My college boyfriend and I once took a trip to Santa Barbara to stay at the swanky ranch that belonged to friends of my mom. That was the weekend I put on a pair of top-shelf cowgirl boots for the first time, and it’s safe to say I’ve never been the same.

We wore beaver felt hats and rode the horses and fired off a few rounds of an old Colt 45 into the sagebrush. I scrambled to collect the empty shells, knowing I’d want them for some craft project at some point.

Nine years later, I’ve carried these shells with me through at least a dozen moves. It wasn’t until just the other day that I realized what I wanted to use them for. Tiny flowers vases, obviously. The perfect vindication for my hoarding habit.