The Collection Agency

peanut butter jars

By Jim Hagarty

I have always felt like an outsider because I don’t have a collection of anything.

The list of things people collect is endless and I have always been envious of them. Stamps, coins, old records, even cars. Books, art, silver cutlery.

I decided to change that. And so I have begun my own collection, a photo of which is shown above.

I collect peanut butter jars. I love them. Each unique from the other, each with a special memory of the great peanut butter I have scooped out of them by the tablespoonful at 3 a.m.

“How do you tell them apart?” says the ignorant non-collector.

Believe me, I know them. I am thinking of giving names to each of them.

My challenge now is to decide which one of my kids I will leave the collection to in my will. I don’t want them fighting over them.

I don’t want to separate the jars. They belong together.

Forever.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.