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SC-Epilogue, Part 5a
🕑 Added 2020-08-31 19:01:00 +0000 UTCJul – Oct 1996
✧ ✧ ✧
On Sunday we packed up and said goodbye to my parents and Susan, although it felt like we were saying goodbye to the Pines as well. Most of our friends had left, and the Retreat would soon be empty. The main camp was only a month or two away from becoming a ghost town as well.
Susan wasn’t going to reinvent the place as a resort for ecotourists and corporate events, but she didn’t have a plan for the future, either. Part of me was happy, because I wasn’t going to lose the camp of my youth. But another part was disappointed. The place would eventually become a curiosity, a hand-written letter in a world full of email. And I couldn’t imagine my daughters coming with their own children in twenty years.
Not surprisingly, I was in a melancholy mood as we climbed into our cars for the trip back to Atlanta. Tom had a radar detector, so he led the way in his Porsche. Mark followed in their SUV, while Trip and I brought up the rear in our rented minivans.
Christy read me perfectly and cheered me up in her usual way. She loaded an Alanis Morissette CD in the minivan’s player, and the girls joined in for an impromptu concert. They sang and danced in their seats, and their good mood was so contagious that I couldn’t help but smile. Christy loaded a mix CD next, one that Trip had made for her with the Cranberries, the Breeders, and No Doubt. Then we crossed into Georgia, and she put in a 10,000 Maniacs CD from MTV Unplugged.
I was actually singing along by the time we reached the outskirts of Atlanta and the Perimeter. At that point Tom slowed down until his car was alongside ours. Erin waved and blew kisses from the passenger seat, while the girls behind me shouted and waved goodbye. Then Tom sped up, and they continued down I-85 with Mark and Leah toward their house in Midtown. Trip and I peeled off and followed I-285 to Alpharetta and a hotel, our home in between homes for the next week.
✧ ✧ ✧
In the morning I called the realtor, a woman named Penny Powell.
“Yes! Leah’s friends. You’re moving from Boston, right? She said you might give us a call.”
“That’s us.” I mentioned that Trip and Wren were looking as well. Then I told her what kind of houses and neighborhoods we were interested in.
“Wow,” she gushed, “that’s a lot more information than I usually get.”
“We’re architects. And we used to build houses.”
“That explains it,” she laughed. Then she paused to review her notes. “Hold on, Whitman and Hughes? Architects? Don’t you guys own a company…?”
“Used to,” I said with suppressed bitterness. “A few years ago. But yeah, that was us.”
“I just sold one of your houses!” She told me the address.
“Yep. The Greek Revival in Buckhead. If you don’t mind me asking, how much did it sell for?”
She told me.
“Oh, wow. The market’s up.”
“Strong economy,” she said. “And it’s a beautiful house.”
“Thank you.”
We chatted for a few minutes longer and arranged a time to meet her and her husband, who was also a realtor.
“We have our kids with us,” I said before we hung up. “Okay to bring them?”
“Sure! We have a little play area here in the office.”
“Perfect, thanks. We’ll see you then.”
“Great! See you then.”
We arrived a couple of hours later and introduced ourselves.
Penny looked exactly like she sounded on the phone, a former cheerleader, although she was the tall version instead of the pixie. She’d probably been a bleach-blonde back in the eighties, but her hair was more natural now, a darker blonde with highlights from a salon instead of a bottle. I suspected that her body had gone through a similar change over time, the skinny girl who’d become an attractive thirty-something woman.
Kurt was dark-haired and handsome, quiet only by comparison. He was the base of the pyramid, the platform that supported her rah-rah energy. Penny was about my height, while Kurt topped six feet by several inches. He had a boyish face and a tan that rivaled Christy’s. He was outgoing and friendly as well, but Penny was clearly the dominant one.
I thought about what Leah had said, that they might be interested in swinging. I hadn’t told Wren and Trip, but I glanced at Christy.
Well, what do you think? I asked.
I like them. My radar hasn’t gone off, but… She shrugged and left the decision up to me.
I wasn’t in a rush. Besides, we needed to find a place to live first.
We started with listings on the computer. Trip and Wren looked at the one on Kurt’s desk, while Christy and I did the same with Penny. We narrowed them down to a half-dozen promising ones, and Penny printed them for us to look at back at the hotel.
