Happy Halloween Everyone =)

How exactly does God guide the scalpel?

This was the question I wanted to ask Sister Barbara last Thursday while I (Robin) was waiting for a surgeon to take out half my cervix (the bad half).

I should have known that "Holy Cross Hospital" would have a nun in the surgical waiting area - I just wasn't ready for a theological discussion.

That should have taken place after the sedative and the diazepam.

To be honest, her comment worried the hell out of me. I was rather comfortable relying on the surgeon to cut out the right bits. Do I need God as my backup plan?! Cause maybe I should have done some groundwork with the man before these few minutes prior to going under the knife...

Seriously though. She was a very nice nun and I was touched that she took the time to talk to a heathen like me.

And the surgery wasn't a big deal (for those who might be hearing about it for the first time). This blog is really a rant about poor support for surgical outpatients.

After the surgery and the general anesthetic wore off, I woke up feeling like *pardon my French* "a bag of smashed assholes" (to quote my darling husband). I had been dumped like a pile of dirty laundry into some curtained-off corner of the unit. All I knew was that something bad had happened and I had to find the person with the pain killers. I was just about to go off and hit up some kids in the parking lot, when a nurse came by and filled my IV with some heavenly, mental fog-inducing serum.

That was about the time they said I was OK to get dressed and go home. That's right. That 15 minutes in recovery is all you get. Luckily, Colin was there to help me dress. Cause there was no way I could sit up, let alone tie my shoes and put on my jeans. Heck! I wasn't even past the drooling phase.

Apparently I wasn't past the puking stage either. That didn't stop the wheelchair brigade though. They wheeled me out while I was tossing my cookies into a plastic bag. I tossed them in the recovery area, the hospital lobby, the parking lot, and the cab.

OK. I think this entry now borders on inappropriate blog-etiquette. Sorry for those of you with a delicate constitution.

My point is this: I think I was owed more than 15 minutes in recovery for that $3000 (USD) procedure. Luckily, I am one of the 48% of people living in the United States that can afford health insurance. I will certainly thank God for that one.

Managed to make it through one of the Sculpture Gardens near the mall on one of my errands to get ID sorted. This one is the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, located off the mall and is part of the Smithsonian.

18 Stops to Glenmont

Spending 44 minutes on a Metro opens you up to a whole world of observations if you chose to give it a try. Especially when you've got 18 separate stops littering the way, where hoards and hoards from all walks off life enter and exit with clockwork regularity. It's probably only really worth doing if you're in a new town though, otherwise you'll invariably bump into someone you know and have to chit-chat, thereby ruining the experience. Much like other quests in the name of Science, one must remain objective and impartial.
Anyhoo, off I went on yet another journey of bureaucracy. It was to be an entire day devoted to line-ups, paperwork, getting ID's and official rappletrap. The morning started with an insightful phone call from Employment Insurance Canada informing me that because NAFTA prevented me from working until I got a US SSN, I would not be covered by my Employment Insurance because i was not "Available to work"...

"But, " i cried "...I can't work because of an agreement between our government and the US government. YOU people are the reason I couldn't work. I've been able, just legally BARRED from working by stupid bureaucracy!!!!"

"yes dear, I know. It's kind of silly, but it's the way it is. Let us know if you have any trouble after you get your Social Security Number, and we'll talk about coverage then. Thank you for choosing Human Resource Development Canada."

.click.

And the day began. I had to head towards Glen Mont to go to the Social Security Office to apply for my SSN. iPod in hand, and the remnants of that crappy g***amned book slammed into my backpack, i scurried down the escalator at the station and caught the next train.
People behave on the train better, in my opinion, then they do in cars. At least here. you rarely see people talking on cell phones in the metro (tunnel = no coverage). That's the first difference. You rarely get sworn at and almost runover in the metro by some martini soaked, suit clad, Bentley driving douchebag trying to rush off to the next bar. Generally they'll just sit and sway back and forth and try not to soil themselves. They try.
There is one thing that all people do, most often without even realizing it, that is commonly seen in cars, on trains, and buses the world over. People, you see, pick their noses. Not some people, not most people, not old people, not homeless people....nope....ALLLLL people pick their noses at some point (my theory, at least).
Generally people will seem to chose a quiet moment on public transit to indulge themselves in this dubious cleaning ritual. Unless they own a car, i suppose, then they're free to indulge themselves whenever wherever they see fit under the misguided belief that no one could possibly see them. We all know how truly wrong they are, but anyway, I digress. (too late!) Before Friendship Heights, I had born witness to two pickers.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't looking for them. I was stuck in a tube hurtling along with nowhere to look but forward, and with half the crowd staring back at me. Statistics support that I was likely to see at least one, I guess it was just my fate to see two. My lucky day.
In the name of science, I began a tally.
44 minutes and 17 stops later, I arrived at my destination with a near dead iPod, a thoroughly crappy book, and a mental tally of 17 pickers. A little less then one per stop.
There may have been more, but I tried to keep it casual. Nothing too serious.

