The button collection was a gift of memories, tiny artifacts connecting me to generations past. The day it was handed down to me, wrapped in a modest basket, it felt like I was opening a treasure trove from another world. Each button had its own story, gathered by my mother and granny over years of mending, crafting, and creating.
Inside the tin, nestled among the smooth wooden buttons and intricate metal ones, were vibrant pops of color, shimmering mother-of-pearl pieces, and even a few with hand-painted designs.
The oldest ones, as Granny used to say, came from dresses she wore as a young girl. Others were rescued from coats that had kept my mother warm through winters long past. Each button carried a memory, each texture, and pattern a reminder of the hands that had carefully saved it.
I remember my mother fondly telling me how she and Granny would add to the collection as if it were a family scrapbook. They would stitch memories into cloth, sew resilience into hems, and fasten love into collars. And when garments wore out, they kept these little pieces not only because they might come in handy someday but because their worth was so much greater than their practicality.
Now, as I hold this collection, I feel the legacy of it in my hands. These buttons are more than tiny ornaments or remnants of cloth; they’re moments in time, pieces of a tapestry woven by the women who came before me.
With much love for the love of buttons and crafting,
Angela Bruce
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