When I was little spying a packet of jelly in the cupboard made my wee heart skip. It set off a yearning wish to have just one perfect jewelly cube to nibble on. If only I could work out how to cajole and convince the grown up, whose lofty domain the cupboard was to relent and grant my desperate, fervent wish. For, oh! I wanted it so badly.
How often were you denied? As the chief, the mummy, the daddy or the Grannie now, how often do we say no and sweep off unaware of the little passionate heart left harbouring it's disappointment. Or vengeful fury! We are not making jelly now, we are leaving the house now, we have to shop, Hoover, finally sit down now...
It is a lasting memory, that my Nana always let us have a cube of jelly! She was a yes sayer.
'It's good for your nails!'
The elation, the quickly skipping happy heart, the smiles at a wish granted. They were disproportionate to this seemingly insignificant, irrational wish to eat 'raw' jelly! To us it was a pleasure only to be found in dreams coming true.
Children's dreams are such a foreign land once we've left. What a shame we can no longer hold dear the tiny, the seemingly ordinary and see its magic with the same startling clarity and colour.
So even now, each time, I nibble a cube of jelly and remember this. Each time I vow to say yes more than I say no.