Buttons
I love buttons. I remember my Nana had a long flat tin, red, possibly it once had toffees in it. Or shortbread. Whatever the case, the consumables had long since been consumed and in it instead was buttons, a lifetime's collection of oddments, different shapes and sizes. It was the closest thing to treasure any real person I knew owned. The grandchildren had free access to these buttons, I remember trailing my hands through them, sifting them through my fingers like sand at the beach. I don't know where those buttons are now. Possibly my mother has them, or my sister who learned to sew and knit as a child, and did so often with Nana, where I lacked the patience for sitting still.
The buttons above are from a shop called Buttonmania in the city. Martin and I are planning an excursion, so I can revisit buttons, so Fred can ride in a hand operated elevator (and me too) and perhaps while we are there we might find some treasures to take home.