BlogHer Out Reach: Boston Style

What a whirlwind weekend! ALOT of driving, with this wonderful friend, and this new lady whom I *may* have a girl-crush on. I love you both, and little H., please grow up so I can marry you!!

Find a post on the weekend recap HERE, and look for another post with details on our Interstate Drama - thankyou Onstar!!

Tired, overdriven and insanely happy,

DAG

**EDITED to show the post about Interstate Drama: VIVID

The Day Before The Day of Travel

OH MY GOD HAVE I HAD A DAY?!?!
So, I had oodles and oodles of errands to do today, in preparation for my trip to Boston (SQUEE!) and also, other commitments to finish up for this week.
As you may have read, my grandparents came to stay Wednesday night in order to attend a medical appointment, so I played hostess. As part of that commitment, I also had promised to drive them to the hospital and pick them up. So I embarked at the very early hour of 8 am (shut up, I never leave that early), and then head out with Jen to pick up the things I needed for my trip.
Also - I purchased a new nose ring - since the one that I had lost its pretty jewel. Actually I purchased four. The jeweler had a buy one get one 50% off, and so I picked out four lovely little noserings. Sounds nice doesn't it? NO.
After getting home and trying for 20 minutes to get the cursed gods on my side to ease it in, I dropped the stupid thing down the sink. Then, after another ten minutes with another one, my nose started to bleed and? Problem number two - I now had a ring free hole that was getting ready to close up before my very eyes.
One phone call later, I was frantically on my way to the piercer for some professional help. Toting along one of the other remaining beauties, I headed in there. Of course, as I enter the shop, my cell rings and my grandparents need to be picked up. ASAP. And I have to go back to my house to get their car. Problem number three, the piercer informed me that the tail of the nosering too small for my nose. In fact, she tells me that usually, those noserings purchased from jewelers don't fit and so she often has to modify them. Unwilling to weaken the gold stud, I opted to purchase a simple one from her display.
Nose ring in place, I'm now still continuing to attempt to retrieve the dropped nosering from the sink. Actually, as I type my father is attacking the J bend in hopes of finding the needle in the haystack. Without said ring, I cannot return the others to get a full refund. If I can't get it, I'll have to settle for only a third of the money I shelled out, and dammit! There's a pretty necklace I'd like to get in exchange.

Today sucks.

Just sayin'.

***UPDATE: Dad got the nosering from the drain (YAY!) and I've returned them all, and purchased the pretty necklace I drooled over. Look for it in upcoming Boston pics! ****

Beantown Lovelies!

I'm preparing for my trip to Boston for the BlogHer Outreach Tour '08. Since I'm busy FREAKING OUT, I thought I'd refer you here, to read about my preparations!

Look out Boston, here we come!!!

Wordless Wednesday

Photography Thursday

Hey everyone! Welcome to another installment of Photography Thursday!
As always, PhineasPoe shows me up with his moody and emotive self-portraits. See his latest contributions here:
















Here are more of my own self portraits to share this week:

Hold My Beer

More fun fun FUN!
This weekend was a whirlwind of excitement, one that I will have to spread over several posts.. LOL. This particular post, is the one where I talk MORE about Country Music. As you may have read here, last week I was bestowed a wonderful gift, courtesy of my wonderful father and the local radio station BX93, of two tix to the private Sugarland concert in Toronto. And, I took my best friend Jennifer along for the ride.
To repay me, she purchased two tickets for Friday night, to see one BEAUTIFUL country man, Aaron Pritchett. So after dropping off the kids in Burlington and picking up Jen, we headed back to Brantford for some concert fun.
As soon as we got in the door, we ran into a friend of ours from my hometown, who just happened to be there, which was great. They were camped out in front of the stage, so after getting some beer, we joined them. I'd have to argue that we had the best seats in the house... we were literally close enough to get "sweated upon"... LOL. Although some of the girls next to us would have fainted for the chance, I'm fairly certain Jen and I were looking to escape sans sweat.

Aaron rocked the place, hoards of ladies trampled to the stage, leaving me to push back on the crowds in order to prevent Jen from getting crushed (she's just little you know). Despite the sore back and feet from THAT nonsense, I had a STELLAR time. Oh, and Aaron? Sigh.

I don't remember too much in particular, I was sort of just staring in awe at the beautiful man in front of me (I know! I'm terrible), but his vocals were sharp and the band was killer. Just because we were so close, we were able to get some great pictures too!
After the two hour set, we stood in line to meet the man himself, where I procured an autograph and a hug. (!!) The gaggle of ladies we ended up joining were fabulous, and kudos go out to Jody, who after we all were autographed, went back, cut in line, and convinced Aaron to come over and take a group pic with us (something I'll have to post later when she emails it out).
I'm pretty sure I just listened to his new album and sighed the whole way home, while Jenny laughed. I don't care. It was awesome. Thank you Jenny for taking me out!!




Stay tuned for the next installment of our weekend Adventures: Double Crossing: Two Girls and a Bridge to the United States of America.

Photography Thursday

Welcome to another installment of the tandem photography project between myself and PhineasPoe.
As a brilliant photographer and master post editor... his photos are always evocative and beautiful like this:

You can see the rest of his gorgeous contributions here.

Here are my self-portrait favorites for today:

Love on the Inside

This is the tale of my Sugarland experience. Since my loving father won me tickets from BX93, I now have a great tale to tell...

Let me begin by saying I needed this. I really, truly needed something to pull me out of this deep, deep hole. A gossamer thread glittering in what was left of the sunlight, just visible enough to remind me there is more...

We loaded on the bus here in London, and traipsed down the 401, amid 48 others, talking, laughing, singing. They passed out these nifty passes, marking us on our Sugarland adventure. Jenny sat beside me and was literally vibrating with excitement. I won't bore you with the mundane details of the bus ride down, highlights include a stop at Wendy's, four rowdy travelers drinking at the back of the bus (spurning Jenny and I to sit somewhere outside the splatter zone where our ears weren't bleeding) and then there was this (the thing that made me twitter): covert farting.

The event was held at the Courthouse, on Adelaide in Toronto. I must admit, the venue was breathtaking. I fervently wished for my Pentax, but had to be satisfied with a point and shoot, sans flash (as we were instructed). Still... it was so pretty.

The band sounded STELLAR, unfortunately Jennifer Nettles was ill, and her talking voice was very scratchy. I felt kinda sorry for her, in the "when your sick you'd rather stay home and die" instead of out pleasing her fans, but hey. She's paid for it. LOL.