“We’ll start making calls,” she said, and Kurt nodded. “We should be able to see them all tomorrow. Do you want us to arrange daycare for your kids?”
“Absolutely!” Trip said, which earned a tight smile of irritation from Wren.
“No, but thanks,” I said. Trip looked at me like I was crazy, so I explained, “Erin and Leah offered to watch them. They’re going to come to the hotel and hang out by the pool.”
“Whatever,” Trip said. “As long as we don’t have to haul them around all day.”
Wren’s nostrils flared and she wanted to pinch him. He didn’t notice, which was probably for the best. Penny watched everything and smiled. Then, like a good negotiator, she changed the subject.
“No problem,” she said. “Do you want to look at them together?”
“Or divide and conquer?” Kurt finished seamlessly.
“Divide and conquer?” Trip asked me. “It’d be faster that way.”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” Penny said with bubbling enthusiasm, “we’ll see you tomorrow.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Penny and Kurt greeted us with a tray of pastries when we arrived at their office. Christy systematically devoured a danish and then a bear claw, while the rest of us made small talk about plans for the day. Penny’s eyebrows rose with amusement when Christy unfolded a paper napkin and piled it with two doughnuts and another bear claw.
“Second breakfast,” I explained with a completely straight face. “She’s a hobbit.”
Wren rolled her eyes but smiled fondly.
“Sorry, inside joke,” I added for Penny’s benefit. She and Kurt hadn’t been nerds in high school. “Anyway, we’re ready when you are.”
Kurt headed out with Trip and Wren, while Christy and I rode with Penny. We looked at houses, yards, and neighborhoods for nearly six hours. Alpharetta hadn’t changed much in the three years we’d been gone.
Penny, however, grew steadily more friendly with each house. At first I thought it was just her personality, but then I realized that she and Kurt must have been interviewing us, exactly like we were doing to them. I didn’t actually use the word “swinger,” but I dropped a couple of hints and said we’d like to get to know them better after we moved.
“We were thinking the same thing,” she said easily. “We live nearby, and our kids’re about the same age.”
We eventually returned to the office and met up with the others. Trip and Wren couldn’t decide between two houses. One was in the same neighborhood as the house that Christy and I had decided on, while the other was several miles away.
“Well, that settles it,” Wren said.
“What?” Trip said. “No, it doesn’t.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” she told him.
“No,” he sighed, “you’re right.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I laughed. “Who’re you, and what’ve you done with the real Trip?”
“What?” He actually managed to sound wounded. “I can change my mind.”
“Yeah, but never without a fight.”
“I change it all the time. Besides, Wren’s right. I mean, we’re only going to live there for a couple of years.” He turned to her and added, “Yeah, I like that bonus room in the first house, but the yard’s better at the second. Besides, Paul can design me a real studio in the new house.”
“Write that down,” Wren said to me.
“What? Studio in the new house? Or Trip said you’re right?”
“Both!”
✧ ✧ ✧
We quickly adjusted to life in Atlanta. Our new house wasn’t as nice as the one we’d owned before, but it was good enough for the time being. Besides, it was several times larger than the apartment in Boston, with plenty of room for everyone.
We went shopping for cars, and I found a late-model Toyota Land Cruiser. It was twenty years newer and far nicer than the one I’d had in college. Now it was a luxury model instead of an off-road workhorse. I didn’t mind the change, but I had to remind myself not to treat it like I had in the past.
We started shopping for Christy next. She wanted a convertible, and a new one at that.
“I can afford it,” she insisted. “I have my money from Nana.”
“It doesn’t matter. You need something more practical. You can’t haul the girls in a convertible.”
“Can too.”
We didn’t exactly fight about it, but she dug in her heels. I finally decided to prove it to her, so I took her to the Mercedes dealership. The girls were part of my plan, so we loaded them into the Cruiser and brought them with us.
Christy told the salesman what she wanted, and he showed us a red SL 500 convertible with all the options. To absolutely no one’s surprise, it was love at first sight.
Purely out of curiosity, I checked the sticker price and actually laughed. Out loud. The car cost as much as a house. Granted, not as much as ours, but plenty of people could’ve bought a comfortable place to live for the cost of the Mercedes.
