Monday, April 6, 2009


Button, button who's got the button? Me! Since, my oldest daughter and I went to the Shuttles Spindles & Skeins store in Boulder, Colorado this past Friday. As we browsed through the yarns, we became enrapt peering at a rainbow of scintillating purples, pinks, reds, and earthy browns, and greens. The kaleidoscope
of colors and textures from shimmering
silks to warm woolens sprouted images in our minds of sweaters, mittens, hats, and socks.

Then, I spied tucked amongst the woolen treasures buttons ... lots of buttons. My eyes quickly passed over the plastic variety and fixated on the metal designs,

oak leaves with acorns,
pine cones on a bed of pine needles,
maple leaves,
a dragon fly on a lily pad,
and swans their wings raised as if preparing to take flight.

I thought I'd found heaven. As my mind raced through my stash of alpaca, wool, and mohair that just awaited the whirl of my spinning wheel, I imagined the sweaters I could create for these buttons to adorn. The temptation was irresistible and I did succumb to buying nearly ninety dollars worth. Somehow, I felt justified. I'd searched the Internet off and on for years for just such creations and found only a few I really liked. And, here before, me lay a treasure trove. Whether I would ever again see such a collection was questionable, so, I did buy, and buy, and buy.

My husband just laughed when I told him. I knew where his brain had gone. Most women come home with an armload of clothes from a shopping trip. His wife came home with buttons. As the laughter left his lips a mild panic passed through his eyes as I outlined my plans for his knife handle supply. "Wouldn't mammoth ivory buttons be cool and India stag horn buttons, and you have some beautiful woods ...." I told him. My mind had found a track and was off and running. He knew better than to try and derail it, but just maybe, he could direct its path, and so he made me promise not to go through his stash of handle material until he got home from work the next night. I assured him I'd only be using scraps that he had discarded. He still looked a little worried but true to the wonderful man that he is, when I asked about borrowing his small lathe, he helped me figure out ways it could be used to make grooves in mammoth ivory and sculpt wood. As I looked into his eyes and felt his love, I forgot for a moment about the buttons and gave thanks for the real treasure I'd found thirty-one years ago, my wonderful husband.

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