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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| The Plain of Jars? Although I am familiar with glass jars, I suppose 2,000-year old jars could be constructed of stone. They'd be a bugger to lift though. And where are the lids? Isn't it a given that jars have lids that seal? Were there once lids scattered about? Were they smashed? I'm presuming these lids were designed with less heavy materials and thus fragile. What did these stone containers hold? Could they have been olive, or pickle jars? Imagine a giant reaching into one of these stone urns with his fingers and spearing a juicy, crunchy pickle. Perhaps this giant fancied a cocktail or two of an evening to unwind. With two-thousand olive jars he'd have quite the stash for his signature martinis. Once the containers became empty, I envision a giant child using them to scoop up insects which he or she collected and sadly tortured. As the child aged the urns lost their allure and were tossed. This plateau in Laos could well be a rubbish heap. Who would carry that many jars about? They were discarded and forgotten. Just how were these stone jars created? How did they come to exist in a grassy plain? I might have an idea. Is it plausible? Does it stretch the realm of possibility? Agatha sighed. Finding a hobby to wile away the long hours had produced far more than she'd anticipated. If she were honest with herself, her creations occupied too much space. They were quickly filling up the yard and they were bound to be noticed by her husband. As a wife accompanying her man on his raids raised eyebrows. Her new duty involved keeping the home fire burning. She could and did do that. Everyday she stoked an impressive fire and then waited. Agatha fretted and chafed. She paced and wandered, but never too far from the fire. She yearned for the dragon confrontations and the razing of villages. She missed the screams and the frantic scurrying. Watching a blazing fire alone did not compare. She needed something to keep herself busy. The roaring flames and the steady heat inspired Agatha. What could she do that would not compromise her fire duties? Could she craft something that required that ready heat? Agatha could still remember the cool clay oozing through her fingers as she sculpted it into pots. Figuring out the spinning pottery wheel had necessitated total concentration and while she learned to coordinate her hands and feet, she pined less for her past life of bloodlust. She poured all of her pent up feelings into her stone jars. She hummed. She molded. She pinched. No two were formed alike. Each acquired its own shape and revealed its form when it rose from the fire she guarded. Of course, Agatha's pottery shadowed her own considerable girth. Nothing too dainty or indelicate sprang from her rough, immense hands. Once she wielded a broad ax with the best of them. Agatha sighed and dropped yet another fresh jar onto the green grass. Hands on hips she surveyed her stonework scattered about. Yes, she had mastered this skill. Perhaps it was time for a new one. What could she put into her jars? Tiptoeing amongst her creations, Agatha snorted. Of course, she could learn to make preserves, or pickles. She had already proven that this giantess could do anything. Hubby returned home with all manner of delicacies scavenged during his forays.(571 words) Thursday, April 8 Plain of Jars Location: Xiangkhoang Plateau, Laos More than 2,000 large ancient stone jars are spread across a plateau in Central Laos. Some stand 10 feet tall and weigh several tons. Archaeologists estimate the jars are 2,000 years old, but their purpose is unclear. The most common theories are that they were used as funeral urns. What do you think these urns were for? |
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