I cannot actually choose a moment that was the best one, it was more like a feeling. As I stood there, surrounded by 199 other people, I began to feel it. A perceptible change in the haze, a sharpening in my chest. As I looked around the lavish decor, heard the music that pumps from Jenny's car when we're out wreaking summer havoc, tasted the cold beer in my hand... a slight constriction happened in my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched Jenny, enraptured in the experience and loving it like she was dying, and it happened. Life creeped back into my veins, my hips began to sway on their own and I forgot all that has twisted my guts.


As Jenny wrangled into the crowd, dodging tall folks, scurrying around short ones, I laughed. A real honest to peanuts laugh from my belly... until tears formed in the corners of my eyes. They stayed there until she returned - triumphant - autograph in hand. I felt quite content on the bus ride home, listening to the rowdies sing country tunes while I sang along in my seat. I didn't care if I was off tune or didn't know all the words... I just wanted to lift up my voice and let a little of that happiness out. You gotta do that now and again...

Sugarland? You kicked ass. BX93, you too. Dad? I dunno how to begin to repay you for a few hours of sanity... I'll find a way, someday. But Jenny, you my dear are the girl-love of my life. I couldn't have had any better time than standing behind you as you bobbed up and down and got all teary-eyed over this band. I love you girl, I really do.

Rewards

This morning, I received a call from a local radio station to inform me that I? Was a WINNER.
You can imagine my surprise, since I hadn't officially entered any contests (at least in a waking state), until the hosts Dave and Kim expounded on what had directed them to me.
As a huge fan, my best friend Jenny and I have been trying to find a way to go and see Sugarland together. Unfortunately, their dates are only slated in the US, and none of them are do-able for both her and I. Until now.
A local radio station BX93 here in London, was giving away pairs of tickets for an intimate Sugarland show in a private club in Toronto, an opportunity that my father heard and responded to, with an email that can only make me cry.

"Hello Dave and Kim!

The purpose of this letter is not to get tickets for myself, but for my daughter Amanda. She is a 29 year old with two children she is raising on her own. While this in and of itself it a big job, she has also completed a two year Early Childhood Education program, graduating at the top of her class and made the Dean's Honour Roll, and is currently in her fourth year at university as an Honours Specialization English Major. She will be attending teacher's college next year to complete her education. Additionally, she volunteers at a local fitness club in their child care centre several mornings a week.

Despite all of these demands on her time, she still finds time for her extended family and would drop everything to be at their side if they needed her. She is truly a hard working, caring young woman and I am very proud and honoured to be her Dad. She rarely takes time just for her.

What I want for her is to be able to drop everything and have some FUN for a change."

*SOB*
I can't begin to explain how amazing it was to be recognized for my everyday life by the radio station, and even more so by my own father. Often I'm caught up in the cogs of this machine and forget to step back and see exactly what I manage to do everyday. I am humble, and I work very hard to give my children a better life, but what a wonderful gift this is.

To my dad:
Thank-you so much for all you have done. You have believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. You've always passed on the courage when I'm lacking, and stood behind my every move. When I moved here for University, you followed shortly after, always helping, loving and supporting.
This is a wonderful opportunity, for me a once in a lifetime chance to experience something I would not have access to. For that, I thank-you once more.

I'm getting on a bus tonight, with Jenny, at 4 pm. We are headed to Toronto for the coolest prize I've ever inadvertently won. Let the party begin. I feel so special. Just reminds me to work harder, someone is watching, and always proud. This is my reward for my efforts.

Arrest

I was right there. Right on the edge, dangling on the crust of real and spectre. Hanging on with the edges of sunset orange toenails. I held it my hand and my heartbeat, my heartbeat crashing against my eardrums, the fluid blood coursing through my veins so loud, too loud. My ears and the beat and the panic, oh the panic and my insides are liquefying. The demons are right there and they're angry. They're screaming, the stale rank breath is in my nose and its horrible, its horrible and gut-wrenching. They won't stop, their faces are contorted and the droplets flying in my face and oh my GOD the panic, the heartbeat is unbearable. I'm clutching, I'm clutching and my nails are digging into my palm and I can't let go and I need help and I'm alone, so desolately alone and I can't let go. It's there and it's slamming in my brain and I can't block it out and the answer is there and it's so close and the panic, the panic is gagging me. My eyes are closed and I'm focusing and it's exploding, my brain is imploding and I can't let go and my hand drops and raises and drops and I can't let go. They're at the door and the footsteps are so heavy, scraping on the floor and then at the door and it's splintering and I'm trapped and I can't get away and the atrophy. I'm atrophied and I turn from them and the terror. My legs give out, they can't hold me, no one can hold me and I'm not real and it's so close I can smell it and I crumple in the corner and I cry. I cry big scary sobs that steal my breath and shiver my heart and I'm gasping and heaving and the tears, oh the hot tears roll over my arm and they feed the panic and it lessens. It lessens and I give and I shatter and I win, I win.

Forsaken

Tenderly you convinced me.
Begged me with your whispers, implored me with your eyes to show you my heart.
Take down the wall and trust me.

Breathy promises I could not turn from.

Gingerly you traced the raised ribbons of yesterday.
You fingered the scars as your eyes delved into my soul.
I watched as your pupils dilated and yet I could not break away.

Flickers of old hurts contort my face, vermilion snapshots flying, tantalizing, fading,
bleeding sepia and then black.
Your fingers sunk into the rotten wounds, twisting,
deepening until only white crescents remain.

The warm flow trickles over my ribs like the tears of ancients,
silently undulating over each hill and valley,
the forgotten dripping off the curve of my hip,
the forsaken pooling in crimson puddles around my naked feet.

And you laughed.

Photography Thursday

Keeping in line with last weeks entry, I've embarked on a self-portrait project. I did not know that it would be so difficult, either to properly set up the shots, or to feel completely comfortable with what is now my body.

These are some of this week's results:













I have to thank the incredibly *patient* PhineasPoe, who has diligently helped me through this ordeal, offered excellent advice and provided me with glorious edits. When I can't make it happen with the lens, Poe makes it beautiful in post production. Thank-you Poe.

Two Weeks Notice

I know that I've posted a tremendous amount of depressing things lately, but that's where I'm living. Darksville. Deppresso Station. Blacks Corners. You'll find me in any of these places, on the corner of Bitter and Cynical. I'll be under the black rain cloud, you can't miss me.

