That time when Colin bought a bag of split peas that had more weevils than peas–and we cooked them anyway. The darn peas were so old that they cooked for five hours and were still hard–and we ate them anyway.
And then the day after, we had friends over for wine so poor that we mixed it with pineapple juice and pieces of watermelon and toasted Cinco de Mayo.
Two weeks from now, I’ll be on my way home, and one of these things I will miss, and one of them I won’t. Two years from now, I’m not sure where I’ll be, but I imagine it will be both of these things that I miss.