Gazette Article--Thanks Ashley!

In Living Color: Dyes and Dyeing in Ancient Israel

In Living Color: Dyes and Dyeing in Ancient Israel

By Timothy S. Wilkinson

www.timothywilkinson.net

                Today we see bright, vivid colors as the product of primarily synthetic processes. We are pleasantly surprised—even awed—by neon frogs and electric blue fish. For Iron Age peoples, the reverse was true. Man-made colors were consistently inferior to their natural counterparts, and the palette available to the dyer or the painter was a tiny fraction of that which God had used to adorn the landscape around them.

                An interesting example of this is the invitation Jehovah extends to his wayward people at Isaiah 1:18: “’Come, now, you people, and let us set matters straight between us,’ says Jehovah. ‘Though the sins of you people should prove to be as scarlet, they will be made white just like snow; though they should be red like crimson cloth, they will become even like wool.’”

                Modern readers might think that the contrasts would have been made more vivid had they used black vs. white instead of scarlet/crimson vs. white. But real blacks could not be produced by the dyes of the time—only dark greys or charcoals, and these were far from colorfast. The dyes for crimson and scarlet, though, were both rich and lasting. Removing a scarlet stain from a white cloth was an impossible task, and therefore a great illustration of the extent of God’s forgiveness.

                The story behind some of the dyes and dying processes used by the Israelites are fascinating. Here are a few examples:

Yellow

Yellow dye was relatively common. It could be made from a distillation from almond leaves, pomegranate rinds, safflower blossoms, or crocus flowers. Anyone who has visited India or various regions of the Middle East will remember the yellow-orange fingers of every housewife, permanently stained by her handling of turmeric.

Black

The bark of the pomegranate tree was blended with the roots of the madder plant (Rubia tinctorum) to produce a dark, charcoal grey. Sometimes the deepest versions of the purple or blue dyes described below could appear black in less-than-direct light.

Blue

Indigo was grown in Egypt (and eventually in southern Palestine) and used just as it is today. The cerulean mussel and some mollusks from the murex family were blended with other substances for deeper blues.

Purple

The simplest (and least expensive) purples were made by steeping wool cloth in grape juice overnight and, in the morning, sprinkling powdered madder root on it to “fix” the color. The more well-known purples, though—the ones frequently referred to in the Scriptures in connection with royalty—have a more interesting origin. Along the shores of the Mediterranean Sea live the Murex trunculus and the Murex brandaris, two mollusks that range from marble- to fist-sized. In their necks is a tiny gland that, when harvested, produces a single drop of creamy yellow liquid. To produce one-and-a-half grams of dye (not enough to color a large handkerchief) required the glands of roughly 12,000 mollusks! This liquid, when exposed to light and air, gradually turned to a hue somewhere between deep violet and reddish purple (depending on where on the coast the shellfish were harvested). The people of the Phoenician city of Tyre became famous for their production of a color that came to be called “Imperial purple” because it was so expensive that only royalty could afford it. In Roman times wearing a garment of this color was forbidden by Imperial decree—violators were guilty of high treason.

Scarlet/crimson

This color, prominently featured in both the Israelite Tabernacle and the Temple, was also expensive. A parasite that the Arabian peoples call qirmiz (which is the origin of our word “crimson”) belongs to the family coccidae. The female looks like a berry about the size of a cherry pit, so the Greeks called it “kokkos,” meaning “berry.” In late spring the female swells, filled with eggs that contain purplish-red kermesic acid. Shortly before the eggs are ready to hatch, the female attaches herself to the twigs and leaves of the kermes oak by means of her proboscis. Sharp-eyed harvesters collect the grubs, dry them, and boil them to extract the dye.

The late archaeologist W. F. Albright uncovered a dyeing and weaving center during his excavation of Tell Beit Mirsim. In each of several separate dyeing rooms were two round stone vats with narrow openings and channels around their rims, masonry basins and benches in front of or between the vats, and jars full of lime and potash for fixing the dyes.

Many dyes were made by first mixing a solution of water, potash, and lime, After several days the chosen pigment was added and the dye was poured over the cloth in earthenware pots or stone basins. After the proper delay, the yarn, cloth, or skin was washed repeatedly in clear water, squeezed out, and hung up to dry.

