Writing the Jar

Saturday August 14th

Day 115

We wake to the sound of rain and so abort our outdoor plans.

Instead we spend too much at Sainsbury’s and come home to a late breakfast of hot croissant and a pot of Earl Grey tea. I open a jar of jam. I have removed its round cloth bonnet, printed with strawberries and tied in place with a red and green ribbon. I love this particular jar and I know it well. It is a gift from my sweet writing niece and has passed between us, sat on our kitchen tables, many times. Together we are weaving its history.

I know it started its life on a shelf in Italy. The writing on the lid says ‘Quattro Stagionie’, and there is a line drawing of a country scene - a beehive, a butterfly. This same design is etched in relief on the side of the glass. It is squat and weighty in my hand - this time it's a deep red jewel.

Over the years it has been full of peaches and plums - hers; marmalade - mine; strawberries - hers and mine. She wrote the story of this jar in her very fist blog - more than one hundred days ago - touching my heart. Like me, she is still writing, still making magic in her kitchen.

We’ll have this to treasure when the jar - and the jam - are long gone.