Edamame

3 pm this afternoon. . .

Now is the time of day when I start looking for things to spice up the tedium. I've been doing the same mindless stuff since before lunch which was my last break from repitition. So in addition to changing my pen and highlighter from blue and yellow to black and pink, I also take out my small notebook and fill the front and back of one sheet with my blog for the day.

Excuse me one moment whlie I open a file on my desk to pass a work for cubicle spies. .

Last night was the monthly trip to Sam's Club for me and my roomie. We love the first of the month for that reason. Our list has become predictable--we know what chicken we like and how many bags of tortillas to buy. But we also allow ourselves a treat from month to month. Dried mangoes or a frozen buffalo chicken pizza-something that keeps our lives interesting. This month we got edamame. Green, hairy pods of soybeans. Their maturity level is at mid-July stage which is against my conscience telling me that Dad's combine never runs before mid-September when they are dried up, brown and crispy to snap off stems and out of pods. I eat them without question knowing I paid the same for a few pounds that Dad gets at maturity for a bushel. Should I have conflicts? Should I not be able to stomach a single pod without picturing my ten-year-old self fighting through the rows of these plants cutting weeds among their tangled vines? I wasn't eating them! Lo, I should be aghast at the injustice of starving family farmers who are going broke from hail storms and bad free market systems. They claim to be a Japanese delicacy on their pretty package, but what palate would notice a bag of GMO beans from the SoDak heartland slipped in? Have they not the same protein and vitamins? These cannot be so much more worthy of the hippie granola health kick fashion. I should protest-I should get to the bottom of where it all comes from and comes in. But instead I'm going to get a bit of salt, enjoy the hair pods and look forward to July when I miht try one straight from field, still dewy in the morning. I might not even wash it for herbicide. Right after I pick the sweet corn, I will go across the rows for a bean or two. If I see a weed on the way, I might pull it for nostalgia sake.