I have a few questions to toss out into the blogosphere today, random things that I can't get to stop running through my mind. In sharp, pointy heels. Loud, sharp and pointy heels.

When you're suppressed, honestly and truly suffocating under something you can't break free from, and your only options are to either allow the crushing pressure to break you or escape to a place where your soul can be free, what do you do? Does it change your options if you can still admit that you love the suppressing force?

When you feel so very small, too tiny to squeak out your voice, too minuscule to have earned respect or admiration, how do you grow? Do you move out of the tiny mouse hole you inhabit or do you bar the door to prevent being crushed? What if there are two other tiny mouses to protect?

When you are travelling in the same circle, pretending, denying, re-hashing and then dismissing, how can you train your brain to try something new? The definition of crazy is attempting to do something the same way over and over again, but expecting different results. When the only other option is opposite, how do you stop the eddies?

I'm feeling change coming, and it scares me. I've never been alright with change, despite the fact it has been a constant factor in my life. I forget who I was, and I have no idea who I'll become, and I don't know what to do with that black hole.

Universe? You're on notice. I can no longer thwart your impediments on my existence. I'm just sayin'.

Photography Thursday

Here are a few results from Photography Thursday...







These are self-portraits, but I must thank the great and wonderful PhineasPoe for his beautiful editing job. They are quite stunning.

Win Ben Stein's Food Stamps

Bitter? Comin' atcha.
So, some of you know a little about me, and for those who don't, feel privileged. I am not only a single mother of two, not only a volunteer in a children's drop-in center, umm.. not only a photographer and a research assistant, but I am also a full-time university student. This September is my fourth year, slated to graduate with an Honours Specialization in English Literature in June 2009.
This year is also my sixth consecutive year in post-secondary education, because I went to college for Early Childhood Education first.
Which means? Also my sixth year receiving OSAP - a Canadian program which loans people like me large amounts of money to complete my education. Its safe to say at this point, I've borrowed somewhere around the amount of $95,000. Yep. Count those zeros. Thanks to the grant program, my debts are reduced to a mere drop in the bucket, and I only owe my firstborn about half that.
But I digress.
Today? I'm UBER-pissed at the system.
As if it isn't bad enough to discourage single moms to get better educations, and therefore better jobs (in turn stimulating the economy and decreasing the strain on social programs); these wonderful women leaving the academic life with the equivalent of mortgages, but now - they are going to make me jump through hoops.
In July, I submitted EVERY form the government required, including proof of child support and child tax benefits (because, and I quote: We feel your annual income isn't enough to live on - isn't that ironic). I triple-checked, cause the government can be a bitch a stickler sometimes, and felt confident that my loan should arrive in early September as usual. Ha! Isn't complacency dangerous??
In mid-August, I got an email telling me that I didn't submit everything they needed (despite the assurances of my OSAP account online) and needed more. Which? I submitted. Four. Weeks. Ago. Today, I checked my account.. and? Still on hold.
While other students have now adjudicated their loans, and awaiting first payment of their monies at the end of this week, I am still frozen in the process somewhere.
With NO END in sight.
Today, I went to Financial Aid to request a contingency loan. For things like, I dunno, bills, textbooks, groceries... yanno. Ironically (this is becoming a theme here), despite the fact that I am a sole support parent for two young children (read: our roof is important to us), I am not eligible for any financial support until my loans are released. HUH?
Their solution?
"We'd be happy to provide you with food stamps until that time."
I repeat: HUH?!?!

Since when do food stamps pay the rent? And, why do I need to suffer that humiliation because the government hasn't yet fulfilled their obligations? UM, hello? Mister Prime Minister??

Fly

Sometimes I feel invisible, transparent.. non-existant.
Other times, I feel so full you realize me.
My charms wear off you in seconds, no matter what spell
I cast; for me there are no profits.
I know your fingers are still charred and black from
the fire that engulfed you.
The memory of that agony makes you over analytical.
Your mood changes in minutes and so do your thoughts and
reactions, so that sometimes,I feel my head is spinning.
But--I live for the days the sunshine is reflected in
your eyes, your smile so bright it warms my uncertainty
and helplessness.
I long for the nights of music and comfort with the ease
of communication spilling from your lips.
How, I wonder, can someone exist in such hot and cold
landscapes, each page swept away by the wind, never one
nailed down...how do I get a grasp on you?
I'm left feeling unresolved and invisible in the tornado
of change, emotions whipping my hair wildly, words
stinging my cheeks.
How do I get home if my ruby slippers are powerless??

DAG.

Climb

Way down deep, tasting the earthy smell of despair, I called for help.
"No," he said.
In the dark, suffocating on the past, I called again. Find somebody to help me.
"No," he said. "You don't know everything."
Swirling in the depths of terror I cry. Muddy tears mingle with lost opportunity and threaten to drown me.
"Every day for one year," he began, "if you've proven you're worthy, I will toss you one brick."
Crumpling down, bathed in the sweat of nightmares, I listen.
His voice booms. "Each brick is a step, one step closer to feeling the sunshine warm your frigid bones, kiss your skin, thaw your heart."

Grinding the remnants of lost childhood castles from my eyes, I set about my task. Each day bringing a new challenge. Some days I add a brick to the mud, digging out old roots of me and creating a new path. On others, he steals those little pebbles, in hate, in punishment, in spite.
Finally, I emerge, squinting in the sun, broken fingernails caked in the dirt that was my old. I long for the breeze to chase away the gooseflesh, the sun to envelop me while the darkness of my soul slithers away. He's not here. He watched me struggle, and laughed as I stumbled. Rain. Washing clean the stains in my eyes. Cold droplets fall around, but all miss me. I'm invisible. Longing to feel the fresh - the real - along my feverish skin. Desperate to be solid. Its a cruel, cruel joke. Startled, I turn up my head. Through slitted eyes, stained and swollen, I see a ring of light. My wall is still standing, with just this one brick. His voice always mocking me. Climb.

I Enjoy Being a Girl

This morning I was browsing Deviant Art when I came across PhineasPoe's journal. This? Is just one more reason why women rock.

ScienceDaily (Sep. 2, 2008) — Researchers in Canada report discovery of unusual proteins in a small group of Kenyan sex workers that appear to be associated with resistance to infection with HIV, the virus that causes AIDS. The vaginal fluids of the HIV-resistant women had higher levels of proteins with anti-viral and anti-inflammatory actions, discoveries that may lead to more effective vaccines and drug treatment options against this deadly disease.

