Strawberry Fields Forever

Somewhere in the tamoxifen-induced exhaustion haze I'm in, I decided that rather than trying to take a nap, I would make strawberry jam like my grandma used to make. I remember the last time we made strawberry jam together early in the summer that she passed away, and even though I have all of her hand-written recipes, I wished I had paid better attention (for so may reasons). It wouldn't have taken her three different utensils to figure out the best way to crush four pounds of strawberries. I know she would have done a better job of capping and cutting up the berries. And I'm sure it would taste better. I had about three jars of jam from that last batch we made together, and after she died, I rationed it out and moved it from house to house until I just couldn't make it go any further. I know it won't be the same, but I enjoyed revisiting the memory of her while I made the jam and I'll think of her every time I have some on my toast.