Une fois n'est pas coutume

ncidentally, two days passed before I was able to log onto Yahoo and retrieve the offline message from Doug, asking what was going on. I'd tried unsuccessfully to track him down at the office in Florida, and when I reported that I'd called, he asked why. I thought he'd be concerned, but instead he said that he imagined I was having a rough time with the computer and that he never regarded it as an emergency. I told him that his name didn't appear on the voice mail at his office, and asked if that was because he safeguarded his identity. He laughed, and said "I gave you enough to reach me, and yet not directly. This way I'd know if you called" and mentioned something about that his past betrayal had made him a little guarded. Correction, paranoid.

Conversation that day followed the typical course. The hiatus had given him opportunity to begin to tackle the backlog of his work, and he said it felt good to be productive. His 7-year project was finalising and my annual meeting in less than a week and I'd lost a valuable day or two fussing with machine issues. We'd both really had fallen a bit behind schedule. We agreed that until we'd both made more headway, perhaps we should ease off the chatting for a couple of days, since by this time it was approximating 12 hours a day.

It was only a matter of hours before I noticed that although I was ripping through my project at record speed, there was an eerie void of laughter and pleasantness. I looked forward to the time when we could resume our normal banter. Later that evening, I received an email just "checking in with me" and I responded right away hoping that he was getting back on track. We exchanged several short emails each day for the next few days. I was missing him quite a bit. He registered the same in his emails, but was fearful that even opening Yahoo messenger would lure him back and that he knew he'd have difficulty not falling back into the routine we'd shared for the past month.

One of these emails revealed that he might have to travel to Japan for a couple of months on business with the folks that had paid him a visit earlier. It was a huge contract and although he was delighted to be the one to handle it, he said there were obvious pros and cons associated with the idea of going. I congratulated him on the contract, and asked how long he'd be away. 3 months, I was told.

The following days were arduous. Strangely quiet, and the absence of contact was difficult. He apologised for going from 12 hours a day to none, except for a couple of emails, that it might have been better to ration the contact to an hour or so on messenger, yet he knew that he was comparable to an alcoholic "he couldn't take just one sip". And for the most part it was true. Doug had initiated most of the IM contact from the beginning. It made me feel better that he noticed my absence as I did his. I think that the emotions and feelings he conveyed about his attachment to me in his emails during that week might have been why I didn't ask why he was using a new email address.

The February 10th shareholder meeting went well, and within hours I received an email congratulating me and advising me to take it easy and reward myself with a long bath and a glass of wine that night, and he'd be done the next morning. I was delighted that the "cold turkey" period was finally drawing to an end. It had been harder than I originally thought it would to be out of touch that way and for an entire week.

While soaking in the bath, I wondered if my attempt to phone him was the reason his emails were not from his Yahoo address, as earlier, but now from an anonymous emailer.

Crossed wires

I sent Doug a warm email reply, assuring him that he'd not been mistaken and that I didn't take that stance to protect my marriage at all. Feeling sure that I knew how much courage it could have taken to extend himself to me after having been a victim of deceit in the past, I wanted to assuage any concerns he might have. I asked him to forgive my doubts ~ I was still recovering from a terrible act of betrayal by DF and wasn't sure if my natural antenna was as finely-tuned as it should be, and I was questioning my own ability to distinguish between fact and fiction as a result of the events that occured at the end of my marriage. I reassured Doug that I was, indeed, inexplicably drawn to him. It was unplanned, but I sensed I was falling for him, and despite the turmoil associated with the impending divorce, I was developing strong feelings. Most of all, I was fearful to let my heart feel something only to be hurt again, especially since he hadn't yet given me a manner of direct contact until this last email arrived. I was pleased that he'd shared his real name and phone contact and hoped he could forgive my rash reaction.

We discussed the email in some detail when Doug checked in with me that day. Computers! Drat. I'd been struggling with my computer and was getting more and more frustrated. With my annual report held hostage in it and some apparent computer glitch preventing me for retrieving it, our conversation lapsed from my profuse apologies to computer maladies.

He had three post graduate degrees, in computers and engineering and had referred to himself often as a "computer geek/engineer/biologist wannabe", so I had confidence that he could suggest what to do to fix my computer that evening. He proceeded to offer step by step instructions on how to clean up things. It involved deleting all "fluff" as he termed it, that is, anything that fell in the Yahoo messenger variety, in order to eliminate any external variables. Calmly he asked that I print out a series of instructions from the chat, and follow his directions carefully. The problem should be fixed in a jiffy. I agreed. Wishing me good luck we signed off so I could take care of the task at hand. He asked that I send him an IM if I ran into a problem and certainly one once the matter was resolved. We logged off.

Unfortunately, I struggled with the blasted machine for more than a couple of hours, totally frustrated that I was not able to clean off whatever was hanging up the RAM. I tried a variety of methods to no avail. The unit would have to be repaired and the tech I'd placed a call to earlier in the day had not returned my call. I was getting a little bothered. I had a deadline to meet, my work was only on this machine (all proprietary or sensitive information was always saved to my secure unit rather than to the server on the LAN) and I was missing my daily dose of friendly banter with computer geek and constant companion, Doug. I gave up at midnight and hoped to resolve the issue the next morning.

To my dismay the prognosis wasn't good for the computer. It would require significant work and I was without a tool for most of the next day. As it approached the 24-hour mark since my last contact with Doug, I thought I should try to get word to him that I was battling in "computer hell". I went home early that night to use my home computer to search the Internet for the name of his company, from the clues he had given. I poured over pages of text to locate a company that fit the description he'd offered. Bingo, RS&H. Noting the phone number of the Tally office location. I dialed. Oddly his name was not in the voice mail directory, but I tooled through the main voice mail menu to see if I could reach the coporate offices. Still no luck. Disappointed and exhausted I decided to call it a night and try again in the morning.

Two peas in a pod

As I fumbled with Yahoo mail to open his email, CMR went on to explain that he had felt sick, and without appetite. Like someone punched him in the stomach. He, too, had not slept.

His next comment was,

"I dream of you, I long for you, and then I get broad-sided for trying to give you the space and respect that you deserve".

Nervously awaiting the email to load (I dislike Yahoo for that very reason) I answered that I was so very sorry for putting him through any discomfort. It was never my intention.

