Sedaris's Side-splitting Pea Soup

It's hard to laugh and run at the same time. I mean real laughter, not of the contrived polite type. Much like sneezing real laughter is a complete loss of control, and so I try to avoid it, especially at times where my laughter might be construed as inappropriate or out of place. I realize that I sound like someone who is really uptight. I'm not. At least I think I am not. I enjoy laughing while doing it, and have warm feelings toward anyone who can bring me to tearfully convulsing bouts of it. I suppose it's just that I have a hard time letting go. Were I to ever go skydiving I would probably be the last one left on the plane, hanging onto the exit door, nauseous with fear. And I would probably be the first one back in line to re-board the plane to do it again. Once it came time to jump I would again balk, digging my fingers into the doorway and peering into the blue and white, windy abyss.

Yesterday I went running with a new running partner, David Sedaris (or rather, the voice of David Sedaris). I had downloaded a copy of “When you are engulfed in flames”, and decided to listen to it on my run to help get me through what I knew would be an exceptionally long time out. Having recently recovered from a stress fracture, I'm not as speedy as I once was and I realized that a 12 mile run was now likely to take close to 2 hours. I tucked my ear buds into the new balaclava that Christina got me, the kind that covers your whole head and neck leaving only your eyes exposed. The mirror reflected an all black figure with white running shoes, and over sized gloves. I looked like a cross between a ninja and a Mr. Potato head.

'At least I can protect my identity with this mask on' I thought, and I headed toward the elevator. Outside, the weather was deceivingly warm. Despite the snow and ice littering the ground, people were walking about without big heavy winter coats on. I ran for about a mile listening to Sedaris' squeaky voice before I had to pull my balaclava up and run with it hanging awkwardly on my head like a hat.

“You look like a Dr. Suess character when you do that” I recalled Christina saying. Then she begged me to wear the thing as my permanent winter hat, laughing as she suggested it. Christina has no problem with free and easy laughter. My mother is the same way, she has a wonderful laugh and has never been afraid to express it. I envy them.

I rounded the street corner and headed to the river road, which was covered with a thin layer of crusty snow, and caused me to shorten my stride so that I looked like a person running on hot coals. That is when it started. I don’t remember the details of the book now, but something the screechy voice said in my ear was so ridiculously funny that I began to giggle uncontrollably. My knees gave out and my stomach dropped, which caused me to slide around on the icy path like a dancing corpse, or a ghost in a puppet show. The book poured into me like a shot of vodka, causing me to sway, smiling and giggling along the path. The expressions of the passing runners were somewhere between fear and amusement. It's hard to laugh and run at the same time.

Side splitting pea soup

1 large yellow onion

1 small bunch celery (a few stalks can be missing), diced small

1.7 lb smoked ham hock (meat attached)

1 small sweet potato

2 bay leaves

pinch of salt

1 Tbsp olive oil or ghee

1 lb split peas (green)

½ lb split peas (yellow)

5 medium carrots, peeled and diced small

basil

Water

Additional ham (if desired)

Heat oil (or ghee) in a soup pot and add onion, sweet potato, and celery (and a pinch of salt). Saute for a min and add ham hock, bay leaves, yellow split peas and ½ the green split peas. Cover with water, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 1 hour. Add carrots, remaining split peas, and salt and simmer uncovered for another hour. Remove ham hocks. Use a hand blender to blend until smooth. Tear ham off hocks and cut into pieces. Add to the soup. Enjoy.