'I'd never have imagined you in a place like this,' my brother-in-law said last year as we were walking through the apple orchard talking about fruit, new trees, bees and home-made jam.
|Bramley Apple Trees|
I've known him since I was about 12 years old. He married my sister when I was 17. He was on the sidelines of my 'glory' years in the 1980s: that's the superficial glory of too much make-up, big hair and a wardrobe bulging with party clothes rather than any particular achievement. Unless you call walking in 6 inch stilettos while wearing a strapless silver sequinned boob tube and 'spray-on' lycra lilac jeans an achievement. Actually, I'm beginning to think it was!
30 years later. This summer my day to day wardrobe has consisted mainly of cut off jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops or wellies, depending on the terrain. (Wellies terrain includes long grass with evening slugs, log collecting in the wet, the nettle choked bramble hedge that skirts the orchard and, occasionally, Tesco's.) Instead of foundation and blusher my face has been regularly smeared with blackberry or damson juice and ash from the bonfires where we've burned the trimmed tops of the alder windbreaks. Sometimes I look back at the Martini-drinking party girl and wonder if that really was me. Do you have past selves that seem more like completely different people, not just different aspects of your personality? People you might not like much? People you want to grab by the shoulders and shake?
Hungry Writing Prompt
Write about the person you were 30 years ago.
But it's all jam, as the title of this post says. Every single thing I've done, achieved, lost, wasted; every experience I've had, positive and destructive; all the people I've met, lives I've enriched or depleted; all of it has boiled down, or up, to who I am now. Who is that?
Yay: 'Let your jam bubble!' : )