Sweet, darling Natalie Bird, an 8 year old diamond in my Gramma Bevy crown, chose my button today. I told her to close her eyes and pick but it was too late. She had seen the rhinestones glimmering from the shiny curve of the black button and her fingers had made fast work of diving into the jar and claiming it as my button for the day. She said she wanted me to have a sparkling kind of day. Wow.
I returned to the tranquil land of my job at the greenhouse today after a particularly chaotic summer. I parked outside the gates and let myself in. The richness of deep, ruby reds and topaz golds greeted my hungry heart and I spent the first few minutes simply walking through the tall weeds treasuring the sights that Natalie had wished for me.
After a heartwarming greeting and sensational bear hug from the boss I set up my work station of fresh dirt, mulch, trimming shears, and Iced Coffee under a brand new bought just for me bright cobalt blue pop up canopy and set to work. It was satisfying work with instant gratification pulling weeds and pruning as I listened to my book on CD. The hours passed serenely and I was startled out of my reverie when the
4 o'clock sprinkler came on. I gazed up into the sunlight and, behold, a spray of water dappled with opal. sapphire, amethyst and aquamarine arcing toward the emerald and jade green plants materialized before my eyes.
Oh, Nattie Bird, what a treat to see the sparkle in this day. We did this button proud.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Monday, August 29, 2016
A Back to School Button
A simple, white, "back to school blouse with a Peter Pan Collar" button is my button this August day one week before school starts . It is the last day of camp nursing for me this season which means buttoning down the infirmary, packing up bandaids and ace wraps, benadryl and the very controversial epi pens and storing them til the seasons have come full circle. It also means UNbuttoning my daily routine- again and charting a new course when 8 becomes 9 on the calendar.
There is road costruction at every turn as I drive the 22 miles from home to Camp Pontiac but the 200 plus acres are quiet and serene with only 90 athletes on campus when I arrive. I notice the metaphoric contrast as I walk across the still green grass. Bright yellow bulldozers on blacktop highways, calm lake waters against an azure blue sky.
I finger the button knowing that soon I must don my back to school blouse and chart a new course for myself. Will I lean toward the clang and clatter of road making or the silence of the cloudless sky? I laugh out loud as I think about the fact that while my grandson is meeting with a guidance counselor, I am seeking direction in a jar of buttons.
There is road costruction at every turn as I drive the 22 miles from home to Camp Pontiac but the 200 plus acres are quiet and serene with only 90 athletes on campus when I arrive. I notice the metaphoric contrast as I walk across the still green grass. Bright yellow bulldozers on blacktop highways, calm lake waters against an azure blue sky.
I finger the button knowing that soon I must don my back to school blouse and chart a new course for myself. Will I lean toward the clang and clatter of road making or the silence of the cloudless sky? I laugh out loud as I think about the fact that while my grandson is meeting with a guidance counselor, I am seeking direction in a jar of buttons.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
Buttonholes.
I chose a shimmery off white button today. Thick and sturdy, it felt like a work day button but was the beautiful color of a second wedding dress. The one you wear when you have already left one relationship but are now smarter and stronger and know what you want in a marriage. A good button for today. Work first, then a stop to celebrate friends who are hosting their post tying the knot party.
I am the widow of a strong and sturdy, sometimes shimmery, second marriage. Wedding celebrations are bitter sweet - our vows were " grow old along with me " but alas, that was not in the cards. I hold the button and think about the fact that buttons hold things together, but they also can be undone, like relationships. Separation, divorce, death. They are all undone relationships, but the button and the empty buttonhole remain.
I am a strong and sturdy, sometimes shimmery, button. Widowhood is an empty buttonhole. All wrong.
I am the widow of a strong and sturdy, sometimes shimmery, second marriage. Wedding celebrations are bitter sweet - our vows were " grow old along with me " but alas, that was not in the cards. I hold the button and think about the fact that buttons hold things together, but they also can be undone, like relationships. Separation, divorce, death. They are all undone relationships, but the button and the empty buttonhole remain.
I am a strong and sturdy, sometimes shimmery, button. Widowhood is an empty buttonhole. All wrong.
Friday, August 26, 2016
Button Number 11. Hope
Ribbons of tan span the quarter sized button. A tiny river of movement frozen, cut with a button cookie cutter and pierced with four tiny holes. Neutral. Waiting. My fingers hold it up to the light and access what insight it will bring to this end of summer day that is anything but neutral in it's heat and humidity.
I play with the button inbetween playing with the babes and doing chores. There is so much to do but I, too, feel neutral. Waiting. Frozen in place. I feel pierced by the end of a seasonal income, a bill on the kitchen table that is bigger than my bank balance for work needed to hold up the porch of my hundred year old home. I feel like a river in my sing song ambivalence about whether to stay or sell. And so the day goes. Evening comes and it is time to move the button from my pocket to the "done"jar. Time to give thanks and let the day go. And as I slip this thin, tan notion from my fingers into the jar at my bedside, I imagine the journey this button has been on through the years and the possibilities it, and I, still hold.
