Potato Soup & Civil War

by Amy

“Beauvoir took a hunk of warm baguette and smoothed whipped butter onto it, and watched it melt. Then he cut a slab of blue and Brie from the cheese board making the rounds. As Brother Raymond continued his liturgy of the faults in the monastery, Beauvoir took a spoonful of soup, with carrots, peas, parsnips and potatoes bumping together in the fragrant broth.”

The food in THE BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY is mouth-watering. Just reading that paragraph makes me wish I could spend a week in the monastery and partake of their meals, learn from their silence and slow down. Or pick blueberries. And eat them. With chocolate. Sigh. Any of you feel the same?

 “Are you one of the abbot’s men, or the prior’s men?”

The doctor’s gaze, friendly before, now sharpened, examining Beauvoir. Then he smiled again.

“I’m neutral, Inspector. Like the Red Cross. I just tend to the wounded.”

“Are there many? Wounded, I mean?”

The smile left Frère Charles’s face. “Enough. A rift like that in a previously happy monastery hurts everyone.”

“Including yourself?”

“Oui,” the doctor admitted. “But I really don’t take sides. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Was it appropriate for anyone?”

“It wasn’t anyone’s first choice,” said the doctor, an edge of impatience in his friendly voice. “We didn’t wake up one morning and pick teams. Like a game of Red Rover. This was excruciating and slow. Like being eviscerated. Gutted. A civil war is never civil.”

Then the monk’s gaze left Beauvoir and looked first at Francoeur, beside the abbot, then across the table to Gamache.

“As perhaps you know.”

A denial was on Beauvoir’s lips, but he stopped it. The monk knew. They all knew.”

I must confess that I oscillate between writing an entire flood of words and feeling like there is nothing to be added to this scene.

A civil war is never civil.

I’ve spent a few minutes staring at the screen watching the blinking courser. I keep wondering how much to share and how this is a potentially dangerous topic to explore.

I am reminded of Lincoln’s famous “a house divided cannot stand” quote. It is true of nations. It is true of homes.

This soup was, unwittingly, the cause of friction in my own home. My son has issues with food texture and soup is his least favorite of all foods. We have a deal that he has to at least taste things. 

This particular meal was one where the enforcing of the rule led to an unpleasant meal since we weren’t all in agreement as to the particulars of the “tasting rule”. The whole process led to the need for diplomacy in order to find a truce and strategies for future soup meals. He has since had to eat (taste, really… he never has to eat more than a spoonful or two) many, many soups and the most tolerable one, to him, is the apple parsnip one I’ve already posted about.

Civil war is never civil.

There doesn’t always have to be war in times of contention, though. A willingness to listen, to negotiate, and to try to understand another person (or nation or group or…) and their point of view may salvage a situation and avoid a war. We didn’t reach civil war in my own home. Thank goodness. Diplomacy and tolerance won out. I must confess, though, that navigating family negotiations and mediating interactions made that first soup meal savorless. I had the leftovers the next day with a lighter heart and a much better sensory experience.

Differences in opinion are positive. Arguments aren’t always easy to deal with, but I believe the end result can be positive when all parties at least attempt to be civil. It is the respect for civility and the recognition of the other’s humanity that avoids “war”.

Sometimes, however, war is unavoidable. Or, if it is avoidable, we are not in the position of power to avoid it. Gamache could only avoid “war” by conforming to corruption, for instance. And sometimes it is as the doctor explained to Beauvoir:

“It wasn’t anyone’s first choice,” said the doctor, an edge of impatience in his friendly voice. “We didn’t wake up one morning and pick teams. Like a game of Red Rover. This was excruciating and slow. Like being eviscerated. Gutted.”

A few weeks ago, when browsing through my shelves to find a book to show a friend, I started leafing through my copy of LETTERS OF NOTE (Shaun Usher). I was telling the friend about the book and was reminded of the letter Gandhi wrote to Hitler, a little before the Second World War broke out. For the sake of humanity. It is a powerful letter. Link: FOR THE SAKE OF HUMANITY

May we all choose our battles with careful consideration.

May diplomacy win, if possible.

May we be conscientious and fair in the battles we choose to engage in.

May we avoid unnecessary or hurtful fractions.

May we not forget the price of war – civil or otherwise – and seek other methods, when possible, in order to avoid the devastation.

