Oh, yum. The scent of grapes coming to a boil is a favorite of mine and it’s filling my kitchen right now.  Here’s what I harvested this afternoon.

It’s a third to half of what’s out there.  WOO HOO!

I’ll let it strain overnight.  Hmmmmm. Hadn’t thought about the cats, especially Katya. She is very curious about these little purple orbs.

Straining the grapes involves perching an old metal strainer atop a kettle. Because of its tallness, the whole structure has to sit on the outer part of the counter; I can’t hide it under the cupboards.

And the strainer perched atop the kettle is precarious anyway, even without the slippery skins filling  the strainer. I remember 2011, or was it 2012, when the whole thing tipped over on the kitchen floor. Oh boy, was that a mess! So glad that the grout between the floor tiles  was a dark gray!

This year I’d like to be patient and not squeeze the juice, pushing it through the strainer to hurry it along. Mom said that clear grape jelly was the ultimate, the jelliest of jellies. You don’t get clear jelly by hurrying the straining process.

You also don’t get clear jelly if you make it on a cloudy day. I really don’t know if that’s a barometer issue or a wives’ tale, but I have discovered that the old wives’ tales are often couched in experience and truth. That is becoming more true to me the older and wife-ier I get!

Ahhh. Had to take a break and pour the grape mixture into the strainer. Look at that pretty red colored stream of sun kissed goodness!I love it!

It’s now dripping beautiful clear red drips, but I can’t seem to get the shot in time. Something that has to do with old and wifeyness.

Did you know that in Nova Scotia they make ice wine?  They let the grapes freeze on the vines and then make the wine!  I don’t know how they keep the critters off of them. I had to argue with quite a few bees over the grapes I harvested today. And last year the grapes came due while we were in Nova Scotia; when we returned, the grapevines were empty. I am blaming the squirrels who were angry that I didn’t plant any tomatoes last year for them to munch on.

++++ no transition here+++++++++

The Phryne of the title is pronounced /fry-knee/.  It is the name of the main character in my new favorite Netflix series, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.  Yep, it’s Phryne Fisher, a woman detective in 1920’s Australia.  She is independently wealthy,  with the intelligence to match the local police detective, as he soon realizes. It’s got the production values of a BBC Poirot with David Suchet.  The costumes, cars,  and sets are fabulous. And, the hats, oh the hats! Tonight season three appears on Netfllix, at least that’s what I understand. I have thoroughly enjoyed the first two seasons and highly recommend them.  What have you got to lose? Network tv hasn’t started yet.  Treat yourself; watch this show.  It’s an easy ensemble that works well together with only a few  hard Aussie accents coming from her cabbie-helpers. How can you not like a show where the butler has graduated from The Cordon Bleu, can give advice to the lovelorn, and is named Mr. Butler?

******** no transition here either********

 

What is the difference between these pictures?

In one the octopus is looking at you and in the other he’s not.

Hahaha!  Loved that pie crust idea. Too bad the grapes don’t make good pie filling!

That’s my new Flexitouch machine for moving the lymph back where it needs to be.  It works like those machines that pump your  calves during and after surgery. The little pockets fill up with air up and down my trunk, torso, arm and hand. It takes an hour to run the program and about ten minutes to suit up; i use it once a day.  It replicates the therapist’s massage and can get to areas that I can’t reach. Made by a MN company,  it has had great results from the breast cancer patients with lymphedema, of which I am a card carrying member.

And, I’ll be watching Miss Fisher whilst Flexing tonight.

Have a wild Wednesday tomorrow!

Love,

Janet