The Pencil Can

Tonight I noticed a button-covered pencil can that my son made in cub scouts. I remember that art project with 9 second graders on the portable table in the garage. They had just run themselves silly with a game of freeze tag and had settled into the task of making a Christmas gift for their moms. They were hunched over a thousand buttons as they glued them to their cans and a reward of warm cookies when they were through.

When my wonderful mother-in-law died, I acquired her button collection. She used to say, you never know when you'll need a button, so she saved them all of her life. While everyone was diving for the sterling and jewelry, I was happy to dump the box on the bed and spread it out in a wide arc.

It was glorious. They were every color of the rainbow, thousands of them, all shapes and textures and sizes. I set to work sorting by color, then size, then shape, then fabric. That didn't work! There were glass, metal and plastic ones, too, and matchless ones. I'll bet she was the only person to keep those little plastic extra buttons bags that come with garments bought at Macy's ...

I rolled the barrel shaped wooden buttons around in my hands, imagining them on 1950s car coats or Irish cardigans. I visualized her in red lipstick, a total knockout on New Years Eve in a red cocktail dress with those red satiny teardrop shaped buttons up the back. The gold fleur-de-lis designs were from scout uniforms and I carefully examined the uneven holes bored into abalone shell buttons.

This is Rina's vapor trail. And here, on the desk in my bedroom, signed in wiggly penmanship by my 7 year old son, it pulls a smile to my lips.