Cake and Tea - And the Business of Putting People Back Together

by Amy

It wasn’t servile work they did at the Manoir Bellechasse, Pierre knew. It was noble and crucial. They put people back together. Though some, he knew, were more broken than others.

 

I love this paragraph.

I’ve loved it since the first time I read it.

I remember thinking, how very true…

How someone does a job is as important as what job a person has. Every interaction with another human being, especially one who is fragile, vulnerable or hurting, can be decisive and essential. We may unknowingly be the agent of change in someone else’s life.

I recently heard a testimony about a wonderful man. He wanted to be a minister, but he was unable to attend ministry school. He became a janitor. He dedicated his life to serve and help anyone he could. As a janitor. It wasn’t servile work, just as the work at Manoir Bellechasse wasn’t.

It was noble and crucial. They put people back together.

When he died (and his son, a minister, choked back tears as he told the story), there was a seemingly never-ending line of people who came to pay their respects. Each and every one had a story to tell about the janitor who had counseled them, ministered to them, listened to them, guided them, taught them… put them back together.

Not everyone was made for this work.

Not everyone is in the business of putting people back together.

I am. At least I think I am. If I’m not, it’s where I want to be. It’s who I yearn to be remembered as.

Months ago, I posted about my “in between” cocoon phase. Much like Gamache’s “time of stillness”, in which he was interrupted and sucked into the frenzy of Clara’s quest, I too have been living a time of “stillness” and reflection and soul searching amidst a whirlwind of events and craziness and never-ending to do lists. In my post (HERE) I posed a series of questions to myself.

That’s one of my answers: regardless of what my “job” is, regardless of whether it’s apparently menial or servile, I am in the business of putting people back together. And, like Pierre, like the janitor in the minister’s story, it doesn’t very much matter what form it takes, any task can be performed with an overreaching goal that is noble and essential.

Elliot wasn’t. 

"I was just having some fun.”

Elliot said it was though it were reasonable to stand in the middle of the crowded, busy kitchen mocking the guests, and the maître d’ was the unreasonable one. Pierre could feel his rage rising. He looked around.

The large old kitchen was the natural gathering place for the staff. Even the gardeners were there, eating cakes and drinking tea and coffee. And watching his humiliation at the hands of a nineteen-year-old. He’s young, Pierre said to himself. He’s young. But he’d said it so often it had become meaningless.

He knew he should let it go. 

“You were making fun of the guests.”

“Only one. Oh, come on, she’s ridiculous. Excusez-moi, but I think he got more coffee than I did. Excusez-moi, but is this the best seat? I asked for the best seat. Excusez-moi, I don’t mean to be difficult, but I did order before they did. Where’s my celery stick?” 

Titters, quickly stifled, filled the warm kitchen. 

It was a good imitation. Even in his anger the maître d’ recognized Sandra’s smooth, cool whine. Always asking for a little bit more. Elliot might not be a natural waiter, but he had an uncanny ability to see people’s faults. And magnify them. And mock them. It was a gift not everyone would find attractive.

Two things strike me about this scene.

One is that Pierre is much less mature and sure of himself than Gamache. We have seen similar instances where agents ridiculed suspects or witnesses and Gamache summarily stopped them. He didn’t even feel humiliated when young agents intentionally ridiculed him. He was a bigger man than that. He was sure of his ground.

Pierre has the right idea, but he’s more vulnerable and less self-assured than Gamache.

The second is that it’s not enough to see people. Elliot saw. He saw people’s faults. He magnified them. To be in the business of building up you can’t be unaware. It’s not a lack of perception or insight. It’s the ability to see beyond the faults. 

It isn’t enough to see people.

We have to see beyond the faults. We have to decode faults and find reasons. We have to reach understanding or acceptance.

It wasn’t servile work they did at the Manoir Bellechasse, Pierre knew. It was noble and crucial. They put people back together. Though some, he knew, were more broken than others.

Let us all bear in mind that all interaction with others is noble and crucial and can change someone’s day. Little things that add up. Or, as in this post (HERE), it is about faithfulness in little things.

I tried out a new recipe. It’s from (HERE). I’d been meaning to try it for some time. Hints of rosemary, apple and lemon? What could go wrong? Mine wasn’t half as lovely looking as hers is, but it was delicious all the same. I made two. One for my own home and one for a lovely friend who is spectacular at all the little things and makes everyone feel special and loved.

All quotes are from A RULE AGAINST MURDER by Louise Penny

Parsnip and Apple Soup - A Time of Stillness

by Amy

Dinner was served, starting with parsnip and apple soup, with a drizzle of walnut infused oil on top.
“Olivier gave me the recipe,” said Reine-Marie, turning down the light in the kitchen.
[…]
Gamache took a couple of spoonfuls of soup. It was smooth and earthy and just a touch sweet.
“Delicious,” he said to Reine-Marie, but his mind was elsewhere.

