Wood you stop to admire it, too?

Never fails: Every year I think this December I gotta remember to wish my blog a happy birthday. Then I miss it. I think I was on hold with Alaska Airlines for too many hours last month to blog, but that's hardly an excuse. 

Nevertheless, Happy (belated) 15-year anniversary, Blog! I have neglected you, but some bookbinding news percolates, with a teaching opportunity possible in a few months in my new hometown.

In the meantime, enjoy the door (both sides) to the mothership of my new employer. I am of two minds: wishing that wood type was on a press bed, but then—here it is being useful and beautiful, and that is in itself a state of perfection. It is not locked up in a California job case in a basement, collecting dust in its crevasses and getting gummy with traces of leftover ink.

I also can't help but love the object itself; a door closes, and it opens. More of the latter, please, as I craft the ongoing release of Version 2.0 of Me. 

May this Year of the Tiger (I write here on the eve of it) provide all we desire. Xin nian kuai le!