And, whenever it is impossible to avoid a war, may be not forget that “the other side” (even when its leader is Francoeur) is human, too.

I think the sad thing about humanity is that we seem to frequently repeat our mistakes. So my last prayer is that we learn from our mistakes and from those of the ones that came before us. Not only in the big sweeping historical occurrences, but also in the small, seemingly insignificant experiences of daily life.

I did make soup. It was a vegetable soup. There were little pieces of vegetables bumping together… But I’m not a huge fan of thin broth, so I pureed about two thirds of the soup in order to make it a thicker broth.

I’m sure you’ll all forgive me if it doesn’t look quite like the soup I pictured when I read the scene. It was loosely based on this recipe: Perfect Potato Soup

Veggies & Herbal Butter... And Speaking Up

by Amy

Clara chopped the ends off the fresh carrots and watched Peter toss the tiny new potatoes into boiling water. They’d have a simple dinner tonight of vegetables from the garden with herbs and sweet butter. It was one of their favorite meals in late summer.

I didn’t really make this meal, did I? I started to… I thought herbs and sweet butter? Maybe I’ll try making herbal butter! I’ll take fresh herbs from the garden and smash them into some melted butter and then smear that on some vegetables… I didn’t really have fresh garden vegetables, though. And I made meat for the husband… and I couldn’t resist adding some tomatoes and carrot slices to the skillet afterwards…  The butter ended up being only for the potatoes and a sprinkle on the broccoli. I did enjoy the flavored butter! I used the leftover butter on some pasta for my son the next day. He loved it.

 “So,” she concluded, her plate almost untouched, “I don’t know what to do about Fortin. Should I go into Montreal and speak to him directly about this, or just let it go?”

I totally felt for Clara here. I think that’s the type of question many of us ask ourselves frequently. When should we make our views known? When should we take a stand? When should we confront someone doing something we disagree with? And when should we just let it go?

Peter took another slice of baguette, soft on the inside with a crispy crust. He smeared the butter to the edges, covering every millimeter, evenly. Methodically.Watching him Clara felt she’d surely scream or explode, or at the very least grab the fucking baguette and toss it until it was a grease stain on the wall.Still Peter smoothed the knife over the bread. Making sure the butter was perfect.

Sometimes it’s hard to decide because some things, while important to us, might not really matter in the long run. Like how butter “should” be spread on a slice of baguette. I’m with Clara. I’m sure some people would agree with Peter. No one is really “right”.

A couple of months ago I saw a Facebook rant (I won’t name names) where someone was very bothered because, when flying, the person on the seat in front of her had leaned the seat back. She was angry and posted about how the flier in the seat in front of her had no common courtesy. I mean, how could he? He’d taken up space that was hers… Hilariously enough, the sheer number of antagonistic comments proved that there were passionate people on both sides of the “to-lean-or-not-to-lean” debate. I had a chuckle and moved on.

A few weeks later, my husband was on a plane to England. As soon as he landed, he sent me a shocked (and infuriated) text saying the man seated behind him had ranted and raved and accused him of being an inconsiderate and uncivilized human being because he’d inclined his airplane seat. My husband is 6’5’’. A 10+ hour flight in the upright position (with the seat in front of him inclined, by the way) wasn’t exactly a comfortable flight. He said the guy was spewing such venom that it wasn’t worth arguing over, though. He was shocked. He was even MORE shocked when he heard that a couple of weeks earlier I’d seen a number of people who agreed with angry upright position passenger.

Sorry for the tangent. The point is, if it’s hard to agree on something like inclining seats… imagine how hard it is to agree on other issues that have more cultural or generational biases?

What should he tell her? To forget it? That what Fortin said wasn’t that bad? Certainly not worth risking her career. Just let it go. Besides, saying something almost certainly wouldn’t change Fortin’s mind about gays, and might just turn him against Clara. And this wasn’t some tiny show Fortin was giving her. This was everything Clara had dreamed of. Every artist dreamed of. Everyone from the art world would be there. Clara’s career would be made.

I can understand Peter’s point. It isn’t like anything Clara will say will actually change Fortin’s mind. We rarely do change anyone’s mind just because we preach our own moral code to them. If ever, really.

But that’s not the point, is it? Why would Clara speak to Fortin? Would it be to change him? Or to not allow him to change her?

Should he tell her to let it go, or tell Clara she had to speak to Fortin? For Gabri and Olivier and all their gay friends. But mostly for herself.

