Flaunting Traditions

theirs...mine

For as long as I can remember, early June is jam making time. Strawberry jam. We would hunt down the best price at the markets, and mum would come home with flats of berries. It was a harried time. We would buy them, hull them, and mash them all up on the same day. Then we would cook it all up. Then we'd pour it off into jars and freeze it.

As I was working with my chiclets alone this year it reminded me of our journey here. Toward a healthy lifestyle. A lot of work in a very short space of time. So that we can enjoy life better for a long while. It sure can be overwhelming at times.

Everybody knows that the best strawberry jam is freezer jam. Just doesn't stay that vibrant red color unless you barely kiss it with heat and then turn it into a jamberry popsicle. Cooked strawberry jam-the kind you can store on your shelf-is a dull autumnal color. Nothing like summer. Unless it's been ravaged by coloring or worse. Jelloed.

The whole opration sexification movement was supposed to help me not to 'overcook'. I tend to do more than I should for everyone else. My mum told me that my Gruma A never went to the store without touching up her lipstick. I used to think that was repressed. That she'd been duped.

It was traditional in my mums-and I'm sure in her mum's-kitchen to have bread coming out of the oven at the same time of the first batch of jam. I tried it for the first time last year. We are all on our own out here, and I'm forging our own memories. But something about me yearns for what I've known. To reconnect to where I've been, and to pass on simple pleasures. Hot bread smeared with a burst of pure summer.

So, when I went to the grocery store this weekends a million times to buy jam ingredients I thought about lipstick. Probably more than I should have because jam brain means that you can only think about one thing at a time, and I always forgot something. Apple juice, or sugar free pectin for my jam. Bottles, lids, or Chickadee's soymilk.

I know that jury is split on tampering with jam. I'm not going to spill it here or Gruma A might just turn over in her grave. The lovely lady never served fresh fruit without 1/4 cup of sugar sprinkled on it. But, I do know one thing. I'm going to strive to beautify myself like her through cosmetics and moderation.

She doesn't have to know about sugarfree jam. Nor do I have to wear blood red lipstick to get her message. Also, I know for some-Corletta on SouthBeach-it would have to be hard to see/read about thoughts like this when it isn't your plan. But, I also don't feel the need to make this tradition feel austere. For me that means white rolls instead of whole wheat. I only mention this because I could have, I know how.

Now I have a much healthier version of jam to put on sammiches for the year. Also I've participated in a food tradition guilt free. No binge, no deprivation, just happy memories warmed and made.  Plus, I'm reminded to take better care of myself every time I look at them.  All that time thinking about sexification and Gruma (I don't think she'd be apalled) have made them inseparable to me.

What are your favorite early summer traditions? Have you changed them to fit your lifestyle?