I paused as I read the page-long email where he apologised for his inappropriate advances. He explained that he felt foolish as he had arranged for his company jet to pick me up and fly me down to Florida for Valentine's Day and was now terribly embarrassed to have assumed that I would accept. He shared that he admired my loyalty and devotion to a marriage, even though it was in a terminal status, and that because he had less willpower than I, and wanted to act upon his desires, he'd obviously misread my signals and passionate pleas. He was so very embarrassed for not acting as a gentleman and would now step aside for 90 days until the divorce was over out of respect for me. His reason was to limit the pangs that our contact was creating in him. He provided me with a means to contact him at his office in Tallahassee when the time came. It wasn't in the form of a phone number, but rather a couple of cryptic clues as to type of business, and his position. He would be reserving his co-pilot seat aboard "Folie" for me.

He signed it "Doug".

I felt just awful. Here I had thought the worst and practically accused him of being disingenuous in his intentions, and yet it was clear from his email that he felt humiliated by my apprehension and had taken it as a rejection of him. He had taken a leap of faith only to meet with resistance from me. It was not at all what I had wished to convey. I was doing it out of respect for him, as it would only be a matter of a few months before I would be divorced and I thought, given his stature, I carried a certain stigma, being at the terminal stage of my marriage. Before I could completely digest the information in the email, he said he had to go to a meeting and would check in with me later that day.

There was no question in my mind that I felt the exact same feelings he did. I had been keeping them at bay, as best I could, to make the distance and the next few months easier for us both to manage. I'd never expected to meet someone, let alone someone that was so compassionate and caring as he.

Thoughts warmed me of a blossoming friendship, with possibly more that could develop between us. I glanced at the horizon and the sunshine was breaking through the snow-laden clouds.

"Too unadvised; too sudden"

hakespeare, in the frequently cited balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet, portrays Juliet's passion as one of fine intelligence and wit that makes her irresistible. She's also prudent, and in an effort to maintain a sense of reserve and control over her emotions, after young, impetuous Romeo declares his lust for her, she declares to him,

"Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo, but else, not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

And therefore thou mayst think my havior (behaviour) light;

But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true,

Than those that have more cunning to be strange.

I should have been more strange, I must confess,

Although I joy in thee, I have no joy in this contract tonight.

It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden."

Such thoughts raced through my mind that night, and I didn't sleep a wink. Had I been too cautious? Did I offend CMR? And if so, now, what could I do?

I arrived at the office eager to see if there would be an offline message waiting for me and yet nervous at the same time to discover no message. I procrastinated by sorting through my mail and attending to some small personnel issues, before settling down in front of my computer with a large cup of coffee in hand to cautiously open Yahoo messenger. Nothing!

I looked out of my office window beyond the frozen lake to the horizon to see nothing but grey, somber clouds rolling into the region. That was the tone of the next hour or more, until a familiar chime alerted and there before my eyes was his morning Instant Message.

"Did you read my email?" he asked. "The one I sent last night".

Pericula timidus etiam quae non sunt videt

ooming before me in less than a week, the annual shareholder meeting and a significant amount of work yet to be done. Yet, the last day of January 2004 began in typical form, chatting back and forth through the morning with my constant companion, CMR. He was also facing a deadline, and we spoke of our previous attempts to limit our chats to a more reasonable number of hours. Alas, neither of us could manage to be the one to say good-bye.

Nonetheless, we did and I suspect he, and certainly I, forged ahead at record speed so that we could reconvene at 10:00 PM. Hours before that, he'd popped online to ask how I was doing and to enquire if it was 10 yet. We agreed to keep to our promise to make as much headway during the day so that we could reward ourselves before bedtime.

Conversations had become rather sensual of late and this night was no exception. We had both lamented that we wanted to meet, that we were longing to meet and explore some of the things we'd expressed would be romantic and exhilarating. That's when the question of what my offices looked like came about. He asked for me to describe their general orientation and if there was a private entry or not. Were there any windows and if so, were they floor to ceiling variety. All of these questions appeared to be rather peculiar until CMR began to describe what he would like to do if he were in the room with me at that time. I dealt with the conversation with aplomb, indicating that I'd be delighted if he were here. I was not prepared for the next comment, and was taken a little by surprise.

He asked if he were to show up the next day would I ravish him in ecstasy. Since in a mere 90 days I'd no longer carry the stigma of a married woman, although my husband had disappeared more than 7 months prior, I answered that I would have to exercise a tremendous amount of restraint because the mind and flesh were willing but I thought it best to wait, if for no other reason than in consideration of him. Although I viewed my marriage as over in all sense, to the outside public and certainly to his parents and family, I was still technically married. I didn't wish to foist any sort of issue upon him when in a matter of a few months, when we could move forward without any of that being an issue.

I was shocked to see in the IM window the words, "Oh, sorry. I guess I'll catch you in 90 days then" and he promptly signed off.

What! This was not his style and at first I thought it was a bit of a joke and expected him to pop on again with a smiley face, but twenty minutes passed. Although we had chatted for hundreds of hours, CMR was normally the one to initiate contact. But when now two hours had passed and having logged off without so much as a good bye, I felt very uncomfortable and very anxious.

I sent a quick offline message, just saying Hi, but no answer. Then another asking if he was still online, no answer. By the time I was ready to leave for the night, and much earlier than I had planned as I began to feel quite sick, I was very concerned. He'd never ignored my IMs before. In fact, we'd discussed how we both would get back to each other within less than a minute in the past. Here more than two hours, and yes, he was online, just not answering my IMs.

I dashed off another, this time reminding him of how it had hurt to have DF walk out without a good-bye and how I had feared all along that CMR would go "poof" as DF had one day and I'd have no other means of contact. I asked why he had not responded and had this whole thing been some sort of a practical joke on me. Sobbing as I wrote it, I begged him to respond. No answer. My heart sank as I braved the frigid weather to scrape my windshield before heading home.

Pericula timidus etiam quae non sunt videt

The fearful one even sees dangers that are not there.

I don't think I slept a wink that night. Feeling drained from the antics of my marriage, like the emptied carcass of prey attached to a web, and now apparently abandoned by the one person who had understood my predicament and my vulnerable state and promised to stand by me, I dragged myself to work the next morning, like someone that had been through battle. Hoping to find an offline composed at 3:00 AM, as was his normal style, the screen was blank. I ached, everywhere. Had I made a mistake? He had suffered the agony of betrayal and I had wanted so much to show him that I empathised and would not wish to place him in any uncomfortable position. I hadn't pressed for a phone number, knowing how vulnerability feels. The computer was my only means of contact, and now, seemingly, I was not able to rouse him.

