Pot Head

I can't stop!

These days everyone’s claiming their addictions. TV dramas feature protagonists with drug problems (and we root for them), reality shows feature obsessed subjects who can’t live without mountains of shoes (that they never even wear) and athletes and politicians own up to being addicted to, erm, whatever floats their respective boats (although, only after being busted). Now, it’s my turn. My name is Reuben, and I’m addicted to pots. Or, planters, if you will … in fact, they don’t even need to be pots, or planters, for me to lust after them. They just have be a container that would look terrific with a plant, preferably a succulent, growing out of it. I’ve bought an antique tire washing basin, an old 10-gallon lard can, even an ancient rusted-out washing machine drum, and used them all as planters. Of course, I’ve also bought dozens of actual pots and planters that were created for that express purpose, in a huge array of materials, and found places for all of them in the Rancho’s scheme. Until recently, that is. Above, see Exhibit A, proof of my addiction to pot buying. These are last weekend’s haul and they include the following:

It just spoke to me!

Two large, old, terra cotta pots on chunky tripod legs found at an antique mall in Redlands; a hilariously bug-eyed octopus with an interesting glaze treatment and a nice smile, a green pottery piece with holes for hanging, both from a Yucaipa antique mall; and geometric ceramic pots in yellow and cream from a garage sale a couple of blocks from the house. They’re really great, and I love them all. Here’s the problem: I already have more than a few pots that need plants put in them … so, they’re really building up. And, it seems like almost every weekend I buy more! Since the first step to conquering an addiction is admitting you have it — I hereby swear that I will not buy one more planter until all the ones that need plants are filled. Not one. No matter how great, interesting, charming, unusual or perfect it is, I will NOT buy it. Further, I will not search for pots on ebay or craigslist (btw: the reason we were in Redlands and Yucaipa was to be near Apple Valley, where I had left a message for a seller of concrete pots I’d found on craigslist; he ultimately returned my call and said he’d sold his pots, but that he made them himself; so I placed an order for 10, in various sizes, he’ll call when they’re ready. See? Prob-lem!), or at garage/yard sales. If I can keep my promise to myself, maybe I can avoid having one of those uncomfortable interventions where my friends and family ambush me and read me letters saying how much they love me but they can’t stand seeing me surrounded by all those empty containers that will only end up at my estate sale. I know, as addictions go, excessive pot buying is not one of the biggies, but it shouldn’t be taken lightly, either. It can get expensive: that octopus was $45, and it doesn’t even have a hole in the bottom! I hope you’ll all be pulling for me out there and thanks for caring. Oh, I forgot to mention: that cool striped wooden cube that’s giving height to the ceramic pots in the photo? It’s a hand-carved bowling ball holder someone made in their garage … and, it’s only one of dozens of hand-carved wooden pieces I have! I love finding these wooden wonders, whether in cyberspace or in real-time, and buying them. But, don’t worry, it’s not a problem; I can stop at any time.