Parallelisms

Parallelisms
By Timothy S. Wilkinson
www.timothywilkinson.net

Hebrew poetry is constructed on an entirely different concept than the English structure we are familiar with. In English we use repeated sounds (alliteration and rhyme) and syllabic rhythms (meter) to capture a meaning deeper than the words alone can convey. In Hebrew, poets relied upon poetic parallelism. This is the repetition of a concept in such a way that each appearance of the concept in the poem adds another layer to its meaning.

In synonymous parallelisms, the second line repeats some part of the previous line in words that elucidate it:
To Jehovah belong the earth and that which fills it,
The productive land and those dwelling in it.


Antithetic parallelism makes use of contrasting thoughts:
For evildoers themselves will be cut off,
But those hoping in Jehovah are the ones that will possess the earth.


Synthetic parallelism uses additional lines to expand on an idea:
The law of Jehovah is perfect,
bringing back the soul
The reminder of Jehovah is trustworthy,
making the inexperienced one wise.


Perhaps in a future article I will write in more detail about these and other (emblematic, stairlike, and introverted) parallelisms. I bring these up here just to illustrate how ancient Hebrew writers might approach a subject in their prose.

The prophet Samuel used this type of parallel structuring in the composition of his books to powerful effect. An example of this can be seen in the introductions of the first two kings of Israel: Saul and David.

In 1 Samuel 9:2, Saul is introduced to us as being 'handsome and tall.' Chapter 16 verses 6,7 show Samuel once again choosing the 'handsome and tall' one as king, but Jehovah tells him instead to [reject the tall, Saul-like king and] choose the small, handsome one (verse 12).

In Chapter 9 verse 21 Saul declares his unworthiness to be king. In Chapter 16 verse 11, David's humble standing is such that even his own father and brothers have not found him worthy of consideration. Nevertheless, Saul is anointed with oil in a very non-public fashion--which leads to problems with his kingship being recognized later on (10:1). David is also anointed with oil (16:13) inside his father's house--and the appointment remains secret for some time.

Immediately after Saul's anointing, he is filled with the spirit of God (10:9-12). When David is anointed, he too is filled with this spirit (vs. 14)--a spirit that leaves Saul (vs. 13).

In Chapter 10 verse 3, following his anointing Saul is sent on a short journey during which he will acquire three items: a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine. Chapter 16 verse 20 shows us David traveling after his anointing, carrying a kid of the goats, loaves of bread, and wine.

Both coronation accounts end with the same triumphant note: in Chapter 11 Saul saves his people from imminent danger by defeating Nahash and the Ammonite army. In Chapter 17, David outdoes his forebear by defeating the Philistine giant, Goliath and driving their army from the field.

Samuel calls attention to these parallels to set up a sort of psychological "echo" in his readers' minds. Though we do not consciously notice the pattern, it nevertheless has a ring of familiarity. We accept David wholeheartedly as the new king--not just because Samuel tells us to, but because he has made use of the subconscious power of a mini-archetype to convince us.

The Robe of Power: An Example of the Literary Genius of the Bible Writer, Samuel

By Timothy S. Wilkinson

www.timothywilkinson.net

My earlier blog discussed the genius of the authors of the Bible, a genius that is sometimes not apparent because it is lost in translation. Over the course of the next few blogs I wanted to share some of the literary elements of the David story that have impressed me. I hope that they might help some of my readers to look at the work of Samuel, Nathan, and other Bible writers in a new way.

Samuel, in particular, was skilled at layering complex metaphors into his writing. The first one of these that we will consider is the me’il: a cloak or coat. Samuel (and his successor, Nathan) uses this as a symbol of authority and rulership throughout Samuel’s life—and even after it.

The garment is introduced in 1 Samuel chapter 2 verse 19, where we learn that every year Samuel’s mother, Hannah, brings him a new meil woven by her own hands. The verse first points out that Samuel wore an “ephod”—an apronlike garment worn by the priests and Levites when they were serving at the Tabernacle. This is Samuel the Levite, the Prophet-to-be. But he is also Samuel the child, and his mother’s annual weaving of a “cloak” for him reminds us of both her sacrifice and the struggle that Samuel faced all his life: his dual identity as a hero and leader and a simple man plagued by his own doubts and fears.

