Mason

My 87-year-old mother and I recently attended a graduation open house for my niece. As we enjoyed our ice cream sundaes, we discussed how quickly the grandchildren were growing up and how exciting it is when each one leaves the nest and begins a new future. My mother has twenty grandchildren with high school graduations under their belts, three to go.

We slurped down the last bite of our sundaes and our attention soon switched to the tasteful table decorations, a stack of three school books tied together with twine, topped by a Mason jar filled with a few fresh flowers. I am a Pinterest virgin so I am always in awe of those who know how to add an aesthetic touch to a setting. My idea of decorating is keeping everything in drawers and cupboards so I have less to dust. God bless those who rise above such laziness.

My mom was most interested in the Mason jar. She knows nothing about Pinterest's obsession with jars but she does know the utilitarian purpose of a jar (thank you, Mr. John Mason, circa 1858).  She sighed and remarked, "I canned a lot of food in jars like that." Her elderly friend at the table nodded her white-haired head and commented, "It was a lot of work."

Suddenly, the cute little jar with flowers took on a whole new meaning. Somewhere between the 1950's and the Pinterest era, the jar went from a symbol of diligence and preservation to an icon of cutesy quaintness. For my mother, it is still a reminder of the frantic frenzy brought on each summer by the relentless need to transport garden vegetables and seasonal fruit into neat rows of clear jars filled with green beans, red tomatoes, golden peaches and mahogany cherries. Our already warm kitchen was often heated up a few more degrees with blanching water burbling away on the stove and a mysteriously dangerous pressure cooker rattling away like Mt. St. Helens.  The tools of the trade were scattered throughout the kitchen, a metal funnel, lids with rubber seals, metal lid bands, a canning jar lifter thingy and lots of kitchen towels. Add to the mix a bunch of little helper hands and it is a day of industrious duty and moments of insanity. My mother was either very patient or oblivious to our shenanigans because I never remember her shooing us out of her way when she was canning. My guess is that our patience waned first and we slowly bowed out of the process and let the expert complete the task on her own.

Early in my married life I attempted canning, but commitment and relatively inexpensive canned goods at the grocery store sabotaged any long term efforts. One by one, my Mason jars became receptacles for objects other than beans and beets. Nothing cutesy, mind you, strictly pragmatic.

I suppose this is the part where I should call upon my readers to share charming little Mason jar ideas. Feel free to do so but I am afraid I won't be able to pass your ideas along to Pinterest. Unless you think a jar of paper clips has decorative potential.