I was eating grapes.

Partly because I was hungry, I should eat something to keep my blood sugar up, and I like grapes.

Grapes come in different colors. These were green. There are also yellow grapes, pink, red, and mauve. Some become raisins.

I was eating them also because the power company was warning us that they were going to shut the power off claiming due diligence so they couldn’t be sued for starting a fire like last time.

And grapes, if they’re left out long enough, spoil.

The grapes were in the fridge, but you know how it is, if the power is off, the fridge won’t stay cold, and food inside can spoil or even rot.

But then they didn’t turn the power off after all when they said they would, and I suspected that their accountants had debated the possibilities.

Predicted weather conditions seemed to indicate a lesser danger than they were already prepared for, after the upgrades quickly installed from the last time.

If people had to rent a motel room because the power at home was off, they might get together in a class action suit and sue the power company for the motel bill because of negligence of not having fixed the power already, which was still being litigated from the big fire for liability.

They probably had a Board Meeting where they considered whether the possibility was a probability, and by how much, if people already rented motel rooms when they got the first warning notice and now didn’t need the room because the power wasn’t shut off after all, but the reservations that were binding still had to be paid for, and then the motels could peripherally join in the lawsuit to get paid, and it gets so complicated that my head hurts, and all I wanted to do was eat grapes.

Life is so complicated that I feel sorry for everybody. Seems like you just can’t catch a break. You’re damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. Go figure.

Anyway, I idly speculated, as I do, more and more often lately, sounding like Mark Twain, what if I turned my grapes into wine?

I’m trying to learn to drink wine again, because the doctors said it would be OK.

In about a day and a half, my grapes would be cheap wine. I could take off my shoes and stomp them up real good.

But they call cheap wine “rot gut,” and I don’t want that to happen. In about fifty years, the wine would mature to vintage, but I can’t wait that long.

So I decided to eat the grapes, which I did.

They were pretty good. The very last one had a little stem, which I hadn’t noticed when I pulled them off from the vine they came on.

There are lots of things I don’t notice.

That’s the story of my life.

Part of it.

For now.

There are still some grapes left in the fridge, just waiting, and with the power on, I can see what I’m doing.