In chapter 15, verse 27 Samuel’s childhood “cloak” has now become his robe of office. After the Prophet denounces Israel’s new king, Saul, Saul makes a desperate attempt to get Samuel to help him save face before the people. He grabs Samuel’s meil and, as Samuel walks away, tears it. Once again it appears as a symbol: the tearing of the cloak becomes the tearing away of royal authority from Saul. (We also get a glimpse of Samuel’s personality here in his wit at immediately turning this event into the basis for a poetic denunciation).

The next appearance of the cloak is in chapter 18 verse 4. Following David’s defeat of the giant Goliath, Saul’s firstborn son Jonathan (the crown prince of Israel) offers his meil to David. Once again it is a symbol of rulership. Jonathan’s bestowal demonstrates his willing transfer of his rights as crown prince to David.

Samuel and Saul’s estrangement in chapter 15 began with Samuel’s using a meil as a symbol of Saul’s rights as ruler. In chapter 19 verse 24 Saul comes in pursuit of David, chasing him to the School of the Prophets run by Samuel in Samuel’s hometown of Ramathaim. Samuel defends his School with supernatural power, and Saul strips himself naked and writhes on the ground for a day and a night, humiliated. This becomes the ultimate fulfillment of Samuel’s prophetic statement: Saul strips himself of his royal garments, or divests himself of his kingship.

In chapter 24, Saul is using his army to hunt David through the wilderness, determined to find the young man and kill him. But David has his own army, a gathering of malcontents whom he has welded into a deadly guerrilla army. While Saul “eases nature” in a cave, David sneaks up and cuts off the “skirt” of Saul’s meil. (1 Samuel 24:6) David almost immediately regrets the action. David’s remorse over his cutting off the skirt of Saul’s cloak is more understandable when we now see the meil as a symbol of kingship. David has here “cut away” the kingship without divine authorization.

In confronting Saul over the above incident, David now uses the scrap of cloth he had cut from Saul’s me’il as a symbol of his own power over Saul—yet another example of “he who has the cloak has the power.” (1 Samuel 24:12)

Saul, having chosen to take a firm stand against Jehovah’s anointed one, David, spirals toward his ultimate destruction. Earlier in his reign he had instigated a campaign against the spirit mediums, or witches, who were operating in Israel. Now, in a desperate attempt to learn what to do (since Jehovah will no longer answer him), Saul goes to the Witch of Endor (1 Samuel 28:8). This is the penultimate instance of clothing as a symbol of rulership. Just moments before learning of his own impending death and the final transfer of power to his enemy, David, Saul removes his clothing yet again in order to put on a disguise and avoid being recognized by one of the witches he had condemned. Just a few verses later (vs. 14), the “ghost” of Samuel supposedly appears. (Clearly this is not actually Samuel’s ghost—whether it is a malevolent spirit or simply the illusion of a clever hoaxer is a subject for another time). But “Samuel” is identified by—of course—his prophet’s meil.

Chapter 31 records Saul’s death at the Battle of Mount Gilboah. In verse 9 he is once again divested of his clothing, lying naked in his final defeat.

I do not believe that Samuel and Nathan manipulated the truth to include such interesting and complex metaphor. They developed this account in the way that every brilliant writer does—by finding and highlighting thematic elements that helped them to convey the subtext of their work. In upcoming posts, I will discuss further examples of their literary skill in putting together a story that has captivated readers for 3000 years and provided the basis for one of the greatest legends of all time.

Lost in Translation

Most of us have grown up making silent excuses for the way the Bible is written. It sounds quaint, simplistic, redundant—even childish at times. This must be because it was written “a long time ago,” we tell ourselves. All of the prose in the Hebrew/Aramaic Scriptures (or Old Testament) is a violation of the most basic rule of good writing: show, don’t tell. Sentences are always beginning with “and” or “thus,” which our English teachers taught us never to do. Run-on sentences, laundry lists of names or places, statements of the obvious, and a small vocabulary—all of this and more incline us to read the Bible as though it were written by an ignorant people from an unenlightened time.

                The reality, though, is that it is we who are ignorant. The problem lies not in the writing, but in the translation and in our reading.

                Translation is always a tricky endeavor. An internet search for “engrish” will provide a plethora of examples. To illustrate the point, though, imagine trying to translate the following with no comprehension of idioms.

 “Yo! Johnny! What’s the word?”

“You’ve got nerve showing up here. How’d you track me down?”

“A little bird told me you’d be here.”