And so, at the end of this day I find that this button has given me something else to hang onto. I am filled with the gift of hope. Thank you tan button.
I play with the button inbetween playing with the babes and doing chores. There is so much to do but I, too, feel neutral. Waiting. Frozen in place. I feel pierced by the end of a seasonal income, a bill on the kitchen table that is bigger than my bank balance for work needed to hold up the porch of my hundred year old home. I feel like a river in my sing song ambivalence about whether to stay or sell. And so the day goes. Evening comes and it is time to move the button from my pocket to the "done"jar. Time to give thanks and let the day go. And as I slip this thin, tan notion from my fingers into the jar at my bedside, I imagine the journey this button has been on through the years and the possibilities it, and I, still hold.
And so, at the end of this day I find that this button has given me something else to hang onto. I am filled with the gift of hope. Thank you tan button.
Inspiration Comes with the Button Journey. Join Me.
Each day I reach into a jar of buttons and draw one out to carry with me throughout the 137 days from August 16 to New Year's Eve. It is a writing exercise offered by Patti Digh, an exercise in discipline, in sharing with a community of 115 people who have each chosen their own 137 objects to mark the days - and then share their discoveries
As you see, the process has spurred me to blog here at Quest House again. It has also prompted me to offer a new and inspired Radmacher Focus PHrase Course.
Radmacher Focus Phrase TM is a prompted writing process originated with the one and only Mary Anne Radmacher. She is an author, and artist who has only trained and authorized three other people to offer her trademarked process. I am blessed to be one of those people.
So, to give you a taste of the process, for the next 7 days I will write in the style of Radmacher Focus Phrase TM. Three paragraphs each night about my button - using a prompt that relates in some way. Yup, three paragraphs. Follow along and let me know what you think - then I will share more about the process and what I will be offering in the fall. Enjoy
As you see, the process has spurred me to blog here at Quest House again. It has also prompted me to offer a new and inspired Radmacher Focus PHrase Course.
Radmacher Focus Phrase TM is a prompted writing process originated with the one and only Mary Anne Radmacher. She is an author, and artist who has only trained and authorized three other people to offer her trademarked process. I am blessed to be one of those people.
So, to give you a taste of the process, for the next 7 days I will write in the style of Radmacher Focus Phrase TM. Three paragraphs each night about my button - using a prompt that relates in some way. Yup, three paragraphs. Follow along and let me know what you think - then I will share more about the process and what I will be offering in the fall. Enjoy
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
A day at the Dutchess County Fair with a Button.
Today's button is small and dark and utilitarian. Homely. Funny, I don't remember picking it out of the jar of a thousand buttons to rank in my 137. I dig deep each morning in to the jar and pick a random button. I could feel that it was plain. I almost let it fall from my fingers back into the jar, but something stopped me.
I picked it out - it is smaller than a dime and dark blue, almost black - took a long hard look at it, appreciated it's homeliness and tucked it into my pocket to take to the county fair.
I grew up going to the fair each Labor Day weekend one county north of where I live now. My kids grew up going to the Dutchess County Fair and now my grandchildren were looking forward to this end of summer family ritual. One of them, Benjamin, turns three today making it an extra special day.
So, button in one pocket and a small wad of 20's in the other we headed out.
I fingered it from time to time and I noticed buttons all around me.
We watched a pirate show with rag tag clothing held together with wishes and prayers, some fish line and big buttons.
We went through the arts and crafts building where the quilts are displayed - a few adorned by buttons.
My youngest grandson, only 11 months old, sat in my arms fingering the simple button on my cotton shirt.
Buttons are utilitarian by nature. They hold together the fabric of our daily wardrobes- pirates and grandmas alike. Some are beautiful - like a day at the fair. I am glad today's homely, utilitarian button got to spend a beautiful day at the fair with me. Even if it was in my pocket.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Button on a String
Today's button is big, solid- a button to steal from the button box for games. Button, Button who's got the button - I really did play that game in my youth, but this button begs to be strung and pulled back and forth on a string held by pulsing fingers until it sings out.
Every house had a button jar. Stray buttons, buttons cut off of old shirts and shirt waists before they were cut up for quilt blocks to be used on the next dress or shirt.
If we found a button we never threw it away we tucked it in our pocket to play with or to drop in the button jar when we got home.
If Gramma was in a good mood, on a rainy day we were allowed to dump the button jar out on the kitchen table and sort them. The big ones, the white ones, the leather ones, the brightly colored ones. She always knew if we snitched one and put it in our pocket or sat on it til she stepped to the stove to stir a pot that was always bubbling away. We were expected to climb under the table and feel with our hands for any buttons dropped in the play.
If you lost a checker you could pick a red or black button to replace it on the board but it couldn't go away in the box, it had to go back to the jar.
It was often Gramma who taught us to play the button games, who helped us thread the big fat buttons like today's button with string.
Heavy cotton string was plentiful in our household. It tied pot roasts, tomato plants, and brown paper wrapped packages. As kids we used it for Cat's Cradle, Button on a String, and once in a while to set a trap under our bedroom doors to see if our snoopy brothers or sisters were sneaking into our rooms. Our mothers often found buttons and strings in our pockets when they did the laundry, tucked away and forgotten once the rain stopped and the sun came out and we headed outdoors for bigger and better games.