Along the way I'd had the good fortune of being distracted by things one can only see from the metro in a decently large city. We passed through the main train yard and onto some overpass above the yard.
I saw a train conductor or employee of some kind watering a sort of garden that had formed in one of the open train cars that was attached to the engine. There he stood for all of 5 seconds with his little blue can, smoking, watering what appeared to be some mossy green grass like thingies and the odd weeds. It looked like a portable garden, one he could take to work and across the country. That one alone kept me distracted for quite a while. It'd be nice to be able to have a garden you could bring to work.
The graffiti, of which I know most of you aren't fans, was often crappy, but infrequently astounding. About a half dozen times I saw really fantastic pieces where I had to wonder not only HOW they did it, but how they even managed to get WHERE they did it. Often you'd see pieces painted under the side of bridges high up off the ground. At least 40 feet up. That in itself was impressive.

I arrived in time to make it to the office, in time to sit for close to five hours. In time to listen to seventy six numbers be called out. In time to witness all kinds of bureaucracy at work. in time to hear fifty different conversations in twelve different languages. In time to even add a few more to my Metro Tally to pickers if I'd felt so inclined. It would seem that people enjoy the same pursuits in lineups and waiting rooms that they enjoy on public transit. I'd left the house at nine in the morning, and by four thirty in the afternoon, I was traipsing across a parking lot, paperwork in hand, and heading back to the metro to return home.
I was a bit tired, a bit irritated, but luckily only 18 stops from Bethesda.

A Quickie on the Smithy

Opening day at the Smithsonian for hte exhibit, and all things being considered it went fairly well. The only mishap on my part was when I inadvertedly sent 40 delegates to the farthest wing from where they wanted to be, and they were in a hurry. Apparently, I'm not considered to be the brightest of the interns, but i'm ok with that. For opening day, I thoughtit went pretty smoothly.
Here's some more shots of the area around the Castle between it and the Sackler and Freer Buildings. Anyone wanting a catalogue of the exhibit should let us know.
They're pretty sweet, and reasonable at $25.00us. (They're HUGE and extremely well done). Let us know.

I have to go hunt down a practice pumpkin, so we'll post more this evening =)

This Shiznat is For Real, yo!

Gotta say, I'm lovin the new volunteering gig at the Smithsonian. Got to do a preview today of the exhibit starting this weekend on "In the Begining: Bibles Before the Year 1000". After listening to the chief curator speak for an hour or so, and after a tour and getting some hand out info, they let us into the exhibit to have a peak. It was great as there were only about 20 of us, and we had the place to ourselves. They even managed to get the audio tours ready just before we started, so we got to enjoy that too. The exhibit is pretty amazing, and they even managed to get some of the Dead Sea Scrolls, and some items on loan from St Catherines Monastery (Mt Sinai). I had lunch beside the Monastery's librarian!!! I didn't notice what he ate, but dude had a pretty decent cold. Not easy when you've got a beard down to your belly-button. I know it was him because i saw his picture in this incredible book down at Barnes & Nobles.
Anyhoo, the exhibit is incredible, and is on for about four months. Today was just my first day, so i don't have too much info for you. Mostly because it made for a ten hour day and I have gig#2 tomorow which is a full day. By tomorow night though, i'll have more for you. In the interim, those links are cool, check 'em out.

Fer Shizzle My Fizzle Nizzles!!!!! Word!

