On the desk there was a jar of buttons. Nothing remarkable, at least not at first glance. It has all the trademark qualities, in fact, I believe it has the old-lady’s-basement smell down to a fine art. And it was acquired in a usual manner, (with a spurt of impatience to collect for years, a five dollar bill, and an antique store) It even has the usual mismatched-button-jar residents. Like old Joe as I like to call him, he fell off of a trench coat in a dark alley during a shady deal, (he doesn’t like to talk about it) he’s your usual scuffed up, grey, button, four holes,(makes for easy sewing). And then there are buttons like that red one. Some call her posy, because she is a masterful melted-moulded-plastic depiction of three posies, I’m not sure if that’s quite a pocketful but I guess it depends on pocket size. Posy may have fallen off of 86 year old Muriel’s red cardigan on her way to the mailbox one rainy Tuesday in April.
I find buttons fascinating. And I find button jars even more fascinating, they aren’t just full of shiny plastic circles, I believe they are full of potential and personality, and that a button jar is one of the best five dollar investments, I have ever made.