A meal that is a bit unusual (at least to me), served twice in one book, enticing enough that Reine-Marie asks Olivier for the recipe, AND gets complimented by a character? I had absolutely no trouble picking which THE NATURE OF THE BEAST recipe to start with!

Reine-Marie eats this soup at the Bistro earlier in the book during a memorable conversation with Gamache. She later serves it to Gamache, Agent Cohen, Chief Inspector Gamache and Jean-Guy Beauvoir during a cozy candlelit dinner.

I think Reine-Marie is a wise woman. In the Supporting Spouses and Peppermint Tisane Post we talked a bit about her relationship with Gamache and how she was aware of who and what he was and was willing to respect that. In THE LONG WAY HOME Gamache was still healing. He was in a place of reflection and reassessment, and he was still reeling from all that had come before. Now he’s begun to ask What next? So has everybody else. Including the readers.

I think that’s the big question for the next book. What’s next?

Sitting in the warm and cheerful bistro, with fresh warm bread and parsnip and apple soup in front of them…
[…]
“I was threatened yesterday by a young agent. […] Fresh out of the academy. He knew I was once a cop and he didn’t care. If he’d treat a former cop like that, how’s he going to treat citizens?”
“You look shaken.”
“I am. I’d hoped by getting rid of the corruption the worst was over, but now…” He shrugged and smiled thinly. “Is he alone, or is there a whole class of thugs entering the Sûreté? Armed with clubs and guns.”

I think Gamache knows the department is in good hands. He’s just told Reine-Marie what a good job Chief Inspector Lacoste has been doing. He might sometimes miss it, but it’s no longer his job and he seems to be okay with that.

“Not just a good job, a remarkable job. She’s completely taken control of the department. Made it her own.”
Reine-Marie watched him for signs of regret hiding beneath the obvious relief. But there was only admiration for his young protégé.

I think he’s wondering if maybe there’s another job that he is supposed to do. Another mission. Not the murders themselves, I don't think. Lacoste and Jean-Guy are perfectly capable of handling those and Lacoste is doing beautifully with the department. But maybe he’s to be involved in the shaping of a new “ideology” for the Sûreté? He’s outrooted corruption, but someone has to help ensure a new mentality is installed in its place. Maybe Gamache is feeling called to do that?

“I’m sorry, Armand.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand on his.
He looked down at her hand, then up into her eyes, and smiled.
“It’s a place I no longer recognize. To everything there is a season. I’m thinking of talking to Professor Rosenblatt about his job at McGill.”

He seems to be shying away from it, though. He’s been invited to take over as Superintendent. It’s a legitimate offer. He doesn’t answer anyone who questions him about it in this book. I don’t think he knows the answer himself. I think he’s still considering his options. Wondering. Trying to figure out what he wants to do. What he’s meant to do.

She knew he wasn’t considering studying science, but now she understood what he was considering.
If the big question facing both of them was, What next? could the answer be, University?
“Would that interest you?” he asked.
“Going back to school?”
She hadn’t really thought about it, but now that she did she realized there was a world of knowledge out there she’d love to dive into. History, archeology, languages, art.
And she could see Armand there. In fact, it was a far more natural fit than the Sûreté ever seemed. She could see him walking through the hallways, a student. Or a professor.
But either way, he belonged in the corridors of academe. And so did she. She wondered if the killing of young Laurent had finally, completely, put paid to any interest he had in the disgrace that was murder.
“You like the professor?” she asked, going back to her soup.
“I do, though there seems a strange disconnect between the man and what he did for a living. His field was trajectory and ballistics. The main people who’d benefit from his research would be weapons designers. And yet he seems so, so, gentle. Scholarly. It just doesn’t seem to fit.”
“Really?” she asked, trying not to smile. It was what she’d just been thinking about him. A scholarly man who pursued murderers. “I guess we’re not all what we seem.”

We aren’t all what we seem. We rarely are. And there's usually more to us (everyone) than meets the eye.

Some people seem to have been meant to do one thing. Or one type of thing. Or one line of work. Others are more flexible – or more versatile. Some people, by choice or circumstance, spend a lifetime doing the same things. Others seem to live many lives.

I think everyone thinks Armand Gamache still has much to give and much to contribute. No one – probably not even he – knows what that is, but everyone is asking What next?

She’d held his hand tightly. It was covered in his own blood and that of others. And it mingled with the blood on her hands. Her own, and others.
And now catching killers was in their blood.
Chief Inspector Gamache hadn’t died. And he’d continued to lead them for many investigations. Until the time had come to come here.
He’d done enough. It was someone else’s turn.
Hers.
“You and Madame Gamache seem happy here.”
“We are. Happier than I ever thought possible.”
“But are you content?” Isabelle probed.

