There’s thrush in Marjorie’s bush.

I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars.  Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.

It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen interest in such things.

I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was looking at so intently.

“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly, pulling my robe tightly around my body.

“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.

A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly at Ali.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.

“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.

Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali joined us in the kitchen.

“I don’t much like being spied upon,” said Marjorie, as I poured the tea.  At that very moment Sylvester arrived and joined us in the kitchen. He placed hi enormous mug on the table beside our delicate tea cups, and smiled expectantly.

Ali piped up, “I’m not spying on you.  I was just checking out your pussy.” I do wonder about Ali’s language skills at times.

Sylvester smiled, and I shot him a glance hoping he’d get the message to behave.

Ali continued, “it was about to get the thrush.”

Marjorie looked livid.

“I’ve noticed they’ve been getting into your bush in this cool weather,” he added not helping himself very much.

I managed to calm Marjorie down, and assured her Ali meant no disrespect. It’s so easy to offend when dealing with such sensitivities. I suppose I have learned to be more careful in my language recently. Especially with all the talk about pronouns we hear these days. I do find that the best approach is to try and be as sensitive to others needs as possible. After all, in the end we are all just trying to get along as nicely and with as much kindness as possible. I do feel that is the approach that brings the best in good taste to our friendships and our relationships.

Indeed, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as we all enjoyed some Danish pastries and a lovely cup of tea and chatted. You’ll probably appreciate that this is one of my great skills. Bringing calm where there was agitation and disruption, before I arrived.

As I walked Marjorie to the back door when it was time to go she smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

“I’m sorry if I’m over sensitive, Fiona,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” I said. I added, “Besides, in spring I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the door behind her.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

What are you driving?

I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.

Have you been reading ‘Clothes Maketh The Man‘? Enjoy the ongoing serial now in its third year.

A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as the pump heat into an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern themselves with.

Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.

“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m reversing.  Pulling in again… backing up, and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”

You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be quite coarse at times.

Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo V6 with the cuddle seats option.

Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did look like a cartoon character.

Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.

One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle, with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.

Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the fluids in my Buick Vagina.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Weighing up your options.

Hi there,

I’m often asked how I can help my members who want to come out and tell their families. It’s such a delicate subject, and often these feelings rise to the fore at a delicate time.

Recently a 24 year old from Cincinnati asked me the question on my online chat on the website, “Fiona, I wish so badly to become a girl but I can’t figure a way to tell my family. Can you help me?”

I chatted with my member while on my  tablet sitting in my garden and this is what transpired. First of all it became clear that my friend had told no one about this desire.  Not family, not girlfriends. Additionally they’d never been out to a drag bar, never been out crossdressed and have essentially just gone through life so far denying their feelings of gender confusion.

The first thing I had to suggest is that without having discussed this quietly and calmly with others who either understand or are on their own journey into the centre space of gender they would be moving without reference point or real information.  Being able to chat or talk with others in the same boat and hear their stories provides a little bit of a guide.  There are, after all, right ways and wrong ways to approach this. To simply go with some preconceptions, which may or may not be realistic was not likely to be a good idea.

As I pointed out to Ali, my Syrian gardener, while I chatted if you’ve never been exposed to a group of people who are familiar with this, you really don’t know what the options are. He helpfully pointed out that in Syria the options are being stoned to death.

“That’s only one option,” I said.

“Well, you could possibly choose large stones or smaller stones. But that’s about it.”

I made a note to mention that where you are in the world also makes a difference. I am not sure that Cincinnati is a very liberal place, but I suspect it’s marginally ahead of Damascas, or so I am told.

Continue reading “Weighing up your options.”

There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.

As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising agency in an active office in the delightful cosmopolitan city of Montreal. It is often said that for each job in some industries, several other people are supported. So, for example while a car plant may employ 4,000 people a further 6,000 jobs are created servicing the 4,000 people employed with things like transport, employment services and catering. In much the same way, my work supports not just myself, but also Sylvester my mechanic, Sebastian my personal trainer, Ali my gardener, young Max who helps with technology on my blog and several other assorted hangers on and peripheral individuals.  

