There is this very large pickle jar currently sitting on my counter that I should recycle, should get rid of, but won’t.
I want to get rid of it, but also no I don’t.
It is truly a large, mightily impressive jar. It is, I guess, aspirational.
I used to put all sorts of things in empty jars:
- Bugs (grasshoppers, crickets and spiders I’d eventually release, and often back outside too)
- Buttons (buttons belong in jars!)
- Nuts (chestnuts and acorns from around the neighbourhood because where else would they go though?)
- Change (not “spare change,” that’s a luxury)
- Paper clips and screws (they just seem to go together, don’t they?)
So many things. So many jars. But no more.
The very large pickle jar currently sitting on my counter…maybe it’s not so aspirational then. But nostalgic.
I’d read somewhere that the root meanings of nostalgia are “longing” and “regret.”
“Homecoming” and “pain.” And an empty jar.
I don’t even like pickles, not all that much.