| Sunny Side Up Oct. 11, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Passing Down the Collections When she was younger, when her lifeline still crackled with connections and busy signals, my mother collected rags. She cut up all the clothes she couldn't patch, make over, or sew into quilts and tossed them into a bag. I never paid much attention to the ragbag, except when asked to dust the piano, or when my father, ever midst a messy project, hollered "Someone get me a rag!" Mom collected buttons too, snipped from the garments that couldn't be patched, made over, or sewed into quilts. I paid attention to the button jar. Its joyful jumble of colors and shapes tumbled so pleasingly onto the kitchen table, where I spent hours sorting the buttons into families. That sorting game always enticed my mother into storytelling. "These came from my wedding dress," she'd say, fingering one of the smallest, a dainty ball-shaped white one. "It was too long to use for a Sunday dress, so I cut it off and dyed it green. These are from the bottom part. And these came from Daddy's favorite shirt. Look! These fell off a pair of boots I had when I was a child. And those gold ones came from one of your grandmother's dresses." Mom had another collection. Not as enduring as the rags or as fascinating as the buttons, but we all paid attention to the rubber bands in the mustard jar. We used them, regularly. Though I've long suspected that rubber bands, like wire hangers, tangle up and reproduce, I honestly don't know where she got those rubber bands. Doubtless she fished some from the pockets of the old clothing that couldn't be patched, made over, or sewed into quilts. We kids often kept rubber bands in our pockets - they made superb ammunition. I've carried on Mom's collections of useful little servants - the small forgettables that hold things together and keep things tidy. Rags in a bag, buttons and rubber bands in tins and jars. I don't cut up clothes - our clothes don't make enough miles to reach that place where they can't be patched, made over, or sewed into quilts. My rags are mainly tired sheets and towels, sometimes an old pair of flannel P.J's. My buttons are those remaining from my sewing years, and most of my elastics are strips I cut from discarded pantyhose. How interesting that our habits migrate gently to those who stride the timeline behind us - and many are caught. My daughter paid attention to my collections too. Now grown, she cuts up clothing for rags. And panty hose for elastics. My infant granddaughter will likely have similar collections when she's grown. The collections of our spirits migrate too. Buttons of wisdom, stones of foolishness. Loving words that gather in, rags of rage that tear apart. Habits of prayer, faith, worship. The songs we whistle in the dark, the attitudes we don daily. Those nearest you pay closer attention than you know. Buttons, rags, and rubber bands aside, what will they catch? Respond Home ? |
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