Annemarie's story
Wilderness,
age, dream, copper, button
The two of them had arrived in a quaint little street and
entered through a door discreetly marked “Miss Asia. Your future in her
hands”. January in Britain was dank and
miserable compared to hot, sultry weather of her native Texas. The visit was a
birthday treat from her friend for reaching the great age of fifty. Of all the
self-help, new -age therapies she had tried this visit had most filled her with
apprehension, with trepidation. Would the psychic foresee anything bad? Yes,
Lucy was a little nervous, to say the least.
They sat in the
darkened room across the table from the clairvoyant. The clairvoyant took hold of Lucy’s hands,
turned them over, turned them back again and gazed at her palms and the rivers
of lines therein. She muttered words as she gazed at her client's hands: “
wilderness, I see open lands, copper.. unfulfilled dreams? and buttons, I see
buttons ....”.
“Oh yes, “ cried Lucy “I am off home to see my family and go on my first camping holiday in the wilds of Texas. This is so wonderful ... and look I have my copper bracelet on; (for my arthritis, you know.) And Janet,” she added, turning to her friend,” remember this morning when I was so nervous I couldn't do up the buttons on my black coat and you told me to wear my duffle with the toggles? Miss Asia, you truly are the real thing.”
On their way home, after the half hour session, Janet and Lucy marvelled at the ability of the psychic; then Janet reminded her of other birthday gifts, new age therapies and treatments Lucy had tried during the twenty years of their friendship.
“Remember when the children were little and you had your first aromatherapy session. The woman brought her bed to your house, played gentle music of the mountains, or some such thing, and you forgot to pick the kids up from school? “
“Oh yes, “ cried Lucy “I am off home to see my family and go on my first camping holiday in the wilds of Texas. This is so wonderful ... and look I have my copper bracelet on; (for my arthritis, you know.) And Janet,” she added, turning to her friend,” remember this morning when I was so nervous I couldn't do up the buttons on my black coat and you told me to wear my duffle with the toggles? Miss Asia, you truly are the real thing.”
On their way home, after the half hour session, Janet and Lucy marvelled at the ability of the psychic; then Janet reminded her of other birthday gifts, new age therapies and treatments Lucy had tried during the twenty years of their friendship.
“Remember when the children were little and you had your first aromatherapy session. The woman brought her bed to your house, played gentle music of the mountains, or some such thing, and you forgot to pick the kids up from school? “
“ I know, and it was the last day of school but it was so
relaxing and my lumpy muscles all smoothed down and eased with scented oils.
When she left I was only going to rest for a few minutes before taking a shower
and the next thing I knew I was woken by a persistent phone call from the
school. The head and their two teachers could barely contain their anger. I was
red in the face from running, panting like mad, my hair scraped back, face etc.
all oily God, the teachers weren't happy, last day of school. Two little lost
kids, last day of school term.”
“Then you did yoga but couldn't bear the fat people or the
body odour or the dusty floor, you couldn't concentrate because of trundling
traffic noise; that only lasted three sessions,” said Janet. “After that you
enrolled me with you, for a piranha pedicure. My goodness I remember those fish
with jutting jaws filled with piratical teeth, circling impatiently. The
second that we lowered our feet towards the ravenous swarm, they latched on -
hundreds of tiny mouths sucking and nibbling at heels, ankles and in between
toes. Feeding off the dead flesh on our feet. Just so we could have perfectly
smooth tootsies - ready for summer's peep-toe shoes, flip-flops and those
strappy slingbacks. Never again!””
“What about the ader -,, averd- you see I still can't
pronounce it, “ said Lucy.
“Oh you mean 'ayerverdic therapy'. Is that why you stopped -
you couldn't pronounce it.” asked Janet. .”And you only lasted two sessions of
Reiki - the stones were too hot and you were sure he was placing stones where
stones shouldn't be placed! Last year's mindfulness therapy. Well first
session and chaos in the whole group when a spider lands on your face during
meditation and you start screaming. You know, Lucy, you are hopeless!”
“You have to admit,” Lucy laughed, “ I am easy to choose
presents for. Remember the orgasmatron. Oh you know, that head massage device made
of minute copper wires attached to the handle
of a spider-like contraption, designed to 'gently massage the head and the back of the neck.' I think we only used it once at
our new year's party and then not just for heads!”
“Last year it was hagstones, all those white stones with
holes through you hung at various windows to bring good fortune. Pity your
obese marmelade cat chased a fly and swung the hagstone against the glass.”
