Bow to your sensei

I accidentally swallowed a small fragment of a chicken bone this evening while consuming a frozen Banquet Fried Chicken Meal. Should I be worried? I only noticed it was in my mouth when it scraped my throat on the way down. It reminds me of the time when Beth and I were playing Balderdash at a table full of pediatric physicians. I picked the word "Bezoar" and they all knew what it meant. (A ball of material swallowed by a human that is not food)

I spoke with a very friendly gentleman at the Catholic Worker newspaper today named Frank Donovan, who told me that he knew how to get in touch with Joan Thomas, the widow of the famous 1930's and 40's era pacifist/anarchist Ammon Hennacy, who I intend to use a quote from as the epigraph of Red Ivy Afternoon. He seemed sure that "Joan" would be amenable to the idea. I've got my fingers crossed. It's surreal to bump up against historical people like that.