Sometime in the mid 80's a band called WHITESNAKE released a head waggin skin-tight-leather-pant-wearing rock epic called "Here I go Again". As is to be expected of any musical offering from any 80's band where all the men have perms and the voices of castrati, the song is a quirky little ditty. Be that as it may, it does have some seriously wicked guitar licks, a fantastic video featuring explosions, bright lights, and ladies with hair almost as big as the band's. as for the lyrics, i'm not too sure. To be honest, I've never paid them too much attention, but I know that if the song starts to play I can recite them mili-seconds before the big haired poofy band leader has the chance himself. I guess I was only partitally successfully programmed. Anyhoo, the refrain is what matters, and the refrain is, of course, Here I Go Again. All this week, it is my theme song. This week, I have yet again attempted to quit smoking.
(Well, that and the Immigrant Song by Led Zepplin, but thats because it's my I Crave Pumpkin Pie song)

This marks the 12,673,915th time that I have attempted to quit smoking. It's a pain. It makes life somewhat disagreeable for me, but certainly more challenging for those whom I may encounter, and certainly life is more difficult for Robin. For the last two days she's been living with the single most irritating person alive. So far, she's handling it in stride. I'm trying to stay out of her way as much as possible. I'm spending a fair bit of time gapping out on the computer, or plugging away at that god awful book. But it's only been two days.
I'm looking for books to help disract and fill the day. Any and all sugggestions will be considered. So, what's everyone reading?

Yet another Reflection on Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

I'm sure you're wondering why the hell I'm stil reading this book, considering I've already mentioned it's proven to be a fairly painful experience. Well, I'm now at page 456. By my count, it's about 320 pages too long so far, but for some reason, I can't let it go until I've finnished it. I can't quite explain why, it's almost some kind of masochistic curiosity. As far as the book itself goes, I guess it's what I would imagine a tour of London's Sewer system would be like. Sure, it's impressive the way it twists, turns and meanders all over the place, and surely to god there's has to be something tying it all together, but when you get down to the root of it all, it's mosty full of shit.

A really lovely place for a beer and dinner, without having to mortgage the cats, is certainly the newly discovered (to us, naturally) Capital City Brewing Company, located on the corner of the postal museum herer in DC. Obviously a busy place, as it was packed from when we arrived until we left, it was none the less very well run, and everything was both tastey and affordable. S ervice was good too! It'll deffenitly be a destination for when friends and family come to visit. Located a stones throw from that building we once burnt down, it is conveniently located right beside a Metro Stop, Union Station, essentially smack dab in the thick of it all. You can even see the senate from the front.
Nice place, we'll be sure to drag each and every visitor there!
On another note, while attending my volunteer session, I encountered a couple from Italy, and this is their first time outside of their native country. He works for the italian government, and she is an architect. Extremly friendly people hell bent on improving their english and visiting canada. When they found out Robin and I were canadian, they asked me a number of questions about where to visit to get a good idea of what Canada is. I told them that if they wanted to see the big cities, they should hit Toronto or Montreal or Vancouver. I got a real kick out of their reply:

"uh, no, no thank you, we have very beautiful cities....we know what cities....we want to see Canada...not...er...small cities..."

Ok then. Off to Cape Breton and Newfoundland for you! So I've promised them I'll help build an itinerary for them, with MUST SEE places. It is my intention to make them tour Cape Breton, a small chunk of Nova Scotia, and then fire them off to Newfoundland and Labrador. Doug and Amy, don't be surprised if you get a phone call from an italan couple you've never met before looking for a tour guide. I think you'd get along with them quite well, as they're charming and love sushi. I may have told them you'd be happy to show them around!

Alrighty, things are moving along quite nicely! Had my interview at the Smithsonian today and they've got a bunch of different projects lined up that they believe I'll be able to work on, which is all very exciting. Hooray for that! Also, things seem to be coming together with my other volunteering job, and so by the end of next week I should have an idea of my schedule to be. As for what work I'll be able and willing to do, I'm not yet sure. Obviously hotels pose certain benefits to be considered, but I'm also tempted to try something new. That and the fact that the bulk of Hotel work can be found on weekends and evenings, which is when Robin has off, kinda stinks. I'd prefer to find something that I can work at during business hours and shuffle the volunteering around to accommodate. I'm fine with a busy schedule, I just want it to be somewhat rigid. Fortunately, all the volunteering gigs are great with me taking time off when friends and family visit. I suspect when they have people working for free, they're prone to being more accommodating to these things.
Robin has hatched some plan for us to go to a bar tonight. Gotta say, it's about as appealing to me as dragging Robin to a Steak House would be to her, so we'll see how the evening unfolds.
While there's not a whole lot planned for this weekend except to attack the hideous piles of laundry and to finnish the next segment of my gripping Canadian novel, I've got a feeling it'll fill up quite quickly.