And I think that’s the point. But mostly for herself. It is for herself. Ultimately, she speaks to Fortin not because she’s trying to change his behavior, but because her response (or lack of it) defines her own.

Peter dug the tip of the knife into a hole in the bread to get the butter out.He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know if he’d be saying it for his sake, or for Clara’s.

It’s easy, especially in hindsight, to accuse Peter of self-centeredness and jealousy. I think this is one of his redeeming moments. One of those times where we see the potential for the Peter he eventually becomes. He’s sorely tempted to give an answer to benefit himself. He is incredibly self-aware. I think the first step towards change is awareness. The fact that he acknowledges that his motives may not be the best and holds himself back makes me hopeful for his character.

“Well?” she asked, and heard the impatience in her voice. “Well?” she asked more softly. “What do you think?”

When we decide to speak up, we don’t do it to change the world. At least I don’t think so. When we speak up, we do so in order to take care so the world doesn’t change us. Not that any of us should be immutable. On the contrary, I think growth always involves change. But in which direction? And why? Conformism is dangerously easy. Staying true to yourself and your beliefs isn’t as comfortable. And consciously changing for the better – despite the context and setting – is harder yet.

When we speak up, I don’t think we should expect others to change. We should expect to be challenged, questioned, sometimes ridiculed and confronted. Speaking up should imply a willingness to engage in reflection and debate. It should mean we are sure enough of where we stand that we are ready to defend our point of view, but respectful enough of the other person that we’re willing to listen to their opinion and concede their points. We might even shift our stand, if needed, to accommodate our growing understanding of the issue at hand.

It is not unusual for our discourse to be directed at ourselves. We speak up in order to remind ourselves of what we think and believe and value. We speak up so we do not condone unseemly behavior with our silence.

Peter was right. The likelihood of Fortin changing his opinions or his behavior because an as-yet-unknown artist disagreed with his attitude was slim at best. He was also right in that the reason Clara should speak up was for her own sake.

I frequently tell my son that we cannot change others. We cannot control their behavior. We can only control how we react. It is a valid lesson at any age.

When we talk about setting limits and boundaries, it doesn’t mean controlling what others do. It means establishing what your own limits are and what you will do when someone crosses the line.

Clara couldn’t change Fortin. She couldn’t make him respect Gabri – or anyone else. She could choose and control how she would respond, though.

We cannot demand respect. We cannot demand equality. We cannot demand certain standards of behavior. We cannot demand love. I’m wrong. We can, but that doesn’t mean we’ll get what we ask for. We can determine consequences and make our expectations and beliefs clear. We can establish boundaries and follow through with proper reactions when those boundaries are crossed. We cannot control others, but we can control our own responses. And, in doing so, we can ultimately influence others because we tend to gauge our actions according to expected reactions.

When we speak up we don’t do so to change the world. We do so in an attempt to avoid conformity, to stand our ground so the world doesn’t change us into an unrecognizable version of ourselves. But, in doing so, we become a beacon. Others who think like us are attracted to our stand, to our strength. We influence those around us, slowly and surely. We become an inspiration. When we speak up, we don’t do so to change the world. But, when we speak up, the world changes. A little bit. A drop in the ocean. A little light in the dark. A whisper. It is enough.

Breakfast with the Gamaches & Why Arguments Matter

By Amy

“It had started over the fresh-squeezed orange juice, coursed through the scrambled eggs and Brie, and progressed across the fresh fruit, croissants and confitures.”

I obviously reinterpreted it.

Unlike Ruth’s meal, this one needed no modifications. I only changed it a bit in order to fit my hunger and the ingredients at hand. I realize I could have added the Brie when scrambling the eggs, but I forgot and had already made them the “usual” way – with some fresh herbs from the garden. Instead of croissants, I used my staple bread. There is no real recipe. I learned from my mom who adds “this and that” until it looks “right”, then waits for the dough to rise and bakes it. No loaf is ever like the other. I’d added some fresh maracujá fruit and lemon zest to the dough so it had a citrus zing to it. I realized I’d run out of oranges when I was going to take the picture so I just added the peppermint tisane I’d been drinking to compose the image. Reinterpreted, but close enough to the original.

“In the dining room of their apartment in Montreal’s Outremont quartier he could hear his second in command, Jean Guy Beauvoir, and his daughter Annie. They weren’t talking. They never talked. They argued.”

