Once a year if I’m lucky I settle down long enough to make apricot jam… not just any apricot jam, but my Julie’s jam. Losing our loved ones is probably one of the hardest lessons we have on earth. And while time has healed my broken heart enough to carry on, I can on any given day cry thinking of my dear friend. I wouldn’t even venture to change that. My way of thinking, tears are merely a measure of how much I enjoyed my friend. They come with the territory.
Julie made pretty much the best apricot jam around. And now, thanks to her, so do I. Her recipe, much like she lived her life, cuts no corners. She would spend three to four hours, stirring the apricots to cook them down. The whole process takes the better part of a day, and every minute spent is rewarded two-fold.
Jam day now feels like I’m spending the day with Julie. I reminisce with her all during the day. We watch a few good movies as I stir for hours. This year we watched a couple of cute Amazon Prime movies with Diane Keaton. Julie left me her copper jam-making pot, so inevitably I send pictures to her sons to let them know it’s apricot jam day. And if I’m lucky, we end up laughing for an hour on the phone, just like I would have done with Julie had I been cooking with her. Life continues to delight me as it teaches me that the threads that weave throughout any family tapestry pass down through the generations.
I thank heaven for angels disguised as friends, for copper jam pots, for apricot trees and for children left to carry on such a beautiful legacy.