I was talking on this very subject with Bernard, my photographer, when we were out on agency business just the other day. Ali, who so lovingly tends my garden, spends more time there than I ever do. Instead, while he enjoys my delightful Champaign colored roses in my garden I am out driving with Bernard on a task for the advertising agency. And I’m paying Ali! It all seems rather obtuse. That said, I do love Ali, and his daughters are sweetness itself. They arrived in Canada just a couple of years ago, refugees from the war in Syria.

Continue reading “There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.”

I’ve been having a little trouble with my colon!

I’ve been having some dreadful trouble with my colon lately. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but ever since Max changed some of the settings on my computer keyboard I just keep getting a problem with it! I think he reset the layout to the French keyboard!

In the wonderful sunny weather we’re having I’m going to remind all my girls the importance of moisturising your skin. Using a nice aloe cream helps, and you can find them at any pharmacy or health food store. It keeps you looking fresh and really helps your skin.

Continue reading “I’ve been having a little trouble with my colon!”

My pussy is being hunted!

My pussy is being hunted.

Hi,

The sun is blazing down on my garden, and I can hear Ali moving about in the distance, his hand tools musically clinking as he cleans up the flower beds. He has recently declared a Jihad on the weeds in the north border.

As he arrived this afternoon in his Smartcar, equipped with the rifle rack that Sylvester gave him, re-purposed to carry his rakes and spades, I was dancing – in my kitchen to the sounds of my childhood –https://youtu.be/v16CwfkppeI – getting carried away in my own little world. I had put together a big pitcher of sangria, a nice zinfandel with pineapple chunks and oranges, for myself, Ali while he worked, Max who was climbing a tree and trying to get to my pussy (don’t ask), and Bernard who will be over later this afternoon with some proofs from our latest photoshoot.

My garden is one of my favorite places in the summer. It’s a hive of activity. I still don’t know exactly what Max is doing climbing that tree, though. Shirtless and tanned he is, well, an entertaining diversion. He’s trying so hard, but I don’t think he’s ever going to get my pussy. All the same it’s fun to watch.

The summer here in Montreal is in full swing, and I am thrilled to say that we’re welcoming new members to my program all the time. I have been thrilled to see so many new members recently, it quite takes my breath away. I’ve also been getting a lot of mail – my inbox has been quite literally pounded with interesting mail. Have a listen to a couple of my responses here:https://soundcloud.com/user-474146023/probing-fionas-inbox-2

So, I thought I’d include a couple of things in today’s message. One is something I am constantly asked about. Breasts. Yes, always something we like to give our attention. But, if you don’t want to go on a hormone therapy treatment, what can you do to stimulate a little breast growth? I am so glad you asked!

There’s a few soy drinks out there, including ‘So Good’, that are quite rich in phytoestrogens that mimic the female hormone estrogen. If you drink a moderate amount daily you will experience a small increase in breast size. Women have known of this trick for years, and can lift their breast size by one or two cup sizes quite easily. So can you. If you’re not in North America (and I have members from all over the globe now) then finding another milk like soy drink will likely have the same effect.

Gosh, you learn some useful things from me! You can also use one of my breast enlargement self-hypnosis files here: https://youtu.be/15v1usMJAXg Self hypnosis for breast enlargement has been around since the sixties, and is well documented to be successful. I have many gurls who have experienced great results with this.

Have fun, and enjoy your weekend.

🙂

Fiona

 

Marjorie has an infestation!

Hi,

Sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a quiet cup of tea, wearing my favorite kimono, I was surprised to see Ali hurrying through the gate in the fence between my garden and my neighbors. Ali, you’ll remember is my wonderful gardener. He’s a Syrian refugee, and the nicest man you can imagine.

He bustled into the kitchen looking flustered. 

“It’s Marjorie,” he said looking worried.  “She has the most terrible infestation!”