Aristotle said it well

loy·al·ty
n.
1. The state or quality of being loyal (fidelity)
2. A feeling or attitude of devoted attachment and affection

The Chinese symbol or ideogram for loyalty combines the elements that represent faithful, honest and patriotic with those of heart, nature, mind and affection. The Chinese definition is certainly oriented towards honesty and righteousness.



My exposure to Asian studies reinforced the precept of loyalty in me as a young adult. I’m not speaking of the devout honour-based variety as seen in Japanese Bushido, where the samurai would elect to die out of a moral duty to country, superior or cause, rather than to surrender. Nor the strict Confucian principle that extolled the virtue of filial piety ~ a sense of obedience to parental authority.

Rather, I’m speaking of the invisible energy that binds two people. A pledge of both heart and will, rooted in one’s strength of character and ethical principle. Something more wide-reaching than simple friendliness, more full-bodied than simply the feeling of love, loyalty is the bedrock of all healthy and trustworthy relationships.

In my opinion it is that sense of loyalty that drives us not to abandon a friend even when personal gain might be in jeopardy. Alternatively, it is that force which drives us to preserve a friend’s confidence and integrity and that which makes it possible to challenge an act of character assassination despite overwhelming social pressure. A simple misunderstanding or difficulty will not undermine a relationship, nor will that friendship ever be exploited if loyalty is at its foundation.

Yes, loyalty is the glue in all meaningful relationships, whether it is a relationship between family, partners or friends. In the final analysis, all of one's accomplishments in life take on little meaning, without a single friend or loved one with whom to share them. Philosopher, Aristotle, and model eudaemonist, (the ethical concern for a state of human flourishing or well-being), stated,

"Without friends, no one would want to live, even if he had all other goods."

That statement never more poignant to me than right now.

Folie à deux

uestions about each other's personal life and background were commonplace in chats with CMR. We were both not only fascinated to discover how much we shared in common, in terms of our outlook in life, but both of us also enjoyed linguistics and evaluating anecdotes, quips or words that had challenging or varied meanings and derivations. I'd quickly given him the affectionate nickname "Octopus" because he was really adept in searching the Internet for the answer and pasting it into our chats at near lightning speed. We'd already determined, in so far as personality type is concerned, that of

Type A: Competitive, driven, stressed, workaholic
Type B: Relaxed, patient, friendly
Type C: Reticent, unassertive, nice to a fault

we we're both Type A personality types at work, I lean towards being a little more Type B in close relationships and at home and he claimed he was definitely more Type C when it came to meeting women. Nevertheless, the ever-changing discourse kept me on my toes, and in an effort to meet the challenge of his quick and nimble mind, I learned relatively quickly to "google" the occasional fact and report the results. It wasn't long before I had earned the nickname "Octopussy" .

Such was the case the following morning, before meeting the Japanese at their hotel for a last get-together prior to their return flight. CMR reported that their contract had been secured, and they were just reviewing the fine details. He was pleased; it was a big contract. That's when he asked me if I knew what "Folie à deux" was. My rusty familiarity with French told me that it roughly translated to "madness shared by two" but I didn't know in what context. Within a moment, he pasted a reference from the web-based DSM-IV on the screen.

"Shared psychotic disorder (Folie à deux) – a disturbance in an individual who is strongly influenced by a person who has an established delusion with similar content". This condition is rather rare, only 800 cases diagnosed to date, or so it appears. In essence, it describes a person that develops a delusion based upon a close relationship with another individual, the inducer, that has a Psychotic disorder with prominent delusions. The individual comes to share the delusional beliefs of the primary case, in whole or in part. The inducer is usually dominant in the relationship and gradually imposes the delusional behaviour on the more passive and initially more healthy second person."

Wondering where this conversation was going, I asked what this was all about and was relieved when CMR announced the news. "I just bought her, or I just received word from the broker that the seller accepted my offer and she's mine. She's being sailed around to the Gulf right now, should be here in a week!"

He sent a file of a picture, which appeared within moments on my computer. "Folie à Deux", was a racing yacht. Odd name for a yacht I thought, or rather we thought in unison, as just as I was about to say that he chimed in with a comment that he'd like to change the name, even though in sailing circles it was considered bad luck to do so. With that, he announced that he was running late and must take off for the hotel and then airport and would check in with me later that night.

"To soothe the thoughts that plague me so.."

usiness-related meetings with the Japanese were finalised in 3 days. Although not an extensive period of time, CMR still took time to make contact with me sporadically during the day. And certainly, after meetings were finished in the late evening he'd check to see if I was still in the office and online. The break in chatting permitted me to catch up on my projects, and I had nearly completed the Annual report.

I felt like a moth being pulled by forces beyond my control towards a single light in the darkness, and yet the moment I'd see his IM appear on the screen "Sweetie, are you out there?" my efforts towards restraint were unsuccessful. It was too difficult, I missed this incredible friend, no, I missed this passionate man, whose full identity was still a mystery to me.

It would be better to be cool
It's not time to be open just yet
A lesson once learned is so hard to forget
Be still my beating heart
Or I'll be taken for a fool
It's not healthy to run at this pace
The blood runs so red to my face
I've been to every single book I know
To soothe the thoughts that plague me so
I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean
My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion
Stop before you start
Be still my beating heart
Restore my broken dreams
Shattered like a falling glass
I'm not ready to be broken just yet
A lesson once learned is so hard to forget
Be still my beating heart
Be Still My Beating Heart ~ Sting

I'd be divorced in a matter of 90 days. I'd create mental imagery of the passions we shared in chat to tide me over, and wait with baited breath, until we could meet. I'd been wondering if I was the only one who felt this way. That would be answered by his next question.

"Do you have this affect on all men?" he asked. "What affect?", I replied. He said, "Desire. You dominate my thoughts to the extent that I am going to go bankrupt if I continue to allow my emotions to be swept away by your passionate energy."

The following IM was waiting for me the next morning

"Won’t you allow me to hold you tight, never letting go, feeling the comfort and safety of the love that penetrates your soul? You are home, you are wanted, you are cherished and you are mine."

