Despite hours of meditative long tones on the flute for the last 350 days, I discover that I am not sufficiently spiritually advanced for placid pea picking. Still, I can joyfully weed the heck out of my own garden when there's nothing else to do. The latter (having nothing else to do) happens only at 7 a.m. on June 24, 2010, when I lock myself out of the house after a morning bike ride.
In other words: Once. Like ever, in forever. Musicians always have something to do. We can always practice, at least when we can get to our instruments. Which brings us to why I haven't practiced yet: The cat ate my house key.
Hopefully, the cat will also like peas, because we have a lot of them. Yesterday was CSA pickup day at Plato's Harvest, and it was summery hot. Just the day to step away from time and find peace via peas in the organic fields. Or, curse every pea as it came off the vine, wondering how many thousands of peas it takes to get to two pounds. It takes about ten thousand.
The Organic Farmer's Wife wonders if I even like vegetables. Oh, I do. When Denya the Fabulous cooks them, for example. All other times, I'll defer to the bread from Artisan Kitchen in Rochester, Mass., because all you have to do is unravel the tie wrap, sit down with a snappy friend, break off a few chunks, and you're good to go. Right, Sasha?
Now Hiring: Private Chef with Knack for Locally Grown Organic Peas.
I'll be downstairs practicing; call me when dinner's ready.