“She has?” I said, a little puzzled.

“Yes, in her bush. It’s very distressing.”

“Well, it would be,” I replied.

Ali is a gardener, but he was a professor at Damascus University prior to the war.  He is very knowledgeable about botany. When it comes to making my garden bloom, he’s sure to be all over it. 

“If her problem spreads to our garden it’s going to be horrible. Aphids are little monsters! I think I should take care of it. If I don’t everyone in Huckleberry Close is going to get it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said.

Sure enough, later that evening, when Sylvester and Bernard were over enjoying a drink with me at the end of the day, Ali came back happily convinced he’d resolved the issue. He had used some sprays, a little trimming and Marjorie’s bush was looking very thoroughly groomed.

Well, done, Ali,” I said. “After rooting around in Marjory’s bush all afternoon, I think you deserve a little clap.”

As you can see, my life is never dull. By the way, some of you have asked where I get the ideas for the music I usually place in these emails. They are usually special songs for me, each with it’s own story and special meaning. I hope you enjoy them too. Today’s is a special one.

🙂

Fiona 

It’s a very special day.

What a beautiful spring morning here in Huckleberry Close.  It’s a very special day for me, though you likely don’t realise it. Three years ago today I started writing the story ‘Clothes Maketh The Man’, which led to the development of my program and this extraordinary journey.

In that time, as close as Max and I can calculate, something like 85,000 people have enjoyed the story. I find this on the one hand encouraging, and on the other a little disturbing!

In celebration I think Sylvester and Ali have something planned. They keep making spurious excuses to drop by mid morning. Sylvester tells me he wants to ‘check my fluids’, which I think has something to do with the car. Ali is insistent that he was to drop of a couple of hoes. At least that’s what I think he said. He has been wanting new gardening equipment.

Anyway, it’s also International Women’s Day, and in honor of that I am including a video one of my dearest members suggested. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!

Have a lovely day,

Fiona.

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Sylvester and Max are jacking off in my garden!

My goodness, if you could see what’s going on outside my window. I can hardly believe is! I’m standing here in my Christmas lingerie, and my heels, and quite shocked at what I can see going on out there!

Ali, my gardner has just told me, “It’s ok, Fiona. It’s just Sylvester and Max jacking off in the flower beds.”

Now, I know you can imagine me standing here in my flowing red silk robe, mouth open in surprise. I am staring out at the snowy Montreal scene, and everybody seems to be having a wonderful time! Oh, perhaps you should even be here!

Let me explain. I’m watching Sylvester’s muscle bound arm pumping up and down and Max, my next door neighbours 20 year old son laughing – I think he’s licking his fingers – yes, he’s spilled some Bailey’s Irish Cream on his hand, or at least I think that’s what it is. And Ali is watching, engrossed in the unfolding scene.

They’re laughing and very jolly, Sylvester’s face red with exertion, and he has a look of deep concentration. Apparently, Ali’s Smart Car slid off the drive in the snow as he pulled into the icy driveway. It slid into the flower bed, and onto a rock in the rockery. Max and Sylvester were already at my place enjoying a Christmas eve drink, and now the three of them are working away to lift the little vehicle off the rock and manhandle it back onto the drive. What Christmas excitement!

I should hurry along! Amanda, the queen of tweed will be here soon, and Bernard is coming over. My wife, sadly is travelling. She’s a slave to her job! In the meantime, we are a fun gang, all hoping that Christmas will go with a bang!

I know Sebastian wants to show me his mince pies and sausage. He has been making so many delightful treats lately.

I hope you have a lovely Christmas! Have a wonderful holiday and remember, be careful if you are driving in the snow. Otherwise you too might find yourself licking Irish cream from your fingers after jacking off in someone’s garden!

Merry Christmas,

🙂

Fiona

What have they ever done for us?

What have they ever done for us?

Good morning and welcome to a wonderful election day in the US. If you’re getting ready to vote, slip into some heels, do your makeup and get out there with plenty of time to make a difference.

