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You know how it is.

Sometimes you find yourself missing a relative or friend who has passed away.

I mean you always miss your people. But after the initial shock of a death wears off and time passes and life without a certain person becomes the new norm, the missing part becomes less raw.

Until one day you hear a turn of phrase or lyrics from a song, until one day you catch a certain floral scent or a glimpse of something that your missing person once loved, until one day you stumble across a photograph that reminds you of all the ways your life has changed — and suddenly that old grief storms the castle and takes you by surprise.

I've been missing my friend Sharon, who passed away a few years ago. Sharon was a queen of the domestic arts. A devoted collector and distributor of recipes, a seamstress extraordinaire of pillowcases and a baker of wedding cakes, she knew her way around a kitchen — hers AND yours — and she could impose order in that arena like a field marshal imposes order on an army of reluctant soldiers. On more than one occasion, Sharon muscled me out of my own kitchen when I was hosting an open house and took over because she knew she could manage a large operation better than I could.

And she was right.

Sharon could also quilt like a dream, putting patterns and colors together the way an artist swirls paint on a canvas. But unlike a painting, Sharon's fabric art had the advantage of keeping you warm at night. We have one of her quilts on a bed in the back room — a blend of gold and crimson and olive green, just like an autumn day.

Also, Sharon was funny. Her sense of humor was sharp and often irreverent — just this side of wicked — which made me like her even better.

Sharon suffered from systemic sclerosis. She was ill for a very long time, and because she knew she was dying she had time to pick an object that would remind the people of her.

In the end she chose a stray button and told us to think of her whenever we found one. A button! Of course! What could be a more perfect reminder? Find a stray button on the floor or in a drawer and think of Sharon. Brilliant!

Anyway, I've found myself looking for buttons lately because I've been missing Sharon and yes, I've also been a little blue — something that happens this time of year as summer gets ready to exit stage left. Maybe you've experienced this type of melancholy, too. You know the past wasn't a perfect place, but sometimes you wish you could go back for a visit — to see all the people and things you yourself once loved.

Meanwhile, I hadn't found any buttons.

And then the other day when I sat down to get some work done, I noticed the bouquet of button flowers my daughter-in-law made for me.

Buttons. So many buttons. Orange and pink and turquoise. Red and chartreuse and lilac. All gathered together in a little milk-bottle vase.

Now here's the thing: The bouquet had been sitting there on the corner of my desk, just like always — waiting for me to pay it some attention.

And I could almost hear Sharon tell me that sometimes the things we're looking for have been in front of us all along.