Day 26

The habitat-mate and I might be guilty of having too many mason jars. I don't think we've gone overboard the way some masonites do, but that's coming from a man with more than one handmade jar cozy to make it so he doesn't burn his hands when he uses a jar as a hot drinks mug. Maybe take my protestation with a grain of salt. (If you need some, you can guess where we keep it.)

That fact that we have so many jars doesn't mean they live glorified lives. Many have been pressed into thankless duty. We put dried pinto beans in them, which in the golden days was our way of telling a jar we never wanted to see it again, except to dust it every other year. And they bore that treatment like spoiled children. Such fragile egos. Tell me you own an object more passive aggressive than a jar that feels neglected.

"Oh me? I'm fine. Yup. Still holdin' those old beans. Like always. When you need some dry beans you know where to find me."

Now, like all the rest of us, the jars are lining up in common purpose. The old beans are going into the Instant Pot. Empty jars are filling up with rice and getting emptied and filling up again.

Isolation is a mason jar's moment.

There are two jars on the counter right now, serving as actual vessels of new life. Literal wombs. One is gestating sourdough starter, which I've written enough about. The other is bearing a litter of lentil sprouts. In just a day or two I'll make myself a sandwich on sourdough with those sprouts and some hummus made from long-suffering garbanzo beans. The mason jars will look on from the counter, vindicated.