Christmas Letter 2005

Please don't be offended if you didn't receive a Christmas card from us this year. No one did. We tried for too long to get the perfect picture and as a result found ourselves too late to send anything out, but I did write a Christmas letter and figured I'd put it out somewhere, so here goes.

Merry Christmas Friends & Family,
Just wanted to give you a little update on all things Forster for 2005. It’s amazing how much life has changed for us in the past 12 months. A year ago today, we were putting the finishing touches on the Christmas Kettle effort on 52nd Street in New York. Sydney was hardly mobile. Riley was a creative ball of energy. Well, some things haven’t changed, I guess. We’ll celebrate this Christmas in our traditional digs at 186 Massapoag.

Last Spring Riley finished out a fantastic year at the Geneva School, a true gift from God during our time in the city. She made wonderful friends and got to experience the structure of school in a fun, safe, friendly environment. We enjoyed many trips to the Park in the spring, including Riley’s 4th birthday party on the lawn overlooking the Carousel just days before we left Manhattan. Spring saw Sydney learn to crawl and immediately begin to climb wherever possible, but she waited for the summer to really come out of herself.

Camp brought out the social butterfly in our quiet second child. She learned to enjoy seeing friends and discovered her voice in a major way. And like big sister, she learned to walk by chasing the other staff kids around. That was our big excitement in July and she hasn’t slowed down since. Looking to be the next great athlete in the family, Sydney is adventurous and doesn’t back down from any challenge. Riley adores being at camp in the summer with so many friends and would regularly remind us what her favorite part of the week was, Miracle Mile. She also confided to us that the scene she likes most is Jesus’ crucifixion for two reasons: because she isn’t scared and because that’s when we see Jesus dying for our sins.

Fall brought a new school experience for Ri, the Sharon Coop where she spends two and a half days a week. Her teacher, Mrs. Forman, quickly identified Riley’s love for stories and Riley has made several new friends after an uneasy start realizing that her school friends from Geneva had stayed behind in New York. Sydney has discovered communication this fall and can say 1000 things with her eyes alone. She’s starting to become the playmate Riley had hoped for at her birth and she is very affectionate, particularly to Libby. She never lets a silly thing like dog hair stand between her and a hug and kiss.

Jen and I are settling into our positions and have been warmly welcomed back to Massachusetts. The city stays with us, though, and we’ve enjoyed a few visits back. Jen’s schedule allows her to be with the girls as much as we could ask for and we’re grateful for that.

At the end of a year when so many have lost so much, we count ourselves truly grateful for all that we have. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours.

So true

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
from Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul (1988)

Family #30

This was inspired by participating in the sorting and packing of gifts for The Salvation Army's Adopt-a-Family program here in Boston. It is not meant to be passed off as an actual letter, but rather what the thoughts might be of a young man in this situation.

I'm 17 years old. Mom just got back with our Christmas gifts. 3 big garbage bags that say Family #30 on them. A couple of weeks ago, mom had this paper and asked me and my brother what we wanted for Christmas. He's 15, we're the oldest. The little ones all asked for toys and dolls. My nieces and nephews are too young to even know what to ask for, so mom just wrote something down for them. We aren't really into toys any more, so I asked for Nike sneakers. My brother thought that sounded good too, so he said the same. I'm hoping some nice family from the suburbs decides to "adopt" us and I guess I hope to get those sneakers for Christmas. But I'm pretty much done with Christmas. It's not too magical when you're Family #30 anyway. You know what I really want for Christmas? I don't want to be family #30 any more. I don't want mom to have to give our list to a social worker, so the social worker can give it to someone else and some nice lady who lives in a big house and feels badly for Family #30, all 9 of us, can go out and buy us gifts. You know what? I don't want the sneakers. I don't want to be here. I don't want to live here. News is talking about everybody getting shot. I want to live where people don't know the people getting shot. I don't want to see the empty desk where one of those kids sat. I want to live where mom and the rest of us aren't numbers. Family #30, SSI# whatever, you're next, please step forward. Maybe that's why half my boys end up in prison, cause all their lives they've just been a number. Go to the house and keep being a number. I'm not a number. I have a name. The most important number about me ought to be my age: 17. Still a boy, forced to be the man because I'm the oldest. So I don't want to be adopted. I've got a mom and she does her best. I want a safe place to live that regular people can afford. I want a school that doesn't have to choose between another math teacher and oil to heat the place. After that, I don't even know what I want, I just wish it weren't like this. Family #30, gifts in garbage bags, bought by strangers with strangers' money and then left for us to pick up. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful. I'm sure those people are really nice. But I just wish their charity wasn't under our tree this year.

