My Little Golden Book of Phobias

It is now grape jelly making season. That's right, folks. Time to pick, wash, pluck, squish, boil, strain (let sit overnight), then measure, add sugar and pectin and pour into jars freshly pulled from boiling water, caps on and ta-da, the sweet 'ping' of the caps sealing. Then we pile them up in a wee pyramid where they filter the sunlight through their (this year) rosy deliciousness.

Because of all the sunlight and warmth this summer, the grapes are actually pink-purple so the jelly will be so pretty.

For the rest, there will be massive sticky counters, floors, bowls, stovetop, etc. And burned fingers. And I hope to heaven the jelly jells the first time around. Otherwise, there is the sadness of decanting all the jelly and starting over. It'll all be fine this year.

O, a bit of the extracted juice is the best grape juice I've ever tasted. Ever.

I"m watching the Wallandar series again. If you turn away, you don't understand a thing. Unless you know Swedish, which I don't. It does make the spit fly when they're being emphatic. And Wallander is always eating sandwiches, a kind of torture if you don't eat any gluten. I'd give someone my car for a slice of crunchy bread dipped in olive oil. But then I'd eat the whole loaf.

And I bought Halloween candy today. I buy the worst stuff so I'm not tempted to eat any. This year it's sweet-tarts, yuck. No chocolate. And Halloween is my clinic day this year. I need a costume. Something that won't scare toddlers.