It’s been a rough day. A day when you find out that someone you idolize has passed. Erissa was nothing short of a tornado, a volcano, an epic force of nature. The only difference being that instead of leaving disaster in her wake, she left joy, vibrancy and inspiration. She idolized me and for no reason. She was the one that I idolized. She came from meager roots but when she planted those roots in her new home, she was unstoppable. She achieved more with less than I could ever imagine. She loved food, drink, riding her motorcycle, her baba, her beagles, dancing in her hangar, flying, but life; life is what she loved most. She lived it with abandon and I loved her for it. Her passion was explosive. Her heart was on her sleeve. She felt everything intensely and she conquered the world regardless. I can’t imagine a world without her. She was an adventurer. She viewed her life from the cockpit of her 182, through the windscreen of her bike and mostly through the eyes of everyone she met. She was filled with insecurities but despite this, she only gave back confidence. She gave back optimism. She gave back joy.  She was a precious gift, not soon forgotten. She swore more than most, cared more than most, loved more than most and gave more than most……. She was more. She was a woman of profound substance. She will beat in my heart for as long as I live.

Once in a lifetime, if you are very fortunate, you will encounter nobility. Because it is such a rare quality you might, like myself, not immediately recognize it. Once you do however, it can not be denied no matter how improbable it’s host may seem to the world.

I met nobility. It shared my life for 18 years. It walked with silent grace beside me and now it is no more. It coddled me, uplifted me and was persistent in it’s affection for me.
It was forgiving, true and steadfast. This morning, I buried my cat and her nobility left me as her furry little body left her.

Many years ago, she was living in my store dumpster being feral as fate had made her. One day, it was so cold that she crawled into the heated van that I was unloading. I brought her home of course. I had her spayed with plans of finding her a home. As it turns out, she found one for herself. She was a playful ninja which evolved into as regal a feline as those who once graced the throne rooms of ancient Egypt.

I called her Kitty because giving her a name would mean that she would stay. As the years passed, the name became Miss Kitty. On this day, the day she let me, I know her name was Nobility. It always was. My cat ruled her world with a quietude and sincerity that humanity could aspire to.

I pet her one final time. I laid her in her pillowed basket. I placed her favourite brush and toy beside her. I wrapped it all in a sheep skin fur and sent her on her way up the mythical Nile to be rejoined with her ancient Gods, her nobility heralding her way.

As I write this, I just finished a shift at the store and as you can imagine, it’s a lot like pandemonium with only a few days left until Christmas. I am happily sitting at home with the day behind me knowing well that tomorrow will be just as chaotic. It is cold outside and the earth has been blanketed in a frosty white coat for some time now. I just cracked open a bottle of Pinot noir and life is good.

My thoughts have been wandering to the season past lately and for good reason. It was, after all, one of the most challenging and rewarding seasons that I have lived in my two decades on the circuit.

The season started with a training camp in Oklahoma. When I go there, I am reunited with one of the best friends that I have ever known. Kevin opens up his hangar, land, tools, experience and heart to me every single time. These times have been numerous and I hope never ending. He had no idea a decade ago how long I would be a major pain in his butt. I am thrilled that no one told him. Ben opens up his home to me. He is always happy to see me show up and I feel so welcome there.

I was joined there this year by James. Kelly, Mike and Rick. With their help, dedication and hard work, Third Strike Wingwalking was ready to once again hit the road after the trying ordeals that 2016 had served up. I also met a really nice woman named Dasha who is really just a burst of sunlight wrapped up in human form. She helped tell our story to the world and has become someone I truly respect and enjoy.

I rode James particularly hard during training and he stayed the course quite solidly. I was and remain incredibly proud of his progress. Next training camp, Kelly and Mike will be getting the blunt end of me and I have little doubt that they will perform admirably.