Christmas in Hollis

We put the tree up last night. We found a couple of our Christmas CDs in the bin with the ornaments, so I was able to listen to and share with my family, one of my favorite Christmas songs: Christmas in Hollis by Run DMC. It was released on the first A Very Special Christmas. In my opinion, the best one of the series hands down. It's got great pop Christmas songs.

If you do not know this Christmas classic, here are the lyrics.

It was December 24th on Hollis Ave after dark
When I see a man chilling with his dog in the park
I approached very slowly with my heart full of fear
Looked at his dog, oh my God, a ill reindeer
But then I was illin' because the man had a beard
And a bag full of goodies, 12 o'clock had neared
So I turned my head a second and the man had gone
But he must have dropped his wallet smack down on the lawn
I picked the wallet up then I took a pause
Took out the license and it cold said "Santa Claus"

A million dollars in it, cold hundreds of G's
Enough to buy a boat and matching car with ease
But I'd never steal from Santa, cause that ain't right
So I was going home to mail it back to him that night
But when I got home I bugged, cause under the tree
Was a letter from Santa and the dough's for me

It's Christmas time in Hollis Queens
Mom's cooking chicken and collard greens
Rice and stuffing, macaroni and cheese
And Santa put gifts under Christmas trees
Decorate the house with lights at night
Snow's on the ground, snow white so bright
In the fireplace is the yule log
Beneath the mistle toe as we drink egg nog
The rhymes that you hear are the rhymes of Darryl's
But each and every year we bust Chrsitmas carols

Rhymes so loud and proud you hear it
It's Christmas time and we got the spirit
Jack Frost chillin, the orchid's out
And that's what Christmas is all about
The time is now, the place is here
And the whole wide world is filled with cheer
My name's D.M.C. with the mic in my hand
And I'm chilling and coolin' just like a snowman
So open your eyes, lend us a ear
We want to say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Tagged, grrrr

I hate stuff like this, but I love Jocelyn, who tagged me, so here goes.

Instructions: Write 5 random facts about yourself, then list the names of 5 people whom you in turn infect.

1. I have a twin brother. I am 6 minutes older than he is. That's not really random if you know me, but this is: when I was a kid, say 8 years old, I thought I was 6 minutes older than all other 8-year-olds.

2. I love the movie "It's a Wonderful Life"

3. I've worn my Salvation Army uniform to work 2 days in a row (yesterday and today)

4. I had pancakes for dinner last night.

5. I want a digital SLR camera for Christmas.

I'm tagging Carole, Carol, Stephen, Allison and Allison.

Snow

Remember when snow was still simply magical?

Advent Cartoon Calendar

In case the Christmas season is getting too stressful for you, head on over to Dave Walker's Advent Calendar at Cartoon Church. Here is today's entry to get you started.

A New Fantasy League

Inspired by endzone prayer meetings and thank-God-for-this-home-run dances and by the ubiquitous fantasy leagues that exist for every sport under the sun, including (to my horror and amusement in equal portions) wrestling, I've come up with a new concept: fantasy faith sports.

Here's the idea: similar to other fantasy leagues, players will be chosen from various priofessional leagues. Then you watch as many games as you can checking to see how your players display their ardent faith: 10 points for kneeling to pray, 5 points for pointing skyward, 3 points for wearing a cross visisbly outside your uniform. Also this league would continue to score points after the game ends: 10 points for thanking God in the post game press conference, but only if it's a bland non-sectarian God. It would be minus 20 points if the player actually mentions my Lord & Savior Jesus Christ for the possibility of offending non-Christian fans.

It would also cost you 10 points if your fantasy faith player fails his league's drug test or gets arrested, minus 25 additional points if the arrest is for domestic abuse. Minus 20 points for mentioning God in the post-arrest press conference. Minus 100 points for mentioning God in media interviews discussing your day after Thanksgiving arrest for criminal possession because you were holding "your friend's crackpipe" so your kids wouldn't be exposed to that scene.