“I can't believe how that window shattered (or how expensive
it was to replace - or how angry Howard was because it was antique
glass,” added Janet.
“Well the clairvoyant visit was good and we're off next week
to Texas, first time since the kids have left home.”
Ten days later Lucy and Howard were in Texas. After a couple
of days with family they were spending their first night camping beside a
dried up riverbed. Before settling down for the night she tapped Howard on the
shoulder;
“Howard, Howard - I am just off to the lavatory… and
I may be some time, “ she joked.
Clambering out of the tent she gazed up at the night
sky bestrewn with stars.
“ It's just like the psychic predicted,” she mused, “ here I
am at my age in this wonderful
wilderness, a dream come true.”
Feeling the late evening chill she did up the buttons of her long blue cardigan and
gingerly followed the leaf-strewn path to the outside toilets. She did not see
the copperhead snake lying silent
and motionless on the path. She only felt, first pain, then tingling, then a
painful throbbing in her foot. She struggled to the rough-hewn wooden toilet
cubicle, tottered onto the seat and in the dim light of an eco lamp hanging
from the ceiling she saw the swelling of her ankle visibly climbing
up her calf, felt her muscles in excruciating pain and she was gradually
overtaken by a dreadful nausea. Her copper bracelet was of no use now.
Paula's story:
The metalsmith lived in a small cottage on the edge of town,
just steps from a grand and wonderful forest, with his three daughters, Gold,
Silver and Copper, and a tiny gray kitten named Pewter.
To mark the birth of each of his children, the metalsmith
fashioned a special button out of the material for which they were named. The
buttons were quite beautiful, and the girls prized them above everything but
their love for their father and for each other.
Gold kept her button under her pillow because, she said, it
gave her sweet dreams.
Silver sewed her button into the lining of her coat because,
she said, it kept her toasty warm.
Copper threaded her button onto a thin ribbon of black
velvet and wore it around her neck because, she said, it kept her father’s love
close to her heart.
As the weeks and months passed, Gold and Silver began to
notice something odd about Copper. Where the beautiful button lay against her
chest, a green circle had begun to form, in the exact shape of the button. Copper
scrubbed her skin with a rough cloth, she scratched at the spot with her
fingernail, she used a pebble to scrape the circle of color, but to no avail.
Her skin remained a lovely shade of green where the button lay against it.
As Copper grew, so did the circle. By the time Copper reached
the age of 15, her entire body was a translucent shade of emerald green. Her
eyes were green, her hair was green, even the tips of her fingers and toes were
green. People came from all over to see The Girl Who Had Turned Green. Copper
and her sisters were very gracious, and they offered tea and biscuits to
everyone who visited their little cottage. They became known for their kindness
and generosity almost as much as for the hue of their sister’s skin.
One day, a grand carriage pulled by four huge, snorting
horses thundered into the village, through the gate and straight to the
metalsmith’s cottage. When the carriage door opened, a huge man dressed in
brocade and jewels stepped out. His shoes had buckles made of diamonds. His
belt clasp was made of pearls. His hat sported the finest peacock feathers in
all the land. He was the richest, fattest man the sisters had ever seen. He
called to the metalsmith, announcing, “I have come for your daughter’s hand in
marriage. She will live with me in my castle, and she will want for nothing for
the rest of her life. And if you do not agree to let her go, it does not
matter, for I shall not take no for an answer. If you try to hide her, I will
search far and wide for your gorgeously green daughter for the rest of my days,
until I find her and she is mine.”
The metalsmith eyed the man, then looked at his three
daughters, his pride and joy and the source of all his happiness. Gold and
Silver stood shoulder to shoulder, trying to shield Copper behind them. Copper
was terrified by the fat rich man, and horrified at the thought of being torn
from her family, her home, everything she loved. The metalsmith thanked the
man, and told him that he would talk to his daughter, and it must be her
decision. Then he whisked the girls inside the cottage.
“Quick,” he whispered. “Copper, you must undress quickly.”
Copper trusted her father, and she did as she was told. As she took off her
dress and underthings, her shoes and stockings, her bonnet and hair ribbons, her
father continued to talk softly. The three girls listened very carefully, their
eyes intent on their father’s face. As he spoke, they began to smile, and
Copper even began to take on a bit of a glow. Finally, the metalsmith opened
the front door of the cottage, stepped outside alone, and told the rich man,
“No.” The rich man was furious. He pushed the metalsmith out of the way and
forced his way into the cottage. Inside, he found Gold and Silver, sitting on
the hearthrug, peacefully playing with Pewter, the kitten that was by now a cat.
