Need

So my whole life (or at least the last thirty years of it) I have been consumed with trying to get my hands on a mason jar. Yes, my family who are reading this, you know. They know of The Jar of Little Things. When I was young my friend Robby owned said Jar and would charge me a dollar to gaze upon It.

You see the Jar held dozens of "Little Things". Things like miniature finger nails and dollar bills, dolls and postcards, playing cards and lipsticks. I have no idea how Robby got his greedy little hands on it (he would charge my sister and I a dollar just to walk into his room!) but I was fascinated with it. When my parents said we were going over to Robby's house for a visit I immediately started dreaming of going through the Jar of Little Things. I never had a dollar so I never got to go through it. Sometimes Robby would pick out one Little Thing (like fake teeth) and dangle it in front of my eyes. Mostly he would shut his room off and I would have to gaze at the fuzzy Rush poster on his door. You know the one.

And then we grew up. I had dollars. But I wasn't thrilled with life...where I was living, etc. I then started thinking about moving to Washington DC but couldn't make up my mind to do it. And then it happened. Robby dangled The Jar of Little Thing in front of my eyes. He said he would give me the Jar if I moved to DC. He happened to be living in DC as well.

I needed no more reason. I packed my apartment and drove the big yellow Penske truck to Arlington VA. I took the big step. I got a killer job (Director of Marketing at five brew pubs) and a killer boyfriend (now husband) and now I wanted what was mine. The Jar.

Robby gave me the Jar and we reminisced about our growing up together. And then I ran back to my apartment to sift lovingly through every desired piece. For twenty years I yearned for this jar. And now it was mine.

So the years have gone by and I have moved five times, across country, across the world. I haven't looked at the Jar in years. It has been perched up on a shelf in my daughter's room. And the other night I stole a look at it. (I don't want my kids to notice it. They ultimately will destroy it, I am sure) And then, I opened it. The kids were in a different room. I was so excited.

I pulled one Little Thing out. It was a miniature bottle of Coke. I pulled another out, it was a miniature compass. I reached in and then....I heard the kids stomping down the hall. Argh! I quickly put the flat top of the Mason jar on and screwed the lid over it.

Foiled again. Someday I will be able to open the Jar of Little Things at my leisure, like I did that one day in Arlington VA. Perhaps that was the last time I was able to do anything at my leisure. From that point on, I got married, got pregnant, moved to Slovakia, moved, moved, moved.

And the elusive Jar followed me. Never taunting me (as Robby did), but always there. Through childhood, through young adulthood and now through parenthood.

I always get a great feeling when I happen to gaze upon that silly Jar. When I am putting laundry away or picking up toys. I remember the feeling of really wanting something. Of wondering how I could get through the fuzzy blockade the Rush posters offered. And now, now I have it.

No dollars needed.