Plink

(plink) That is the most gratifying sound in the world.

I've just set my aching muscles into a hard backed kitchen chair. (plink) Blissful exhaustion is what I am feeling right now. Fifty nine quarts of grape juice gleam gorgeously at me from my kitchen counter - 28 white and 31 purple. (plink) A few jars of grape jam and syrup cluster around the edges. While my tomatoes finish processing, I thought I would write a few words to keep me awake.

Those tomatoes are a victory to me. (plink) They are like seven bright red trophies. I have a deep and irrational fear of botulism (plink) which has kept me from doing tomatoes in the past. My husband, the grower of the tomatoes, has finally convinced me that canned tomatoes do not mean instant death. I am glad. I love tomatoes.

My daughter, the 20 month old, got in touch with her Italian roots today. One moment she was munching on grapes from a bowl, the next the grapes were on the floor being crushed into the linoleum by her bare feet. My own little vitner. (Wiki Answers assures me that vitner is the right word for wine maker. I am going to take their word for it.)

Well it took me seven tries to get the word "moment" spelled correctly in the last paragraph. That must mean I have more exhaustion than bliss. Goodnight friends.