a baroque breakfast, Berr Symon and a button

I wake up in no mood for the four walls of my apartment on what promises to be one of the nicest weekends of the year.

I wake up in the mood for travel. And since there's no way I can board a plane to Europe, I do the next best thing.

Bypassing my own morning brew, I pull on the blue jeans and old Japanese T-shirt, close to two decades old that shirt is, plunk on the red baseball cap, strap on the red backpack containing the laptop — not forgetting Berr Symon in a zippered pocket with his head poking out — and hoof it to the Black Water cafe.

In the European frame of mind, I order a latte and almond croissant. I very rarely eat breakfast but today I'm in the mood for change and travel. The croissant's not tasty; it has some yellow custard filling instead of the almond paste it should have so I won't order that again. I plug in the earphones and tune into baroque online.

The weather's in top form today, it has everyone talking and anticipating the blue skies and sunshine and temperatures in the 70s. Alas, I must work today but not until 4 p.m. so I can grab some of those rare glorious rays and color to my complexion to look a little less like death warmed over.

It's an event when Pacific Northwesterners can shed the coats and three layers of clothing and go about comfortably in T-shirts. This'll make front-page news along with the thousands soon to join the exploding ranks of the unemployed as auto dealership doors are slammed shut around the country. Ah, socialism. Gotta love it – at least that's the consensus of this administration and American public.

What is it about lost buttons that inspires stories?

I spot a button on the floor by my cafe chair. It's no larger than a penny, has two tiny holes protected by metal and a fabric cover striped with thin khaki and white lines. Whenever I find a button, I always wonder whether they realize it's gone and do they miss it. Do they go "oh shit, I lost a button"? Or are they blase? Do they wonder where they lost it? Has anyone ever gone in search of a wayward button?

Likewise, what do the finders of stray buttons do with them? Do they retrieve them, stick them in a drawer or sewing basket for later use that never comes to pass? Or do they think, "oh, I'll sew this on such-and-such" that's missing a button at home. I've done that.

My father and I, I discovered, share a peculiar quirk. We each have a proclivity for buttoning our shirts one off unaware until someone points it out. I've gone around with uneven hems for an entire day before realizing it. I discovered this about him a few years ago when my stepmother and I were in the kitchen and he came in with his misbuttoned shirt. She drew his attention to it with a chuckle and commented to me he does that a lot. Now I know where I get it, haha.

To my knowledge, however, I've not worn mismatched socks.

If I had a digital camera, I'd take photographs of old shoes at thrift stores and make up stories about their wearers.

The button I found this morning doesn't inspire a story. It looks like little more than a button that slipped off a jacket and is probably not too important or missed.

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