“What—did my lawyer give me up?”

“That ambulance chaser? You’re nuts. Why do you want a lawyer to thrown a monkey wrench in the works?”

“Yeah, OK. I’m just trying to stay ahead of the curve here, you get my drift?”

“Well, the tables have turned. Let’s talk turkey.”

“Yeah? And I get immunity?”

“That ship has sailed.”

“Of course. And the DA shows her true colors. That apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You leave her old man out of this. He was a good egg and you know it.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

A translation would likely end up sounding something like this:

“Hello, Johnny. What is the word?”

“You have nerves appearing in this place. How did you follow me down?

“A small bird informed me that you would be here.”

“Did my attorney provide me with up?”

“He chases emergency vehicles? You are snack foods. Why do you want an attorney to hurl a monkey’s tool into the moving parts?”

“Yes, Yes. I am just trying to remain in front of the curvature that is here. Do you receive my coast?

“Well, the furniture has rotated. Let us speak in the language of turkeys.”

“Yes? And I will be protected from the disease?”

“That boat has already disembarked.”

“Of the route. And the Da exposes the real tints that she owns. A piece of fruit lands on the ground near the trunk.”

“You should leave the elderly gentleman belonging to her outside. He was an egg that was satisfactory, which you know.”

“I do not deserve this.”

“That is how the baked good breaks apart.”

                We should notice two things about this translation. First—idioms do not lend themselves well to translation. It’s not just a matter of the meaning not coming across clearly. Of equal importance is the fact that the personality of the speakers, their tone, attitude, background and a host of other details about them disappear in the translated version. We have no trouble picturing the speakers in the first exchange—in fact, you might have even envisioned where they lived, what time period they lived in, what social strata they belonged to, etc. All that information came, not from their words, but from the types of words they chose. And all of that information is, literally, lost in translation.

                The second thing we should notice is that the translation turns both speakers into idiots. When their speech is not nonsensical, it is ignorant or juvenile. If we read the translation without the benefit of the original, we would assume these were simpletons (perhaps with serious head injuries).

                This is precisely what happens when we read the Bible. Ancient Hebrew is a language of idioms. Even the best translation of this sort of idiomatic speech fails to convey anything accurate about the speakers. It makes them sound like ignorant simpletons.

                The reality is that many Bible writers were truly brilliant. My favorites, the prophet Samuel and his successor Nathan, crafted a history with layers of intricacy, symbolism, subtextual themes and ideologies that rivals the very best poetry and prose at any time in history. I think that sometimes, in our determination to establish the authenticity (and/or divine origin) of their accounts, we downplay the role that these men played as writers, and the skill with which they practiced their craft. In the following blog posts, I hope to illustrate this skill in a way that reveals the genius of these writers that is all too often buried by the sincere efforts of translators whose work is science, and not art.

Childbirth In Ancient Israel

The first command God gave to humans in the Scriptures was "Be fruitful and multiply." Families in Bible times took this command very seriously. One rabbi of the first century B.C.E. wrote, "If anyone does not [have children], it is as though he were to shed blood or to diminish God's image."

There was no such thing as deliberate childlessness among Jewish families. Children were the purpose of marriage; children assured that the family name would continue and that hereditary property would remain in the family. Modern Palestinian Arabs believe that a couple without children is unnatural. When a couple's first son is born, the father's name is changed to include that of the firstborn: if the child's name is Dathan, the father's name would be changed to Abudathan (Father of Dathan). A man without children is chidingly called "Father of Nothing," and one without sons is called "Abu el Banat" (Father of Daughters), which is both an insult and an expression of sympathy.

Childlessness or barrenness was a serious problem. A barren woman was considered a reproach by her neighbors (Luke 1:25); Rachel's inability to conceive made her suicidal (Gen 30:1). Partly this was because Israelites believed the barrenness was a sign of divine disapproval--a curse resulting from some sin on the part of the woman or her family. In Moses' benediction to the people before his death, he had promised the faithful and obedient: "Blessed shall you be above all people, and there will not be found among you a male or female who is barren."

Out of this belief came the common procedures for encouraging conception. The couple examined their entire lives for any unconfessed sins and repented of them, even offering sacrifices in atonement for sins they did not know they had committed (Leviticus 4:2). Their prayers centered on this theme (note the examples of Isaaac in Genesis 25 and Hannah in 1 Samuel 1).