....I totally forgot to do the dishes though, and the boss should be home soon. She gets cranky when the dishes are neglected so off I go....

Another day at the office....
Another iris scan....

Hello all! This is an unprecedented multiple posting this week for me.

I hope you all feel special.

I just had to write to tell about my field trip into the server room at the NLM. I probably shouldn't divulge any more details (I also had an extensive security de-briefing today). But I did want to share my experience of having my iris scanned. I also had my hand scanned.

My sense of personal privacy will never be the same.

I can't really complain though - I did volunteer for the iris scan. I was hoping that they would pull out the big laser. I figured it would be all James Bond with the red lights scanning the surface of my eyeball. But the real deal was actually kind of boring. There were no lasers at all! And then I was doubly disappointed when the security doors wouldn't open for me. Another associate said that it didn't work because I was Canadian.

Apparently our irises are weird.

BOO!

Team America World Police Force portrayed Kim Jong Il as a cross between Liberace and Stalin with a dash of Pee-Wee Herman. I like to think it's probably an accurate depiction of the man. He's a source of much conversation around here (DC), so I figured in a nod to our upcoming Halloween, i'd post his picture here. That's it. No real Gems today, just a picture of a bad puppet with a penchant for nuclear testing.

I started my first volunteer job today. Well, I had my first orientation session, and a series of related tests. I also signed my non-disclosure agreement, which means that's about as much as I can tell you. What I can say is that it was great, and I'm pretty pumped about it.

In other news, somethings been on my mind lately. It's been a source of some stress. In accordance with the requirements of my VISA, I was required to submit some paperwork to a government organization, and with that documentation, I had to include a hand writen letter highlighting why I would like to work here, and establishing that I would not be the primary source of income. At the time of writting that letter, I was feeling a bit cheeky. Not neccessarily cheeky, per se, but I guess a little overly honest. If any of us could afford not to work, would we? Could we really afford not to have me working? At the time, I wasn't entirely sure (madness!!! I know, but it was an odd sort of day). Anyhoo, I submitted a letter VERY mch like the one I've enclosed here for you. Almost ver-batim. I was told before appplying it would take about three months for the results to come back, and for me to begin the next stage of application. So, I sent off all the paperwork, and thought it was all well and good.
Then we talked to some locals. They assured me that my move had been "ill-advised". That adapting a humerous tone with any such documents would likely hinder or nullify my application, and there was much wagging of fingers, and shaking of heads. I started to get nervous.
Surely, I thought, a bit of honest humour would be a welcome change to whoever was destined to peruse my application. My declaration and application was completly true, almost painfuly so. Still, I was worried. There was much gnashing of teeth and wrending of hair (a bit dramatic, but I like the "old testament" approach to creative writting!), and I chewed my nails down to the bone.
Our financial situation had also been brought to my attention, and I became keenly more aware, and considerably less delusional with regards to what we'd need to get by.
Visions of clerks reading my letter over and over to be sure that, yes, some deluded Moose Jockey had actually written the word "a**hole" on an official application. I had visions of the gavel-like sound of a rubber stamp hitting my application with a thunderous "WHOOMP" and the giant red letters DECLINED burning their way through the many pages of my application.



Well, got my notice today.




Two months early, and I'm now legally entitled to work in the USA.

I'm thinking that the physical materials that went into fabricating this book might have better been served on another purpose. Maybe if they'd used all of that paper pulp to make a cardboard box, or maybe kitten litter. Boxes are handy, and can carry things, ship things, entertain small pets and children. Everyone loves a box. Kitten litter, while less lovable, is no less handy.

This book, as a book, ain't my cup o tea. It's dry. Dry like toast. Plain toast, no butter, just eight hundred and two pieces of dry white toast.

Why are there random illustrations? And why are they so badly done? Is it a picture book, graphic novel, or a novel? Why go to the hassle of nurturing me into creating a mental image of what you're trying to do, only to have it run head on into a crappy pencil illustration that's almost too dark to make out.

Why do I have to read 10% of the book to get to anything bordering on interesting only to have that interesting chunk abandoned or dismissed so we can focus on the less interesting toast qualities that got me there? Why did I keep reading?
Should I keep reading? Has ANYONE actually read this turd?