Don't you just love Annie? Before The Brutal Telling, her character doesn't appear much. Actually, when I read A FATAL GRACE, I thought Daniel would eventually have more of a presence in the books. I think Daniel was mostly a contrast to Beauvoir and an opportunity for us to understand how the younger inspector felt about his boss as a father figure. This book had me falling hard for Annie. She’s such a wonderful character, isn’t she?

“Annie Gamache became their cub. And grew into a lioness. But sometimes, on quiet walks together, she’d tell her father about her fears and her disappointments and the everyday sorrows of her young life. and Chief Inspector Gamache would be seized with a desire to hold her to him, so that she needn’t pretend to be so brave all the time.

“She was fierce because she was afraid. Of everything.”

Years ago, when my son mastered something that was hard for him (I can't remember exactly what it was, but it wasn’t anything big – something like tasting a new food or saying hi to a new kid), I told him he’d been brave. He said, “No I wasn’t, mommy! I was afraid!” I then proceeded to explain that courage is not absence of fear. That’s impetuousness. To be brave is to be able to face your fear, think about it, break it down into manageable parts, and try to conquer it. “You mean like Hal Jordan in the Green Lantern movie?” Ummm… Yes. Exactly.

Annie is brave. In my opinion, she's one of the pivots that turned Beauvoir into a braver man. I don’t mean a braver inspector. I mean a braver person.

“The conversation in the kitchen stopped as they listened to what he might say next. This was an argument played out every brunch, every Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthday. The words changed slightly. If not tasers they were arguing about daycare or education or the environment. If Annie said blue, Beauvoir said orange. It had been this way since Inspector Beauvoir had joined the Sureté du Québec’s homicide division, under Gamache, a dozen years earlier. He’d become a member of the team, and of the family.”

I absolutely love this. They eventually learn (spoiler alert) how to argue more effectively. Or, if not effectively, they learn how to do it nicely. I hope, for their sake and ours, that they never lose the ability to argue.

I’ve given this some thought over the years. I love to talk. Not small talk, really. I enjoy conversations where it’s possible to learn and grow and see things from different perspectives.

As a teenager, I would talk about controversial subjects because they could easily become a debate. Conversations like the ones Annie and Beauvoir “enjoyed” were right up my alley. I have grown up a bit and grown out of my infatuation with controversy. Too many people don’t know how to express their opinions or listen to other ideas without being offensive or feeling offended. All too frequently, points of view are taken to be “absolute truth”. Inarguable. So it defeats the purpose, really. These people don’t really argue. They state (and restate) their point of view and “win” the discussion through sheer stubbornness. Then there are those who are afraid to talk about what they think or believe. Some people are afraid they might change their minds or have their ideas challenged. It’s easy to get our opinions mixed up with our sense of identity. When that happens, any discussion of ideas can feel like a personal affront. That can be frightening.

“The ability we have to manipulate ourselves, so that the foundation of our beliefs is never shaken.” (ELEGANCE OF THE HEDGEHOG – by Muriel Barbery)

I still tend to enjoy arguments. I don’t mean disagreeing or fighting just for the sake of it. I don’t frequently indulge in the kind of passionate exchange Annie and Beauvoir got into whenever they met. I can't even remember the last time I did. I try to avoid in depth conversation with people who are overly enamored of their own opinion. Furthermore, whenever I talk to such people, I tend to have a little voice in my head whispering, am I like that? When am I like that? I must take care so I don't turn into someone like that!

"To recognize our bias toward error should teach us modesty and reflection, and to forgive it should help us avoid the inhumanity of thinking we ourselves are not as fallible as those who, in any instance, seem most at fault.” (WHEN I WAS A CHILD I READ BOOKS – by Marilynne Robinson)

I’d define “good” arguments as a form of debate. Dictionaries and thesauruses do place them as synonyms. Arguments can be statements proffered as evidence, or conversations where two sides disagree, or even a set of statements where you reason your way from one to another in order to reach a kind of conclusion. I also think arguments, when these definitions are taken into account, don’t necessarily have to include disagreements. You can make a statement and the person you’re talking to might ask you to explain your statement to clarify it. The other person might add to it or question it. It’s not really a disagreement, it's more of a joint effort in reasoning in search of a better statement or a more complete truth. I love that idea. Myrna and Gamache give us a good example in this scene:

“We all change. Only psychotics remain the same.”

