"My house is the big white one, next to a brown-brick bungalow-ish house, where my landlord's elderly mother resides. Come around back and up the stairs, all the way up. 7:30 is fine."
So at 7:30 I climbed the wobbly fire stairs up to the attic apartment of one of Wheaton's archivists, a fine fellow by the name of Keith. He served tea and biscuits (you know what tea and biscuits are, right?) and conversation.
And we held forth for many hours on everything ranging from Mormons to walking to Land's End to UFO sightings to driving through New Mexico to CS Lewis.
Here at Wheaton, it usually comes back around to CS Lewis at some point.
Stimulating way to spend an evening.
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