Obviously, there are many other sports-faith intersected instances that would need to be measured on a case by case basis.

If you want to join the league, we'll be running the draft at the potluck after church this Sunday. So pick a team name (mine is the Massachusetts Men of Faith), come up with a cool logo and study up on your spiritual sports. See you there.

Manger Throne

I don't know if you feel this way, but with so much going on, though I know Thanksgiving is over and it's December 2, I don't feel like it's Christmas time yet. I've seen snow, and still it seems like the summer just ended. Wake me up when September ends.

Anyway, to attempt to remedy this situation and enjoy the next 3 weeks in gear with what's going on, I sought out some Christmas music from our music department yesterday. I found City on a Hill: It's Christmas Time. There are some great finds on it.

I'm naturally biased toward anything by Third Day. I think Mac Powell could sing "This is the song that never ends" and I would love it, but I found the lyrics to their track on this CD particularly poignant. It's called Manger Throne.

What kind of King would leave His throne
In Heaven to make this earth His home?
While men seek fame and great renown,
In loneliness our King comes down.

Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
How we thank You that You’re come.
Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
A manger throne for God’s own Son.

You left the sound of angels’ praise
To come for men with unkind ways.
And by this Baby’s helplessness,
The power of nations is laid to rest.

Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
How we thank You that You’re come.
Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
A manger throne for God’s own Son.

What kind of King would come so small,
From glory to a humble stall?
That dirty manger is my heart, too.
I’ll make it a royal throne for You.

Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
How we thank You that You’re come.
Jesus, Jesus, precious One,
A manger throne for God’s own Son.

My heart is a throne,
My heart is a throne for God’s own Son.

Hands off praying

This is from Cynthia Bezek, editor of Pray!

Back in the dark ages when students, writers, and editors used typewriters, I yearned for a Smith Corona electric portable with correction cartridge (can you believe that model was state-of-the-art when I was 17?). I made my request known to Mom and Dad, but for some reason, I thought they hadn’t heard me or that they weren’t interested in my need. So I moved on to Plan B. I’ve always been a "Can-Do, Make-It-Happen" kind of person, so I started saving my money and reading the advertisements. Eventually I found a typewriter that I could pay for myself; true, it wasn’t as nice as the model I’d originally hoped for, but it would do.

I announced my intention to buy the typewriter to my parents, who to my surprise, were disappointed. "We’d planned to get you that typewriter you really wanted! Why do you have to do it yourself and get something not nearly as nice?"

Why indeed?

Several weeks ago, I began praying about something my family and I believe we need. But when God didn’t seem to be doing anything about it, I moved into Do-It-Yourself mode. So far, though, I haven’t managed to make it happen. Yesterday I had just started concocting Plan C when the Lord reminded me about the first-rate typewriter my parents bought for me so many years ago. Why don’t you relax and let Me work? Don’t take the fun out of it for Me! He seemed to be saying.

So what does Father have in mind concerning this request my family and I have been asking Him about? I don’t know yet, but with His infinite creativity, resources, time, and power, I know I can trust Him to do a better job with this than I can. I’m taking my hands off this one, and I’m learning to live Phil. 4:6: "Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done" (NLT).

A word from Clive Staples

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you
I've never had a selfless thought since I was born
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through
I want God, you, all friends merely to serve my turn

Peace, reassurance, pleasure are the goals I seek
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin
I talk of love, a scholar's parrot may talk Greek
but, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin

Whenever I read great men of God who seemed to struggle in similar ways with their faithwalk, I'm encouraged. I say, hey, if Peter can fall apart under pressure, if Paul can struggle to do the right thing even when he wants to, if CS Lewis can admit to being self-serving above all else, I think maybe, just maybe I might have a shot at this thing.

Don't Stuff the Dog

Angie Ward might have kind of killed the metaphor in this article, but her advice to the church about not stuffing the dog is timely and right on. Basically, it's a piece about not holding onto outdated programs and practices that have become beloved "pets" of the church. She asserts that holding on too long might not only prevent people from moving forward, but might actually break trust and drive new people away. It's a message that needs to be heard in the church. Even better, she quotes Alan Alda. You can't go wrong with Hawkeye.

