When I was a boy, I thought jellyfish produced the grape jelly my mother bought with Shoprite coupons. How did they get the jelly out? Did they milk jellyfish, like cows?

I found one washed up on the beach once, paler than the creatures in my National Geographics but unmistakable with its thin purple tendrils. When I gave it to my mother to make jelly, she put the jellyfish in the Magic Bullet, pulverized it and spread it on a piece of rye bread.

In time, they moved my mother to Sunny Acres. They say she asks about me often.