Your Daily Miracle: the Library
It is a strange, strange day here in Kitsap County, Washington.
I have taken refuge in the public library--one of my very favorite places--at one my favorite tables, across from the 700s. . .Crafts, Antiques & Collectibles, zen pencils, The Secret History of Wonder Woman, Beading with Gemstones, 500 teapots, and of course the big blue coffee table Book of Flax.
The rain sweeps sheets across the roof, bidden by the wind to fall harder, louder. Last night, the electricity flickered out around ten, sending Merry and I to bed early, where I lay next to her (Martin is off on a work trip) reading by the light of two candles. She snuggled in and pulled the covers to her chin, pleased to be unable to do her math homework, which is all online, and tickled by the romance of candlelight--"It makes you think," she said, "Of all the years when this was the norm for people, of everything people did every night by such little light. In my mind, I picture everyone in Jane Austen sitting around playing cards by the bright light we're used to." It was jarring, then, an hour later, when the electricity fired up again, causing all the appliances to beep in protest, sending me out of bed to switch off all the lights. I even turned off the one next to my bed, preferring to return to the gentle glow of the lanterns.
We slept to the sound of wind and rain.
Now I am feeling the strangeness of a dark day roaring with bad weather, made stranger still by the uncertainty of Martin making it home in good time over a choppy Sound and possibly tree-strewn roads, the bizarre and never-ending world and political news, and the unsettling e-mail I received late last night that began. . ."We are writing to inform you of a threat that was made at ----High School. The suspect is in custody, we have determined there is no credible threat, and school will be held as normal tomorrow. . . ." Instinctually I wanted to wrap Merry up in a blanket and plop her on my couch, where I would ply her with tea and books until she graduates. But of course, to live dictated by fears is no way to live at all, so I dropped her off as usual this morning and watched her run up to class through the rain. Living with courage did not stop me from driving by the high school this morning on my way to work, making sure the rushing emergency vehicle I'd just seen was not parked in front of the double doors. Instead, I gazed through the rain to the warm yellow lights of the school library, and felt reassured.
So here I am, at my library, with the sound of rain and quiet footsteps, hushed voices, the rustle of newspaper pages turning and away to my right, the sound of a child's voice among the picture book shelves. I am taking refuge from an unsettling world in this place of order and reason, rational thought and kindness, in the smell of thousands of books.
And now, work.
I have taken refuge in the public library--one of my very favorite places--at one my favorite tables, across from the 700s. . .Crafts, Antiques & Collectibles, zen pencils, The Secret History of Wonder Woman, Beading with Gemstones, 500 teapots, and of course the big blue coffee table Book of Flax.
We slept to the sound of wind and rain.
Now I am feeling the strangeness of a dark day roaring with bad weather, made stranger still by the uncertainty of Martin making it home in good time over a choppy Sound and possibly tree-strewn roads, the bizarre and never-ending world and political news, and the unsettling e-mail I received late last night that began. . ."We are writing to inform you of a threat that was made at ----High School. The suspect is in custody, we have determined there is no credible threat, and school will be held as normal tomorrow. . . ." Instinctually I wanted to wrap Merry up in a blanket and plop her on my couch, where I would ply her with tea and books until she graduates. But of course, to live dictated by fears is no way to live at all, so I dropped her off as usual this morning and watched her run up to class through the rain. Living with courage did not stop me from driving by the high school this morning on my way to work, making sure the rushing emergency vehicle I'd just seen was not parked in front of the double doors. Instead, I gazed through the rain to the warm yellow lights of the school library, and felt reassured.
So here I am, at my library, with the sound of rain and quiet footsteps, hushed voices, the rustle of newspaper pages turning and away to my right, the sound of a child's voice among the picture book shelves. I am taking refuge from an unsettling world in this place of order and reason, rational thought and kindness, in the smell of thousands of books.
And now, work.
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