“Waste not, want not,” my Gramps told me, as he scraped the last of the jam from the jar, filled the jar with tap water, and shook it up.
“What are you going to do with that?” I asked him, wide-eyed and spellbound.
“It’s jam juice!” he declared before pouring half the vaguely pinkish water into a small glass for me, and drinking the rest down straight from the jar.
I followed his lead, noting that the liquid no longer tasted exactly like water, nor did it taste anything like juice. In fact, I wasn’t really sure I liked it. But I smiled widely and drank it all anyway, because I loved my Gramps, and that was good enough for me.