Just this very morning I was walking in my garden with Sebastian, my personal trainer, and Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend. She’s heading over the border to the US this afternoon to vote, of course, like all good people should. However, as we were walking Amanda got a call from my wife, who as you may know is currently travelling.

Sebastian and I could not help but overhear Amanda’s comments, and politely listened in to the one sided conversation. Now the important details I will skip over, except to say that I was wearing one of my lovely pleated maxi skirts that I find so very comfortable and a pair of suede boots. However, returning to Amanda, who it should be noted edits Pig and Pig Farmer, the first publication in the US to endorse Mr. Trump in the last elections.

Continue reading “What have they ever done for us?”

Knock Her Up!

I had a very strange conversation with Ali this morning. We were enjoying a cup of tea at my kitchen table, and the topic fell to politics. Now, as I am sure you know, Ali is my Syrian gardener. He came to Canada as a refugee with his lovely two daughters and wife.

I am so pleased to say his girls are doing to so well. They’re both A grade students now, and are loving high school here in Montreal. Ali himself was a professor at Damascus University in the Biology department. His special interest is, unsurprisingly, botany.

I found it most curious to hear him talk about American politics.

Looking very thoughtful he said in a very considered manner, “it’s really very reminiscent of home.”

He must have seen the look of surprise on my face.

“Really, these rallies Mr. Trump has. They are just like ours back home.”

“I hardly think…”

“It’s just the same. The words are a little different. But other than that, it’s very similar,” Ali insisted

“Ali, it’s completely different,” I protested.

“I’ll admit, our young men were chanting “Death to America”, instead of “Knock her up”, but it’s all the same really.”

I poured a little more tea before pointing out, “I think you’ll find they’re chanting “Lock her up!”

Continue reading “Knock Her Up!”

Be careful who you let walk your dog.

I am very proud of my legs.  As Sebastian, my personal trainer has often commented, during our yoga practice, I am able to place my legs in some most unusual positions. As I was doing ‘downward dog’ the other morning I felt first a twinge and then one knee collapsed, and I was revisited by some damage incurred during an old skiing accident.

I am very happy with my general health, however in the fall, now and then, I get a twinge.  It passes within a week or so, and then I am back to tip top health, but this week I am very slow. I know you are wondering what all this has to do anything, but I felt I should confide in you, as what I am about to say might sound just a little odd.

Part of my morning fitness routine, usually following my morning swim with Sebastian – he really does enjoy giving me a morning work out – is to walk my dog, Hannibal. Now, some of you may remember Hannibal has had more than one run in with Amanda over the years. He once found a marital aid under her sofa and the resulting drama was traumatising for myself and my poor little dachshund. He saw Sebastian’s homeopath for PTSD for several weeks. Pet’s Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a widely recognized, at least not in the DSM, but if you were exposed to Amanda’s adult toy collection I guarantee you’d not be the same person after the experience.

Continue reading “Be careful who you let walk your dog.”

Bernard Gets A Shock.

Well, I hardly know where to start! This week was eventful, to say the very least. On Friday night last week, Bernard my photographer called me very urgently to tell me he needed me to get ready to fly to Hawaii to do a shoot.

Usually I have a little time to prepare, but we ended up flying out on Saturday morning to the spectacular Pacific island I love so very much. Poor little Bernard. He has been under a lot of pressure lately. What with all that travel, and deadlines, and goodness knows what. Anyway, by the time we headed back to Chicago, where we had a meeting on Tuesday, I had noticed he was not looking well.

Bernard has been very odd lately. As you likely know he’s about 48, I would guess. He’s like a sort of uncle to me, I suppose. However, of late he’s been very curious about me, and has been even a little amorous. It’s flattering, but I must say, when I play I usually like to play a little below my age.  I think you know what I mean.

Now, I often love to travel in yoga pants, as they are just so comfortable, and show off my legs nicely. I had noticed Bernard looking at me in a somewhat hungry way. I think you know, I do like to tease him a little, but – well, I really don’t think what happened was my fault. Really.

