The girl sat threading buttons on the bench while her grandmother played peanuckle. Her feet clad in her brothers hand me down tennis shoes swinging back and forth under the bench, not yet able to touch the floor.
On occasion one of the wrinkly hands of the group would come to her, marvel at the great job she was doing and offer her a cookie, to which the girl would accept, graciously. Then the girl would wonder at the shade of blue that one of the ladies had in her hair and not think it odd at all, but elegant.
When the mason jar was empty with no more buttons to thread, she would make a necklace out of the buttons, or a long clicky, bracelet that wound up to her elbow and she would imagine she was a graceful and elegant movie star. And in that moment it did not matter that her cotton panties were stuck to her skin and she was sweating in her flower patterned dress in the summer heat of Oklahoma, because her imagination made her beautiful.
4 comments:
Hope that you are OK, girl. Please keep writing..it does you good, I think, and it blesses us as well.
now that's living in the moment! nice!!
God I remember that feeling, that experience. Old buttons strung to make jeweled adornments, the hot hot summers of Tennessee sitting outside the trailer and running around the farm.
I remember old mothbally smelling dresses and gloves dressing up and feeling like a queen.
Wow, what a feeling.
Beautifully Serene. You just gave me an idea on how to make an olde time garland for the Christmas tree - thread buttons together. (Hugs)Indigo
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