Long ago I had a book of poetry and one of the poems started or possibly ended with the lines “I’m a noodle, you’re a noodle. Will you marry me?” I had read and reread many of the poems during my very young life. When we moved so many years ago, my book didn’t make the journey. However, over the years the words “I’m a noodle, you’re a noodle” have haunted me. They make me smile and remember how delighted I was reading from this magical book. I found among my belongings notebooks ...