When I was eleven, I went with my parents to an antique fair. It was one of many I had followed them to, dozens of weekends wandering among old things. This time, I found a pair of black high button shoes, exactly my size. I couldn't afford the pair, my allowance didn't stretch that far. But the vendor must have seen a reflection of herself, and allowed me to buy just one. I was, almost literally, button-hooked.
A Christening gown my parents brought home to me from London:
Blouses and underclothes, a cream colored dress:
All that detail, pieces hand-sewn, made by and made for and worn by people I will never know.