Feverish nights in Fiji

oice chat enabled CMR and I to explore topics that we might not have been inclined to do in written form. Perhaps it was the unrestrained, spontaneity that verbal communication permitted, or the melodic and rhapsodic nature of his voice, or the fact that we'd been in contact for more than 200 hours that it seemed natural to explore each other's thoughts and desires a little more.

Languages intrigue me. Forced to sit through three years of Latin in my British school days before becoming eligible to study any other language, provided a good foundation for future language studies, although today I regret that I've forgotten most of what I learnt. While a student at Princeton many years ago, I juggled a hectic course schedule while adding 3 Asian languages to my repertoire, in order to write my thesis. Pitch and tonal quality are critical to mastering oriental languages. I think that's how I developed acuity for identification of speech and voice quality.

The elements that comprise the human voice are space, air, muscle, articulators and mucous. The character of the voice ranges dependent upon the use of the muscles, the size of the space, the control of the airflow, the volume of mucous and the articulators, much like components of a musical instrument. Professional announcers and vocalists learn to manipulate and enhance the various elements to gain the best sound from the instrument.

CMR’s was a voice I would never forget, and would be able to identify at any time, in any place. The colour was a rich, velvety brown. Full-bodied and deep in tone, emanating from within the chest, and suggesting a man of some size, consistent with his 6 foot frame. Masculine, yet relaxed. Resonant and melodic, articulated, clear and crisp. Unstrained with no phonation breaks, suggesting masterful control and delivery of air. I sensed his voice could have been schooled, and was not at all surprised when he told me that he had done a fair amount of acting in his past. He was also an avid runner, which accounted for the ability to sustain breath, important in good voice control and had studied linguistics in the past that had evolved into work that lead to a Master’s degree in computer modeling of whale and bird communications.

Longfellow, wrote "The rich music of a summer bird, heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.”

Conversations on voice chat with CMR were intoxicating, effortless and flowing. From lace to sensual fantasy, we explored each others’ thoughts and desires, his voice comforting and reassuring, soothing and passionate, enveloping me like a warm blanket, and as “intimate as the rustle of sheets”. We spoke of being in each other’s embrace, of places we’d like to visit… of gentle caresses on solitary beaches in Fiji.

The conversations would crescendo to a feverish pitch before we signed off…and I would hurry home to join him once more on the beaches of Fiji to finish the story in my dreams.

"The melting voice through mazes running;

Untwisting all the chains that tie.

The hidden soul of harmony.” ~ Milton

Building reserves

Having just narrowly escaped annihilation and the sticky bonds of the web created by DF and KMC, January ended on a more positive note. The divorce hearing was scheduled for April, just 90 days away and barring any unforeseen delays, it would signal an end to intrusions by both of them and an opportunity to move forward with my life. I'd been left drained completely, emotionally and financially, and that was debilitating, but I had hope for the future.

I'd been a "liquid lunch" for my estranged husband and his accomplice, but I was thankful that I retained some positive attributes that they'd not been able to secure. Hope, trust and a deep passion for life. CMR 's interest reinforced that. He was warm and stimulating and his presence in my life was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the bleak wintery skies.

The first week in February was going to be a rather busy time for CMR. He had a number of contracts due and a contingent of businessmen from Japan were in Tallahassee to discuss another project. He'd be tied up for the better part of the next day or two entertaining them. I, too, had a project to complete. I was preparing for the annual shareholder meetings and preparing to write my annual report, due by February 10. Naturally, I was delighted when the day the Japanese arrived, CMR broke his engagements to chat with me for several hours before heading to the airport to pick them up. And although he expected to be entertaining them for a late dinner, was back online before 10:00 PM, saying that he'd abbreviated the evening festivities because he was in "El withdrawal". We chatted into the early hours of the morning before signing off.


As had become a fairly regular practice, when I arrived at the office the following morning there was an offline message from him, dashed off an hour after we said good night, hoping I was sleeping peacefully and that he'd prefer that I were wrapped up in his arms than alone in bed. At CMR's request, I'd promised to rummage through photo albums to see if I had some additional photographs of me that I could email. I didn't have many left after DF destroyed most of me and had so politely cut any that featured both of us in two, (as in the example to the right) in a fit of rage one day. An action that seems befitting, now that more information has come to light.

Nonetheless, I agreed to search for something, as soon as I could and CMR agreed to email more of him to me too. Needless to say, I was anxious to receive them.

Pavlov's dog

ou might be thinking, first spiders and now dogs! What's the correlation? What’s behind this jump in phyla from Arthropoda to Chordata? You'll see that the concept of associative learning, as in the case of Pavlov's dogs, will play an important role in the series of events that would play out in 2004.

But first a little background.

Ivan Pavlov began his science career studying the mechanisms of digestion in mammals. His work earned him a Nobel Prize in physiology. It was during his research with the digestive process that he stumbled across what is known as "conditioned reflex".

Typically, reflexes are innate responses that are repeated in exactly the same fashion each time that one applies the stimulus. Focused on the physiology or mechanics of the digestive system, Pavlov was querying the relationship between salivation and the digestive process. Saliva in the oral cavity is critical in digestion because it facilitates swallowing and also contains the enzymes required to break down various compounds in food. Pavlov’s experimentation measured and analysed the volume of saliva produced and response to food in dogs under various conditions. Remarkably, Pavlov noted that the dogs would salivate before food was actually presented and this promoted him to try to find out the reason for this phenomenon.

He discovered that he could trigger a reflex through experience, where ordinarily no reflex would naturally occur. The connecting of a stimulus to a reflex, or the ability for the dog’s central nervous system to associate a stimulus with salivation, is an example of conditioning.

A metronome was sounded as food was presented to the dogs. Initially, it is theorized that the dogs naturally salivated when they encountered the food. But by sounding the metronome while presenting the food, eventually the dogs began to associate the sound of the metronome with food. After a period of time and experience, sounding the metronome could trigger salivation in the dogs, without presentation of food at all. A conditioned reflex had developed. The sound of the metronome represented the availability of food, or “food on its way”, so to speak. Alternatively, a conditioned reflex can be repressed if a stimulus is presented over time without the related reward. By sounding the metronome repeatedly with no presentation of food to follow, eventually the dogs stop salivating at the sound.

