Night Crawlers

"Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise." -Ben Franklin

"Night, the beloved.  Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree."  -Antione de Saint Exupery, Flight to Arras


In recent years I have been thinking about night. I used to pride myself on being "a morning person" and surmised that before long I'd become like my father, arousing happily at 4, 5, or 6 in the morning, chipping away at chores, catching up on work, or churning the wells of creativity. And while some of that is true to a degree--I am generally quite productive between 7 and 9 a.m.--I have found that night has more and more become a friend.

Though many nights these days are spent watching TV or Netflix discs, that in itself is enjoyable. And it usually comes after a satisfying day of work, when the sense of accomplishment is at its best. Night is also a time for basketball. There may be no activity I enjoy more than playing basketball (more on that in a future blog), especially in pleasant Bay Area evenings when the sun is beginning its descent behind trees or hills, and there's just enough of a lilting breeze to provide good aeration.

As my aversion to harsh sun has grown (spurned largely by an episode of basal cell carcinoma), my affinity for night has increased. No need for sunscreen, sun hat, sunglasses. In the cool evening air I move faster, focus better, worry less. Night is a time for sweatpants and comfortable old shirts, for hot showers and slippers and couches.

It is night, not day, that has cloaked me in true and rich emotion, has more often than not doused me with a creative spark. Recently in Martinez I bought two new rats at Petco, then dined at Mountain Mike's Pizza. I don't even really like Mountain Mike's Pizza. But at that time, it hit the spot. There were two cops also dining there, and we all stayed past closing. One of the cops was contemplating taking a new job. The other advised him that it would be hard to leave the department, but a solid opportunity. I made another late night run to Rite Aid. On other nights, a stop at Lunardi's is routine. Both stores, in the Palos Verdes Mall just a minute's drive from my home, have been saviors and spots of comfort. When one of the clerks at Lunardi's sees me at 6 or 7 instead of 7:30-9, she says "You're early." The other day I stopped in minutes before the 9:00 closing time to get my usual two mild Italian sausages without fennel, and the guy picked them out and wrapped them before I even got to the counter.

If I've babysat, or attended a pleasant work party at some restaurant, or seen a performance of some kind, I emerge into the night emotionally satisfied, and that satisfaction seems to drape over everything, to cast even the mundane in a slight glow. I have spent some nights at Starbucks, doing homework along with other students, but it only feels authentic if it's at night.

And finally night is a time to also feel somber or sad. It is closer to sleep, where feelings are channeled into dreams or forgotten, and to a new day, when we can begin all over again.