Earlier this year, I was gifted some wonderful strawberry jam at a most casual meeting, one that didn’t need gifts. It was such a gracious gesture and one that I appreciated very much. Because you see, I have this thing about jam.
As the years have elapsed, this list has gotten much shorter. But there are still a good number of things that intimidate me. Things like stilettos, really big hairdos, sketching (Yes, I get the irony of it vis-a-vis my profession), crotchety grandmas, my high school French teacher,
the idea of anything rare or medium-rare, raw fish of any kind, making macarons, chapatis. Also jamming. No, not the Bob Marley or Michael Jackson variety. Although attempting to dance a la Jackson is a full-blown fear. I wake up nights in terror with a recurring dream dancing badly to Thriller in front of a packed audience. But no, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking spread-on-your-toast-perhaps-with-some-peanut butter-for-company fruity goodness.