The Jar Had a Point

June first. The jar was not going to open. I want to be clear about this: I tried the twist, I tried the hot water on the lid, I tried the rubber grip pad that lives in the second drawer and has never once actually gripped anything. Three full minutes. The jar sat on the counter looking correct and sealed and entirely unbothered.

Eventually I got a spoon, wedged it under the edge of the lid, and broke the seal in about four seconds. This is not a metaphor. I was just tired and wanted pasta and the jar was in the way. But there is something about the moment after, the soft pop, the lid coming free, the slight embarrassment of how long it took to arrive at the obvious solution, that felt worth writing down.

The framing shop printmaking night is still sitting in my draft folder as one sentence. The laundromat post from two weeks ago got more comments than anything I've written in months, which is the kind of information I don't know what to do with. And the cord on the windowsill is doing something interesting in the early June light, lower angle than May, the shadow reaching a few inches further toward the photographs. I keep meaning to note that properly and then the jar happens and I'm writing about the jar instead.

the victor surveys her territory

The spoon worked. That's the whole post.

the spoon that did what my hands could not