So, we arrived at O’Hare airport and were waiting for our bags  in the arrival area. What happened was rather extraordinary. I slipped off to the ladies, noticing how Bernard was watching my bum as I walked to the bathroom, and freshened my make up and swapped my travel tee shirt for a fresh one. I always do this, as I like to arrive feeling clean and fresh. I slipped on my heels, which I’d been carrying in my shoulder bag, and brushed my hair. I must say I did look very exciting.

When I stepped out of the bathroom some excitement was going on in the terminal, and I walked back to wear Bernard was. There was some sort of security people running about. Bernard was watching me as I walked, very poised in my heels, toward him. I could tell his excitement was all about me. He was sitting, clutching his Starbucks coffee in his lap.

Now, I have a pretty good idea when a guy looks at me and gets ‘excited’. Bernards baggy cargo shorts were, how should I phrase this, ‘a little disarranged’ by his excitement. His eyes were practically popping out of his head as I walked over to him, turned and sat beside him.

Now, that’s when things began to go wrong. One of those handsome police officers and his friend came running our way, and getting people to move to the far end of the arrivals hall. He shouted at us to stand up, and carry our bags to the far end of the hall. I stood up, but as I glanced at Bernard, I could see he was hesitating. I quickly realised that in his state of excitement it would be very embarrassing for poor little Bernard.

I  leaned over him, and his eyes dropped to my cleavage. I said, “Bernard, we really should go!”

He looked worried, and said, “Wait, errr… errr…”

And then this police officer was suddenly shouting for Bernard to stand up, and the poor dear was white as a sheet. Next thing I know Bernard is being Tazered and twitching like a freshly landed trout.

Later, when I got home and was telling Ali, who was working in my front garden, his first comment to me was, “No, they can’t do that!”

“Well, he did!” I explained.

“But he’s not even black!” said Ali.

“You can’t say that,” I admonished Ali. “In America every one is equally unequal under the law. You need to remember that!”

Silly old Ali! Anyway, Bernard ends up rushed off to hospital. It was terrible, although I must say the nurses had very nice little uniforms. I was quite taken with them. As I say, I can’t bring myself to feel responsible, but theren is a moral to this story. If a policeman asks you to move, even if you have an erection, it may be a good idea to comply!

I shall be sure to keep you informed about Bernard’s progress. He’s currently in the hospital. I am most concerned. I shall put together a nice outfit and go back to visit him after the weekend.

Now, that was not the main reason I am writing to you. I have a lovely new sound file for you.

I know you will want me to keep you informed of Bernard’s progress, so I shall be sure to let you know how he is.

Have a lovely weekend!

🙂

Fiona

PS – If you’re reading this on my blog, you can jump to here to find out what happened next.

Fluid Movements.

As you are probably aware I lead a strange and varied existence. Since Angelina has returned to Los Angeles, I’ve been very busy and had a houseful of friends today. As luck would have it my personal trainer, Sebastian, brought a friend of his over for my workout, and we opted to do something a little different.  She was a delightful little thing and came to teach a yoga class.

This was wonderful, as I’ve recently bought some stunning new leggings, which when worn with a little pink tee shirt combines to make a lovely simple outfit. Misha, the yoga teacher also had cooked a delightful curry, which we enjoyed and then sat about talking for about an hour before laying out a few mats and beginning the class.

Now, I should point out that Sylvester, my mechanic, who had dropped by to help me with some lubrication issues, is something of a stranger to Yoga, but having enjoyed some curry, decided to join our little class. I also had Ali, my Syrian gardener join us. Bernard my photographer, happened to have come round for tea, still recovering from being Tazered and having a heart attack, also joined us.  It really was a full house.

Max, my neighbors 19 year old son, who I must say I find spending far too much time goggling at me, also took time to join us. It was quite a lovely group. I have on many occasions lately, noticed how Max has been looking at me. I think he’s given himself one too many selfies lately, if you get my drift. Can’t be good for the eyesight!