See? We ladies always knew the Vag has magical powers. Now? Science will prove it!

The Lone Recycler

Two months ago I was standing on my balcony getting some fresh air. It was a hot and humid night, somewhere around 11 pm. As I stood there, gulping thick air and doing my best not to take on water, I heard some tinkling down below. When I peered over the edge, I saw him. A nondescript man standing in front of recycle row. The blue bins stood in a rigid line of opposition; lids open, they appeared ready for a war of epic proportions only Mel Gibson could win. BUT, I digress. At his feet was a large black duffel bag, flap laying open, exposing the underbelly of the operation. Then, he pounced.

Cans, paper and plastic flew from the bowels of the bin, bagged bits of yesterday destined to become this winter's gortex. Like a maniac, lacking only a rebel yell, the lone recycler dove in after his booty. At this point, I'm enthralled. Sad, aren't I? He violated bin after bin, disturbing carefully placed reusables in his quest. Periodically, he emerged, triumphant, running back to the duffel bag with one thing or another, until it was full. Spent, he carefully replaced each wayward item, grabbed his duffel bag and disappeared into the night.

Last month, I stood on the balcony once more. I think this time, I was attempting to escape the thick stuffy air from inside the apartment. As I stared up at the sky and cursed my existence waxed philosophical, I heard that familiar sound of displaced refuse. I quietly leaned forward again and peered down at recycle row. There he was again, the Lone Recycler, raping and pillaging this weeks discard. The duffel bag was barren, laying in wait for the bounty to come. As I watched disbelievingly, he dismantled the pile inside, neatly placing bags of recycled goods at his feet. Then, tilting the unsuspecting bin on its side, he crawled inside. As I shivered in repulsion, he scratched and clawed his way to the bottom, then popped out, triumphant, and added his find to the waiting bag. Once all eight bins had been treated, he once more picked up the bag and faded into the night.

Tonight, I stood on the balcony just because random things seem to happen when I'm out there. And then, the tell-tale tinkling began. I looked down to see the Lone Recycler, clad in board shorts, mid-calf rise work boots and a parka. Yes, I am aware I live in Canada. But a parka? It's 30 degrees out there! Full winter regalia, hood up to shield his identity, he began his routine once more. Giggling under my breath I watched him dig, set aside, replace and resume, running back and forth to his duffel bag sidekick, resuming their quest to take over the the earth. Kickin' it Green-style.

Is it wrong that I desperately desire to dump spaghetti sauce inside the bin? Will he pull out protective gear? A haz-mat suit? I'm dying to know. I keep popping out on the balcony, hoping to catch him in the act. Each time it gets crazier and crazier. I want to know what he covets! What does he fill that bag with? What is it, on the eve of the recycling day, that he cannot let go?

Sugarpants, you may be in the country, but crazy beats hick any day. Who knows... maybe next month I'll join the hunt for a green tomorrow. Parka and all.

Photography

New Post coming soon.. until then, check out some of my photography over at Deviant Art.
Enjoy!!

D.A.G

Last Day of 28

Tomorrow is my birthday. I will turn the dreaded 29. So close to a new decade. Argh.
I'm heading to Michigan for some birthday shopping and a nice dinner at the Olive Garden. I leave you then, with the last picture of Double Agent Girl at 28. Be kind. Who knows what 29 will bring. ;)

New Shoot!

Yesterday, I set up the Ghetto Studio again for a little photo shoot. Here is an example of what you can get with $150.00 worth of pvc piping, two 2X4's, three halogen work lights and a little luck:




So afterwards, I left the studio intact, so that the kids could have a chance at being the star.
Thing Two? Lovin' it. Check her out:



However, Thing One was having none of it:



Gah! Funny thing is, it makes me love him all the more.

**These are examples from the Ghetto Studio and are untouched as of yet. PhineasPoe did something wonderful with one of these photos. Do share with me!**

Aftermath Responds

This is Aftermath's response to my last post: Stigma. He felt the need to speak for himself, and I'm handing over the podium to him. Speak your mind love.

If We're Not Broken, Don't Try to Fix Us

It's always nice when someone writes something nice about you. Perhaps it is even sweeter to read than to hear; a stamp in cyber space for anyone to trip on and discover you. Reading the Agent's thoughts in Stigma, brought back some thoughts and feelings from when I first had The Agent in my "sights". I knew when I met her that she had children. "Yes, two kids,"
she said to me. Red flags didn't get in the way, I broke them long ago. Naturally, I was interested in her situation, trying to figure out just how she got to this point, what exactly was her perfect "fish" (fear not, it makes perfect sense to us). We both knew that in the beginning, what if's don't matter. We needed to see if we had chemistry before we began plotting to take over the world.

Not long before our first date, I had a conversation with someone. We talked about whether or not I should date someone with children. I thought that I could handle one child, if the person was a good fit for me. Of course she also would need to be capable of taking care of her child and not looking for a "daddy" or an ATM in Doc Martins. I didn't want my whole relationship with a woman to revolve around my duties to her and her child. To be honest, at the time, I was really searching for a solo act. Had anyone else been sat in my car, telling me "I'm a three piece meal", I'm not so sure I would have been interested. Those were not her exact words, but you get my meaning.

The Agent and I really connected in our initial conversation over the phone, some nights before. I don't remember being really scared when she told me that she had a family. I had my concerns: what happened in the past, why didn't it work out. I quickly understood. I went home that night and thought: "Hmm, two kids? I'm pretty sure I was at no kids right? Hello? Brain??" - and then - "What's that HEART? Shut UP Brain, Heart is trying to tell me something and I can't hear a FUCKING WORD over you!"

A week later I met the Agents in Training. I could not help but be amazed how open they were, willing to allow me into their little world. They insisted that I supervise the carpet landscape as they masterfully created skyscrapers, using the ancient block technique. Suddenly, I was foreman of this site, launching in on the importance of starting with a strong foundation. "Once we have that, my little under four foot friends, let's see what we can build". From that night on, I clearly saw the other side of the coin. That was just about three years ago.