His experimentation and the resulting information that contributed to behavioural understanding are often referred to as “Pavlov’s drooling dogs”. Pavlov’s conditioned reflex work would later be applied in Watson’s psychological theory that various stimuli associated with injury and threats relate directly to withdrawal.

Benivoli coniunctio animi maxima est cognatio

The alliance of a well-wisher's mind is truest kinship ~ Publilius Syrus

Throughout this blog I've often quoted from the Sententiae of Publilius Syrus, a playwright during Caesar's realm, whose name was most likely derived from his native homeland, Syria. Publilius Syrus was later liberated from slavery and went on to produce a wealth of work, the Sentences being the only complete body remaining today. It's a series of moral pithy maxims that have become the cornerstone for teaching the value and effects of compassion and kindness, which, while demanding some patience, are critical in the development of a trusting rapport with others. One of the most commonly known sayings is, “You can accomplish by kindness, what you cannot do by force.”

Such was the essence of CMR's bond with me. Knowing how deeply betrayed I had been, and acknowledging that I was vulnerable and apprehensive, he recognised my trepidation in getting close to someone and did all he could to encourage me to trust him. With that said, I also appreciated any step he took to disclose more details of his private life. I knew, based upon all he had shared so far, it took a lot for him to impart.

We'd been in close contact throughout the better part of January when he divulged that part of his own trepidation was due to his social status. Being the son of an accomplished business man, who'd taken up the reins of a successful enterprises\ and was, naturally, of very significant wealth, he didn't wish for that information to colour my impression of him. CMR explained that he'd experienced many people in the past that had befriended him due to his socio-economic stature, rather than his personality. Despite his own interest in maintaining a certain sense of privacy, he carefully filled in more details stating that the conversations we'd had up to that point demonstrated that I was not attracted to the "package", but to him. He was correct.

I was willing to be patient, nonetheless, there was some concern on my part that we could lose touch somehow, and absent a phone number for him, I'd lose yet another person that I'd become close to in my life. Yet, I knew that betrayal causes one to be very leery and I didn't wish to apply too much pressure on him at this time. Instead, I simply wanted him to know that I would be very hurt if he'd vanish one day, as DF and all those that had been my nucleus had done. He assured me of the reasons he was spending so much time with me. He was drawn to me; he cared for me; he found it difficult to go for more than a few hours without speaking to me; and, most importantly, he was here and was "not, not, not going to abandon me".

That night, with the knowledge that we respected each other's position and both wanted to dispell any cause for discomfort or insecurity, I slept well for the first time in more than six months.

"Five Reflect on the Mystery of Roanoke"

While attempting to solve the mystery of the impostor, the Famous Five began to identify anyone on ILW that had an axe to grind and would wish to discredit any of the Famous Five. For the most part, the individual that hijacked the moniker was targeting friends, but seemed to be particularly annoyed with me. This is when the discussion first rolled around to ILW member, BS. CMR noted to the group that he suspected that, in the recent past, a number of IDs on the board might have been created by BS and if so, could it be possible that this new ID was yet another. The Famous Five analysed the possibilities. Most of the facts posted could have been retrieved from the ILW message board, but then there were a few that indicated that there was a slight chance that the impostor might have been present in one of our group chats or certainly had some insider information. Then, in mid-stride the imposter's ID morphed to reflect Roanoke, a location where our own "George" lived.

What was important to note is that by hijacking CMR's ID and taking some pot shots at me, the impostor may have been intent on disrupting the close alliance he and I were developing in private. During the course of numerous group chatting sessions by the Famous Five, no conclusion as to identity of the impostor was ever made, although many possible suspects were proposed. Without facts, it was all speculation, of course. I believe I may have been the only person that believed and claimed it could not be one of "us", since we had become a tight clan and I couldn't fathom any reason for anyone to wish to disturb that, or place a wedge between CMR and me. Nevertheless, without facts to prove otherwise, although not openly voiced by any of us in the group sessions, each of us continued to be suspect.

While the impostor's activity on ILW was of little overall consequence, The Mystery of Roanoke would eventually cause some doubt and friction within the group.

L'appetit vient en mangeant

he saying goes, "a small spark kindles a big flame". Naturally, one can interpret that in a number of ways. But sparks, of a diametrically opposed variety, were evident both in the discourse that CMR and I exchanged, and also on the ILW message board.

A small group of members of ILW had commonly chatted together on a number of occasions. I'd affectionately called the clan the "Famous Five", after the popular British detective book series authored by Enid Blyton in the 1940s, yet still considered staple reading material for any British schoolgirl.

In Blyton's works, Julian, Dick and Anne are siblings who spend their holidays at Uncle Quentin's and join cousin, Georgina, who insists on being called "George". George was a tomboy and eagerly dressed the part to include a closely cropped hairstyle. She was headstrong with a fiery temper. Julian, the natural leader and mentor of the group, was very clever and quick to sniff out clues. Dick, the joker was, behind a jovial facade, a very thoughtful and gentle soul. Anne had the motherly instinct over the group despite being the youngest and wasn't always supportive of the escapades they'd be contemplating, but went along as a loyal follower. And then Timmy, the dog, was mascot of the group.

The Famous Five had a habit of stumbling upon incidents, and were committed to solving any mystery, no matter what scrapes they encountered.

Such was the case when an impostor appeared on ILW in late January. Hijacking the moniker of my friend irritated, the impostor caused a lot of havoc, and the Famous Five set out to find out who was behind the prank. We'd often chat together throughout the night analysing one post after another to see if we could learn the real identity of the troll. A variety of suspects were noted, and through a process of elimination, each one carefully considered, the group set out to identify the culprit. Although it was for the most part a fun way to pass the time, and the troll had not done any particular damage other than to be critical of a few members, myself included, there were some facts posted on the board by the impostor which all five of us thought was content from our private group chat sessions. That caused some natural curiosity within the group. Could it be that one of "us" was indeed the impostor?

This would create a level of mistrust amongst the group that was disquieting, to say the least. Trust had been something that I had offered faithfully in the past only to be terribly mistaken, but I had grown to know CMR much better than the others and felt I could quite comfortably speak of his reliability and integrity to the rest. Further, on the basis of what he had shared with me in our private chat sessions, I knew that he would never discredit me, so I automatically ruled him out and set out to prove that, perhaps to the dismay of the remaining members of our group. I would remain loyal to that task.