If sin was ruled out as the cause of the malady, friends and relatives would suggest remedies. Rachel asked Leah for mandrakes, plants believed to produce fertility. Apples and fish were also used for this purpose.

Despite the divine edict against idolatry, modern excavations in Israel have uncovered countless clay fertility figurines in the rough shape of pregnant women. Women believed that by keeping the image close and handling them they could invoke "sympathetic magic" and become pregnant themselves. Jeremiah records women kneading cakes and offerings libations and incense to Ashtoreth (Astarte), the Canaanite goddess of sex, maternity, and fertility.

A women who was persistently barren might find herself replaced in her husband's affections by a second wife or a concubine. This was not always considered bad by the wife--Sarah asked Abraham to impregnate her servant, Hagar (Genesis 16), and Rachel asked Joseph to do the same to Bilhah (Genesis 30).

When the wife did become pregnant, it was a time for great rejoicing and celebration. Miscarriages were no doubt common, though, as were complications (Genesis 35, 38; 1 Samuel 4:20). The child came into the world on a dirt floor, was washed with unpurified water and swaddled in cloths that could not be freed of fleas and insects. Researchers believe that infant mortality in ancient Egypt was as high as 90 percent, and archaeology supports the idea that the numbers were not much better in Palestine. The Torah specified that the infant was to be redeemed after he or she had lived for 30 days; if the child survived that long, it was considered likely that he or she would live longer.

Mothers were assisted by midwives, and the birth took place with the mother in a seated or kneeling position on a birthing stool (Exodus 1:16). When the baby came out the umbilical cord was cut and the child was rubbed with salt, water, and oil. Swaddling clothes were used to wrap the child and were changed every week or so until the child reached the age of 40 days. Either on the day of its birth or on the eighth day afterward (when the male children were circumcised) the child was named.

Male children were preferred. In the cultures of some of Israel's neighbor nations parents might actually leave a newborn girl in the wild to die, or sell her into slavery. Israelite couples welcomed both male and female babies, but only the male could carry on the family name and keep the family's hereditary properties in the genealogical line. (Exceptions were made to this--see the case of the daughters of Zelophehad in Numbers Chapter 27). Thus the famous and no-doubt oft-repeated proclamation: "There has been a child born to us; There has been a son given to us."(Isaiah 9:6)

Israel's Stonehenge

Considering the attention garnered by the megaliths, menhirs, sarsens, and dolmens of Europe, I find it fascinating (and a little disappointing) how little attention has been paid to the ancient stone monuments of Palestine. Standing stones have been an element of the culture of the Levant from the earliest times (from Jacob’s day, in the 17^th century B.C.E., according to Genesis 28 and traditional Bible chronology). They played an important role as remembrancers for the people of Israel both before and after the conquest.

                In 1761 B.C.E., the patriarch Jacob ben Isaac had a dream in which he saw a ladder going to heaven. On that location, near the ancient city of Luz, he set up a stone pillar (using the stone that had served as his “pillow”) and named the place “Bethel,” or “House of God” (Genesis Chapter 28). Later that same year, Jacob and his father-in-law Laban concluded a covenant at a place north of the Torrent Valley of Jabbok which Jacob named Galeed, or “Witness Heap.” Again Jacob erected a stone pillar, this time having his brothers to pile stones around or near the pillar in the form of a table, upon which a communion meal was eaten with Laban (Genesis Chapter 31).

                Centuries later, in around 1473 B.C.E., the nation of Israel crossed the Jordan River and began their conquest of the Promised Land. The flooded river was miraculously stopped up for this event when the Priests carried the Ark of the Covenant out into its waters. After the crossing, Joshua had twelve stones set up in the middle of the river to commemorate the event.

                Sometime afterward Joshua followed through on Moses’ instructions as recorded at Deuteronomy Chapter 27. An unspecified number of “great [uncut] stones” were to be whitewashed with lime and erected on Mount Ebal next to an altar. After offering sacrifices on the altar, the words of the Torah were to be copied onto the whitewashed stones, “making them quite clear” (Deuteronomy 27:8).

