Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day, and today I feel inspired to share a story about a little marmalade jar. This tangerine-lime marmalade has been with me since 2004. The reason? I don’t know exactly. The jar was given to me as a small gesture of gratitude from a co-worker. I was working around that time in the Jewish Museum, in Miami Beach, FL. Me and Ira Newman, the museum’s curator, had just completed uninstalling an exhibit titled “Jews of Broward County.” Broward County, same as Miami Beach is known for its large Jewish population. The County’s northern area is also popular for horse farms and fruit stands.

At the time this little jar got into my life, I was living with my sister Angie for most of that year and 2005. The absence of the privacy of my own space perhaps, partially explains, why I didn’t open the jar during that time.  I also think that my fear of sour and spicy foods, or tasting something completely different, prevented me of opening the jar.

The jar is now among my treasured possessions; part of it embodies great memories of my life in Miami. Another is that, after all these years, I fear if I open it, that action will caused the end of something magical. Also, if I open it, it means that I’ll have to consume the fruity concoction. In the end, the memory of past moments flying away out of this jar conforms the most powerful reason to not open it. So, my resolution for this tangerine-lime marmalade is the same of all these years: to remain sealed, unopened, untouched in the safety of this small and magical jar.