Peas, pease as one of our archaic acquaintances would spell them, are in.
For the last week, I've been meditating on peas. For example, I picked for more than 3 hours this morning and Karen and I shelled for 3 hours this evening.
Don't laugh. One can get a lot of work done, stories and poems written, problems solved while meditating on peas. You could sing "On the Street Where You Live" a thousand times, or allow it to wiggle as a brainworm, endlessly.
"You might invite a friend over to help," says Virginia.
Right. See what happens?
He's mesmerized and can't see you. In this case, he also thinks you can't see him because of the hat. So what kind of world has he entered?
When I look back thirty years
I wonder how I got here.
I did not expect my future,
I did not plan it.
I knew the dreams I had were fiction,
professional basketball player,
Supreme Court justice,
father of six or seven.
My short-term goals were something less,
chosen just before each gentle turn
I charged with focus down the line.
Then something happened,
I shifted right, then left, then right again,
and I landed exactly
where I wish I had dreamed
I would be today.