I have to be in the mood to grate nutmeg. I’m not much different from anyone else. But when I put nutmeg on my nutmeg… Hearing the jock jams of yesteryear always does this to me. I sway in the kitchen like a wayward scarecrow. Before long I’m dancing with Tamsen (calico, not a natural dancer). When my thoughts drift to the beach ball we threw over the dam, I know the grating is almost done. Something of an end approaches in a 1995 Land Rover and parks on the street.