Now I live with those underpaid block builders and one Double Agent. What they give me, I vow to spend the rest of this life returning. We might just be the lucky ones, even if no one wants to see it. It's ok. It's blinding to think sometimes, just how great things can be if you just give them a chance. Life in the Aftermath is a little different than it used to be. I have three to hug, three to kiss. I have three who depend on me. I have three perfect reasons to make it through a tough day at work. I have three smiles, well four if you include the one they've glued to my face. I have something that you cannot find on e-bay, or collect enough proofs of purchase to send away for. Something didn't work out for either of us, for a reason. I'm packing a suitcase for a place I've never been and they are all I won't leave behind. I vow to be here, building a strong foundation so that Thing One and Thing Two can build to the sky.




The Aftermath.

Stigma

Being a single mom has never been easy. It wasn't something I wanted to be "when I grew up", it's hard, demanding, frustrating and yet sweetly and overwhelmingly rewarding. When I became pregnant with Thing One, I had a lot of growing up to do. Luckily, as soon as I looked into the eyes of that wrinkly little man, I forgot what "I" was, and became "we". Sacrifice is a given, even to mothers who are lucky enough to have husbands beside them, but I don't think about sacrifice. I don't give those children everything they have and then lament on all I cannot give myself. Giving to them IS giving to me. I live my life to give them the best that I can, I try to be the best role model I can be, going to school and getting my education, teaching them what's important in life. I'm a year from my BA with honours, two from my BEd.

When I became pregnant with Thing Two, my son was just FOUR MONTHS old. I was barely used to being a mother to one, nevermind two. At one point, early in my pregnancy, a person I used to call friend pulled me aside. He wanted to know my intentions, was I going to have this baby? Was I going to keep it? Then he dropped the mother of all bombs in my lap, something I'd never expect from a friend, or an enemy. He said "You might as well have an abortion. With two young kids, whose going to want you now?" I? Was STUPIFIED. Gobsmacked. Did I really just hear this? I promptly shut that man out of my life, and went on to have a beautiful daughter, born exactly twelve months and four days after my son. Despite all the "concern" my family had, I brought that little bundle home to my one year old, and we were just fine. I went back to work when she was two months, I moved, I decided to go to college and I graduated top three in my class. I put that comment behind me.



When I decided to go to university in a city two hours away, my family balked again. Concern. Concern. What happens if the kids get sick. Why can't you go to Brock? It's so much closer. We can help, you can't do it on your own. Yeah, whatever. Cause guess what? I'm starting my fourth year and I've been just fine. They've been lovely years, but that comment - the one that man made so long ago, has crept back into my life. When I wasn't looking and least expected it.

A whole new group of people entered into the edges of my life. People who judged. People who thought a single woman with two young children must be a whore. She must be looking for a "daddy" for her children. A wallet to pay the bills. Some poor sucker who will support her and raise those kids, cause God knows, she isn't able to do it herself. Those people? Suck. For a few years they sucked energy from me, countless nights I cried myself to sleep thinking that nobody truly knows who I am. Nobody could open their eyes and see what I was really all about, or, all that I do for my children.

I met a wonderful man, who has come under the same scrutiny for taking on a "mommy". I think it's terrible that he should have to answer to anyone concerning my situation. What rocks about him, is that he doesn't care. FIRE... FLAMES... bring it. Because that man loves me with all he has. Every day. No matter what comes along, or who doesn't approve. And for that I love him a little more each second of each day of each year. Thankyou Aftermath, for seeing past the stigma. For looking inside and seeing what's real. What's more? Those children have a "daddy". They always did. But they have a special love for the man that lives in this house everyday and treats them like the only children that walk the earth. He holds them when they cry, he talks to them when they need guidance. He plays with them and creates a lifetime of lasting memories. Everytime Aftermath puts his arms around me, those children clamour to get in on the family hug. And that? Beats any comment anyone could ever make.

Because I feel a little lopsided...

It's odd, at least for me, to do something for one child without doing for the other. Because Thing One and Thing Two are a mere twelve months and four days apart, I tend to do things collectively and equally, if only to cut down on the whining.

With that in mind, I feel it's totally unfair to post a picture of Thing Two, and not pay homage to the beauty that is also Thing One:



Mommy loves you wee one.

Also - I'm away from the blogosphere for the weekend, for a well deserved break.
See you all next week!

D.A.G

Special Exposure Wednesday

Thanks to the lovely Anissa, I am also sharing a Special Exposure Wednesday.
Just when you think you can't stand it:






Thanks for crashing my practice shoot Thing Two, you made the world brighter.

Love, Mommy.

I Need Some Help

I'm currently researching a phenomena labelled "sexsomnia". The idea is, that it compares to sleepwalking, sleep talking, sleep eating and sleep driving (which are all disturbing in their own rights).
A Toronto man allegedly raped a girl at a party. They had both fallen asleep on the same couch (at separate ends), and she awoke to find him on top of her. Admittedly, she stated that he appeared bewildered, confused and his vision unfocused. He maintains he has little recollection of the event, and was only alerted to possible sexual congress some hours later when he awoke still wearing a condom.
He was saquitted, given a history of parasomnia, including sexsomnia with a few previous girlfriends.

What do you guys think about this? Is he responsible and LEGALLY culpable because he committed the act? Even though he is apparently completely unaware he is?

Lemme know.. I'm interested....

I? Am a Hormone-Fed Chicken

Today I am guest-posting over at Karen Sugarpants. Show her some love by reading!!

A big thank-you to Sugarpants herself, for allowing me to raid her house for the day, and entertain (I hope) her lovely readers.

Adieu!!

D.A.G

Life in the Aftermath

Nothing big... just a random conversation with Aftermath. Goes something like this:

Me (leaning towards his eyeball): Swooooohhhhp!

Aftermath: Don't suck out my soul!

Me: Through your eye?

Aftermath: Eyes are windows to the soul.

Me: *blink* *blink*

Aftermath: And I left them open.

Me: Just so you know, I'm blogging this.


**Our love is like Altoids. Curiously strong**

Before Caffeine I'm NOT Even a Person

DoubleAgentGirl @prp2 LOL. Listen. WIthout caffeine, I'm not EVEN a person.
DoubleAgentGirl @prp2 my official morning motto is "No coffee? No talkie." Beware all those who are brave enough to violate said rule. 29 minutes ago from web in reply to prp2
DoubleAgentGirl @prp2 there are pictures in existence, pictures where the look on my face SAYS that rule.. LOL 25 minutes ago from web in reply to prp2





See.
Told ya.

