July 9, 2010, Mixed Buttons

There are few things that interest me the way antique stores interest me. I get a certain high sifting through junk that may or may not be the treasure that makes the day unique. Katie and I stepped into a dark doorframe, trying to escape the rain splattering from the gutter above our heads. I guess it was more of a squeeze and an awkward shuffle than a step, as there was already a man in the doorway and the subsequent room was no wider than the doorframe. But once inside, the dimly lit clutter started to reveal itself. Cases of shiny, dingy, jeweled, cracked earrings, rings, necklaces, and bracelets underneath boxes of cards, buttons, and engraved stamps guarded a small woman with fading red curls and black rimmed glassed on a chain around her neck. The sheer amount of stuff was impressive. Especially considering she had only been collecting antiques for six years.

I haven’t always loved antique shops. In fact, I used to hate them. The musty haze that seems to surround everything made me feel like I needed to shower. And after exploring enough antique stores, it seemed that the term antique may be more of a euphemism than anything— a very kind euphemism. But my feelings have since changed. While it’s hard for me to frequent local thrift stores on a regular basis, I have a different kind of appreciation for visiting secondhand shops in unfamiliar towns, cities, and now, countries.

My hand was drawn to a box filled with buttons, the metal discs attracting my bones like a magnets. Tracing the raised patterns in the brushed brass, I started to get really excited. The day I got to Ireland, my jacket systematically began losing its buttons, one by one. I watched the last one dangle from its thread, clinging for life, until I finally decided to cut it yesterday, tired of waiting for it to make up its mind. This isn’t necessarily a huge problem, but walking around rainy Galway can be gusty at times, and these buttons promised a unique solution.

After meandering around the piles of old instruments, leather luggage cases, carved pipes, stacks of photographs and copies of old newspaper pages, I was prepared to make my purchase. Not only were the vintage army buttons practical, they were little pieces of Galway I could keep, pieces of Ireland to take home with me.