While the ILW saga was unfolding, CMR and I were traversing new ground in our chats. He was becoming more challenged with the "guardian angel" role he'd adopted. Finding ourselves more and more drawn to each other and less able to resist the temptation to keep in close contact, the conversations implied that an emotional and physical attraction was developing between us. Little sparks were calling forth flames of passion that neither of us expected, yet both, I think, enjoyed. We joked about the angel being reassigned due to impropriety, but as the proverb goes, many a true word is spoken in jest. CMR had become a central figure in my daily life, and I was enjoying him immensely.

The gentleman and scholar

Robert Burns first used this phrase in his Tale of Two Dogs (Twa Dogs).

" His locked, letter'd braw (fine) brass collar, Show'd him the gentleman and scholar"
The expression has been used regularly ever since.
Chat sessions with CMR soon began to run well into the night, and there were several nights shortly after our first encounter that I found myself leaving the office to catch a quick shower and a change of clothes as the first employees arrived the next morning. We found that after all had left for the evening, there were less interruptions and we could converse with abandon, while still managing to get our own work done.

He was working on a project that was coming to fruition after 7 years, I was pulling together data for my annual report. Mine was relatively mindless data capture, but I sense his must have been much more critical. Nonetheless, he possessed a broad range of skills that were very apparent in our chats. He was a multi-tasker, finding little difficulty in reviewing a report, while posting on ILW and chatting with me at the same time. He was extremely resourceful, often provoked to search for the derivation of an expression I'd used, and C & P the results of his "google" into the conversation with a matter of moments. Neither of us could understand how the time would pass so quickly, and both had difficulty in actually deciding that it was time to log off.

At the end of the second week in January CMR expressed how strange it was that he was so drawn to me and finding it difficult to resist contact. He pasted a link to the song below, stating that some of the lyrics were appropriate to our situation.

You are an obsession
I cannot sleep, I am your possession
Unopened at your feet
There's no balance, No equality
Be still I will not accept defeat

I will have you, Yes, I will have you
I will find a way and I will have you

Like a butterfly, A wild butterly
I will collect you and capture you

You are an obsession, You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be, To make you sleep with me
You are an obsession, You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be, To make you sleep with me

I feed you , I drink you
My day and my night
I need you I need you
By sun or candlelight
You protest, You want to leave
Stay Oh, there's no alternative

Your face appears again, I see the beauty there
But I see danger, Stranger beware

A circumstance, In your naked dreams
Your affection is not what it seems

You are an obsession , You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be , To make you sleep with me
You are an obsession , You're my obsession
Who do you want me to be , To make you sleep with me

My fantasy has turned to madness
And all my goodness, Has turned to badness
My need to possess you, Has consumed my soul
My life is trembling, I have no control

I will have you, Yes, I will have you
I will find a way and I will have you
Like a butterfly, A wild butterly
I will collect you and capture you

Obsession ~ Animotion

I'd be less than honest if I were to deny that I didn't feel the same. The conversations were intoxicating. When he commented on the song being particularly appropriate to our circumstances, I chuckled. One line in the song, "There's no balance, No equality'", was very germane to some of the posts I'd been making on ILW. I dismissed the rest

We had shared a lot of personal information, yet even at this point I was not sure CMR was his real name. Not that it really mattered, but he'd used the expression "That's what I go by" when I queried it. Having already spent nearly 200 hundred hours in online chat, and realising that we were quickly becoming close, I wanted to be sure that if we were ever to lose contact online, I'd be able to make contact by some other means. CMR had my address and phone number, along with a lot of other information, but I didn't have his. I asked for his number so that we could speak outside the virtual environment, for obvious reasons, but also because I was keen to hear his voice. One can tell a lot about another person through intonation, pitch and timbre. He didn't outwardly refuse to offer it, but he asked for me to be patient; he'd been very deeply betrayed before and was very cautious and guarded. He'd need a little more time.

Naturally, I could empathise. I had recently experienced the same and was not sure myself how I could have overlooked so many signals that DF was betraying my trust. I had often asked myself, wasn't my natural antenna functioning properly? But after much introspection I had come to the conclusion that it wasn't that I was oblivious to the signs, but that my attention had been purposefully lured astray by use of a decoy. And, possibly, maybe I didn't act upon signals that I perceived because of some subliminal reproach that I could even conscion such evil thoughts of my own husband.

With CMR, my interest to develop a strong friendship at a comfortable pace for him made it easy for me to suggest that he take his time in sharing more with me. We had time. I was going through a nasty divorce. Time was on our side and he was respectful of the emotionally charged situation I was in and I was deeply saddened to hear that he, too, had suffered in the past. He was the consummate gentleman and agreed to ease my concern by chatting on voice until he gained enough courage to share means for direct contact.

After much struggle to connect the speakers and microphone to my computer (I'm computer challenged) the voice chat feature was ready to launch and within moments I was delighted to hear his voice fill the small room. It was clear, resonant, crisp and bold, like that of a radio announcer.

... a voice I would never forget.

In retreat?

Typically, a spider will only traverse the web when rebuilding it to snare more unwitting visitors, or while hunting for newly-alighted prey. Once the cocoon of silk is fabricated and wrapped around the immobilised prey, the spider carefully attaches the shroud to the web to save it for later supping. Such was the case with DF and KMC. DF's Absence of 5 to 6 months did not signal an end to the waves of attack or approaches to feast on the spoils of their victory.

Court mandated mediation was scheduled in late January for the divorce action. I approached mediation willing to halve everything to reach settlement and move forward with my life. He was resolute that he had not yet gained what he felt he deserved. DF's demeanour in the mediation was cold and heartless so the attorneys determined that it was in my best emotional interest to abandon further attempts to arrive at a settlement.

Calls to my home and cell phone had continued from both of them in January, demanding that they have immediate access to the P & L statements from both entities. They also tried to suggest that DF and I should file a joint tax return for 2003 and, consequently, I was to ready the financial information and share it with DF as soon as possible. I refused, claiming that I would be filing my tax return as married but separate. That didn't go over well. Information from the jointly-owned business was proprietary and he was actively engaged in establishing a competing operation and there was no guarantee that KMC would not have access to the financials. I agreed to prepare year-end figures in advance of the April 15, 2004 deadline and send him a final income figure to use on his personal tax filing.

