Monday, 6 August 2007

Jam and Bread



I've never been cool, but I think I've hit a new low - I'm addicted to jam. I didn't even like jam until I had children, but apparently I needed to replace the gin and fags and this is it: Tesco Finest Williamette-somethingorother Raspberry Conserve (I'm strictly Class B with jam). This morning I took The Girl's leftover toast crusts and dipped them straight into the jar - I'm like an animal! No one else in the house likes it (or rather, The Australian is having a Vegemite Revival because he's scared of turning British, and I've told The Girl she won't like it until she's "about seven" so my only rival is The Boy - but he can't reach the jar). With summer here, I'm dismayed to find that jam is probably not going to get me bikini-fit. Why can't I just be satisfied with bread and butter?

This got me thinking about my writing life. The bread-and-butter stuff is going really well (with one glitch that I'll blog about shortly), but it's the jam I want and for a couple of years now it's as if someone's been holding an open jar right under my nose and letting me have a good sniff but then whipping it away before I can dip the knife in. And sometimes I wonder whether I should just wean myself off the jam and learn to be happy without it.

I asked The Girl recently what she wanted to be when she grows up. She said 'Really big,' and stretched her arms as wide as they'd go. 'Me too,' I said, snuggling up to her and longing for that kind of simple yearning and optimism. 'But you are really big, Mum,' she assured me.

You see! It's the bloody jam!

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7 comments:

The Mock Duckling said...

oh dear. There is a theme here, m'dear. I am amazed at the skill with which you can take any subject and craftily bring it back to those mss...hehehe.

But, I think Pooh Bear had some salient thoughts on this. He said sticking your tongue into a jar of honey was really pretty good, but what is even better is the moment JUST BEFORE you taste it. When you know you are going to. But haven't quite yet.

That's the moment to be holding out for. Jam? Or expectation of jam...And also - perhaps bread and butter is pretty nice in the meantime. And dreams of jam can sustain you....

Too much profundity going on here. Better go. x

Mum'sTheWord said...

Pooh may well have a point, but what if in the meantime people kept telling him he was a substandard bear and didn't deserve the honey...? Today I'm feeling more Eeyore than Pooh.

*Sob!*

The Mock Duckling said...

Nothing a bit of extract of malt can't cure.

Have faith, it's bloody tough all this waiting lark. xx

Leena said...

Mmmmm. Jam...

Emily, you must treat yourself to heavenly French jam called St Dalfour Rhapsodie de Fruit. A spoonful of that stuff on a biscuit and your MS depression will instantly be a thing of the past. AND it has no added sugar!

Mum'sTheWord said...

So funny you should mention St Dalfour because that's how my addiction began *gasp* you jam pusher!! I like the fig one, and the marmalade is also good.

Sarah said...

Myrtle, according to a fictional six-year-old boy from my favourite children's book: 'Heaven will be full of jam. I know because our Sunday school teacher said God makes preserves and protects us, and preserves is just a fancy way of saying jam.'

So that is something to look forward to.

Mum'sTheWord said...

Hehe! Reminds me of years of saying all the wrong words for prayers at Catholic school . . . Hail Mary full of grace the lord is withy . . .