The Trouble With Jars

Occasionally, I become paranoid that I'm edging over the line between quirky and socially unacceptable.

In the last couple of years, I've become a little attached to jars.  Chicago doesn't have a recycling program that's worth a damn and, let's face it, everyday chores are enough of a challenge for this girl.  It's not like I'm going to faithfully rent a zipcar to haul a bunch of recycleables to the nearest facility.

Jars are so handy.  I use them for my makeup brushes, spare change, to hold extra soup and sauces.  I use them for the 1 trillion safety pins that come home with the dry cleaning.  And I think they are pretty.  I like the shapes.  I like glass.

But inevitably, there are extras.  There are some in my cupboard, and I've pulled some out and put them on top of my yikky white kitchen cupboards to add a little visual interest.

These guys live in my kitchen

Just tonight, there was a new spaghetti sauce jar and a salsa jar ready for the dishwasher.  I paused before putting them in.  Is this how it starts...my inevitable decline into hoarding?  With jars?  I had a vision of the future -- my family members placing concerned phone calls amongst themselves, "well I knew there was something wrong when she started with those damn jars."

I've already made my sister Ariel promise that if I ever need a hoarding intervention, she'll hire Dr. Zazio.  Her voice!  It's so soothing!