Then came another round of artillery. There were constant demands to turn over a sterling silver bowl that was still in my home and had been purchased with marital funds. It had been used as a bargaining chip when I had demanded return of my birth certificate earlier. DF would say, "you give me the bowl, I'll look for your birth certificate". Of course, when I registered speculation as to why they were not willing to return my personal identification, and that I was concerned that they were both idiotic enough to even contemplate impersonating me at any immigration interview, it miraculously reappeared. It wasn't such a far-fetched idea, really. KMC and I are approximately the same height and both have blond hair, although that's where the physical and personality comparisons end, but she was happy to declare that she had combed and thoroughly researched my past and the more than 200 letters I had sent to DF during our courtship.

One such call began with a request for something or other that DF "wanted" from the marital home, but was quickly detoured by me to resolve an issue with auto insurance. At the beginning of 2004, some 6 months after DF vanished, I received a statement from my auto insurance agent showing his new Jeep Liberty as a second vehicle for the household and billed to my policy. He had used the proceeds from the sale of my truck to buy this vehicle and had already exited the marriage before he purchased it. I was furious that he would surreptitiously crag it on to my policy, charging me with the cost to insure it. I demanded it be removed only to hear from KMC that "He didn't have to do anything I asked", and passed the phone to her daughter, who giggled. I waited, patiently, without speaking until she tired and hung up the phone, not wishing to be the one to involve her in any way. A call to the agent some weeks later revealed that he had not complied and that KMC had called on the agent to apply further pressure on them to keep his vehicle on my policy. The agent knew I wanted it off the policy and had asked his cooperation only to hear him steadfastly refuse to remove it. Eventually, I had to request that the entire policy be cancelled in 48 hours, and instruct the agent to inform him directly that he would need to secure a membership of his own, and alternate coverage, within 2 days, or else he would be uninsured.

During another of these phone calls made to intimidate me, I learned that upon DF's return to the USA after a vacation spent with KMC in Switzerland in January 2004, boarding agents in France refused to permit him to board the plane. Apparently, they had left the country with an expired GC with no accompanying NOA extending the validity of his card. It involved a trip to the consulate in Paris to be able to re-enter the country. This precipitated accusations that I had failed to forward USCIS mail to his new address. "What?" I exclaimed. I had no new address for DF, if you recall, KMC had refused to offer it. Mind you, I'd always suspected that the claim he had an "apartment" was a ruse and that he'd been living with KMC since he left. Nevertheless, what became of the instructions that I had emailed to KMC describing that he would have to file not only an AR-11, but also follow up with the local office and the 1-800 number to make sure his new address had been noted? She had confirmed that this had been done back in July 2003. And DF had supposedly placed a change of address order with the postal office. How could he not have received correspondence from USCIS?

In retrospect, I know now that the accusations were a way to find out the disposition of the jointly filed I-751 form. I also suspect that he might not have changed his address with USCIS at all, and simply relied upon forwarding services from the post office. Bear in mind the checks for his new bank account, that were issued the year prior still showed the marital home address on them. I would receive confirmation of the failure to disclose his current address, from the source, the following year....

Rising temperature melts rime frost

By the second week of January 2004, hearing from Irri had become a daily routine. Like clockwork, every morning I'd arrive to find an offline message he drafted in the middle of the night, to let me know he was thinking of me. Upon returning his message, we'd begin a chat session that would evolve into day long communication. We'd keep the screens open while working on our respective tasks, popping in every now and then each hour with one quip or another. It was not uncommon for us to continue chatting until the wee hours of the following morning.

Discussions ran the gamut from activities on ILW to my work, his work, linguistics, microbiology, ideals, personal goals, history. I was delighted to be developing a rapport with someone that expressed a desire to offer companionship, comfort and that could participate in intellectual exchange that was both mirthful and challenging. Conversations were effortless like the fingers of a concert pianist floating across the keys of a baby grand.

We learned very quickly that we had much in common on many planes, both being professionals and stewards of companies; both putting in a lot of time at the office and focusing on a career path; both having significant responsibilities and yet being required to take calculated risks. He was an American citizen; I also (through naturalisation); he was unmarried and currently unattached due to his career demands and extensive travelling that had placed strains on long term relationships in the past. He was 42, just 7 years younger than I, and the same age as my soon-to-be ex-husband. And since we'd exchanged photographs prior to first meeting in the ILW chat room ~ very handsome. He was witty, articulate and learned, having completed his PhD before taking over his father's well-established nationwide company, yet still finding time to provide lab supervision at a Florida educational institution. We shared many similar personality traits. Deeply passionate about ideals yet aggressive in the business environment; caring; sensitive and warm.

I'd been accustomed to calling him Irri on the ILW board and so when we chatted I continued to do so. At the outset of our private communication, he asked that I not refer to him as Irri, since it reminded him of when he had been insensitive towards me on the newsgroup. From this point onwards I'll refer to him by his name, CMR.

I looked forward to our contact. It had the same effect on my bleak circumstances as rays of sunshine on dendrite, rime frost. Days melted into nights; nights into early mornings. Time seemed to fly and before we knew it we'd spent 10-14 hours a day getting to know each other. The sense of extreme loneliness disappeared. He was always there, demonstrating his concern for my well-being and extending warmth and friendship. He called himself my "guardian angel", keen to make sure that I knew I was never alone again and I would always know that someone cared about me. In view of all that I'd gone through, to have a friend, someone that was looking out for me in a world that seemed to treat me as if I did not exist, was precious to me.

Willful slaughter

ll-timed news that I'd been served yet a second petition for divorce by DF in late October raced through my company like a lightning bolt. Keen to keep the situation from becoming a topic of discussion at the water-cooler, especially at this crucial time in the season. I refrained from speaking to anyone about the matter. But, as DF and KMC had been a presence in the building for so long prior to his departure in June 2003, and had engaged in altercations with several of my employees, there was a natural curiosity as to the current state of affairs. This is when I first learned which of my longtime employees had been approached by KMC with a request that my every move be reported back to her. The employee didn't follow through with her request, or at least he claimed not to have, but KMC had expressed interest in knowing anything that I said about DF and was also keen to know if anyone that called or came to see me appeared to be either a family or immigration attorney.

