Already
beginning 6th week! This term is flying by.
A few weeks
ago, I bought a bag of dried black beans. “How hard could it be”, I said to
myself, “I’ve seen it done before.” I’m finding that this is a dangerous line
of reasoning to take when it comes to me and cooking. Round #1 of Sonya vs.
Black Beans was a definite win on the bean side. After setting them out to soak
for eight hours (eight hours!), I realized that they would be ready to be
cooked right around midnight. This was inconvenient, but not too bad; I figured
I would be in bed by 1am. I dutifully set the beans on to boil, and then to
simmer. I checked them, rechecked them, fiddled with the temperature, but they
would not cook. I’m still not sure
what I did so dreadfully wrong, but they ended up with the consistency of a
soft peanut. Since I was planning on using them in a dish that would be baked
more, I assumed that they would soften up a little then. Assumptions are also
dangerous things. I rather sheepishly served my food group sweet potato and
black bean burritos with massively undercooked beans, and they, being good
sports, ate them. On Thursday, I decided it was time for round #2. I rinsed
them, set them out to soak, and promptly forgot about their existence. Friday
afternoon, the realization that I had had some kind of plan for dinner floated
through my mind, and I remembered the force still waiting to be conquered,
sitting in water in the kitchen. “They’re not going to be under-soaked at least…”
So I put them on to boil, and then to simmer, and forgot about them. Over an
hour later, while watching the first half of Return of the King with about half
the Vine residents in one room, I looked at my watch and had the panicked
realization that I had put something on the stove, so I rushed to the kitchen.
Lo and behold, the beans tasted as black beans ought!
I don’t know
if there’s a moral to that story, but… I guess the common thread is that I’m
forgetful.
Anyways.
For my last
C.S. Lewis tutorial, I read The Four
Loves and Till We Have Faces,
which is my favorite of Lewis’s novels. Seriously, if you haven’t read it yet…DO.
You won’t regret it. It’s a retelling of the Cupid and Psyche myth from the
point of view of Psyche’s older sister, who Lewis named Orual. Lewis tinkered
with the myth slightly, and instead of Orual being jealous of Psyche’s
beautiful house and life with the god, Orual is unable to perceive anything
connected to the god of the mountain. The story follows the journey of her “complaint
against the gods” for the way her life has turned out. Absolutely fascinating!
If you do decide to read it, it works quite well to read Four Loves alongside, as the two books complement each other
nicely.
This is what a lot of my life has looked like lately...
