Apricot Jam

I currently live with my dad in the fourth-floor master suite of the house I built for him more than ten years ago. He is 103 years old and is more comfortable sleeping in his reclining chair in front of his TV in the living room. His caretaker and her fiancé live in a bedroom below.

I arrived carrying some clothing and personal items. Also a bowl of apricot jam.

The apricot jam was created from dried apricots that my daughter Jill brought with her to my son Craig’s house where we stayed together for a week. Craig’s mother-in-law transformed those dry and shriveled apricots into the most delicious jam I have ever tasted. Plump apricots, sweeter than kisses, in a thick syrupy gumbo. When I left I asked to take some with me. They gave me the entire bowl.

This morning while showering I thought about breakfast. I immediately began to salivate as I thought of starting my day with apricot jam on toast. Then I began to worry about how much jam was left in the bowl and how long it would last. After all, there are three other people living in this house, and I assume that one of their favorite foods, apricot jam, must be the same as mine (I might have a fixation). I worried they might have finished off “my” supply of jam yesterday while I was gone.

Then I “caught” myself. I am selfish. Of course. We all have to be a little selfish in order to survive. I want the jam for myself. I don’t want to share it. I want the bowl of jam to be in the refrigerator for me to enjoy. Only me. Am I a dog protecting his bone? Arf!

But I am also a socialized human being. I stop at every red light. Almost all of the time. I stand in line at the grocery store. I treat a friend to lunch at a restaurant. I am sooooo f***ing generous. Yup, I sure am. Except when I’m thinking about apricot jam.

So I took the high road. I realized that apricot jam is a resource from the earth and from my daughter Jill and my daughter-in-law’s mother. And from farmers and from Casa De Fruta in Hollister, California. And resources from the earth are supposed to be shared amongst all of us. Right? Like roads and lakes and national parks.

Accordingly, I hereby officially and publically announce that the bowl of apricot jam in my father’s refrigerator can be devoured and enjoyed by everyone.

Of course, you will have to search for the key to the lock on the refrigerator, and ignore my note on the bowl: DANGER – THIS JAM MAY BE DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH.

Enjoy!

Alan

P.S. It is now three weeks since I wrote this blog. No one else has touched my jam, and I think there is still enough for two, maybe three more breakfasts.