December 2003 would turn out to be a month where a number of crucial facts came to light. Upon learning that DF's return to the marriage had ended in an abrupt departure and that the reconciliation was unsuccessful, a former employee of the jointly owned business and a guest at our wedding contacted me to deliver some news she'd withheld for a while, fearful to upset me, unnecessarily and hopeful that the marriage could indeed be salvaged. Apologetically, she shared that on the day of my wedding, while I was still getting ready, DF had appeared exceptionally quiet. Thinking he was experiencing pre-ceremony jitters, she enquired how he felt only to be gobsmacked by his reply. She shared that it wasn't that DF was nervous, or excited, at all. Quite the contrary, he was marrying because the fiancé visa was running out. Not surprising that I'd also learn in a WeihnachtsKarte that DF's best friend in Europe had declined to be best man because he sensed DF was marrying for all the "wrong reasons".

Although I'd heard comments as to DF's possible motivation before, I'd dismissed them all as idle speculation on the part of my family members and perhaps borne out of nothing more than a contempt for him and a severe distaste for his illicit affair and they way he had treated me, tthereafter

Notwithstanding, I too had wondered how someone that once loved me as he claimed could treat me in such a cruel manner during the reconciliation and could disappear without so much as a "good luck" or a "good bye". Especially in view of the fact that I'd been quite gracious in conceding victory to his paramour, KMC. Hearing this latest newsflash, and from someone who'd actually had a conversation with DF on the day of our marriage, however, was like having a spear thrust into my heart.

Betrayal, a violation of one's trust, is a profound, wrenching feeling. American playwright Deitz once said that betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope. I'd been betrayed in marriage by way of his iillicitaffair, but betrayal of this sort compares to none other. I can't begin to explain the range of emotions that well up ~ dismay, shock, despair, anger, disappointment, deep pain, and humiliation ~ all at the same time.

Could it be a terrible misunderstanding? Could she have been mistaken? Was this at all possible? Had the entire marriage been a complete charade?

The kiss of death

J. Henri Fabre, in the work, The Life of the Spider, eloquently describes the capture and subsequent feasting habit of the spider as a "veiled kiss" of slow torture and subsequent death.
"The bound insect is bitten, without persistence and without any wound that shows. If the victim be small, a Clothes-moth, for instance, it is consumed on the spot, at the place where it was captured. But, for a prize of some importance, on which she hopes to feast for many an hour, sometimes for many a day, the Spider needs a sequestered dining-room, where there is naught to fear from the stickiness of the network."

But the spider does not kill instantly,

... She inserts her fangs at random, as the Bee does her sting. She does not select one spot rather than another; she bites indifferently at whatever comes within reach. This being so, her poison would have to possess unparalleled virulence to produce a corpse-like inertia no matter which the point attacked. Besides, is it really a corpse that the Epeira wants, she who feeds on blood much more than on flesh? It were to her advantage to suck a live body, wherein the flow of the liquids, set in movement by the pulsation of the dorsal vessel, that rudimentary heart of insects, must act more freely than in a lifeless body, with its stagnant fluids. The Spider comes rushing up, binds the prey, nibbles at it gently and withdraws, waiting for the bite to take effect. I then take the insect and carefully strip it of its silken shroud. I examine the released prisoner through the lens in vain; I can see no trace of a wound. Nevertheless, when put on the ground, he walks awkwardly, he seems reluctant to hop."

A long and drawn out feast,

"...she poisons it so as to produce a gradual weakness, which gives the blood-sucker ample time to drain her victim, without the least risk, before the rigor mortis stops the flow of moisture. The meal lasts quite twenty-four hours, if the joint be large; and to the very end the butchered insect retains a remnant of life, a favourable condition for the exhausting of the juices. Unacquainted with the patient's structure, the Spider stabs at random. The virulence of the poison does the rest. The mouth lingers, close-applied, at the point originally bitten. There are no intermittent mouthfuls, with the mandibles moving backwards and forwards. It is a sort of continuous kiss."

"O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright"

As the great tragedy by William Shakespeare tells characters Romeo and Juliet are instantly attracted to each other ~ she is drawn to his words, and he, principally, to her looks. Romeo, gallant, handsome and flirtatious, has a reputation for enjoying attractive women, and occasionally ranks it as important a quality as other attributes, such as knowledge or personality. Upon their first visual encounter, and without even knowing much about Juliet, he utters, "O, speak again bright angel, for thou are as glorious to this night being over my head, as a winged messenger of heaven."

No matter how he tries to control of his heart and mind, he is drawn to her.

"O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

On the other hand, Juliet is quiet, less experienced and having been sheltered, vulnerable. Nonetheless, Romeo's artful and warm words have a profound effect on her. She feels special, complimented and swept up in his passionate outcries. Directing her attendant to, "Go ask his name" she wonders how it is that this mystery man that could draw her at first glance without so much as a personal meeting.

Un ami est un trésor

teady snowfall since November 2003 and raw winds cutting through the region, winter can be extremely inhospitable. By January 2004, only half way through winter of 2003, my day-to-day existence was as unsheltered as the landscapes I could see from the window of my second-storey hideout ~ chilling and devoid of a warmth I'd known from companionship and security.

The first instant message I received the morning following the ILW chat session was to offer kind apologies for his brusque comments to my questions on ILW. During the course of that first day Irri and I chatted for more than 6 hours, exchanging views on a variety of subjects. It was refreshing to have the opportunity to share some of my thoughts with someone who appeared keen to get to know me a little better. The conversation, that lasted, all told, more than 6 hours that day, danced nimbly across a myriad of subjects, each topic evolving into delightful and stimulating reparté. We quickly learned that we shared many common views. We signed off late in the day. But when I returned to my office some hours later I was delighted to find an offline message from Irri. He had a remarkable ability to make me feel at ease, something that I'd not experienced for quite some time.

After the night Irri and I met in the chat room, we chatted each day, sometimes for 8 hours or more, often well into the night. I'd arrive the following morning to find a similar offline message, dashed off long after we'd signed off, thanking me for the chats the day before. Luckily, my business was always quiet at this time of year, so I had available time and the discourse was always convivial and interesting. It was as if the ominouscloud coverr had broken and the sun was streaming onto the crisp, white, snow-clad terrain below. Naturally, I looked forward to hearing from him. A friend is a treasure.

Un arbre qui t'abrite, salue-le, il le mérite.