But then the season, just as it was starting, took a turn for the surreal. It mostly stayed that way throughout. Our first air show of the season was epic. I blame it all on Dar. I showed up and no sooner were my feet on the ground when I was told to come to the house for dinner. Rick, Dave, Steph and everyone else was there. A calm dose of civility in good company was exactly what I needed after the serious dose of road rash I had just lived. The truck went into the shop and the show went on. I flew, I danced, I laughed and I lived with these wonderful people for a time that seemed so magical yet so short. On the last day, our hosts offered us a real treat. Myself and the remaining performers were taken into the majestic nature of British Columbia and we played. We just bloody played like tomorrow didn’t matter. It was just one of those days that will be etched in my memory forever as perfectly perfect. This feeling saturated the rest of the year for me and the feeling remains completely accessible to me now. Dar is my hero for many reasons but that day tops my list.

On to the next show and the truck broke again. I jumped in a rental as James was transiting the aircraft and left everything behind save the essentials. I started running down the road, a day late when I crested a mountain ridge in Idaho. I had to stop just to take in the beauty of it. I was kind of happy not to have the rig that day. I arrived at Fairchild and waited for my pilot to arrive. Then I waited more. Then I panicked. As it turns out, he was dodging smoke from several fires that were gorging on the west coast landscape. He arrived on the last possible day with little daylight left behind him. James was safe, so was Rhapsody. Her alternator was trashed though. We had some great help chasing down the issue because of some seriously dedicated and knowledgeable airplane lovers. I was lucky to have the rescue possee at my disposal.
On the last day of the show, the base had to kick me out because I only had approval from the pentagon to be there for show dates. I removed to the civilian side. Left the aircraft there for further diagnostics and headed back north to collect my rig. Upon my return, they had diagnosed the problem and helped me disassemble for my next gig.

Not a state and a half out… you guessed it…the truck was overheating. I stopped at a turn out to let the engine cool with plans of hitting the next truck stop. While perched precariously on the mountain side, a car pulled up to offer assistance. Out of this car climbed two Conans and a red headed German girl. Well, I couldn’t run away so I listened. One of the Conans, Barry, seemed to know what he was talking about so before you know it, my trailer and airplane are on his ranch and my truck is in his shop. The easy and fast solution was to rip the condenser out of the truck and forego air conditioning in 100 plus degree temp…..so of course, that is what we did. I was offered a bed in his house for the night. I would normally turn this type of thing down but my airplane was there. Running into Barry, Donna and their family was nothing short of a true blessing. Their home is full of love. So full that they willingly share it with stranded wingwalkers. We shared pancakes and stories until the wee hours. It was incredible. I awoke looking at a mounted Buffalo head, had a coffee, talked with their ducks, dogs and horses and hit the road again. My one wish for these people is that nothing should ever change for them. They are living a harmony with man and nature that few of us could ever dream of achieving.

I made a good days run and was pulling into park for the night when I got distracted by a puddle….yes a puddle…..and drove right into a freight liner. Poor guy was just filling in his log book and I ruined his weekend. After profusely apologizing and exchanging insurance info, I finally climbed into a ferociously overpriced bed (Sturgis rally time). The next morning, the trucker that I had so erroneously vexed was there to make sure I got off okay. My heart melted at this. I ripped the insulation off the wires of my turn signal light, taped them back together and was ready to roll when I noticed that one of my rear tire threads had separated. Another half day gone in the wind. I finally made the east coast with no time to spare all the while, checking in with updates to those I had left in my rear view mirror.

Westfield welcomed me like a long lost friend. Eric was top notch in making sure that I was happy, when In fact, it was my job to make him happy. They gave me a crew of incredible guys to work with and everyone was just so happy that we were there. I was happy to be there. I felt so appreciated by everyone on the base as well as the fans. It reminded me of how easy it is to affect someone simply by Wingwalking and being available to them. It was a great experience that reminded me how easy it is to connect with people.

