The nausea that had risen with me every morning since the end of September is… gone.
Monday was my weekly call with Audrey, the VA I work with in the Philippines. She does many things, the biggest is managing the StoryJoules YouTube channel video production.
When I told Audrey my plans, she was supportive, despite what it means for her income. She’ll stay with me through March, as I wrap up outstanding commitments (speaking at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop is the biggest—see you there?).
After Audrey and I talked, the queasy went away and hasn’t come back.
Being at the Mercantile Library’s Niehoff lecture (Colson Whitehead!) on Saturday night, seeing Chris in his tux greeting at the door, seeing Hillary’s back from a distance (strappy!), being with a room full of people who love books, made me want to go back to the library. Not to volunteer. Not to write. To pick out a book. To read.
On Monday morning, I pulled open the door and looked right. Hillary wasn’t there but Chris, Michael and Amy were each at their row of desks. We talked briefly about Saturday’s successful event and I gushed over the sweet potato pancake entrée. Then I wandered over to the shelf featuring staff recommendations (Hillary’s and Al’s are most aligned with my preferences).
The post-it note with curled-up corners on the front of The Ministry of Time, in Hillary’s handwriting said, “A delightful + propulsive mash-up of genres: time travel, history, romance + more!” Chris checked the book out to me and I took it up to the 12th floor. Not to volunteer, not to write, but to sit on the green velvet banquette and read.
The morning light bounced off the newly refinished skinny-planked floor. The book’s pages opened easily. Previous hands had left their marks, softened the spine. The green velvet and the sunlight and the book wrapped me in their soft blanket. I exhaled.
But that night, after reading more of the book in bed and then turning out the light, an unexpected guest showed up.
Chewing the Cud of Good
Thankful for good books, and the people who write them.
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