Couldn't get the Saints book out my head (closet Catholic, remember), and went back today. Also, was able to buy Eliot's Four Quartets for a buck, which our library doesn't have on the shelves (and really doesn't now with me having gotten the one at their bookstore). You'd think they'd know. I was able to load it on my Kindle the other day, but that's just not the same. I like to have a hard copy and a pencil at hand.
Anyway, finished Murder in the Cathedral last night, and all I can say is wow. When a writer can get a feeling across that goes deeper than the print in front of you, that's a gift. C.S. Lewis had it, as did George MacDonald. It's such a rare gift, that I rarely even see it expressed.
Got online to research Thomas Becket (who's the main character in the Cathedral book), and my new chubby Saints book was able to give me some more information. Also, since the play talks about Saint's Days, which we Anglicans are on top of, I knew what was going on.
Can I say for the upteenth time I love the Anglican church? I do. Really.
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And it's raining---the first appreciable amount in over a month, least at our house. And there's beef stew for dinner, and I might make a pan of shortbread later on. I've already bought the flowers for the altar as well. A perfect evening.