A strange thing happened after this show, I started getting text messages from different numbers of men who claimed that I had been “with them”. Unfortunately, I had to tell them that although they had likely been with someone, that it was not me. Yes. I am Carol. Yes. I am the wingwalker. No. I did not do any of that with you. Some of them were crushed. I swear, it was not me. My congratulations do go out to whoever was using my identity. This was ingenuity in it’s purest form. I would however, humbly ask the interloper to not give my actual phone number to her targets next time….please. Whoever you are dear lady, I lift my hat to you. You were a busy little beaver.

A few days of home life and I was off again, headed to the maritimes and cell block seven. Colin came to my rescue after I got lost and even gave free tickets to the chap trying to get me turned around. I ran over a mail box at some point but managed to get back on track. In Airshow speak, I arrived before the storm and had the chance to sit down to a nice meal with Colin. I have known Colin for over a decade and he is as solid as they come. A good, good man. Cell block seven got turned into party central after James and I decked it out. After being blocked at every military gate in the U.S, my counterpart was amazed at my instructions for getting on base: “Drive through the gate and go into the first parking lot”. He was stunned. I am humbled each and everyday by the Canadian Forces personnel who do so much with the assets they are given. We are forever indebted to these people who rise and rise and rise. My crew at this show was special, in their midst was a bagpiper called Bruce. He played his bagpipe from atop my wingwalk stanchion. That was something you don’t see everyday. Huzza! I got to see Rose laugh out loud, I watched a fight with 100 plus of my closest friends, I played house with Dano, watched the Skyhawks drop on us every night, hung with Ken and sailed back to the mainland on the Fundy Rose with some awesome guys who knew me via television and assured me that they would take care of my plane.

Somewhere along the way, a new venture was proposed to me. I was offered a very substantial amount of money, by a very diplomatic young man to create an adult video for a private collection. Apparently, opportunities for air show performers are more numerous and diverse than I had originally imagined. The offer was sincere, genuine and extremely respectful. So much so that part of me felt bad when I obviously had to decline. This was definitely in keeping with the surreal nature of the year.

Normal life ensued for a while and then it was ICAS time. I met Isla for the first time. She fills the world with love. Her parents are pretty cool as well. I met an Israeli soccer player, booked some gigs, lost some gigs, gave some grief to Francis, got some candy from Dar, got some love from Kelly, James and Mike. Tried and failed miserably to get more face time with Steph, Ramona and Indira. I hope they can forgive me. I also met a new friend from Australia; Paul. Paul was nice enough to try and help put together a foreign circuit for me…..just because he could.

For me 2017, was the year of incredible people. Many that I encountered are not named here but that does not diminish the contributions that they have made to my life. I am humbled by the quality and caliber of the individuals that have strayed into my path this year. The people I have worked beside, played with and met this year are a constant reminder of how much I owe humanity.

Beyond ambition, beyond desire, beyond limitations, beyond the guest for perfection lies only the knowledge that you can achieve more, give more and be more. Strive for it. I am so grateful for all of you. Thank you for being part of my life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Carol

I would like to take this opportunity to wish a very special international woman’s day to my friends, my flying colleagues and to anyone who deserves recognition on this day.

I have been fortunate to have been surrounded by some of the best female role models on the planet. They have inspired me, supported me, mentored me and walked the turbulent path beside me.

I am so very proud of their accomplishements in aviation, in business, in art, in media, in love and for some, in their families. Every time they win, I win, all women win.

I would also like to take this opportunity to reflect upon some of the women in this world that are not as fortunate. I would like to remind everyone that pay equality still falls short of the mark. That being born a female in some parts of the world is considered a disgrace and that infant girls are left in the streets to die. That young girls in other parts of the world are sold into marriage and the sex trade industry.

I would like to remember that spousal abuse exist to an unacceptable degree. That 4 out of 5 women in North America will be the victim of sexual assault, often times perpetrated by trusted family members. I would also like to call attention to the fact that an epidemical number of Native American women have disappeared in northern Canada during the last three decades and the world seems happy to forget about it. A whole segment of the Canadian population is being subjugated and preyed upon without consequence.