Every house had a button jar. Stray buttons, buttons cut off of old shirts and shirt waists before they were cut up for quilt blocks to be used on the next dress or shirt.
If we found a button we never threw it away we tucked it in our pocket to play with or to drop in the button jar when we got home.
If Gramma was in a good mood, on a rainy day we were allowed to dump the button jar out on the kitchen table and sort them. The big ones, the white ones, the leather ones, the brightly colored ones. She always knew if we snitched one and put it in our pocket or sat on it til she stepped to the stove to stir a pot that was always bubbling away. We were expected to climb under the table and feel with our hands for any buttons dropped in the play.
If you lost a checker you could pick a red or black button to replace it on the board but it couldn't go away in the box, it had to go back to the jar.
It was often Gramma who taught us to play the button games, who helped us thread the big fat buttons like today's button with string.
Heavy cotton string was plentiful in our household. It tied pot roasts, tomato plants, and brown paper wrapped packages. As kids we used it for Cat's Cradle, Button on a String, and once in a while to set a trap under our bedroom doors to see if our snoopy brothers or sisters were sneaking into our rooms. Our mothers often found buttons and strings in our pockets when they did the laundry, tucked away and forgotten once the rain stopped and the sun came out and we headed outdoors for bigger and better games.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Button, Button, who's got the button?
Button, Button, who's got the button? Funny how such a small item can have so many memories attached to it. A button jar, generations old, tells so many takes. I love buttons and chose them for my 137 days. I dumped the buttons out on the table my father made two generations ago, and asked my grand darlings to chose 137. An hour later they each had piles and smiles but we were no closer to my task being complete. They were engrossed.
My grandmother and mother were both seamstresses. My grandmother, Maude, ( seriously Maude Mugford a beautiful but severe woman of many talents but not gentleness or grace ) was a young widow ( as I became years later ) and supported herself by sewing. Wedding gowns to men's suits, she could make them all - perfectly.
My own mother spend each night of the first week of school every year making me a dress for the next day. One night she fell asleep hemming my skirt and woke with the needle almost to her closed eye. But my dress was done in time.
They tried to teach me but neither of them was patient with my clumsy attempts and after ripping out seams over and over I declared in my preteen voice that "since you are so good at it you do it " and gave up = much to their relief.
And still, I see the button jar and my heart swells with fond memories of dresses and skirts, doll clothes and coats. Gramma's, Mom's and mine. ( I was the only girl child in a house full of boys )
I bought a sewing machine last Christmas time in Italy for my military son and his family and spent time teaching my granddaughter how to sew. I was amazed at how much I actually know how to do. Not perfectly for certain, but "good enough" and good enough to make memories for the generation ahead. I'll take it - and pass the button jar on when the time comes.
My grandmother and mother were both seamstresses. My grandmother, Maude, ( seriously Maude Mugford a beautiful but severe woman of many talents but not gentleness or grace ) was a young widow ( as I became years later ) and supported herself by sewing. Wedding gowns to men's suits, she could make them all - perfectly.
My own mother spend each night of the first week of school every year making me a dress for the next day. One night she fell asleep hemming my skirt and woke with the needle almost to her closed eye. But my dress was done in time.
They tried to teach me but neither of them was patient with my clumsy attempts and after ripping out seams over and over I declared in my preteen voice that "since you are so good at it you do it " and gave up = much to their relief.
And still, I see the button jar and my heart swells with fond memories of dresses and skirts, doll clothes and coats. Gramma's, Mom's and mine. ( I was the only girl child in a house full of boys )
I bought a sewing machine last Christmas time in Italy for my military son and his family and spent time teaching my granddaughter how to sew. I was amazed at how much I actually know how to do. Not perfectly for certain, but "good enough" and good enough to make memories for the generation ahead. I'll take it - and pass the button jar on when the time comes.
137 Days of Buttons
137 days of Buttons.
This week I joined an amazing group of writers on a journey lead by Patti Digh. Google her and learn more, but the gist is for the 137 days starting August 16th and ending on New Year's Eve we will write to writing prompts and share as a group three days a week. The practice includes putting 137 objects in one container and transferring one to the other container each day with an evening ritual of gratitude.
I have decided that , since I am writing anyway, I will share much of that journey here as well.
I chose buttons from my grandmother's button jar as my 137 objects.
Please follow along - and join me if you are inclined.
Enjoy
This week I joined an amazing group of writers on a journey lead by Patti Digh. Google her and learn more, but the gist is for the 137 days starting August 16th and ending on New Year's Eve we will write to writing prompts and share as a group three days a week. The practice includes putting 137 objects in one container and transferring one to the other container each day with an evening ritual of gratitude.
I have decided that , since I am writing anyway, I will share much of that journey here as well.
I chose buttons from my grandmother's button jar as my 137 objects.
Please follow along - and join me if you are inclined.
Enjoy
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