One thing she doesn't cover though is being the member rather than the leader who recognizes the dead dog and can do nothing to remove it because the leader still holds onto his pet. Maybe this touches on Phil's loyal radicals, but how do we operate as the member who sees the program or practice as well past its time, while we are not in the decision making position to remove it or change it?

Mahogany

Ok, so I've been doing some card shopping lately for various events and have noticed a new collection in the greeting card section. I don't actually know how new it is. I just know I hadn't seen it before about 2 months ago. It's called Mahogany and it's a Hallmark collection of cards. The collection targets African-Americans and features images geared toward that population.

For a while now, I've considered myself or at least strived to be, as Bart Campolo puts it, a white person who "gets it" for people of color--someone who is still willing to admit and point out the racism that still exists in America; someone who doesn't say the stupid things that get us nowhere in terms of reconciliation and the righting of wrongs like "some of my best friends are black;" someone who is interested in African-American culture without "trying to be black;" someone who doesn't try to be "color blind" because that's a stupid notion. Race is real and we need to be aware of similarities and differences between us, not blind to them.

So I have to admit that I'm disappointed with myself for my lack of sensitivity to people of color in such a simple area as greeting cards. I, as a white person, have never had to look through rows and rows of cards and see no images of anyone that resembles me. Ok, so I don't really look like those oiled up muscle bound guys on the front of some cards, but I'm the same skin tone as he is, if that's the only similarity between us. Before seeing this Mahogany collection, I never found it offensive that all of the handdrawn cartoon cards look something like this one. For white people in America, we can walk through our daily lives and not think about race. For people of color, something as inane as buying a birthday card can hardly NOT be about race.

So here's the thing, though. I'm not sure The Mahogany Collection is the answer. To Hallmark's credit, they came up with a decent sounding name for the collection. They didn't call it "The Back of the Bus" collection and they place the cards in and among all of the others, but I can't help but think that it might be a better step if we didn't have segregation in the card section.

It's kind of like that phenomenon in sports where people feel the need to say, "Donovan McNabb, the black quarterback" or "Tony Dungy is one of the best African-American coaches we have." Finally, there is some sensitivity where people have just started to refer to these guys by their names, but it still carries on for some like Fisher DeBerry and Joe Pa.

Wouldn't it be better if Hallmark didn't feel the need to point it out so blatantly? It's funny they never seemed to point it out while they've only had cards depicting white people for the last 100 years. 40 years after MLK, decades after Jim Crow, nearly a century and a half after the emancipation proclamation, couldn't they just start to make cards with images of people from various races and sprinkle them in among the other cards and not tag them as Mahogany? I don't know if it's marketing or if they think they're doing something right, but by euphemizing race you're not subtracting it. What would people say if the little card tabs in the store said, "Cards for black people?"

I chose the birthday card at the top because of its subtlety. I would buy that card for any woman I know who was "born to flourish and to dance beneath the sun." I don't really need someone to tell me whether the image is appropriate for my purposes or not. On the other hand, the Forster Family Christmas card probably won't look like this one. Give the consumer some credit to decide which cards do and do not make sense.

So good for Hallmark that they've seen the error of their ways, but hopefully this collection will fade into the rainbow of the card section instead of sticking out. And by the way, I noticed there is not Asian collection, no Latino collection, no Pacific Islander collection. I shudder to think of the names they might come up with for all of those collections.

I knew there was a reason I liked IBC

Sometimes the best beer is a root beer. Perhaps the best argument I've yet seen for abstaining from alcohol. Check out this IBC Ad.

Gotta Go

I have lots of stuff I'm planning to post, actually some of it is sitting in my post list as drafts right now. I just have to put it all together before posting and have no time, so in the meantime, I thought I'd throw props to Jocelyn, who is putting up some really great stuff and getting no comments, and so I fear, few visitors. Go see what she has to say about how Normal is the New Beautiful or Google, NPR and Jazz.

Also if you haven't heard Phil Laeger's news yet, go to his blog.

A way unexpected surprise

Yesterday morning, I heard a rumor that there might be some tickets to the Colts-Patriots game coming toward our building later in the day.

