Friends Don’t Let Friends Buy Store-Bought Jam{15}

neighborly gift of canned goods

Jam First Responder: Nancy to the rescue, jars in hand.

Yesterday, I pondered the absence of jam in my pantry. Today, a goddess named Nancy, traveled down the Westside highway (her chariot a full-size flat bed truck) to bestow a coveted cache of delicacies on me and wrong the right of culinary deprivation.

As Boz and Gracie greeted our jar juggler on the porch, I wasted no time or decorum in asking her (the man has no shame), “Are those for me?” Nancy smiled and said, “Yes, friends don’t let friends buy store-bought jam.”

Nancy, a gifted cook, skillful canner and downright awesome friend, set a quartet of  jars down on  the counter for me to inspect. She said, “Let’s see, I brought you sour cherry preserves, some chunky caramelized apple sauce, pear chutney and cinnamon-apple pie filling.  At least I think that’s what she said, as I had difficulty hearing over the choir of angels singing in my head and the licking of my chops.

four jars of jamJarred by such generosity

I thanked Nancy with words, hugs, tea and bread, and broke out a few jars of my remaining provisions in the form of homemade salsa verde, orange marmalade, and summer fruit chutney. She was delighted, but really expected nothing in return(which of course is no surprise).

Nancy, just in case you read this…in addition to my undying devotion, should you a need a kidney transplant, a tire changed or mousetrap cleared, I’m your man.