The Danger of Snow Peas

I feel compelled to warn you of a serious danger to life, limb and the pursuit of happiness.
It is a responsibility I take very seriously.

Snow peas.

They can show up anywhere at anytime regardless of what kind of food you have ordered. And... in the wrong hands they can be lethal.

Sure, I hear you snickering. "Snow peas?!?!?"

Yes. Snow peas.

They are a threat to national security. Just ask Beth. She's had years of military training teaching her to recognize and eliminate threats and transport pop tarts all over the world.

You see, snow peas are aliens. Pod people, if you will. They are thrill killers. Their only design is to come in, take over the plate of food you thought you ordered in complete safety and compel you to defend yourself from their vicious attack the best way you can.

Only when someone at the table is brave enough to withstand the onslaught is anyone safe.

Only when someone is willing to go into hand to pea combat is calm and order restored.

Only when violence is averted can the world snow peas... uh... know peace.

People, this is a serious issue!!

It compels the gravest of attention be paid!

Snow peas are the enemy of decent people everywhere.

If Xan hadn't been there to throw herself on the pile of snow peas and risk her own life to save Beth, we could have been picking out funeral clothing today.

Oh, the horrors of war! Patton was right when he said it. "Peas are hell!"

I myself have suffered grave indignity and injustice at the hands - uh, make that pods - of peas!

The time was the early '70's. The place was the dining room of my friend Renee's house. The danger zone... the chafing dish of peas with tiny white pearl onions nestled into their deceptively calming sea of green.

The perpetrator was none other than Renee's own mother, who frankly should have known better. After all, she was an adult who knew the dangers of the world. But little did we know it at the time, she had already been subsumed by the peas! They had taken over!

Employing all the usual stalling tactics of stirring the peas around to make it look like we'd ingested any of the enemy and poking along at the dinner table in hopes that dessert would be announced, we were unable to fool Renee's mother. After all, she was a pod person and she had a pea by pea count of the deadly green host upon our plates.

Subterfuge would be required to survive the impending tragedy in the making. Only sharp wits and little plastic purses could save us now! When Renee's mother left the room, ostensibly to bring the dessert tray around, we hastily scooped the offending menace into the little purses for disposal in a safe place later on. It was kill or be killed in this tango of torture and we were not about to please the peas and lose out on our valuable time to dress as go-go dancers while her mother napped after lunch! There are only so many hours in the day!

After the meal was completed, we carefully carried our enemy-laden purses to Renee's upstairs window where we unceremoniously dumped them out ... right upon the unsuspecting head of her brother Scott, who just happened to be mowing the lawn right beneath the bedroom window.

Thankfully, he was NOT a snitch for the enemy and kept his silence regarding our mission of digestive mercy. He even mowed over the peas repeatedly to ensure our kill. I think Scott hated the pod people as much as we did.

Remember this cautionary tale! It could well save your life. You never know what nefarious agents they have already placed in your path. Your very next meal may be infested with snow peas. And may God have mercy on your soul if you are left there at the table without Xan or a plastic purse to save you.

Have you seen my left nostril?

This isn't a gross-out post.

This is winter reality settling into our home.

Thanks to some kind soul who brought a child to church who was doing a credible imitation of a seal at Sea World barking all through the church service sans hankerchief or even bothering to cover his germ-filled mouth with his hand, we are now trying to rid our home of "holiday germs". Did he give a thought to our well-being during the season of giving and love? Nope. It was share and share alike in the pews in a display of seasonal sharing that could have and frankly, should have been left at home in the privacy of his own NyQuil laced dreams.

Now, we are swapping around the germs, of which we managed to bring a liberal portion home to enjoy. I can sing bass with the Tabernacle Choir men with excelsior. I am not a bass normally.

Admittedly, there is sort of an odd bonus to this shared and dubious "gift". When telemarketers call, it does have sort of a useful  je ne sais quoi. No telemarketer apparently can resist the dulcet tones of a deep bass  saying "NO" on their carefully rehearsed phone sales pitch for new roofing, gutter and chimney cleaning and subscriptions to the Alabama Teacher's Home for Unwed Stuffed Animals. They seem to hang up more rapidly than they do under usual tonal circumstances.

I digress...

This is all about the search for my left nostril, which, for at least part of last night, was AWOL.

A mighty sneeze overtook me and required both hands filled with tissues to cover and prevent the spread of airborne flung particles of germs.  Unlike our friend in the pews, I don't believe in sharing under these circumstances... I employ both tissues and hand sanitizer on a routine basis.

When I finished mopping up and getting back to normal, or at least as close to it as I can hope for, I realized that either (a) my left nostril was gone or (b) the sneeze was so powerful that it had sonically stunned the nerves to my left nostril rendering it numb and inert for any useful breathing function. Either way, it was an odd and lasting sensation that I am not anxious to repeat any time soon.

Is it possible to sneeze out your mucous membranes? Should I search for them or consider all lost? Will I grow new ones without the helpful assistance of stem cells groomed to become only mucous providers?

These and other questions swirl inside my head. They may never be answered to my satisfaction.

Because I believe in the restorative powers of both good music and chicken soup, I am currently listening to Ray Stevens singing "Santa Claus is Watching You" and cooking a big whacking batch of chicken soup for later on today. And because I believe you deserve to feel whole and well, I'm going to share the digital portion of the activities since trying to shove soup into the computer just leaves a horrible mess that tech support is hard pressed to clean up after. They do whine so very much during the holidays. It's like they think they need time off when I have chicken giblets in my CD/DVD tray.

To that end of being well, whole and hearty during the Christmas season and beyond... here's Ray doing what he does best. Enjoy! And try really hard not to spill your soup, okay?

Strange dreams

I wonder what it is that I ate before bedtime that prompts the odd dreams I had last night. Like Scrooge decrying the spectral visitation as a bit of cheese or blob of mustard, I want to know just what I can lay blame to for the strange images and thoughts that crowd out sleep.

I was in an auditorium that was in a church. Choir practice was about to begin and there were literal hundreds awaiting placement in the choir rehearsal. Just as I began the sorting process of voices high, low and intermediate range into groups of like voices, a jazz band heretofore unseen struck up a lively tune of Christmas cheer.

Being a fan of jazz music, under other circumstances I would have listened in, but they were interrupting my rehearsal time with the choir. Patiently, this was pointed out to them on the floating monitor which indicated each groups scheduled time for rehearsal.

A shouting match began and my choir members watch while eating magically appearing fruit, popcorn and sandwiches.

Suddenly, there was a magnificent pipe organ down to my right in the orchestra pit and the woman at the keyboards insisted that she had to prepare for her concert of Christmas favorites to be held that very night.

I woke up cold and shivering realizing that my beloved Assassin dog had stolen all of my covers, including the electric blanket, so that she would be nice and cozy. Notice how all of her motivations lack concern for me? She still thinks she is prominently mentioned in my will as the beneficiary of the food and apparently my blankets.

Still confused by the dreams, the cold and the strange imagery that bounced around in my head, I wondered if this wasn't some portent of doom upon the rehearsal that I have been asked to prepare for and conduct later today?

I want the choir to do their best and sing a testimony of their feelings of Christ born into the world to save us all. But I can't push aside the very mortal and frustratingtly carnal man that wants to do well as a 'gotcha' since I am not normally the choir director.

Yeah, beauty and evil rolled into one tidy package.

It's a reminder that strange dreams never start out strange. They lull you into a false sense of security by beginning in a benign and gentle fashion before taking a left turn into the Twilight Zone - music and all.

Maybe tonight, I'll just have some juice before bed and see if that creates different dreams...