At about 3 in the afternoon not having heard anything further, I went to go investigate what had become of the tickets. A pure dumb luck situation of being in the right place at the right time and 15 minutes later, I was holding several tickets to the game, 2 of which were for Jen and me to go.

We all know what happened in the game. It was much as everyone expected, the Pats got killed. But even for those of us who had been bracing ourselves for a loss, they lost the game in a very difficult fashion, completely unable to stop the Colts on defense at all.

But who cares? We got to go on a perfect November night and sit in some very nice corner end zone seats. Many of the people in our group had never been to an NFL game. It was a lot of fun. From the perspective we had, you could really see the plays open up, see recievers come open. Unfortunately too many of them were wearing white jerseys.

Gillette is a great place to watch a game. They did everything right when they built that place. It will stand up as one of the best stadiums in the league for a long time. They've added screens inside the lighthouse at the front end of the stadium and make good use of the addition, flying the stars and stripes at the beginning of the game, showing FLAG on a yellow background when there's a penalty on a play, etc.

Brady had a solid night and you really can't take anything away from the offense. Unfortunately, the defense couldn't take anything away from Indy, including the ball on several 3rd downs completed for firsts.

We live 15 minutes from the stadium. We left the game shortly before midnight, so we got home at 10 after 1. It's crazy.

It was really fun to be out with Jen who is usually pushing me out of the chapel door to ensure that we make it home for kickoff. We've had a busy month or so and it won't stop anytime soon, so it was a great opportunity to be together doing something we both love that we never expected to have the chance to do. Especially not until 3pm yesterday.

David Crowder Rocks my Sox

Went to see David Crowder Band last night at the Worcester Palladium. Palladium, by the way, is Greek for "dumpy old theater that is crumbling around and on top of concertgoers at rock shows." It hosts a diverse range of music. Tonight: Slipknot. Grab your dog collar and head on down!

We were up in the balcony. I sat between two busted out seats without bottoms on my left and their friend on my right. The ticket cost $19. I shudder to think what it would have cost if they painted the place. Didn't care too much for the openers: Robbie Seay Band (as in "say what?" I understood only one word of his set: mystery) and Shane and Shane. Surprisingly 5 guys came out on stage. I know a lot of people like these guys. I know this because people were screaming when they played the first lick of many songs, but I was a little bored. Again, couldn't understand too many lyrics, but they kind of have one move--acoustic strumming overlaid by soaring vocals held out for at least 8 beats. Oh yeah and the one Shane looked like he was waiting for a bus--work jacket with hooded sweatshirt sticking out the back and a baseball cap. He must have been sweating up a storm.

But Crowder did not disappoint. This is the third time I've seem him live (why do people say that? Could I have seen him on video or some kind of satelite uplink? If I had, would you care?). Anyway, he just puts on a great show. Here are the top 7 reasons why: 1. His music rocks--it's different from just about anyone else out there right now, the blend of acoustic and electric guitars, the electronica, simple but profound lyrics. 2. His energy. He really doesn't stop moving the whole show, and all the while on these crazy skinny legs. 3. There is No One Like You. Enough said. 4. The way he says, "You feel like doing some group singing?" Like we're all sitting around a campfire or something. 5. He's funny. His shows are always fun and his song intros are funny, not insipid. He regularly incites the crowd to sing loudly and badly. 6. He played the keytar. On two songs in the middle of his set, Crowder rocked out on a red keytar. He was quick to dismiss the naysayers by explaining "we are professionals, serious musicians. We only use real instruments. This keytar thing. I think it's big. It's really the future. It's where everything's going." 7. I had an experience of the presence of God. It never fails with Crowder. I really get the impression that he's real and that he honestly wants to honor God with his music. I have experienced God in a powerful way at every one of his shows.

Camo Convertible

Ok, this I don't get. I know, I know it's a fashion statement and I shouldn't think about it quite so much, but why in the world does she have a camoflauge convertible top? Is she planning to go on maneuvers in her Chrysler? Maybe she's a hunter and she's too lazy to hike into the woods. I guess a car would make a much more comfortable tree stand. I mean, you could listen to the radio while you wait to kill helpless animals. You'd have cupholders and maybe even seat warmers.

