Warm and sweet, thick’n heavy, the air is treacle and bubbles release their childhood scents from the pan; jam butties for lunch. “Peanut butter’n jelly,” says the voice in her head, but what have peanuts got to do with fruit?
“If you fall in the jelly you’ll be in a jam,” chants the memory of children and books. “But Mum, what’s jelly got to do with jam?”—American books that couldn’t even spell “colour.”
Ah, but Sheila’s American now, spells “color,” eats “Jello” at parties…
and stirs the pot of memories, warm and sweet; jam butties tomorrow, flavored with love.