There was no one else in the cottage.
For Copper had slipped out of the back door and into the
forest, where she disappeared into the wilderness, among the trees and the
bushes and the tall grasses, surrounded by the exquisite colors that matched
her skin perfectly.
Jackie's story:
Buttons are my passion. Their history, shape, colour and the way they can change the look of a garment in an instant are all fascinating to me. A few years ago I went to a place called Briare. Just an hour and a half from Vezelay in the Loiret department of France.
Mosaics, tiles , buttons, beads, and enamels were in production in this town since 1845. You can see the famous Briare tiles at Orly airport, in the Metro, and in some bathrooms of French homes. The button production stopped in the 1950’s when the washing machine came into fashion but they continue to manufacture Briare tiles to this day. The movement of the washing machine caused the porcelain buttons to bang against the sides of the copper drums and broke the rather fragile material. Plastic buttons were introduced from that moment on.
The remaining stock of buttons from the factory were thrown onto a lake behind the manufacture and over the years piles have risen of rejections with small ponds interspersed and remain to this day buried with grit, grime and soil. I learnt about this pile from a friend with whom I had gone to do a button show in 2010. As the land where the button heap was located had been bought by someone and this land was attached to his house - it was forbidden to go onto his property. But …. My friend knew of a way and we climbed through a hole in a wire fence - crawled up and over an abandoned forest like wilderness, round some trees, stepping over ponds and ditches. With trowel and a bucket (which my friend just happened to have in the boot of her car) we started to dig in the dump which was the size of two football fields, and 20 feet high. This area is made up entirely of tiles. We walked over this slippery heap and it was like walking over broken glass stumbling over broken tiles but sometimes whole ones. I had never imagined in all my dreams seeing such a place. I was ageless, digging down into the tile covered surface in some spots we came across beads and china buttons. The buttons were black, white or blue decorated with red or yellow, green flowers, and a variety of coloured beads. We happily spent a couple of hours digging away until the sun became too hot and snakes appeared on top of the piles and so we hastily left. Not though without a pot full of the most beautiful buttons, beads and some pretty mosaic tiles which I scrubbed clean and used in my workshop. I have pots of them still today. This day remained one of the highlights of my working life. I’ll go back one day in the near future to see what else I can dig up.
Jackie's story:
Buttons are my passion. Their history, shape, colour and the way they can change the look of a garment in an instant are all fascinating to me. A few years ago I went to a place called Briare. Just an hour and a half from Vezelay in the Loiret department of France.
Mosaics, tiles , buttons, beads, and enamels were in production in this town since 1845. You can see the famous Briare tiles at Orly airport, in the Metro, and in some bathrooms of French homes. The button production stopped in the 1950’s when the washing machine came into fashion but they continue to manufacture Briare tiles to this day. The movement of the washing machine caused the porcelain buttons to bang against the sides of the copper drums and broke the rather fragile material. Plastic buttons were introduced from that moment on.
The remaining stock of buttons from the factory were thrown onto a lake behind the manufacture and over the years piles have risen of rejections with small ponds interspersed and remain to this day buried with grit, grime and soil. I learnt about this pile from a friend with whom I had gone to do a button show in 2010. As the land where the button heap was located had been bought by someone and this land was attached to his house - it was forbidden to go onto his property. But …. My friend knew of a way and we climbed through a hole in a wire fence - crawled up and over an abandoned forest like wilderness, round some trees, stepping over ponds and ditches. With trowel and a bucket (which my friend just happened to have in the boot of her car) we started to dig in the dump which was the size of two football fields, and 20 feet high. This area is made up entirely of tiles. We walked over this slippery heap and it was like walking over broken glass stumbling over broken tiles but sometimes whole ones. I had never imagined in all my dreams seeing such a place. I was ageless, digging down into the tile covered surface in some spots we came across beads and china buttons. The buttons were black, white or blue decorated with red or yellow, green flowers, and a variety of coloured beads. We happily spent a couple of hours digging away until the sun became too hot and snakes appeared on top of the piles and so we hastily left. Not though without a pot full of the most beautiful buttons, beads and some pretty mosaic tiles which I scrubbed clean and used in my workshop. I have pots of them still today. This day remained one of the highlights of my working life. I’ll go back one day in the near future to see what else I can dig up.
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