My blouse has lost a button. I have a bowl filled with assorted buttons. These are extras that come with new articles of clothing. I sort through the colored and ornamental buttons searching for a tiny white plastic one — a fourth of an inch, if that large. My hands come up empty except for a couple lingering pieces of thread on my fingers. There is no point of saving buttons faithfully for when the need arises. It’s a throwback to my parents’ era when upon cleaning out their possessions of a lifetime I found boxes of paper clips and scraps of mismatched paper. The blouse is old and seen its day. The button collection can go to charity to be repurposed along with the blouse.