Christy didn’t even notice the price, of course, and the poor salesman thought he had an easy sale. Lucky for him, I wasn’t mean enough to prolong things with a test drive.
“Okay,” I said instead, “let’s make sure Susie’s car seat will fit. The older girls’ booster seats too.”
“I’m sure they will,” Christy said breezily.
The salesman looked confused, which was understandable. The car was a two-seater, with a luggage well behind. Christy hadn’t noticed that little detail. In her defense, her mother’s convertibles had had rear seats.
“Let’s check,” I said, “just to be sure.”
At that point the salesman looked at me. He glanced at Susie. Then his eyes fell to Laurie and Emily. They smiled politely, of course, and I actually felt a little sorry for the guy as he realized he wasn’t going to get a fat commission after all. He sighed and nodded in resignation.
Christy wasn’t very happy when she figured it out. The salesman rallied and tried to sell us a sedan instead, but I thanked him and apologized for wasting his time.
“You could’ve just told me,” Christy sulked as we drove to the Honda dealer.
“I tried.”
“Fine. We’ll do it your way. Stupid mommy van.”
✧ ✧ ✧
We had our next argument about schools.
Laurie had gone to Catholic school for kindergarten and first grade, and Christy wanted her to continue. I wanted her to go to public school, especially since our local elementary was the best in the area. I had an ulterior motive as well. I didn’t want Laurie and the younger girls to grow up in the same conservative environment that Christy had.
“Sister Prune,” I reminded her.
“Quality education,” she shot back.
We both dug in our heels that time. Trip and Wren were on my side—they’d both gone to public schools, after all—but three against one made Christy even more stubborn.
“Why don’t we compromise,” I said at last. The first day of school was approaching quickly. “Let’s look at private schools that aren’t Catholic.”
Wren thought that was a good idea, but Trip was Trip.
“Seriously? It’s a waste of money,” he complained. “Besides, we don’t have to send our kids to school with theirs.”
Wren gave him a look that could’ve seared steak.
“What?” he said defensively. “We don’t.”
She ignored him and started working on Christy. She eventually convinced her, but Christy was a bit of a sore loser.
“First the stupid mommy van, now public schools.”
“It isn’t a public school,” I said patiently. “It’s the best private academy in the area.”
“It isn’t Catholic.”
“Quality education,” I countered.
“Fine. Ugh.”
The academy was expensive and exclusive. We had to jump through some hoops to get Laurie admitted, but we made it work. They had a pre-K program as well, and they gave preference to younger siblings, although it didn’t matter in Emily’s case. She scored so high on the admission test that they practically fell over themselves to enroll her.
Trip grumbled almost as loudly as Christy, although Wren ignored him and went through the process to get Davis and Missy admitted. Trip still balked at the cost of tuition, so Wren wrote the check herself.
“Our kids are going to school with theirs, and that’s final.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Our lives settled into a routine once the kids were in school, so we began making concrete plans for the new design company. Wren took a page from her mother’s playbook and offered to invest. She insisted on it, actually.
“I’ll match Trip’s share of the startup capital.”
“I can do the same,” Christy said to me. “With your half, I mean.”
I resisted the urge to point out that the amounts were the same, so it didn’t matter whose half was whose. Then I started doing the math. She had money in the trust fund from Nana C., but I didn’t think she realized how much. The startup investment would almost clean her out.
I glanced at Trip, but he’d never been the type to turn away money. And his utter lack of surprise convinced me that I was the “one” in this three-on-one discussion. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since I’d done the same thing to him five years earlier, when we’d started our first company. He grinned smugly when he realized I’d figured it out. Fortunately (for him), Wren started up again before I could say anything.
“If you guys want us to play Suzy Homemaker, then we want an equity share in the company.” She was talking to me, of course.
“Yeah!” Christy agreed.
“We don’t want a say in the day-to-day operations, but we want the financial security.”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, you guys can’t do your jobs if we don’t do ours.”
“Yeah. Wait, what?”
Wren looked at her. “What’s the matter?”
“Your job doesn’t have anything to do with theirs,” Christy said.
“I meant at home. Watching the kids. Cooking and cleaning.”
