Black-eyed peas

2008--the number does nothing for me. It's not snappy, it's not easily worked into a rhyming poem. Okay--it would do alright in a high school football cheer but that's about the end of its literary use. I've always had an emotional reaction to the ten digits. (Yes, I count zero because I've felt sorry for it.) But I've never really "liked" eight. Fours are fine. Nine has been a personal favorite for decades. I've felt protective of twos and sixes. Sevens strike me as rather tacky and ones are the unseen children. Three is also on my list of "friendly" numbers. But I have never cared for eights. At least 2008 has the solid feeling of two steady, even numbers keeping the two loose-cannon zeroes contained. But that's about all I can say about this year. Actually, I've never cared for any of the years since the Millenium and I didn't like that 2000 one bit. It will make the dates on my headstone look so untidy as well as make the math more difficult for a stranger to figure out how old I was when I died. OKAY! Enough of the fruitcake meanderings.

I have my good luck black-eyed peas simmering on the stove. I've tweaked the old family recipe a bit over the years so that now New Years Day begins my year with the rare feeling of GUILT! I seldom feel guilt over anything--but when I start putting carrots in the peas I sense stirrings in the family plot in Texas. And when I add the celery I can start to hear murmurings of long-dead grandmothers who are looking over my shoulder in the kitchen. But the real bone-shaker is when I add herbes de Province to the Crock pot. I imagine aprons being flipped over heads in a time-honored gesture of despair. And they thought I'd ruined the whole mess of peas just by using a yellow onion instead of a purple one! Sorry, Grandmothers--this will be a delicious meal and I'll think of you fondly. I know you would toss that apron when I open the box of Marie Callendar Corn bread mix instead of heating up the bacon grease in the iron skillet in the oven before pouring in my own "real" batter. And yes, yours was better! But times and digits change and we have to put up with it. So we will enjoy this odd tradition and have our "good luck peas" on the first day of the year. I pray for an uneventful year.