Thanksgiving Weekend and Columbus Day. The former has more relating to us then that latter, I'd have to say. Don't relly know too much about Cristoffo Columbo...although, come to think of it, Columbus Day would be better served if it were called Columbo Day. Oh, and what a day Columbo Day could be! We could all shave our noggins to the bone, sport lolli-pops and bad attitudes, and go around busting perps and wearing pleated slacks! But, alas, Columbo Day it isn't. Hmmm...come to think of it, I think i'v been describing Kojak, who as you all may recall, is NOT Columbo. That would complicate thing considerably. Kojak Day would be a tougher sell for sure. Hmmm...


I guess Columbo Day would involve then, not the for-mentioned activities exactly. We'd have to substitute a greasy cigar for the lollipop, and replace the bald coolness with some shaggy bad hairness. No slack, but maybe a pale wrickled suit in stead. Not quite the same affect, i'll admit, and about half the fun. Well then. That being what it is, and, with no better local option to steep in, we'll stick with the customs of our Native land and it's ...Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving with a Vegetarian wife is no less satisfying....no really. Alright, maybe a little. There's no gravy. There's no carion. There's no smashed potatoes. At least i'm fairly certain Robins thankful for the absence of those things, so it kinda keeps in the theme of the day. Fortunatly, my wife is a generous soul, and the lovely young robin bought me a pumpkn pie. For those who know me, this is HUGE. I love pumpkin pie. Love it. LOOOOOOVE IT!!!!!
So now i'm going to cut all this short, and eat it, and then continue later. Surely you understand...

*Gasp* An Entry by Robin

Yes. Yes. It has been some time. But, in my own defense, I left the blog in very good hands. Colin has been very vigilant at keeping the site updated. Although, I grow tired waiting for the second chapter of his Smoked Beavers and Moose Jockeys (or whatever he is calling it). My mom has kindly suggested he turn it into a mystery. Personally, I think it should become a pictogram...

But the new issue of my favorite/favourite (I'm having some issues in my spelling these days - bloody Americans!) graphic novel has me sated for the time being. For those who haven't read issue #50 of Brian Vaughn's masterpiece, Y the Last Man, please be advised: Do not read ahead since I am about to spoil it for you....

Yorick isn't the only man left on the planet! *Gasp*

Yes. Yes. I know. It is truly shocking. And Alison has been cloned by her father!?! How messed up is that? I would be so pissed if I found out that my father had made 7 clones of me. Especially when there are virtually no men left on the planet and he could of just as easily cloned himself to save the human species. *Sigh* What a mess.

So, I guess I've lost just about everyone's attention with my comic book talk. I'll throw in a couple of news items before signing off (for good blogger-karma). My cubicle at work has been reconfigured and I am now alone in my own little pen. They finally assigned me a fall project so I have something to do in my cube though. The Exhibitions Department is putting together a website about global health and they need someone to research global health communities. The NLM puts together excellent web sites so I am pretty excited to be working on one. In other news, I spoiled myself after getting my first pay check/cheque (damned Yankees!) and bought myself a new iPod Nano. It is so tiny it is ridiculous. This time I got a lime green one. I remember fondly my hot pink iPod Mini. It was adopted by a nice family that lives in the country. It'll be happier there... Running in the fields all day....

Well, that's all for now. I promise to write again before too long. In the meantime, I leave you all in Colin's capable (and supple) hands.

Much love,

Robin

You'll wanna click on all the links in our previous post. Or not. You can make it through the whole post without clicking, but the last one gives it context.

All our love,
The Walsherstones.

I'm lying in Bed, just like Brian Wilson did. For those not familiar, he was one of the beach boys, the creative mastermind, they say.
So yeh, I'm lying in bed alot. Kinda like Brian Wilson. Well, just like Brian Wilson except for the fact that I don't intend to spend three years lying in bed, and I think me wife would be pretty pissed if I built a sandcastle in our living room. That and Brian had done quite a bit of drugs at the time, likely leading to his bed prone state. I'm hoping the cat litter box and their creative pillings will constitue enough sand art to be an acceptable equivalent. As for the drugs, well, Robins taken a few antihistamines to deal with the virus margaret sent via email, hopefully that'll do. It'll likely have to suffice.
Anyhoo, Robin and I are liking our Brand New Bed. It's Comfy. It's Cozy. It's Imposing. It's now the center of our universe. Now now, no need to blush, we're married....we just read and sleep there.
The Futon is now moved into the living room. The cats were intitally freaked out with all the hustle and bustle and moving of things. But they've discovered the cat-friendly cavernous underneathdome of the bed, and it seems to suit them just fine. They can sneak under there, act all sinister, and make cat plans of cat domination of cat glory and of cat nature. So, they're happy. They've taken to licking out each others ears though, which I'm sure to cats is kind of the human equivalent of a high-five, or gentle noogy. Unfortunatly, just watching it makes me barf a little in my mouth. It's not something you want to watch. Trust me.

