02-28-2009, 01:25 PM
I go out to pick some snow peas. Yep, I've got snow peas. I planted them in late autumn because I think ahead. A lot of people are like grasshoppers. They live for the moment, and when that moment's over, they gotta start all over living the moment. And that's just redundant. Me, on the other hand, I'm not redundant. I think ahead. And now I have snow peas.
So I go out to pick snow peas, and it's a lot of fun -- reaching in through foliage, gripping the stem just above a ripe pea, snapping it free with the other hand. There's something very Zen about it -- peaceful and very satisfying. And the pea plants are like this koan full of paradoxes and counterintuitions. I'm not saying that paradoxes and counterintuitions grow on the plants like fruit. Because it's just peas. That's all that grow on the plant. Still, every time you think you've got all the ripe ones, you sidestep and see more. And that's the koan aspect. Every time the task is complete, you look at it from a different angle and it's not. You really need to look at the bushes from 360 different degrees. 360! I know it's that many because I counted them. I counted them out and it's 360 degrees.
I didn't bring a sack with me because I didn't expect to find many. But I wasn't thinking with a 360-degree mind. So I have to start piling them on the ground. Finally I'm done. I've gone through all 360 degrees, solved the koan, and I'm done. I scoop up the ones on the ground, and it's a double handful. It's an effort to get them all in my hands, because some keep spilling out and I have to somehow pick them up again. Finally I have them, and I stand up only see one more fucking ripe snow pea low down in the foliage. So now I have to carefully transfer all the peas into one hand. Some fall to the ground and require repeated retrievals, but at last I have them all stacked high in one hand, and my other hand is free to reach in and pinch off that last ripe snow pea. But it's a tricky business picking peas one-handed. You have to grab it and pinch the stem with thumb and forefinger at the same time, and it fights you, jars you as it comes loose, and the old neighbor lady has appeared in her yard and peas are spilling from your hand and she's like 80, tiny and skeletal, and I yell at her because she distracted me, she caused all these peas to fall to the ground, and I keep yelling at her until the police show up.
You know the police. You try to explain something to them and they: Just. Aren't. Listening. They "JUST. AREN'T. LISTENING." They insist on doing the talking, and they like having you handcuffed so you're a captive audience, which of course means that all the peas are on the ground. I'm not happy about that, but they "just, aren't, listening," and finally I just clam up because, what's the use?
About that time I notice the lady from down the street walking by. Tall, blond, slender, she's got great legs and isn't afraid to show them. She's walking her ridiculous poodle as usual. You never know what it'll be wearing. Today it's got a red bow and a maroon sweater. As for the blonde, unbelievably, she's wearing fishnets. She's never worn them before, but she is now, and suddenly I'm leaping against one of the officers and he's not too pleased, no siree. The next thing I know I'm face down in the dirt, staying real quiet because, what's the point? What's the point? They never listen.
Eventually they do let me go, and they even help pick up the peas and carry them indoors with me, for which I should be thankful. But still, they never listen.
I'm not certain what I'll do with the peas. I might try pasting them into an oil painting. It will save me some Pthalo Green.
So I go out to pick snow peas, and it's a lot of fun -- reaching in through foliage, gripping the stem just above a ripe pea, snapping it free with the other hand. There's something very Zen about it -- peaceful and very satisfying. And the pea plants are like this koan full of paradoxes and counterintuitions. I'm not saying that paradoxes and counterintuitions grow on the plants like fruit. Because it's just peas. That's all that grow on the plant. Still, every time you think you've got all the ripe ones, you sidestep and see more. And that's the koan aspect. Every time the task is complete, you look at it from a different angle and it's not. You really need to look at the bushes from 360 different degrees. 360! I know it's that many because I counted them. I counted them out and it's 360 degrees.
I didn't bring a sack with me because I didn't expect to find many. But I wasn't thinking with a 360-degree mind. So I have to start piling them on the ground. Finally I'm done. I've gone through all 360 degrees, solved the koan, and I'm done. I scoop up the ones on the ground, and it's a double handful. It's an effort to get them all in my hands, because some keep spilling out and I have to somehow pick them up again. Finally I have them, and I stand up only see one more fucking ripe snow pea low down in the foliage. So now I have to carefully transfer all the peas into one hand. Some fall to the ground and require repeated retrievals, but at last I have them all stacked high in one hand, and my other hand is free to reach in and pinch off that last ripe snow pea. But it's a tricky business picking peas one-handed. You have to grab it and pinch the stem with thumb and forefinger at the same time, and it fights you, jars you as it comes loose, and the old neighbor lady has appeared in her yard and peas are spilling from your hand and she's like 80, tiny and skeletal, and I yell at her because she distracted me, she caused all these peas to fall to the ground, and I keep yelling at her until the police show up.
You know the police. You try to explain something to them and they: Just. Aren't. Listening. They "JUST. AREN'T. LISTENING." They insist on doing the talking, and they like having you handcuffed so you're a captive audience, which of course means that all the peas are on the ground. I'm not happy about that, but they "just, aren't, listening," and finally I just clam up because, what's the use?
About that time I notice the lady from down the street walking by. Tall, blond, slender, she's got great legs and isn't afraid to show them. She's walking her ridiculous poodle as usual. You never know what it'll be wearing. Today it's got a red bow and a maroon sweater. As for the blonde, unbelievably, she's wearing fishnets. She's never worn them before, but she is now, and suddenly I'm leaping against one of the officers and he's not too pleased, no siree. The next thing I know I'm face down in the dirt, staying real quiet because, what's the point? What's the point? They never listen.
Eventually they do let me go, and they even help pick up the peas and carry them indoors with me, for which I should be thankful. But still, they never listen.
I'm not certain what I'll do with the peas. I might try pasting them into an oil painting. It will save me some Pthalo Green.
I'm nobody's pony.
