A lot of things about the past few weeks have made me smile, and I've indulged in a lot of long, loud, medicinal laughter. But I wasn't laughing when the TSA employee at the Portland airport confiscated this harmless little jar of jam because I'd forgotten to stick it in my checked bag.I'd first tasted it in California, during my nephew's graduation weekend. When his Aunt Carol mentioned there was some Marionberry in the refrigerator, I laughed out loud. I totally thought she was joking.
If you're from DC, the words "Marion" and "Barry" go together in a way that's mostly bittersweet. I've learned enough about the city's former, infamous mayor to know that 50 years ago, his energy and commitment to Civil Rights were sincere. I've also learned that one reason the Metro DC area has the highest concentration of affluent African Americans in the country is because Mayor Barry kicked down barriers to contracts and business opportunities. Granted, there was probably a significant amount of cronyism thrown in to boot, but the term "equal opportunity" applies to a lot of things, I guess.
Sadly, the bitter outweighs the sweet when it comes to Barry's overall reputation. He'll always be remembered for being busted smoking crack in a hotel room. It would be funny if it wasn't so darned tragic.
So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that my jam got me in a jam. With a name like "Marionberry," it was almost inevitable.
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