                Joshua Chapter 24 records Joshua’s speech to the nation just before his death in 1450 B.C.E. After the people vowed to obey the words of the Torah, Joshua concluded a covenant with them near Shechem. The Tabernacle was set up near a “massive tree,” and beneath it Joshua erected a “great stone” as a witness: “Look! This stone is what will serve as a witness against us, because it has itself heard all the sayings of Jehovah that he has spoken with us, and it must serve as a witness against you, that you may not deny your God.” (Joshua 24:27, New World Translation).

                It would be many centuries before the Scriptures recorded the next stone being put up. This time it was done by the Prophet Samuel to commemorate Israel’s victory over the Philistines in a campaign that stretched from Mizpah to the Plains of Philistia itself. The stone was erected by the prophet “between Mizpah and Jeshanah,” and was named “Ebenezer,” or “Stone of Help.”

                Of course most of the stone installations in the Levant are not recorded in Scripture. One of the more fascinating ones (to me) is a set of giant concentric rings of stacked stone in the West Bank region. It is traditionally known as “Gilgal of the Rephaim.” Ancient Jewish tradition says that it was constructed by the race of giants sometime before the 16^th century B.C.E. I have included a photograph of it below; it is, to me, Palestine’s Stonehenge.

                The standing stones of Palestine are every bit as significant and fascinating and ancient as the various henges and dolmens of Europe, and often illustrate important turning points in the history of the Israelites. I hope that more information is forthcoming on these structures. 

The Philistines

Most modern scholars consider the Philistines of the Bible to have been one of the "Sea Peoples" that probably originated in Mycenae, Cyprus, and surrounding lands. Homer's Iliad was a battle involving the Mycenaean Greeks of this time period. It is entirely possible that Odysseus and the Warriors who sacked Troy were the forefathers of (or at least related to) the Philistines who eventually settled in Israel.They traveled south (likely to escape a period of crop failures and famine), conquering peoples as they went. They destroyed the Hittite empire in Anatolia, ransacking its capital Hattusas and sacking Ugarit in Syria and the Cyprian capital, Enkomi. Fighting alongside the Libyans at the Nile delta, they were defeated by Pharaoh Merenptah. Returning to Egypt in the eighth year of Rameses III, the Sea Peoples were again defeated, but Pharaoh allowed them to settle in the north--in Palestine (the name of which comes from Philistine).

At this period in history, the Philistines become a significant problem for the people of Israel. Starting with the Battle of Aphek in the days of High Priest Eli and the childhood of Samuel the Prophet, Israel faced off against the Philistines repeatedly. Whether under the leadership of Samson, Samuel, or Saul, the Israelites could not gain a decisive advantage over these fierce coastal warriors.

It seems that a major reason for this was Philistine technological superiority--especially in the area of metalworking. In the book of 1 Samuel, chapter 13, Samuel reports that the Philistines had completely taken over the business of smithing in Israel. Samuel must have been referring here to iron working; archaeology substantiates the notion that the Philistines brought this technology with them from Anatolia, where the Hittites had been the first to master it.

The Philistines also owed their military greatness to their alliance with the most feared people of the eighth through the tenth centuries B.C.E.--the Rephaim. Although skeptics are quick to cry foul whenever "giants" are mentioned in ancient literature, there is solid, empirical data to support the notion that a race suffering/blessed with a form of gigantism was once prominent in ancient Palestine. Philistines used these super-warriors as champions, as in the famous case of Goliath.

"Philistine" has entered the English vernacular since the seventeenth century as a synonym for boorish or uncultured. Archaeology in recent decades has in many ways debunked this notion. the Philistines achieved high levels of artistic sophistication and a deep appreciation for aesthetic values. The fact that these qualities existed in a culture that also practiced child sacrifice, ritualized sex rites and barbarous military methods should not be surprising when one consider the obvious parallels in the "advanced" cultures of the world today.

The Home Stretch

Editing has entered the home stretch. I hope to order my final proof on 24 May. If all goes well, I will hold my release party on 19 June and the book will become available for sale on that day as well.

Today also begins my pre-marketing schedule. I intend to keep my blog and Twitter updated daily. I will be using Twitter to share information regarding life in Bible times and details about Bible verses that I have encountered in my research for The Eternal Throne Chronicles. I will also begin marketing to bookstores.

I hope to be invited to join the North Olympic Library System's Author Fair again this year on 22 May. (Unfortunately, this falls the day after Chelsey's and my sixteenth wedding anniversary--what were you thinking, NOLS?)

Thanks for following!