Safe Travels

Tonight Thing One needs to go to a funeral. It was a long process getting there.
This time last week, we recieved a phone call letting us know that Thing One's grandfather (who he lovingly called Uncle David) had passed away. He had been suffering with pancreatic cancer, recieving treatments that had seemed to be going well. Suddenly, the cancer (as it does) stealthily invaded his brain, and within 24 hours he was gone.

It's hard to explain to a 7 yr old how death works. He sobbed, he questioned. He worried about everything from the standard "Where did he go" to "What will happen to his things?". It's complicated, it's heartbreaking. It's loss. We sat together, Thing One, his Daddy, step-mom and I and talked about death, funerals, bereavement. We allowed Thing One to choose if he wanted to attend the funerals. After a few quiet days of thinking about it, he expressed his desire to go.

As a mother, this is hard. I can't be there with him, I have to turn over my grieving child to a family who in turn is grieving. It breaks my heart that I won't be holding his hand and wiping his tears. I also need to remember that this is his experience, not mine. I know he will be taken care of.

Over the last few days, Thing One has been covered in ink. His hands have blue streaks all over them, extending up to his elbows and across his left cheek. Sometimes, he cries blue tears. Finally, I have been allowed to view that which has occupied his free time and all available pens. Uncle David loved trains, he was an avid collector and the first to bestow that love unto my son. For Thing One, it's a symbol of love for a man since passed.

"Safe travels as an angel, Uncle David. Love Noah."

Fun with Jester on Talkshoe Live

Greetings from the underground. It's been awhile since I ranted posted anything, so now I'll share my Jestorious experience.
Last night, in response to his call out on Twitter, I volunteered to be at the mercy of one Jestertunes. Being brand new to the blogosphere, I figured it couldn't crucify me JUST yet, and maybe, yes maybe, it could be shameless promotion for this Agent. It kinda went like this:

Jester : eloquent, astute, pointed and funny.
Agent: Canadian.
Jester: travel and politics and decapitation.
Agent: Stupid Canadian whose never been anywhere.
Jester: Knowledgeable, gossipy and forthcoming with important people to follow
Agent: Stupid Canadian whose never been anywhere and is inherently worried about how damaging that is when she isn't offering free maple syrup, Viagra or bacon...

End show. Hoser.

No, seriously, it was a lot of fun, and I thank Jester profusely for allowing me to incessantly bore those brave enough to stay with us for an hour and forty-five minutes. Also, for those of you who HAVE perused my blog since my Twitter appearance, I'm throwing you a question:

How in the hell can I make this blog remotely interesting better??

How does YOUR knee taste Mom?

It's official... I suck. This morning was one of those mornings...the ones where despite your best efforts, you can't seem to dislodge the running shoe from the toilet while brushing impossibly curly Thing Two's 6 year old hair, all the while helping to "inside-out" a shirt for 7 year old Thing One AND applying mascara, all in enough time to make it to work. It was also one of the mornings when I forgot that I had two ears and one mouth for a reason. Here's what went down:

Me (searching the kitchen for my keys): Noah. Get. Dressed.

Thing One (head down over a bucket of dinky cars): In a minute.

Me (digging in my purse, still looking for said keys): Not in a minute. Now. We're going to be late.

Thing One: grumble grumble mmmffffttt rrrr. I'm busy.

Me (Up to my elbows in purse shrapnel): NOAH. NOW.

Thing One: Look Mom!!! Look!!

Me (engulfed in a Mary Poppins carpet bag of epic proportions): mmm ggghttfft ssrrtttt!! (Loosely translated as: Noah. I am not going to tell you again. GET DRESSED NOW!!)

Thing One: FINE! FORGET IT! (commence stomping to bedroom).

Coming up from the purse of doom, keys in hand and TRIUMPHANT, I see this on the living room carpet:


I suck. Sorry Noah, Mommy's ears are broken.

Viva la Moonbeam!

I recently went away on a mini-vacation with my boy, Aftermath. After packing up the car, we headed out on a 12 hour drive to Moonbeam Ontario, or as I call it - the true test of intimacy. We arrived much later... somewhere around 2 am.
Scheduled to attend a family reunion in Timmins on Saturday, Aftermath and I set about cramming as much fun as we could in a three day weekend. With his recent job demands keeping him away from home, it was a much needed reprieve from so much separation. In the spirit of renewed love, we headed up to Timmins solo on Friday in search of matching tattoos. Ten minutes, a hundred dollars and one snake threat later, we are sporting his and hers sniper marks, continuing our offbeat and quirky relationship between the crosshairs.
The family reunion was fabulous. Too much beer, too much french and one shot with "Uncle Rrroogggee" later, I was suddenly hit with a realization. Ok, maybe not suddenly, a little drunkity means a lot slower. For Aftermath too... and I quote "Hmm, is Cappuccino french for mudslide?" Me (slurring): No honey. It's Italian for coffee...dumbass!". LMAO. It's still funny.
Aftermath, I love you. I declare my love to you from the top of this blog mountain for all the world to hear. Thank-you for sharing your life, your heart and your beautiful family with me. Most of all, thank-you for sharing your every day. I'm looking forward to a lifetime of 12 hour drives by your side.

Get Your OWN You Crazy Granola-Eating B**ch!

Alright. Time: 8:50 am. Place: class in an unnamed University.
Amount of coffee consumed by me: NONE... yet.

As I'm engaging in an interesting conversation with my table neighbour, I suddenly hear a boorish and very loud "EXCUSE ME"!!! Of course I halt my repartee and look around, thus noticing another classmate across from me.

I raise one eyebrow and wait. Her scrubbed, makeup-free face shining under the flourescents, she points to my table and says "Can I have the highliter".
Um.. what? You want MY highliter? Not "the" highliter, MY highliter. For the record it is not class property, to be distributed to whomever may need it next. For this reason I am curious about her word selections. Perhaps, may I borrow your highliter is more appropriate no?

Despite knowing better, I hand over the most wonderful pink highliter, complete with bubble graphics in the tube, to the young woman in the hemp clothing. For the next ten minutes, she peruses her notebook, randomly attacking it with a pink stripe now and again.

After she is finished, she politely got my attention and graciously thanked me for sharing my highliter right? It's the only considerate way to show your gratitude, correct?
She DID NOT actually turn half way around and THROW it in my general direction, did she?

Get your own damn highliter, crazy granola eating b**ch. Ease up on the tofu - it's making you loopy.

