peas

Our first peas: Little sweeties popping out into my palm and bouncing with spring effervescence, only half of them making it to the boiling pot.

Podding them meditatively with a glass of white wine in the early evening, I remember how they are sold for the fast lane in Sainsburys - ten of them separated from their natural brothers and sisters, sprayed for colour maintenance and stuck in a stifling plastic bag where they will probably die from over-pricing.

Then I glance at our new little white box whose space-age green flashing pea-eyes and antennae mean Julian and I can finally be on line at the same time in different rooms. Now, when I get up in the morning, I can open the kitchen door and let in the morning light instead of maintaining web-darkness; I can sing whilst doing the washing up instead of maintaining web-silence; I will not feel the awful web-absence of being in the presence of someone 'online' .....Marvellous!

Julian can msn me from the studio:

"darling..."
"yes darling"
"what's for lunch?"
"dunno but you're making it! I just bought some asparagus so i thought asparagus omelette?"
"actually I just had twelve pancakes while you were out"
"Yoou didn't! Twelve pancake Merrow-Smith!"

It certainly beats shouting.

My head is splitting with what strange lives we lead. We are so connected to nature here and life goes at a walking pace. However, the ethernet is whirring at a squillion gigawotsits a nanosecond, bringing more information than we could possibly need into our pea-podding quiet.

Who are we, really? Are we merely living the illusion of being in harmony with nature when in fact all we are doing is blogging and downloading it? I get scared sometimes that it's all a great whopper.

Luckily we both have our art. That is real. It takes place in slow intangible time. It cannot be rushed or imitated. Perhaps I simply have to hold the tension between broad band and broad bean; perhaps this particular challenge is a modern version of the age-old search for the middle way.