Robins happily devouring the latest greatest issue of "Y-The Last Man", and it's a doozy. That and she picked up the trade edition of another title called Shenzhen. So she's happilly reading for the night, yes, in our brand new bed.

Photos from Crafty Bastards Craft Fair, attended happilly by Robin Meredith and I this Sunday. Some really great pieces, and Robin and Meredith managed to pick up a thing or two. Made for a great day, and we managed to check out 18th street, which is a funkier chunk of the DC area.

Two posts in one day, and it ain't even noon!!! Keener, 'eh?

And now an excerpt from my forthcoming book:
"Smoked Meats and Beaver Pelts:
Part 1 of
The Ladies of St. Poutine's Beaver Dam Trilogy."


Chapter 1
"The Higher the Hair, The Closer to Heaven"

The lyrical pop and hiss of frying bacon gently sang through the morning air as Myrtle teased her bangs and studied her reflection on the tinted wind-screen of her hot pink Ski-doo. It was the start of another sunny summers day on beautiful Salt Spring Island, and the last snowfall of August lay exhausted and thick on her hot pink sled, and the world around it.
It was only 6am, but her prince Fresco already had the back bacon sizzling, the block heater on her ski-doo, and whle blubber candles lit from the path of their igloo to the outhouse. She considered it an added sign of his love that he'd taken the time to thaw out the toilet paper and had placed her latest copy of Readers Digest well within reach. He was a considerate man, her Fresco.
Tall, dark and handsome, being blessed with the complection so commonly found amongst those of half Cape Breton, one eigth Portugese, one eigth Romanian, one eigth pakistani, and one eigth korean decent. Most people knew him by his First name "Al", or "Albert", as that was his first name and the name he'd registered under at the start of his Moose Jockey career so many years ago. He was a Jockey unlike all others. A man with such a gift for riding and training moose, that some claimed he spoke their language.
Amongst the locals, Fresco was "The Moose Whisperer".
Myrtle put the last finnishing touches on her hair, dug the bit of sleep still clinging to the corner of her eye with her abnormally long pinky fingernail, and effortlessly flicked it's crusty mass towards the closest Cedar. Zipping up her parka and kicking the frozen TP from her hot pink Canadian Tire Corks, she pushed back through the snow towards the house, extinguishing each candle with a sniper like loogie as she went.

Back in their spacious split-level Igloo, the smell of breakfast and coffee literally dripping from the walls, Myrtle pulled up a lawn chair to the table and dug in. Fresco was quietly singing Anne Murray's "Songbird" while he poured her coffee and hunted around for the Margarine.

"Jesaws Myrtle, where'd I put the G.D. Margareen?!?! I been lookin all over the GD house all mornin, and I know we bought two this week. I betcha that arsehole Ronny borrowed it agin. 'Coz I KNOW we bought two this week, and I'll be damned if I can find any one of em. Cripes 'eh?"

Reluctantly Fresco finally gave up his search for the margarine, and pulled out a jar of marmalade he'd gotten from the local Sobey's.

"Sorry 'Hon, 't ill have ta do till I get my hands on that SOB Ronny and our GD Margareen..."

Fresco's hands were a source of fascination for young Myrtle. Despite his years of Rough and Tumbling Moose Jockeying, Fresco had the softest and most delicate hands of any man she'd ever known. Strong, but nimble, never clumsy. She had always chalked this up to a by product of his exceptional rimming. No one in all of Salt Spring could peel back the rim of a Tim Hortons mug quite like her man Fresco. The combination of the heat of the cup and it's milky contents spilling over his searching fingers, gave them a soft and suple tenderness so rare in men of his profession.

Ther's more, but i'm still waiting for either my CCA grant money or EI to kick in...

Some shots fromt he National Book Festival