The ginger jar bug bit me. It bit me good.
It started as a single red urn in the back of the pantry, then someone gave me an orchid in a blue and white ceramic pot, then it was a $2 vase at the thrift store…then Sunday morning I gathered them up to cluster some peonies from the garden and boom. It’s here. An accidental assemblage. And now there is no turning pack. I have climbed aboard the ginger jar express train to Granny Town, pit stopping in Cat Ladyville. Toot Toot!
I think this all stems from a blue and white ceramic vase we had when I was a kid. It was more bottle shaped than urn I suppose. Big as a kindergartener. And beautiful. Totally impractical. No idea where it came from but I know it got left behind when we moved. Basic psychology and 15 years of Oprah lead me to believe I am making up the void of that vase by acquiring vaguely similar thrift store acquisitions. Which makes sense. But I hope that principal does not apply to other stuff left behind in that move like shag rugs and raccoon traps.
I need another collection like I need a hole in the head.