Christy frowned. “Hold on, I thought you were—”
“I am,” Wren said quickly.
Trip’s smugness faded as he sat forward. “Um, babe…? Is there something you wanna tell me? Have any of the headhunters called?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hated the phrase, which was why she used it. “Christy and I are going to keep the home fires burning while you guys get the new company going.”
“Home fires?” Trip countered. “But you don’t have anything to do at home. Not without the kids there.”
“I have other plans,” she said evasively.
Trip knew he wouldn’t get anywhere by arguing, especially if Wren didn’t want to discuss it. He decided to feign indifference instead, which was his way to annoy her.
“Whatever,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be successful. Let me know when you’re ready to share.”
Wren eyed him suspiciously. He was never that agreeable.
They were playing games with each other, and I was happy to leave them to it.
✧ ✧ ✧
Trip and our attorney handled most of the paperwork for the new company, but the rest of us still needed to review and sign the articles of incorporation. We sat around the dinner table one evening, and Trip handed out copies.
Christy bounced with excitement when she received hers, although I thought I knew why. This was the first time she’d ever been a shareholder in one of our companies.
I was wrong, as I found out almost immediately.
“Hold on,” I said, “what’s this?”
“What’s what?” Trip asked, a little too coolly.
“Here, the name of the company, Paul+Hughes Design. I thought we were going to call it Whitman-Hughes.”
“We were,” Trip said, “but I decided to change it. Whoa. Let me rephrase. It was Wren’s suggestion. We discussed it and all agreed to the change.”
Christy beamed and nodded enthusiastically.
“We didn’t tell you because we wanted it to be a surprise,” he finished.
“Well, you succeeded! But… why? Change it, I mean.”
“Several reasons. But it was Wren’s idea, so I’ll let her explain.”
She thanked him with a smile and took up where he’d left off. “First, we don’t want any whiff of Trimble—”
“Scumbag.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. “So… we haven’t moved on?”
“Nope. He’s a con man, a grifter, and a scumbag. Always was, always will be.”
“I agree, but… whatever. We don’t want the association with… him… or the defunct company.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “But what’s the second reason?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“It’s obvious that it’s my name. But… why?” I repeated. “And what’s with the plus sign? Never mind. We’ll get to that. Why change it to just my name? The company is both of us.”
Wren glanced at Trip.
“Dude, I hate to play down my own importance, but I’m…” He searched for the right word and winced. “I don’t wanna say I’m ‘irrelevant’ to the company, but I’m not the reason people are going to hire us.”
“The hell you aren’t,” I said.
“Thanks, but… I’m not. I’m the reason we’re going to make a profit. Also the reason we’ll get repeat business, but my name isn’t why they’re going to walk through the door.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a reputation. The owners love your houses. They go up in value. They’re on the covers of magazines, for God’s sake.”
“That was only once,” I protested, “and it was a local magazine.”
“Our business is local too… for now.”
“Okay, but… the other things are just good design.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But they’re also good marketing.”
Wren nodded and used Leah’s argument, “Your name is your brand.”
“And now it’s our brand,” Trip agreed. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed that I’m not the star of the show, but I shine behind the scenes.” He paused and then laughed in mild annoyance. “Have I ever told you I hate working with you sometimes?”
He was kidding, but I suspected that some part of him really did resent that I was a better architect. Oh, he’d accepted it long ago, but he still wanted to be the best at everything.
“Anyway,” he continued, “changing the name puts you out front, where you belong.”
“What if I don’t want to be out front? What if I want Whitman-Hughes?”
“Then I’ll convince you to see things my— our way.” He chuckled and gestured at Christy. “Actually, she will.”
“I’m very convincing, you know.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “You are, Little Bit. But still… I’m not sure I like the new name.”
“Tough,” Trip said, and the women agreed with nods.
“Okay. Then… why the plus sign?”
“Me again,” Wren said. “I wanted a bit of modern flair, something to make you stand out.”
“I think you stand out enough already,” Trip teased, “but Wren likes the plus.”
“The new name has another benefit,” she said. “The company tag line practically writes itself.”
I frowned. “How?”
“PHD. We’re smart design.”
“Oh, you’re good.”
