690 Pugovitsa, pugovitsa

My mother and grandmother both had button tins. When I got married and had nary a button to my name, I ordered from the Sears catalog a package of miscellaneous buttons. Such a deal. When they arrived, I was quite excited anticipating all the repair and mending I could do (not something today's bride would think about). Most of them I still have, although a few were used over the years for various sewing projects, rarely for replacement because bright pink, flat ovals or yellow duckies don't work well on most shirts and blouses.

After Dad died in 2002, I found Mother's button tin and brought it home. He had disposed of so much after her death in 2000, I was surprised he saved it, except perhaps he too thought no home should be without old buttons. I'll never use them, but enjoyed looking through and thinking about her using them (and some were my grandmother's, I think).


Many older style buttons are made from shells from the sea. Therefore, I thought this poem by the new poet laureate, Ted Kooser, is just the most imaginative and delightful way to think about buttons collected for reuse and the "sea of mending."

[from Poetry Daily]
A Jar of Buttons
This is a core sample
from the floor of the Sea of Mending,

a cylinder packed with shells
that over many years

sank through fathoms of shirts —
pearl buttons, blue buttons —

and settled together
beneath waves of perseverance,

an ocean upon which
generations of women set forth,

under the sails of gingham curtains,
and, seated side by side

on decks sometimes salted by tears,
made small but important repairs.