Sylvester shifted uneasily as he took up a ‘warrior 2’ pose, and Misha cooed that yoga is all about fluid movements. Bernard glanced at Sylvester, who lurched into another position, and grunted that the curry was taking care of the fluid movements – and quietly slipped off to the bathroom.

Ali was looking off into the far distance, very serenely, enjoying every moment. When Sylvester returned he adopted a pose that resembled a shed in a car park, more than it did a yoga position. That said, his body is very muscular. Almost Neanderthal, actually.

Max, positioned behind me as I adopted a forward fold from the hips, stared with adolescent lust. I couldn’t help thinking of the many handed god Vishnu, and how Max wouldn’t mind being him about now.

We did enjoy the class and as it wrapped up Misha told us all how she loved the yoga lifestyle. She teaches and also has a small business selling soaps and perfumes. She’s a very creative young lady.

“I’ve even released my own fragrance,” she commented.

Looking very uncomfortable with the situation, Sylvester added that he had as well, and hurried to the bathroom once more.

Life really is never dull!

If you have not already signed up for the Premium Program please consider doing so. I have some great exercises and tasks in there for all my gurls.  Before you know it you’ll have your ankles behind your ears and be enjoying fluid movements of your own!

I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
🙂

Fiona

Come and sit on my Zamboni.

Hi,

I am out of breath as I write this. I’ve only just got home after a most disturbing incident. I feel I have to write and tell you about it.

The day started calmly enough. I did my early morning yoga class, and then as I sipped a morning coffee I watched Ali, my gardener, picking figs from a tree I have in the garden. He really is a treasure, and as I went out to check on my bees, who are prodigiously working away producing honey, I could hear him humming a strange tune.

I am finding these summer mornings delightful. It’s my usual practice to wear something simple – a plain tennis skirt, some wedges, and a pastel top. I like to keep things very simple. My brightly colored nail polish sets it all off rather stylishly.

Ali glanced round and saw me in the garden and then fell into silence for a moment.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, and carefully selected a juicy fig and handed it to me. “Such a health food, and a perfect one for you.”

“I do appreciate healthy foods, Ali,” I mused as I bit into the succulent fruit.

“That must be how you keep so trim,” he continued. “And is it not written that it is easier for a fat man to enter the kingdom of heaven, than to pass through the eye of a camel.”

I frowned and said, “I don’t think it is written. At least nowhere I’ve read it.”

I do wonder about Ali’s English. He was a professor of botany in Syria, before the terrible crisis over there. However, since coming here he’s been studying English. I’m not quite sure where his difficulty with English begins and his sense of irony ends. I added, “However, that is a perfect fig.”

It really is peaceful in my garden. The ripe fruit and soft early morning sun on my face reminded me how very fortunate I am to live here. Canada is truly a blessed country.

Picking up my bag and cell phone I decided to make the most of the morning, and took Hannibal, my dachshund, for his morning walk. As I strolled down Huckleberry Close I got a call from Sylvester, who has been learning to drive the Zamboni at the local ice arena. He’s really becoming quite skilled. He called to ask if I wanted to have breakfast with him at a café nearby. Naturally I agreed. They do the most delightful croissants, orange juice and coffee. The mother of the family that runs the café keeps bees and brings in her own honey. It’s really most delightful.

And so as Marjory was leaving for work, rather than drive I asked for a lift and rode with her the three miles to the arena, where she dropped me and decided to join us for breakfast. I think that after some years Marjory is warming to me. She still finds me a trifle odd, but she’s been a lot more settled since she started dating my wife’s childhood friend, Amanda.

Marjory and I walked into the huge ice arena, and there across the rink was Sylvester driving the Zamboni. The cool air wafting off the ice was a welcome relief from the heat. When Sylvester looked up he recognized Marjory and I and stopped the big ice grading machine.

“Come on over,” he shouted across the ice. “You want a ride?”

