Books, books, books. Seas of books. Stacks. Mountains. Tunnels. I spent the afternoon at Powell's Books in Portland. A whole city block, four levels, and that's not the whole store.
I love the friendly, comfortable feel of an old book. The soft suede of yellowed paper reveals its secrets. An old book feels at home in my hand. Newer books with their never-been-read words arch their backs at me. They refuse to stay still. An old book, though, is an "I'll wait right here until you need me again" kind of friend.
That's the kind of friends that are good to have. It's great to get back in touch with Jenna and Sandi, Tracey and others. New format, old comfortable friendships.
Walt and Kay came for dinner last night. We hadn't seen them in two years. Not since they pulled up roots in Port Townsend and moved across the world to Botswana. The hours we spent with them were delightful. They were friends on one level, but now, with shared experiences, we take a step deeper. May God bless their return to Botswana and their work with the people there. And may God bless the country of Botwana with relief from the horrible AIDS epidemic.
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