Disgust

Check out what I've been doing here. I've been thoroughly disgusted by what exactly we market to the youth of North America.

Tell me what YOU think.

A.

Exploring Bloggers Paradise - OR - Whatever keeps me from attempting the laundry

I must admit that I'm a bit of a blogging idiot.
I'm feeling my way around here, and for you that actually read my posts, I thank you. Even if that's only you sugarpants!
Recently, I got to thinking about all the things that I MUST comment on, outside of regular Double Agent life, and so I have created a side blog - at the moment called "News, Boos and Reviews: Other Thoughts from the Agent.
Check it out. The link is posted here on the left.

There really is a pile of laundry calling my name. It is really too bad that it is outweighed by the couch attached to my ass. Isn't it?

Kicking Ass in the Morning and Taking Names in the Evening

I? Am a dumbass.
I've been cruising this summer, taking class as I always do along with volunteering and working as a research assistant, but also camping, taking girls trips and generally slacking off. After I pulled an 84 in my first english lit summer session, I've been on vacay - and apparently so has my mind.
After a very great (and horrifying) trip to Ottawa with Jenny, I was geared up for my writing class. I got up at 530 am, fed the kids, sunscreen, showered, two drop offs, coffee and VOILA! Here I am academia!!
The classroom is empty. WTF?!?
After a failed attempt to access the computer lab I finally resorted to begging the lovely English Dept secretary to help me locate my wayward class.
Verdict?
I am a dumbass.
Not only did my class start last week, but it's help only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Monday? Not applicable.
After an embarassing email plea for forgiveness to the professor, here I am, seated in the class twiddling my thumbs. For the record, everyone else is peer reviewing the assignment that I didn't know was given. Me? I'm peer reviewing my brain. This can only get better right? Argh...

On a different note - Jenny went home today. I'm sad. She's been my sidekick since last Wednesday. With the boy working two jobs and Jenny vacating my premises, this agent is L-O-N-E-L-Y.
*pout*

Three Shirts DO NOT Equal One Bra

Alright, back to the task at hand. I began sharing the horrors of the hotel situation down here in O-dot, but had to run screaming from the bugs.
Bugs.
So to recap, the shit-ass room we originally had we vacated. Quick.
Picture this: two tired as girls with suitcases on wheels roaming the streets for another hotel. At 11 pm. In Ottawa. Thankfully the lovely Holiday Inn was willing to take in these two strangers, and actually it seems that they are NO strangers to the horrors of the Embassy Hotel. Seriously people? DO. NOT. STAY. THERE.
We'd like to give props to the Con-Con man, otherwise known as Conor the night desk clerk. He set us up good and proper. After falling in love with the new room and gorging our tired asses on a vending machine dinner, we slept beautifully. Note: French Onion Sun Chips? ARE a meal.
Besides the aforementioned insect attack and the two new blisters between my toes - who knew THAT could happen?? - we've had a blast.

This city? Is CHILL.

Only one problem. Ottawa seems to definetly enforce a "no bra - total service" motto. The amount of free swinging girls around here is frightening. It would be ok (I guess, although it makes me feel violent) having a size 00 body and being 6 ft tall with tiny little appley boobs but the ones I see are attacking each other, and possibly anyone standing within three feet. I know gravity is a bitch, but cmon. Three shirts DO NOT equal one bra. Not now, not ever.

On a finer note... or less fleshy... I ate a beaver tail yesterday. SO BAD for you. SO loverly. Fried dough, chocolate spread...heaven. Who can't love a city whose famous for such a caloric treat?

Viva l' Ottawa!!

Ottawa Bluesfest and Three Days Grace

To return to the previous intended post, I want you all to know that Three Days Grace ROCKED my socks last night. Hitting the stage at 8 pm sharp, the boys did not disappoint. Clad in a white collared shirt and black tie and sporting a shorter haircut, Adam successfully worked his crowd of adoring fans.
Thanks to Bluesfest and their giant Jumbotron, everyone in the park could get a very good view of what was happening on stage, no fans tall or small were disappointed.

Being my tenth concert with these dudes, I myself was impressed with another high quality show. Adam's voice was on point, Neil's drumming to die for and both Barry and Brad never missed a note. Adam did a white hot acoustic rendition of Alice in Chain's Rooster - his voice stepping up to provide those deep sweet grungy tones. I heart that boy. He makes my tummy flip.

They ended the set with Home from the first album, in which Neil had a solo on the drums. Adam wove in Filter's Hey Man Nice Shot into the middle, changing up the feel of the song and truly touching the hearts of those rockers in the audience. Hey man - nice choice!

So the event kicked ass, I definetly exclaimed "yes" and "auhhh" and "sweet" over and over in Jenny's ear, bless her heart for putting up with that!

As for all that happened after? It's another post.

Three Days Grace

Ok, I meant this to be about the kickass concert I just came back from, but that's going to have to wait.

Upon return to the hotel of doom, Jen found bugs in the bathroom.

Bugs.

In. OUR. Bathroom. BIG MOTHERFUCKIN BUGS.
I've got some screaming to do.

To be continued.

GET. ME. OUTTA HERE.

Ok, so here I am, in Ottawa for the much anticipated Bluesfest Girls Trip. I've been here...oh lets round up and say: two hours. Verdict? HATE. Here is how I've spent them:

1) Driving around in useless one way circles that go the opposite way I want. 15 minutes.
2) Arriving at the.. um... GHETTO hotel I'm paying $100.00 per night to stay in... AND finding out "oops" the room isn't clean, come back (and I quote) in "about an hour or two". How long exactly is that? He had no answer. 20 minutes.
3) Cruising a cute little pub called the Mayflower for a beer and a quick lunch while waiting for said time to elapse. 10 minutes.
4) Literally SPITTING the food I bit into BACK onto the plate? 2.2 seconds.
(Granted, the pub manager DID apologize for the fries that tasted like retread fish. Turns out no one changed the oil in the deep fryer for, lets go with... a year. Who knew. Free Beer.)
5) Returning to the hotel, finding room clean (high five Jenny!) but then having to provide a second credit card for security (AND I QUOTE: Should we just LET you trash the room?), paying 2.69 per day for internet access and $9.00 a day for parking... 20 mindblowing minutes.
6) Finally getting to the room to find it looks EXACTLY like what I'd have vomited up had I eaten the aforementioned food? TOTAL MINDFUCK. Actual time lost, jaw still slack.