I’ve never been on a Zamboni before, so Marjory and I gingerly stepped out on the ice and tottered across to the vehicle. For those not familiar with the Zamboni, it’s a vehicle driven on an ice rink to resurface the ice. We do this so that the hockey games are played on a very flat surface. Ice has small crenelations if not properly smoothed making it unpleasant to skate, and the Zamboni does the job very well. Sylvester has been learning the skill recently, and now does the occasional turn at the arena cleaning up the surface for the skaters, and preparing it for the ritual slaughter of foreign hockey teams that keeps Canadians so amused. Really, it does. And they just keep coming back for more!

I stepped up onto the vehicle, my little tennis skirt riding a little high as I did so. Marjory followed me, looking a little bemused, and then Sylvester was off and driving around the ice, leaving a smooth glasslike finish behind us.

Now, keep in mind this was very early in the morning, and through the large windows out in the deserted car park I could see Marjory’s solitary car. As we rode around the ice I noticed someone was doing something to Marjory’s little car. The next thing I knew, the car was pulling away toward the exit of the car park.

“Marjory,” I said. “I think someone’s stealing your car!”

She looked out of the window, and sure enough, she shouted, “My car! My car!”

With remarkable composure Sylvester swung the big machine around toward the huge doors of the arena. He hit a remote control and the doors slowly began to open. I have to say I was most surprised at the turn of speed the Zamboni then displayed. Accelerating toward the opening doors Marjory and I clung on to our swarthy friend as the Zamboni flew off the ice and started out across the car park.

“Don’t worry,” said Sylvester, his hair swept back in the morning air as we raced across the car park. “I’ll catch him!”

The little car was exiting the car park and moving out into the slow moving morning traffic. Sylvester piloted the Zamboni skillfully out into the road and we shouted after the car thief, who was becoming increasingly ensnared in the traffic as we maneuvered between lanes, to the surprise of other drivers.

While Marjory called the local police, I hung on to the Zamboni and Sylvester steered us skillfully between cars with startled drivers looking incredulously at us as we navigated down the road in the ice smoothing machine.  It’s really not the sort of things you expect to see on the morning commute in 32 degrees of heat (89 degrees Fahrenheit).

As the cars ground to a halt at the traffic lights ahead, a police car appeared and started cutting through the traffic. Marjory was talking to the emergency operator, who relayed her instructions directly to the police cruiser.

A moment later the traffic stopped, police car on one side of Marjory’s car, and Zamboni halted flush with the drivers side. Marjory’s little car was completely boxed in. It was at this point that I decided it might be wise to make myself a little scarce. With a smile to Sylvester and a polite wave to the car thief, who was trying in vain to open the car door, I slipped of the Zamboni and made my way to the sidewalk.

As I left I could hear the sound of other sirens. Likely this would turn into a dogs dinner of police and press and god knows what.

At that moment the appalling Amanda called my cell.

“What on earth’s going on with Marjory? I’m trying to phone her and it just rings and rings,” she said sounding both annoyed and annoying.

“Ahh…. Her phone’s probably in her car.”

“So?” came the reply.

“Well, nothing really…” I wasn’t going to get into that with Amanda.

So, next time someone asks you if you’d like a ride on a Zamboni, keep in mind it may not go the way you planned. So much for breakfast! I’m sure Sylvester and Marjory will be occupied for a while there. I felt it best to hurry home to my kitchen, where I am writing this to you now.

It’s been a very busy week here. Katia has been doing several coaching sessions with coaching clients. That seems to be going down very well. We’re also finding a great deal of new content appearing on the website. We’re extending our best wishes to Kelly, who is recovering from an operation you can read about here. You can pass on your good wishes by leaving a message in the comments. We’ve also got a new audio episode of The Making Of A Mistress from Katia, and a great story from Mollie Blake about waxing. This week we also carried a fascinating story about transvestites in Kenya.

I hope you’re enjoying the site. If you’re not, just come back a couple of days later and you’re likely going to find a whole lot of different content!

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona