This happily jumbled mess in my workshop is a lot like life on the North Forty these days -
lots of color, a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and daily disarray, signalling a toddler is in the house.
Each day, at some point, Baby Granddaughter insists on a trip to the "B" (basement) to my workshop where she will climb into my lap to play with the "buts" (buttons).
She takes these hand shaped buttons into her little fingers and claps them together,
singing her version of "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands . . ."
She has mastered the concept of "tiny" and the word "smiley face" while fingering
She spends minutes spooning, spilling and dumping buttons into a container,
only to pour them out and begin her work all over again.
This "boyee" (boy), a remnant from my boys 25 years ago, always figures into her play in some way.
Baby granddaughter knits her little brow in absolute concentration as she works hard to fit the screw into
this old porcelain knob from a long ago discarded dresser.
As she plays and works, and when she is not chattering away, I, too, play with the buttons,
conjuring up color palates. This is my current favorite. It reminds me of a winter field on a partly cloudy day.
During our play one day, I had a vivid recollection of having played with buttons as a child. My grandmother and mother kept buttons in old tins and baskets. They would let me rifle through them to my heart's content. I never tired of fingering the beautiful old buttons, savoring the slightly musty smell, the colors, textures, and shapes. While my button collection contains only a handful of exquisite old ones, the buttons, both old and new, hold the same sort of delight for Baby Granddaughter. It's quite nice to share these moments with her, making memories that will hopefully last a lifetime.