GET. ME. THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Pronto.

Jen Lancaster is my HERO

Hey all - GUESS WHAT? I have here a copy of Jen's third book "Such a Pretty Fat" and I'm STOKED. I read/ate both Bitter and Bright Lights and have been dealing with serious withdrawls. I heart you Jen Lancaster, in all your madras plaid glory. TO THE BATCAVE.

I'm about to lose me some time in this glorious literative addiction.
Seriously - don't call. I'm busy.

ACK!

Alright, its been some time... here I am. I notice, the last few posts are really REALLY heavy. Some heavy stuff kicking around in the Agent's Portal, all dealt with. Just as a follow up, Sarah Toller's mother read my last post and requested permission to print it in a book she is compiling from Sarah's blog. I am truly honoured to do all that I can.

I promise.. good stuff to come. I'm back.. AND... we SAUCY!!

Cancer, Sarah Toller and Divine Intervention ~ June 2007

I have just understood the magnitude of something that has happened to me recently. I don't ever want to forget the crippling indebtedness that I have to a stranger I never met - Sarah Toller.

Back in April, I had a strange conversation with someone at my volunteer job. For all of you who don't know what I do, I volunteer in a child minding room at a local gym - where I had this offhand conversation with a child's parent and her friend. I honestly don't remember how it came up - especially since I'm not prone to discussing personal physical anomalies with virtual strangers- but this time I did.

Off hand, I mentioned to this woman (referred to as "S") that I had a strange mole inside my bellybutton. This mole had first been noticed by me five years ago while I was pregnant with Taylor. As all mothers know, your bellybutton has a tendency to turn itself out in the late stages. Mine only partially did, which is when I noticed a TINY little freckle - which I first thought was dirt.. LOL. I noticed around three or four months before this conversation, in the shower, that this mole was now the size of a pencil eraser. I thought it odd, and then spoke to S about it.

- - - let me say, S is not a nurse, or a health care professional. Why I should choose her is irrational - - - but prophetic.

S mentioned that her sister in law was battling skin cancer (melanoma) that resulted from a mole. This is Sarah Toller. She was diagnosed with stage 3 melanoma from this mole at the age of 27. (oddly - my age presently). S and her friend K strongly recommended that I see a dermatologist about this mole as soon as I can. They certainly stressed the importance of SOON.

And so - I did. I made an appointment, and in May the dermatologist opted to remove the mole in its entirety right there in the office and send it away for biopsy. I was sent home with a few stitches and an appointment four weeks later for the results. Of course, I worried, I thought about what cancer would mean for me, my children, our lives...

On June 12, I returned to the dermatologist for the results. Turns out - it was cancer - HOWEVER - it had NOT spread outside the mole. So - since they had removed the mole and surrounding tissue - it's no longer a problem for me. I need to follow up every six months to have all other moles checked - but no further treatment is necessary. Of course - I am grateful to S for the recommendation.

Today (July 5) is the first time that I have seen S since this whole thing started - school has kept me away from volunteering as much as i had, so I took this opportunity to express to S my gratitude.

S - burst into tears. Her sister-in-law - Sarah Toller, had lost her battle with melanoma, and passed away almost two months ago. She hugged me, we chatted about my "luck" - I thanked her for her intervention. S mentioned that Sarah Toller had actually kept an online blog through her struggle with the disease. She thought I may like to read it - and passed the link on to me. So this afternoon when I got home, I opened the link and began to read the entries Sarah made over the course of one year - documenting her battle with cancer.

What a brave woman. She was so positive, she fought so hard, she BELIEVED she was going to beat it! I laughed, I cried, I struggled for breath between sobs in the final entries, made by her husband in the last weeks of Sarah Toller's struggle. Then I read her eulogy.

Sarah Toller died - on June 12, 2007. The same day I received my results - the intersections are too close for coincidence.

Now - I am grateful first to Sarah Toller. Without her push for awareness, and her battle for her life - S would never have been so adamant in her recommendations to me. I believe Sarah wanted people to know - early diagnosis cures 90% of melanomas. Sadly, she died the day I was saved - and I cannot help but think - some forces were at work to bring me to this stranger S, who passed on a tidbit of information that led me to this hero Sarah Toller - whose death - probably saved my life. Rest in Peace.

Taylor: the Wealth of Information ~ June 2007

Date: June 23, 2007

Time: 1:05 pm

Place: sitting around the dining room table.

AARON: (walks up behind mom and puts arms around her neck) I'm keeping your mommy forever!!

TAY: UH OH! Mommy, how will you get out?

MOM: I'll gnaw my way out.

TAY: haha! Try it!

AARON: she'll never be free!

TAY: (thinking hard while staring at the ceiling and eating Cheezie pebbles...)

Will she turn a hundred in your arms?

AARON: I hope so...
*awe*

Random Musings ~ May 2007

Sometimes it takes something very little to trigger a big response.

It may sound dramatic, but as I sit here with three stitches in my belly and a month of waiting before the biopsy report, life seems daunting.

When I woke up this morning, it was raining. Rain has a strange affect on me - sometimes I think it's beautiful and I go and dance in it until my clothing is stuck to my skin and raindrops collect on my eyelashes.. and I feel alive. Sometimes it mirrors back a deeper sadness inside my soul, and I feel small.

Today - I am small.

After I left the doctor, I stepped onto campus. People were walking all around me, in couples and thirds, laughing, talking, smiling. I couldn't really hear them. I blame it on the anesthetic. And I blame it on the lump of cotton inside my chest.

I hit the bank - Tim Hortons... and narrowly avoided a serious car accident.

Very narrowly. The cotton in my chest thumped hard...visited my throat.

Shaking, I hit the drugstore for antibiotic cream (for the stitches of course)..spoke with the pharmacist.. know how to care for them now.

Not quite sure how to care for ME though.

Life suddenly seems very simple.. have what you have, do what you want, love who you love. Don't look back, no regrets, get it done.

It seems simple - the universe handing you the permission to reach for your craziest dream.

However - it doesn't provide the key that removes the weight from your feet.

Wishing for longer chains...

Grades Are In! Year Two! ~ May 2007

Alright - to all of you who still read this space..

My Year Two Grades are in:

History of Christianity 74

Medival English 77

The Novel 81

Suicide Theory 81

Children and Grief 84

For this year my cumulative average is 78.6!

Thanks to all of you who encouraged me to do better ...

UP THREE POINTS!!!