Black Beans and Lewis. I know, just the blog post you've always dreamed of reading.

Already beginning 6^th 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...

...and it's been lovely.

 

"We lead a charmed life."

I wrote a fragment of a blog post a couple weekends ago, and never exactly finished it... but here's the fragment anyway.

This weekend, a few girls and I went to see C.S. Lewis's house and grave. I had forgotten to grab my gloves and jacket, so my fingers felt like they had turned to stone, but it was neat to see the house where one of my favorite authors had lived, as well as seeing the cemetery where he is buried. 

We spent a half hour or so, walking around and reading different tombstones.  As I saw the different epitaphs, I got a very solemn and holy feeling about life. The people I was reading about all had lives: families, jobs, joys and disappointments. Now all that remained to inform a stranger about them was a sentence or two carved on a stone. 

At first glance, this may seem like it diminishes the value of an individual life, but I don't think it does. By seeing fragments of this community's past generations, I felt at peace with the knowledge of my own mortality. Death is a part of life, the conclusion to each individual story. But not to the greater story. Each person lying beneath the ground represented a significant thread of a greater story, and it warms my soul to think on it.


The rest of the weekend continued charmingly: on Sunday afternoon, a couple from church invited a group of SCIO students over to their home for lunch, so my goal of being in a real British home has been accomplished! On getting back to The Vines, we were asked if we had had a "traditional British Sunday lunch", but no... We had the most delicious curry and rice. An episode of Fawlty Towers. And ice cream. So good. After coming home, the rest of the afternoon was spent eating more food and reading aloud. 

I do think this is the charmed life.