Contentment is something I was always able to feel from time to time. With my ability to dissociate from all emotion there were times when I just felt nice. Not sad, not wildly happy, just content. One of those times is when I make jam. I make it the old fashion way with a pot of boiling fruit, pectin, and sugar. The smell is wonderful. The steam coming off is like a hundred dollar facial. Once all the jars are filled I wait for the telltale popping sound that says, "This jar is sealed." I never made jam growing up as a child. Strawberries were considered a treat and not to be mangled and mashed and boiled with sugar. I learned how to make jam when we lived in a small town with a huge garden and access to fields of strawberries. I enjoy squishing the fruit and watching them swirl in the pot as I stir and wait for the boiling to begin. The rhythm, the smell, and the anticipation of what is to come I feel content. I will plan on a cool day to bake bread to go with the jam. Warm crust of bread, dripping with butter and slathered with homemade jam is pure contentment to me.