Her homemade jams - written for the Day 199: 5 Minute Freewrite of @mariannewest

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My childhood was an odd one, for so many reasons, but I am not going to get into that right now. One of my favourite stepfathers (yes I had a few. My mother had a hobby, it was called marriage) was Ralph E. Henderson editor with Readers Digest from 1923-1965. One of the Houses he owned was in Kent Connecticut. It was one of my favourite places in the world and a part of me still is rooted there, although it now belongs to Henry Kissinger who totally ruined it and painted it a shade of vomit yellow the last time I saw it. One of the most amazing things about the place was its rolling hills full of blueberry fields, another thing Kissinger ruined he ripped them all out and turned it into a golf course. Our butler James Gallagher was known for his chocolate chip cookies who were donned James Delicious Cookies, his wife Elisabeth was known for her home made jams. I have been all over the world and I have never had better. No one was ever able beat her raspberry or blueberry jams. She had adult and PG versions, the adult with a hint of rum or whisky; her citrus jellies were beyond divine. If I could steal a Tardis I would raid the cellar where they were stashed. Alas like all good things of my childhood she, Kent House and her jams are no more but bitter sweet memory. Yet, if I close my eyes I can imagine myself there, the five year old, three corgis in tow reaching for the scone Elisabeth made dressed in her blueberry Jam.

Writing notes:

this was written for @mariannewest’s Five Minute Freewrite to join in on the fun go Here

_{(Image credit Dave Renike and a portrait of the fair jubilee made by myself turned into this here universal truth meme)}

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_{art courtesy of @PegasusPhysics}

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