Wonderfully strange things happen.
I received a phone call from Lois in August.
Although she had never called me, my phone number has been in her address book for over ten years. That’s because sometime in the late ’90s I put an ad in our regional electric cooperative magazine requesting buttons.
You wonder why I was looking for buttons.
One of the clearest pictures in my mind of my mom is her sitting at the table, needle and thread perched between her lips, rifling through the button jar for a close match. I decided to begin my own button jar, even though my mending abilities are severely limited. A tiny memorial.
Here’s the thing. Lois has lived in Idaho for over fifty years; in August she moved to my small town in Oregon. She is 87. (One year younger than my mom would be if she were still with us.) Lois remembered that I lived here and called me up to see if I wanted to start a Two Person Button Club.
I was intrigued with Lois. For one, she sounded great. Having just been through a major life transition, she was moving forward and making new friends. Not one hint of self-pity existed in her tone.
Then we had an oops. I had promised her I would call her back. But I lost her name and phone number. Oops. I searched and searched to no avail. What was left to do? I really and truly prayed that she would call back. And yesterday she did!
So this morning we had our first meeting of the Two Person Button Club. Lois is lovely. And I’m learning about a hitherto unknown sub-culture of buttons out there. Button clubs. Button books. Button magazines. Even-brace yourself-Button Conventions. I do not intend to attend the button conventions.
But I had fun at the first meeting of the Two Person Button Club. All the buttons shown are from Lois’s collection.