Jan 22, 2021 4 min read

This is a recounting of how a search for a half-inch disc of plastic hijacked my attention for an entire morning.

I needed a button to fasten the little towel I wrap my hair in after a shower. It’s a terry cloth turban that soaks the water from my hair, held in place with an elastic loop that fastens to a button at the nape. I have several of these turbans, purchased years ago in packs of three or four.

Buttons started popping last summer, first from the pink turban and then the blue one. By late fall I was down to only one functional turban, the white one. The collie got hold of that one, which will teach me to leave it hanging from the basket, and when I went for it after a shower, that button was gone, too. Where, I don’t know, but maybe the dog knows.

You don’t realize how vital the most inexpensive and quotidian things are until you’ve lost them. The loss of all those humble buttons -probably 50 for a penny – tipped the first domino. I wrapped my head in a large bath towel, building a mighty mesa atop my head that strained my neck. With nothing to absorb the water, it took me twice as long to dry my hair, causing tired arms.

When these mundane items go missing, you forget until the next time you need them. My next shower, I tried duct taping the turban together; the fabric held but the whole thing slipped off my head.

In search of a button, I checked the sewing basket, the junk drawer (man does that thing need work), the mug on the kitchen windowsill where I put little bits and pieces that I might need later, and checked the basket where I kept the turbans. Nothing.

How does a person get to this stage of life and not own a spare button?

As a preschooler, I liked to play with buttons. My mother had a big, round metal tin filled with buttons, the leftovers and castoffs from years of her sewing. Rainy days, I would string them on yarn. Surely my mother would have a spare.

My next visit, I asked, and she went into a back room and returned with a clear plastic, flat button. I put it in my coat pocket. When I arrived home it was gone, probably having attached itself to my mittens when I pulled them out of the pocket. Days later, while vacuuming the car, I found the button on the floor of the passenger side. I stowed it in the side door. And promptly forgot it there.

Next shower, I remembered. Not wanting to go out into the cold to the car, I began another button search, this time to the back of my closet where the unloved clothing hangs. There, I found a tired beige jacket I no longer wear but couldn’t toss. It was already missing a button on the front (it’s in this house somewhere, or maybe under the car seat), and so I attacked the other one, twisting until its threads snapped.

I rummaged through my sewing basket for a needle. I would need one of those little metal needle threaders – that’s how far south my eyesight has gone since last I sewed on a button. Unable to find white thread, I opted for purple.

I sewed the heck out of that beige jacket button onto my turban. Next shower, I’ll be ready. Next visit, I’ll return my mom’s button. It’s the kind of everyday item she may need some day.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.