Someone told me last week they were about to curl up with their favorite author in the room they most enjoyed in their home. I said, "your saint and your sanctuary -- makes sense to me."
Made me consider who my saint is and where sanctuary is these days for me. At least twice of late, I've said aloud how at peace I felt on my couch, in my space, surrounded by my things with nothing truly going on except me reading the paper or watching the news. As for my saint, I don't have a go-to author that soothes and/or scintilates, but this weekend I was reminded that I do hold certain writers/thinkers with heavy loads of respect.
I will miss Tim Russert. I liked his everyman persona. I liked that I could imagine myself seeing him in an airport and actually smiling and thanking him for his succinct, simple approach to explaining politics. I liked that he loved his family, his background, his future. I mourn that his future was not as long as anyone would have thought. November will not be the same without his insight into the election process. I didn't know the man, but I will miss him.
Perhaps he wasn't a saint, but I know I found sanctuary in his explanations of how things work.