Good works

An urgent request came through the ether the other day, hoping that injera could be obtained and shipped to rural Idaho. My sister and her husband are celebrating the nearing end of his PhD quest, and are going to fete his advisory committee with an Ethiopian feast. The precious cargo is due to arrive sometime Friday afternoon. It's usually fun to go to the little Ethiopian store, and they offered me coffee, which they'd just made, but I needed to get the bread on its way and regretfully declined. The guy at the mailing store, who lived in northern Iraq, Syria and Lebanon before moving here in the 1970's, was inspired by the sight of the injera to relate to me one of his highly-detailed vignettes, or linked vignettes, culminating in a poignant memory of his mother getting up early in the morning to knead bread dough and bake it fresh every morning, served with butter and honey. His employee, who said he was from Israel, remarked that after Christmas, they used to have a smaller version of this flatbread with honey and butter. I have listened to many interesting discourses and tales while mailing things.
One of my good friends has cancer, operable at least; hope, shock and anger mix in my thoughts. She's one of the truly good people.