peaved

My great-grandparents' entire backyard was a garden, save a huge tree, a gliding swing and a few iron chairs. My job was to pick (read: eat) green beans. I grew up with a strong distrust of eating beans prepared by anyone other than family guaranteed to have garden-fresh or those lovingly canned by my Grandma Georgia. Last summer I bought many pounds at the market down the street, eating quite a few for breakfast on the walk home. The nice association with a summer childhood memory means crisp green veg can fix nearly any problem I've got.

The morning & evening commutes Wednesday combined for nearly four hours of my day. Even armed with a good book and an ipod full of awesome, I can only take so much. At home I flopped into my trusty chair with some mint green tea, a bag of peas (and a bowl), and the remotes. I shelled my peas from the market during the first half of Before Night Falls and ate them from a pretty tea cup during the second half. It was no swedish massage, but it did the trick.