The Mensa member makes jelly.

Last week I got permission to pick grapes from a nearby fence. My first batch of jelly turned out a lovely wine-purple color and my apartment smelled like communion.

But it was a lot more work than blackberry jam: You pick, then crush, then simmer, then strain the pulp through a cheesecloth-lined colander, then add sugar and cook.

On Sunday I picked pretty much all the ripe grapes that were left. Yesterday I patiently pulled out the stems, made sure there was a one-to-four ratio of underripe to ripe fruit (I don’t use commercial pectin), washed them, crushed them, simmered them, and poured about half the results into a cloth-lined colander set over a bowl.

The yield was three cups of juice. I scraped out the drained pulp, poured the rest of the simmered grapes into the colander and walked away to do another chore.

And then.

 

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Inattention can cost you. Ask me how I know.

On Friday morning I was rushing through my exercises, as usual, and thinking about five other things, as usual. Preparing for a hamstring stretch, I swung my left foot up toward the cedar chest. I missed, and the top of my foot hit the couch.

Side note: It’s not really a couch. It’s a loveseat/sleeper, a purply-pink fabric stretched over a frame made of steel, or possibly bricks. The corner, where the steel/bricks meet, was where my second toe connected.

Instantly I unleashed multi-syllabic swear words. The air turned blue overhead. I swear the loveseat blushed. After hobbling around the living room like a football player who’s just taken a crotch shot (Walk it off, Freedman, walk it off), I said out loud, “I have got to start paying attention to one thing at a time.”

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