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“The juice of the grape is the liquid quintessence of concentrated sunbeams.”

With all the doors and windows open, I can feel the coolness in the air. I can also feel the humidity. It is so thick sounds are muted, and leaves just hang from their branches.

The day got lighter a couple of times when the sun broke through the clouds, but it stayed only long enough to give me false hope. The forecast is for cloudy and maybe some rain.

Any cloudy day is a stay close to home day because I don’t have the patience to face the traffic, the lines of cars filled with frustrated tourists trying to find something to do, something to entertain the kids, to keep them quiet; instead, I’m going to spend the day on the deck planting the flowers I Bought. Did I mention I went back to Agway yesterday? I bought the most magnificent pink hollyhock and some lavender plants with flowers. They are going in the front garden to fill some bare spots. I also bought several flowers to replace the dead ones in the deck pots. I’ll plant them when I’m finished here.

My friend Peg and I talked for an hour yesterday catching each other up on what’s been happening. I had held on to Bill and Peg’s Christmas presents hoping we’d see each other in the flesh. When that didn’t happen, I finally mailed their bag. I had found some neat stuff for them including a bee nesting house and a wooden press to make tostones (twice fried plantains). We had all developed a taste for plantain when we lived in Ghana though we never tried them twice fried. I also bought neat, unusual spices, for Peg and Bill including a jar of seasoning for Jollof Rice. When the three of us went back to Ghana in 2016, Bill and I ate jollof rice just about every night. I still could.

When I was a kid, the old white house with green shutters on the corner across the street had a grape arbor. Purple Grapes hung down from the overhead piece. They were the easiest to pick. The elderly couple who lived in the house had given us permission to pick the grapes. I remember the grapes had seeds. We’d sit on a rock wall, eat the grapes and spit out the seeds, but they were too small for our competitive who can spit the seeds the farthest game. Cherry pits were perfect. I never won. My technique was faulty.

This post first appeared on Keep The Coffee Coming, please read the originial post: here

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“The juice of the grape is the liquid quintessence of concentrated sunbeams.”


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