Today marks a week since I returned from CA. I suppose I've accomplished some good things in that time. I know I wrote over 2000 words of Erthe yesterday. That's something. I intend to write more this evening, however, so I must keep this blog post short.

Do weeks of life always fly by this quickly? I know that I don't feel I've been especially busy. I've been sick with a cold, so I've slept a lot. That may explain some of the brevity. But otherwise, the days have just slipped through my fingers.

Yesterday I drove Thing (my white '87 Pontiac Grand Am) to the Headquarters branch of the St. Louis Public Library. We have an excellent library network in this area, and Headquarters is the best branch of all. The open shelves cover probably over 2000 square feet, and mysterious Closed Stacks lurk somewhere below. These Closed Stacks are one of the secrets I long sometime to access for myself; when one requests a book that is on these hidden shelves, the librarian at the desk disappears for fifteen minutes and returns, sometimes with the object of her search, sometimes not. The general impression is that of an elevator somewhere in the back that whisks the respectable, middle-aged lady down several underground levels and deposits her amidst rows of forgotten volumes. Imagine all the knowledge that is secreted away, never to see the light of day because library visitors don't know specifically to ask for it!

I love libraries. At this particular one yesterday I took out a few diaries of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, wife of Charles Lindbergh. I've read one of them before, in which she describes meeting her future husband. It is an incredibly poignant story, of a young girl much like myself - sheltered, privileged, and intelligent. I want to read it again. But I am also trying to gain some context for the story, by reading Charles Lindbergh's personal account of his historic transatlantic flight. Anne Morrow met him for the first time shortly after this flight, when he was a bemused and humble hero.

What I've really been reading lately, however, is Witness, by Whittaker Chambers. It's one of the books assigned for my ISI summer seminar in Princeton. If I take nothing else away from the seminar (at the end of this month), I think I will always be grateful that I read this book. It puts the crisis of Western civilization into the clearest possible light: We are humans struggling against God. Chambers writes poignantly and eloquently, describing his entire life from birth, to Communism, away from the Party, and to Christianity. I cannot put into words the impact his book is having on me, but I know I can feel my perspective of the world enlarging. It complements neatly my new fascination with China, one of the few countries still clinging to Communism. Communism is evil. But nobody sets out to be evil. People wrapped up in wrong philosophies earnestly think they are acting the best they can in the world as it is. And it is never too late for God to turn a false path around and help a man make a stand for truth. I am inspired.

More to say. It can be said later.  ¶ 6:26 PM