large yellow buttons in baby O’s scrapbook. They came from my sister’s collection. You never know when you may need a ‘button’. My daughter is showing extreme signs of having the same attraction to buttons. We playfully tease each other that it was because of the ‘buttons’ on a sweater or jacket that first attracted us to it. My Mother would be smiling I am sure with this so called ‘affliction’ of ours.
Broaches. At first glance it looks like a signature. It is another ‘thing’ I have whereby I cannot pass by a counter displaying broaches for the many occasions you might want to buy (or wear) one. I have cat, horse, Christmas tree, golf, phone, and bird-broaches to adorn my lapels. Again, I am not sure if it was my Mother’s influence or I would have liked them anyway. My Mother always had a broach attached to her sweater and jacket lapels. They were so ‘her’. I still stop and hold a pretty broach in my hand wondering to myself if she would have liked it. Probably so. I don’t think you can inherit a love for broaches, but you can certainly ‘learn’ to love them.
I wore a dress once to work that had a lace collar. An elderly lady commented that the dress was pretty…all because of the ‘showy’ neckline. I thought that was a sweet compliment. She evidently liked the trim, and she couldn’t help but pass on her thoughts on it. When I was little, my Mother would sew shirts (or blouses, as they were called then) for my sister and I. She never had a pattern. She was good at designing a shirt either from memory or from an old shirt she would tear up just to get the lines straight for the sleeves and collar. The collar always gave her angst though. She used to remark that it would take her longer to design/sew the collar than the entire shirt. But she always wanted to get the collar just right. The collar was the first thing people would see (especially if I wore the shirt under a sweater). She was fussy…but had incredible patience. To this day I notice shirt collars. If they are not done perfect I won’t buy them. After all, machines make the shirts today and if they can’t get it right there is no excuse. My Mother had a foot pedal Singer sewing machine…and the collars she made were perfect.
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| Singer Sewing Machine; Circa 1940 |
I was very little when my Mother taught me how to sew. I remember making doll clothes out of the scraps of fabric that would be left behind. She would set up the sewing machine (that had a permanent spot in front of the kitchen windows where there was optimum light), and let me go at it. Looking back, I marvel at her generosity, especially when our family struggled making ends meet. I am sure I used up many a spool of thread making my designer doll clothes. But at five years old, the idea of splurging on thread was the last thing on my mind. My love for sewing has followed me all my days. I still have the push peddle sewing machine, but I have succumbed to using an electric one for the more complicated projects. And like my Mother, I never throw left-over fabric out…just in case.
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