Not much to say this evening. The wine yeast has been busily doing its part, and we'll soon see if I have something like wine, or something like vinegar. Keith sent us a postcard from Singapore with a "spiky" theme. I think I'll have to scan it in.
Well, rainorama! Fall has arrived early if only temporarily. And it's hardly fair to fully damn the days: I was wandering around downtown in short sleeves this evening.
Wine. Wine wine wine.
This was the weekend I did my darndest to be a terrible son-in-law, only to have my in-laws feed me dinner twice.
The impetus was the crab apple wine project. It all seemed so simple: throw crab apples in crusher. Throw resulting pulpy mess into press. Throw resulting pulpy juice into a big tub. Add water, sugar, special wine-making stuff, and yeast. Wait 9-12 months.
People keep telling me the heat is a little less this week. I'm not sure. I'm just sure it's time to cut my hair.
The race on Tuesday night went as usual: finished with the pack, but held on until the end. Oh, except for the part where on the last lap two guys started bouncing off of each other ahead of me. This was as they entered the fastest part of the course.
Even I am sometimes scared by what I am interested in.
My former boss Joe Kissell runs the Interesting Thing of the Day site, a wonderful little concept.
Today's article just happens to be on the Kepler Mission, yet another big-science space-shot that barely registers in the popular culture except among nerds and geeks.
One hundred posts. And I thought I would have nothing to write about tonight. So far, the week has been the usual: chasing down computer problems at work and at home, 80 km of riding on Tuesday just for fun (did okay in the race, merely finishing with the pack), and The Lovely One got a new job (it's sort of meta: she's teaching people how to be ESL teachers).
Gregg Easterbrook's "Tuesday Morning Quarterback", the football column so good that it started me watching NFL games, is back for another season.
Jelly jelly jelly jelly. Three more batches of it today, making about 15 jars of jelly in various fairly large sizes. And that hasn't even used up all of the juice, and has hardly touched the stock of ripe apples still available on Fr. Joseph's tree. And today he begged me to pick the pear tree, too.
My mother-in-law tells me pear-ginger jam is excellent. Oh noooo! Save me from the jelly!
By now, I'm not exactly sick of crab apple jelly, but I have licked enough bowls to be able to move on to something else for a while. But it's a great jelly.
On August 5, 2000, I married The Lovely One. It has been four great years. I don't want to wax rhapsodic about what being married to my lovely bride has meant to me; such thoughts are hard to express well (which is why romantic poets are so highly paid) and likely to bore or nauseate readers who are not me or TLO. So personal to The Lovely One: nee nee nee nee. You know what I mean.