“But isn’t that more growth than change? Like harmonics, but the note remains the same.”

“Just a variation on a theme?” asked Myrna, interested. “Not really change?” She considered. “I think that’s often the case. Most people grow but they don’t become totally different people.” (A TRICK OF THE LIGHT – Louise Penny)

I suppose what I'm saying is that arguments are, in a way, passionate dialogues.

Some people can do this in their heads. My husband is like that. He’ll think a problem through and reach a conclusion. I talk, read (or write) my way towards my ideas. I enjoy input from others, they challenge me and force me to perfect and fine-tune my ideas. In this kind of approach, you bounce thoughts off someone else and you have to be prepared to listen. You run the risk of changing your mind (which can be a good thing). Being open-minded doesn’t mean you lack an opinion. It means you’re open to being convinced (not brow-beaten) of another “truth” if your arguments (as in your reasons or justifications) for your initial “truth” aren’t as solid as the ones presented to you.

“On all sorts of grounds I would go to the barricades to defend their right to make me uncomfortable of course. They have caused me to ponder many things, to my great benefit.” (WHEN I WAS A CHILD I READ BOOKS - Marilynne Robinson)

I tend to steer clear of controversial subjects, especially with extremists. Conversations with fanatics (even those we mostly agree with) tend to be pointless and draining. Fanatics and extremists aren't, by the way, restricted to sports, religion and politics. Food is frequently an explosive topic for discussion. We once tried to order plain spaghetti for our son at a quaint restaurant in a little town in Italy. It was a hilarious conversation. Spaghetti was served with oysters. Could we have it plain? Shocked look from the server. No! Of course not! Spaghetti must be served with oysters. Could we have it with just plain tomato sauce? No! Why? Is it already mixed with the oysters? Offended look. Of course not! The pasta is cooked fresh. Um... then can we just have some of it plain before you mix the oysters with the... OF COURSE NOT! Spaghetti must be served with oysters. How do you argue with that?

On the other hand, if we stay out of  all arguments (even internal ones), we’re depriving ourselves of the chance to perfect, fine-tune, and question our own ideas and “truths” and we’re depriving those brave souls who are interested in challenging themselves, too.

"If I had lived a generation earlier, I might have thought about many of the things that interest me now, but not with the discipline that comes with writing about them or teaching, and not with the rigor that comes from being exposed to response and criticism. [...] So my mind has been formed by the uses I have been able to make of it." (WHEN I WAS A CHILD I READ BOOKS - Marilynne Robinson)

I think there are two main things to keep in mind regarding arguments and debate. One is that we have to know when to engage and when to stop. The other is figuring out who you can and can’t “argue” (or discuss, debate, converse) with and about what, and determine what each person’s limit is.

“Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?” (WALDEN – Henry Thoreau)

We don’t necessarily have to engage in an argument in order to learn from those we think we disagree with. Sometimes I'll write out an answer - and not hit send. Sometimes I argue with myself – just to try to think about an issue better. Sometimes I try to explain, defend, or justify a position that is alien to me as an exercise in understanding. It's like a congenital affliction. I can't help it. I don't think I could stop if I wanted to.

“Democracy, in its essence and genius, is imaginative love for and identification with a community with which, much of the time and in many ways, one may be in profound disagreement.” (WHEN i WAS A CHILD i READ BOOKS - Marilynne Robinson)

Annie and Beauvoir don’t set a very good example here in the form and tone of their interaction, but I think the scene makes me hopeful for their relationship and how much they’ll grow because they challenge each other! I don’t have many friends with which to freely “argue”, but there are three or four who come to mind. They’re special. And they know it. Sometimes we end conversations – arguments, debates, discussions – thanking each other profusely for the right to talk freely and contradict ourselves as needed.

I have told each of these friends that they are “second friends”. In his book SURPRISED BY JOY, C.S. Lewis describes the joy in finding the “first” and the “second” friends in life. I have been blessed with “second friends”.