“Mmm, I know. Thanks.” She flicked a finger at my little notebook. “But feel free to write it down.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Paul+Hughes Design officially went into business on October 1, 1996. We signed a lease for office space and hired our first employee. Shari had been our office manager before, and we shamelessly poached her from the rival firm where she’d gone after we’d closed Whitman-Hughes.
“I knew you’d be back,” she said when I met her in the parking lot of the new office.
She was a big woman, six feet and solid, with a personality to match. Clients and contractors were always surprised when they met her in person, not only because of her size, but because her voice was different too. On the phone she was soft and feminine, smoothly professional. In person she was pure Georgia, a good ol’ girl.
I unlocked the door and ushered her into the lobby. She pulled up short, and I had to skip sideways to avoid bumping into her.
“Where is everything?” she said.
“That’s your first job.” I handed her an envelope. “Cash and a company credit card. Forge my signature for the time being. You can still do that, can’t you?”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. We’ll stop by the bank and sign the paperwork so you can get your own card.”
“No… I mean, seriously, I can go on a shopping spree?”
I chuckled. “Of course. We need everything. Desks, chairs, phones, computers—”
“Hold on. Let me get something to write on.” She set her purse and lunch bag on the lobby counter, the only piece of furniture in the whole place. Then she surveyed the bare office. “Y’all really are starting from scratch.”
“Yep. And you get to set up the office.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Anything I want?”
“Within reason. Trip’s going to look at the receipts, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “He still pinching pennies?”
“Afraid so. But he wants a nice office. I’ll help pick out the furniture and art, but the rest is your department. Please.”
“What’s my budget?”
“I’ll need to sign any contracts. As far as the rest…?” I pointed to the envelope. “Let me know when you need more cash. The card has a pretty high limit. Stop if you hit it. Duh.”
“Oh, I’m going to like it here.”
“Mmm. I thought you would.”
We had a fully functioning office a week later. We also had three new clients.
“For real? Hold on,” I said, “how come this is the first I’ve heard of it? I didn’t do designs or proposals or anything.”
“I told you,” Trip said smugly, “your name would bring ’em running.”
“He’s right,” Shari said. “We’re getting calls already.”
“From who?” I demanded. “Never mind. Who’re these clients?”
Trip told me. I recognized one of the names from before. We’d built his house in Buckhead, although I couldn’t imagine why he wanted a new one so soon. The other two were new.
“Penny Powell sent them,” Trip explained. “We need to thank her properly. Kurt, too.” That was code for “we need to get to know them better.” He’d figured out that they were potential swingers.
“Of course.”
“In the meantime, she’s sending us people she’s sold to in the past. Now they want something custom. They want a Paul+Hughes home.”
I heard the plus sign but ignored it. “For real?”
“Yep. And I have a bunch of commercial leads from before. I kept ’em just in case. I’ll tell you more when we do the proposals. In the meantime, why don’t you and Shari put ads in the papers. We need to staff up.”
She took out her notepad.
“We’re gonna need a draftsman and a project manager for sure. You all can decide who else. Probably a construction manager. Oh, and who do you know who’s a landscape architect?”
My eyebrows hit the ceiling. “What? Why?”
“Country club,” he said cryptically.
“I know someone,” Shari said. “You’ll like him.”
“Is he cheap?”
“No, but he’s good.”
“I’d rather have both.”
“Too bad.”
Trip shot her a grin. Then he paused to relish the moment.
“Well,” he said all of a sudden, “what’re you waiting for? Time is money!”
✧ ✧ ✧
Once I started working full-time, Christy took over the garage at home and turned it into her studio. I was mildly annoyed that I had to park in the driveway, but she was happy, so I lived with it. She set up a little play area for Susie on one side and turned our dining room table into a work area on the other.
“That’s nice,” I said when she showed me, “but… where are we going to eat?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I bought a new one.”
“A new one what?” I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Then again, maybe it was just a reaction to my wallet feeling suddenly lighter.
“A new table and chairs! Wait till you see them. They’ll be delivered next week. Don’t look at me like that. We needed a new one anyway. The old one was all scratched and beat-up.”
I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed because she’d bought furniture I’d never seen, spent thousands of dollars without discussing it, or was completely unconcerned about both. I decided to go with Option D, None of the Above.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you took care of it.”