Gamache smiled again. How different she was from Jean-Guy, who’d come right out and demanded, “Are you going to stay here doing nothing, or what, patron?”

He’d tried to explain to Jean-Guy that stillness wasn’t nothing. But the taut younger man just didn’t understand. And neither would he have, Gamache knew, in his thirties. But in his fifties Armand Gamache knew that sitting still was far more difficult, and frightening, than running around.

No, this wasn’t nothing. But the time was coming when this stillness would allow him to know what to do. Next.
What next?

And he’s right. Being still isn’t nothing. It may be the listening and meditating time necessary for further action.

I can empathize. I am going through a transition time in my own life. Big changes are coming my way. Maybe a move. Maybe a sabbatical. Very likely a career shift. Right now I’m in a whirlwind much like the one Gamache was in during HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN. Lots of plans and preparations being set in place in readiness for a moment when it will all have to come together – fast.

After the whirlwind, I’ll have to deal with the “What next?” period. While it is tempting to already try to make decision, I know answers given now would be impetuous and precipitous.

Although I am not yet in my fifties and can certainly empathize with my contemporary, Jean-Guy, I agree with Gamache. Stillness is not nothing. It is hard. It means self-assessment. It demands answers to hard questions.

I am looking forward to stillness, though. I’m looking forward to a time between times. A time for listening to the silence and the space between the words. A time of reflection and questioning.

A butterfly landed on my foot the other day. It slowly climbed up my pant leg. It looked so pretty there that I took a picture. This was a few days ago. Since then, butterflies have been on my mind. I realized that I'm probably in the caterpillar stage. "A big fat caterpillar", (The Very Hungry Caterpillar).

Maybe I can become a butterfly. To do so, I have to be willing to face the cocoon stage. Stillness. A time between times. While outwardly nothing seems to be happening, metamorphosis is hard work. A caterpillar actually digests itself before sleeping cells are awakened in order to grow into a butterfly. What a metaphor!

I look forward to my time of stillness. To my own "cocoon".

I am preparing myself to reassess and "digest" who I am in order to awaken the person I can become. I'd like to cultivate stillness. Sometimes it is a big obvious moment - like the one I am soon to face. Other times it's a little epiphany. A few minutes or hours of introspection. We all have cocoons in our lives.

I look forward to trying to answer the questions I ask myself. Who am I? What do I enjoy? Why am I the way I am? What do I like to do? Why do I like to do it? What are the things that make me feel like a day was productive? What are the things I miss? What are the things that I could live without? What makes me feel useful? What kind of social interaction nurtures my soul? What makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning? What are some things I keep in the back drawer of dreams and plans, and that I should put on the top of the list?

I look forward to my time of stillness.

It is coming. Soon. It is just around the corner.

I know I need it because I, like Gamache, am not ready to answer when people ask me What next?

I didn’t really know what parsnips were. That’s not quite true. I knew, but I didn’t know they were called parsnips. To me they were only cenoura baroa or mandioquinha, Brazilian names for the vegetable. I don’t even know if they taste exactly the same (most fruits and vegetables are slightly different in taste in different parts of the world), but I’m sure they’re close enough. I was a bit skeptical of adding apples to the soup… but it was lovely! I’m so glad I made it. Even my son (who absolutely HATES any and all kinds of soup) ate his obligatory two spoons to taste with little complaint and said it was “okay” (very high praise for soup coming from this particular 8-year-old).

I made a version of this recipe: Creamy Parsnip and Apple Soup

Of course there were slight modifications because… well, I cannot seem to make things precisely as the recipe says. I like my soups a bit thicker, so I added less broth. Also, I added a wee bit of parsley to it. I thought it was a good addition. Other than that, I basically followed the recipe. Madame Gamache has great taste.

In fact, I had a soup party this week! It was so much fun! I invited some friends who like to cook – but aren’t snobs about it. The idea was that each person would bring a pan of soup or chowder. We had bread and croutons and grated cheese and cheeses and fresh parsley and nuts and wine… And we had to chance to share our own soup – and the recipe – and to taste other soups. So much fun. We spent hours nibbling and eating and tasting and trying to figure out what spices and tricks each person had up their sleeve. 

We took turns serving our soups, so everyone spent some time in the kitchen reheating and adding final touches. Everything was served in the pan it came in, so it was informal, not at all fancy, and felt like an impromptu improvised family meal. 

Then we split the leftovers between us. Perfect. I had enough for dinner the next day. Although dinner was a whole new version, since I did some mix and matching with my leftovers!