I had a conversation with a stage hand friend a while back.  We were talking about getting older.

She said that when she was a kid she recalled that her mom had a spice rack in the kitchen that was filled with those small jars of spices like we all have.

But gradually small amber plastic containers started to appear and populate the rack to the point where they seem to be taking over.

“That’s what happens I guess,”  she said, “when your parents get old.”