I shouldn’t be awake writing. But that’s how most of the things I write begin.
I am a creature of the night.
Like Indians, I grace the rug.
I empty oceans while I write,
redrain a dozen times my mug.
When I scribbled that down, last April, I meant to make a picture of myself. I sat Indian-style in the Patrick Henry hallway in the navel of the night, writingwriting and drinking tea, cup after cup after cup.
But tonight Sophia was having the tea. Sophia is my fellow Olasky intern, here in Asheville by route of Korea, Singapore, Virginia and Los Angeles. She got a stomach ache eating a muffin in a bad position, so I guided her downstairs for tea. And we drew from the cupboard the can of peppermint chocolate. She said, “You want to smell?”
And I remembered that I must be grateful for each moment. I hardly know the magic of a moment until I have written it down and see it days, months or years later.
For, as my friend Josh Chamberlain pointed out to me recently on the stone Patrick Henry steps, a certain pleasure comes simply in remembering. I had been complaining of the untruth in memory: that it never captures life completely, or paints it angelic and forgets the Hades it had, or worse, the reverse. But like he says, pleasure comes just in remembering.
So though I am not in the home I love, I will treasure these moments, remembering that they will truly be something to remember. Though journalism meets me like a creek of cold water meets bare feet, by grace I will be grateful. Even though I am not in the dear creaking church with ladies who send messages like this one:
Hi Dear Chelsea.
I keep thinking of Johb Denver’s song “goodby again” as i remember you will be leaving soon. It’s good to know that you are in the loving care of the good shepherd. I pray you will have a good time, and learn a lot. We will look forward to updates from your mom.God bless you and make you a blessing.love you.