“The First [friend] is the alter ego, the man who first reveals to you that you are not alone in the world by turning out (beyond hope) to share all your most secret delights. There is nothing to be overcome in making him your friend; he and you join like raindrops on a window. But the Second Friend is the man who disagrees with you about everything. He is not so much the alter ego as the antiself. Of course he shares your interests; otherwise he would not become your friend at all. But he has approached them all at a different angle. He has read all the right books but has got the wrong thing out of every one. It is as if he spoke your language but mispronounced it. How can he be nearly right and yet, invariably, just not right? He is as fascinating (and infuriating) as a woman. When you set out to correct his heresies, you find that he forsooth has decided to correct yours! And then you go at it, hammer and tongs, far into the night, night after night, or walking through fine country that neither gives a glance to, each learning the weight of the other’s punches, and often more like mutually respectful enemies than friends. Actually (though it never seems so at the time) you modify one another’s thought; out of this perpetual dogfight a community of mind and a deep affection emerge. But I think he changed me a good deal more than I him.” (SURPRISED BY JOY – C.S. LEWIS)

Annie and Beauvoir are Second Friends. I’m pretty sure that the concept and the attraction of the kind of friend C.S.Lewis describes is why so many romance novels use precisely this kind of interaction between the main characters to spark romance. My own “second friendships” are much (MUCH) tamer and have never reached the point of “respectful enemies” nor have any of our conversations escalated into “dogfights”. But they’ve taught me quite a lot nevertheless.

"A good sermon is one side of a passionate conversation. It has to be heard that way. There are three parties to it, of course, but so are there even to the most private thought - the self that yields the thought, the self that acknowledges and in some way responds to the thought, and the Lord. That is a remarkable thing to consider." (GILEAD - M. Robinson)

And then, of course, there are books. Books have made me think, they have challenged my ideas and thoughts about the world and myself, they have “forced” me to look through other eyes… I have also had the privilege of discussing books with other readers. The joy in book discussions is that you are able to discuss ideas, culture, feelings, relationships, history and a myriad of other issues with people from different backgrounds, genders, age groups, cultures, etc.  Sometimes you come away from a discussion and view a book differently because of someone else’s input.

I’m defending arguments (although I’m adding a caveat in that I’m defining what I believe an argument is). I don't believe that disagreements and discussions are always positive (they usually aren't, I think). Sometimes people – couples in particular – aren’t really arguing or even talking to each other. They’re just putting each other down by correcting one another all the time. It’s worse when only one person in the relationship does it. Then it’s demeaning. A kind of abuse. Remember Sandra and Thomas?

“There, you see. Can’t you just let me say something without correcting me?”

“You want to be wrong?”

“It was in the pauses. Never the words, but the hesitations. Sandra had spent the first few years ignoring it, agreeing with Thomas that she was just too sensitive. Then she’d spent a few years trying to change, to be slim enough, sophisticated enough, elegant enough. Then she’d entered therapy and spent a few years fighting back. Then she’s surrendered. And started taking it out on others.” (A RULE AGAINST MURDER – Louise Penny)

So yes. I like arguments. I like people who enjoy dialogue. I like it when someone is willing to engage and to debate and to help me become aware of the frailty of "my" truths, the incompleteness of my arguments, and the incredible amount of faith that is required for some unjustifiable beliefs (which doesn’t mean you lose faith, just that you realize how big your faith is). Conversation with people who have a different perspective is what helps us comprehend how incredibly small our view of the world is.

"People meet in life, converse, argue, fight, and do not notice that they direct themselves to one other from afar, each in his own observatory situated in a different place in time." (Milan Kundera)

To muster up the energy to argue, to discuss, to analyse, to question is really a form of showing you care about the subject at hand. Most of us only defend things we care about. An argument is a defense of an idea. If you're willing to discuss it, it means it matters. It's worth it.

"He takes it seriously, though. He thinks it's worth quarreling with." (GILEAD - M. Robinson)

I will be forever grateful for the people in my life who challenge me to be a better version of myself.

"I still have not answered your question, I know, but thank you for asking it. I may be learning something from the attempt." (LILA - Marilynne Robinson)

I’m pretty sure this post was too long, but I’ll conclude with a few last thoughts. Breakfast is an important meal. Homemade bread is yummy. I love grapes. I think coupling Annie and Beauvoir was an inspired move by Louise Penny. I love Annie’s character. And I want to grow up, like Marilynne Robinson, as an archaeologist of my own thoughts...

"Over years I have done an archaeology of my own thinking, mainly to attempt an escape from assumptions that would embarrass me if I understood their origins." (WHEN I WAS A CHILD I READ BOOKS - Marilynne Robinson)