Part of me really was glad. I was so busy at work that I didn’t have time for anything else. Christy was a good partner at home, even if she didn’t have a firm grasp on the household finances.
“So, what’re you working on?” I asked.
“Nothing yet, Mr. Nosy Parker.” She turned and pushed me away from the garage. “Let’s open another bottle of wine. I saved you some dinner. The girls want some princess time before bed. After that, I need some time.”
“Oh?” I teased. “Do we need to look at furniture?”
“A certain bedpost, yes.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Comments
Nick Scipio
Yep, I definitely plan to keep going. I'm working on the next book now, as a matter of fact. I'll make a bigger announcement in the coming week.
Nick Scipio
Check your email. I just sent you a message with a link. (Also, I sent you an earlier message, on 8/9. Check your email preferences if you didn't receive it.)
Nick, all of a sudden, my stuff is not coming through. My card was charged this month and I am still listed as a patron. Please check for me. Thanks, Attaboui
I kinda had the existence of later stories spoiled. Over on thinknude comics, there’s a few comics tagged as “the third generation.” And the comic I’m thinking of right now included Elizabeth and her granddaughter, at Camp. If we are being smart about this, it is obvious there were going to be follow up stories. He’s got about 1600 patrons. If we assume each of them is the lowest tier at 3 dollars a month, then he’s making twice what I make in a year. Of course he’s going to want to keep it going after this epic is done. Also you may have noticed that his patreon profile says “Nick Scipio is creating the Summer Camp Swingers Universe,” not a single story. As for the story not having much sexy times in it right now, this is the Epilogue. A multi-chapter Epilogue, but that’s fitting for an epic. THe story is slowing down, much as Paul’s sex life has. We don’t need to pad the word count with additional sexy times. Without counting the numbers myself, I am confident that Summer Camp exceeds the combined word counts of Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Game of Thrones. The story needs a multi-part Epilogue to reach the present day where we find out who died. Sure it’s not a traditional Epilogue, but as my favorite and best English professor once said, “you can break any rule you want as long as you do it with panache!”
Nick Scipio
And that's totally fine. I've personally read plenty of authors where I loved their books for a time but then stopped reading them. Times change, people grow, etc. I've also come back to books & authors that I loved in the past, but found that the new me doesn't love them as much. David Eddings, for instance. I <em>loved</em> the <em>Belgariad</em> books when I was a teen and young man. I recently went back to them and found myself rolling my eyes at the rampant sexism and male chauvinism. I'd grown up, but the books were the same as when they were written, in the '70s and '80s. So I didn't enjoy them as much. Anyway, that's a long story to say that I get it, I'm the same.
NoRefund
I agree with the direction Nick has taken with regard to the amount of detailed sex scenes there are at this stage of the story, given how far along we are and that this is supposed to be an epilogue winding things down. In any case, it’s something he has been doing for a long while, certainly since the mid-sections of ‘Christy’ or ‘Book 85’ - whatever it is now called. That said, Panda’s comments raised an interesting question for me. What exactly am I getting out of this? Initially I started to support the Patreon account because having devoured the first three books, I felt I owed the author my support. More importantly, I though it was an effective way to support work that would otherwise struggle to gain backing through commercial channels. Given that Nick has been and will continue to write in compliance with Amazon’s guidelines for commercial distribution, and apparently, “growing as an author”, why am I subscribing to the Patreon? If the author’s future published output looks like something I’d enjoy - and given how my interest has been diminishing since the start of ‘Christy’, I doubt this will be the case - then I can get it from Amazon or whatever commercial distribution it is available through.
Nick Scipio
You mean you aren't here for the characters? https://www.patreon.com/join/nickscipio/checkout?rid=1734223
Panda
So, this is just continuing as a story? No longer erotic literature? Or am I missing something? A whole week at camp and nothing....
Nick Scipio
Heh. Nice.
As allways, great story that I have been following for years. Thanks, Nick
It's always good to see someone receive recognition for their talents and abilities. Especially they've been doing superlative work for years and haven't gotten much press for it. Also, good for Paul. ;)
Yes, your world goes on. . . Thank you, Nick.
Thank you.
She's a hobbit, LOL