Maybe it's supposed to be a joke on droptops period. Get it? You can't tell if the top is up or down because it's camo. She could have at least put this top on a black car, or at least on a car that was a color green that might find its way into camoflauge, but to put it on an emerald green car is an insult to camo convertibles everywhere.

LAMERS

I sometimes have to laugh at names of businesses and this one is really funny. I was driving down the road the other day and saw this bus. Note the name of the bus company. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be that enthusiastic about riding with the Lamers bus company. I mean, what does that say about me? Give me Greyhound or Fung Wah, but not Lamers.

Books as status symbols

I’ve recently come to understand something about myself that ought to have been obvious much earlier in my evolution. I view books as status symbols. Moving back into our smallish 2 BR apartment in Sharon from over 1200 square feet in Manhattan has been an adjustment in many ways. But one of the most painful losses has been the loss of two glorious floor-to-ceiling book shelves that were and remain part of the furnishings on 52nd St.

A couple of weeks ago, I finally had to face facts and unpack books to fill up our only remaining 3-shelf bookcase. As the space was limited, I was very cognizant of what gained space on such hallowed shelf. The top one, lined with Bibles and other spiritually themed literature to prove to visitors that we are Christians (and they’ll know we are Christians by our books). The second shelf was home to the greatest hits of two different college educations—some education stuff, primary and secondary; the poets, or at least what we have for poets: E. B. Browning and Lord Byron (never was much into Keats or Shelley); almost the entire syllabus from the one literature course I took in college: The Jungle Books; and other assorted titles I thought would impress a visitor, including two from Chinua Achebe for good measure. The bottom shelf, being the tallest is home to the cozy stuff visitors like to look at when they visit your home: some very embarrassing high school yearbooks from central Massachusetts and north Jersey, some slightly less embarrassing college yearbooks, my sketchbook from the drawing class I took for non-art majors. Short of laying every book we own out and embarking on a strenuous selection process, I felt pretty good about what I had chosen, though the selection was painfully small and painted an admittedly incomplete picture of our lives.

This weekend, I had to move the rest of the boxes that went silently but proudly like dignified refugees to the basement. Beyond the simple fact that our handsome bookshelf is filled to capacity and we have no other on which to place books, there also isn’t any space for a companion to share the load.

I realized that this was such a difficult fact for me to face up to because I associate books with status. This should come as no surprise to the son of a man who, in legendary fashion, has carted no less than 25 boxes of books around the country, nay the world during his 30+ year career as a Salvation Army officer (pastor) moving on average, once every 3.5 years. As an educated person, I spent much of my college career lugging around book guilt, concerned that I hadn’t read enough of the aforementioned Achebe and often confused T.S. Elliot and e.e. cummings, simply because they both went by their initials (yes I know the difference now). It seemed like everyone around me had read more, was reading more and forever would read more than I did.

Some people, when visiting friends’ or strangers’ houses make decisions about them and their lifestyle based on the usual markers: what’s parked in their driveway, what’s served at the table and what it is served on. I go right to the bookshelf at first opportunity. I had always suspected that my friends John and Anne were better people than I am, particularly Anne. This was confirmed when I arrived at their Philadelphia home and found, you guessed it, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, two of them, crammed with books. Not just standing as sentinels, side by side, but crowding on top of each other in crazy horizontals and diagonals, elbowing each other for space on the shelf. And the collection would make any English professor beam or any black-wearing latte-sipping Lit major show the slightest intention toward a grin. It had everything, of course: Shelley and Keats, poetry, history, biographies, Bibles, humor. You name it—they have it.

Now here’s the kicker. I don’t read. I have books on my shelf I have never read. I have books on the shelf I read once and don’t ever want to read again. I have books I’d love to read, but I’m waiting for the time to be just right. At present, though I have two or three books on my desk and some in my sidebar as current reading, I am reading one book (2 if you count the Word). It’s Barbara Kingsolver’s Pigs in Heaven. I haven’t read more than a chapter of it this month. I’m like the guy who owns exotic cars like Ferraris and Lambos, but drives a Chevy Cobalt to work and leaves the exotics in a glass garage at his villa.

It’s a really handsome bookshelf, and it’s hinged. It folds almost flat when you move it. Enough blogging. Gotta go read.