Buckets of Blackberries

My Ma had some pretty serious surgery last week. We've been trying to take things slow since then, but Ma's never been one to take it slow.

In her invalid state, she doesn't have the ability to run around like her usual, crazy self. Not one to let a major surgery get her down, she's been channeling her energy into more surgery friendly routes. Mostly this means that she makes lists and lists of things for everybody else to do. She rules from her bedroom, divvying out responsibilities like firemen throwing out candy in the fourth of July parade.

It wasn't so bad at first, since she was likely to be snoring when I periodically checked on her. The better she felt, the more often she was awake when I looked in on her, and the crazier her tasks would get: "I need you to buy buckets and buckets of blackberries so you can make jam, cobbler, pie, crisp, shortcake, coffee cake, and strudel! Don't forget an extra bucket for eating! Also, save the sieved bits so I can eat them!"

Yup, that happened. Lying in bed gave her ample time to peruse the ads and blackberries were on sale for a crazy good price. What she intended for the counter full of blackberry deliciousness, I don't know. Particularly considering her diet is restricted to about five things, none of which include blackberries.

I did buy blackberries, and we did make blackberry jam. I was very firm with her and told her that she could only help me make jam if she sat her little bum down on a stool and didn't move; she kept trying to get up and do things, but my 'you know you don't want to do that' face took care of that.

I've never made blackberry jam before. It's delicious. I know it doesn't make sense, but all I could think as I was licking my sticky fingers was that blackberry jam tastes how you wish raspberry jam tasted.

The best part about the blackberry jam? It wore Ma out enough that she hasn't mentioned blackberries since.