Sewing Stand Contents

Day 309: Sewing Stand Contents

I feel like I'm at mile 20 of a marathon. Close enough to the finish line that I don't want to quit, but far enough that I'm not sure I can make it. I felt an enormous sense of relief this morning when my eyes lighted on my antique sewing stand. Not only have I not yet riffled through it for things to get rid of, but it is actually overstuffed and disorganized. Woot, woot!

Imagine my joy when I realized that the box contained two packages of "Cover Your Own Buttons" and one package of snaps for handmade baby clothes. From the packaging, I assume these were manufactured in the 1950s. I am quite certain I will never use them. They came in a big bag of buttons I bought at Kiwanis years ago. I love buttons. Also in the box, a baggie of unopened Kirsch curtain hooks (I don't have a rod to match), a single curtain ring, a few little packages of embroidery thread (I don't embroider) and a single doll's shoe. One day down, 56 to go.

Still in the antique sewing box are about a dozen souvenir patches. Sam began collecting these at a very young age. In elementary school, he was famous, not just for his likable Sam-ness, but also for his distinctive red backpack, which was covered with patches from all over the country. An alligator from The Alligator Farm in St. Augustine. A mountain from our Alaskan cruise. A Junior Ranger patch from the Sleeping Bear National Seashore. When we ran out of room on his backpack, I began sewing them onto his little blue rolling suitcase. At some point, the patches began to come off the luggage. I started falling behind on my sewing tasks. And then, suddenly, before I could get caught up, he turned 13. From that point forward, standing out was a bad thing. We replaced his interesting and famous elementary school backpack with a gray and navy North Face, and he's never looked back. Three more sentimental things for me to be unable to let go of: the backpack, the little blue suitcase, and the stack of unattached patches.

And another sentimental thing: my button box. This is a Danish cookie tin filled to the brim with buttons of all shapes and sizes. Metal, plastic, leather, tortoiseshell, bone. Big, small, rear mounted, four holes, two holes, red, blue, black, yellow, sparkling, matte, new, used, vintage, antique. Heavy and light, round, square, triangular, irregular. Matched sets and one-offs. My mother had a button box just like it when I was a kid. I would spend hours sorting and examining the buttons. I still do. A few months ago, Emma and I spent an entire afternoon making stretchy bracelets and earrings out of the button box.

Another thing I can't get rid of.

The stuff project is like a death row prisoner when the governor can't quite make up his mind. One more day to live.