Wonder then joy then peace . . .

A cropped photo of a gorgeous tile, casually leaning against a book.


The noodle cutter from God. I had just told Mom that I could not find my noodle cutter, especially since moving, can we find one at an antiques store? Oh, you never see those anymore, she told me. But an hour later in a store on a shelf in a nook, there it was for $3. Mom grabbed it from my hand and said, “Here, I am buying that for you!” That was just before I bought the camel saddle, which has since been authenticated here in Milwaukie by former missionaries to Africa (although it seems once one/always one—it remains in the blood, regardless of space-time), one of whom helped “smuggle” cash across borders back in the day to convert the charitable Christian contributions to U.S. currency in order to buy camels (and goats and calves, and then take them back across the borders, and chickens too I think). I am thinking and thanking about Thanksgiving already!

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On a hot wall in Paris, Texas it was about the size of a U.S. quarter. I imagine it is gone now, especially if boys are boys. God, I hope so. When I was a boy the first time, I’d pick these post-molt exoskeletons off trees mostly. The live insects were even more amazing amazing as well, and I would tie a thread to them and fly them like kites. That is how thirty years later, I knew I could fly a fly, told here.

I am still in that room, the one with the view.

Shabbat shalom . . .