I was not asked about the pickle jar. It came in the mail from Denver.
The jar is made of rose-colored glass with hand-painted daisies on it. It sits in a silver stand with a handle, and dangling from it are silver tongs whose ends are shaped in tiny, creepy little hands. My husband loves it. I do not. I’m just waiting for the day that my child or one of his friends knocks it down off the shelf and the pickle jar meets its end.[QUOTE]
The jar (and all of the other antique tchotchkes that are "gifted" to me) have the same story... This belonged to Grandma and Grandpa. She/he collected these special items. There’s always an added connection to their Icelandic family history and the importance of passing on these heirlooms. I genuinely appreciate the connection to family, history and heritage. I genuinely appreciate the connection to family, history, and heritage—truly—but there are some missing details.
The truth is, my husband's grandparents owned antique stores and many of the “precious” gifts given to me were actually unsold items from their stores. Yes, Grandma did collect fancy pickle jars, not because of her deep love of pickles, but because she made a living collecting and selling antiques. My pickle jar is one that didn't sell. I can see why, it is gaudy! It sits on a shelf collecting dust.
Recently, a friend came to my house for coffee and recognized the pickle jar as something special. I told her she was welcome to “accidentally” bump it off the shelf to help end my relationship with it. I even wished that I could give it to her. Would my husband notice if it was gone?
My friend snapped a photo of it and sent it to her mom, asking “Do you know what this is?” Her mom responded immediately. “It is a Victorian pickle castor!” It turns out my friend’s mom has been a docent at a Victorian museum for over 30 years. Apparently I own a beautiful specimen of Victorian glassware…lucky me.
Since the proper identification of the jar, I mean castor, I have spotted three more tucked among the items in the many curiosity cabinets at my mother-in-law’s house. Now I have a dream of one day taking a road trip with my friend, in a car full of pickle castors, to donate to the Victorian museum in Indiana so they can be properly appreciated.
-Caroline W.