I would like to take this opportunity to celebrate my sisters because they are incredible. I would like to celebrate all the heroines of the world that came before me and built the ladder that I stand upon. I would like to encourage every woman who can, to add another rung to the ladder so that the daughters of tomorrow can be all that closer to the summit that we all covet. I also want everyone to remember that a strikingly small percentage of women worldwide were born in the right country, under the right religion or with the right skin color. Remember them and try to help them if you can. We are the fortunate ones. Noblesse Oblige.

Photo by Alex Gower

And so, it’s Christmas and what have you done? If any are familiar with this epic tune by John Lennon, you know what I am talking about…I am being introspective.
The year of our Lord, twenty sixteen has been both superb and devastating.
I started off the year by training a new wingwalker. I did this because I felt that there was a real lack of continuity and mentorship happening within wingwalking.

That was my main motivation. What I discovered however, went far beyond training. I found a new friend, a real one. That is a rare and precious commodity in this day and age. I count this among one of the true blessings of the year.

The team had just come off of three consecutive years of televised series in Canada as well as world wide. A single one of these shows, netted us around 208 million viewers world wide. We were not taking any breaks and went directly into filming for the most widely viewed channel in Europe. Hot of that, we made a 360 degree video that garnered 3.7 million views and landed us a firm foothold in the archives of humanity.

It seemed like we were untouchable and then it happened, the first of my pilots met with a devastating end in early spring. His loss impacted me in a very serious way and changed the tone of the team for me. His passing drove home the very serious nature of what we were all doing and for me, this meant getting serious about the business of staying alive.

The season went on and suddenly, it got worse. Another of my pilots perished. To say that his death impacted me would be the understatement of the millennia. It shattered me. It broke me. I will never be the same.

The outpouring of support from friends and strangers alike helped buoy me through some very difficult times. I owe you all a great debt of gratitude for your thoughtfulness and concern. I owe his family and loved ones more. They opened their homes and hearts to me at a time when they were suffering far more than I.

Time moves forward slowly but it does move on, as must we all. The year has seen me waffle through much indecision, doubt and introspection. The end result is simple. I am a wingwalker, therefore I wingwalk.

When my former husband passed along with all of my former, early mentors, about a decade ago, I felt very disconnected from the world. This latest salvo, however, had left me feeling utterly abandoned. I still feel this way even given all the love and encouragement that I continue to receive. I suspect that it will last for a while but I am okay with it. The hard part is remembering that I will never see them again. I keep forgetting this.

There is always a silver lining and I found it in the form of a beautiful, spirited woman who I now call my friend. I found it yet again in another wonderful woman who carried my words for me when I could not. I am so grateful to have them in my life. There are always blessings if you can only find them.

2017 will see me rebuilding the team with new faces, new friends and it makes me happy to be moving ever forward. I am so looking forward to all the challenges, exchanges and adventures that we will face together. It will be a whole new rodeo and we are going to have some seriously great times together.

So it is Christmas. I fell on my face. I picked myself up. I am doing it all over again.

I will spend the holidays with my lover, my little nephews and my family. I will bask in the joy they bring me. My holiday wish for everyone reading is that they can find the same measure of peace and love in their hearts as I have in mine.

A most Joyous Season to All.

Photo by Leesa Beckman 

Open casting call for Airshow pilots.
Third Strike Wingwalking is looking to complete our roster with two or three more pilots. Normally, pilot selection is done in a much more private way. The reason that I have opted to put out a casting call is because I have lost track with what is going on in the industry and I really have no idea who would be interested in trying out for the team. There are so many warbirds pilots out there that I know nothing about, soloist that I have never met and even old acquaintances who might be interested without me having a clue that they are.
So here we go…if you are an air show pilot who is interested in barnstorming and wingwalk accreditation, I would like to hear from you. Send me an email piloncarol@aol.com or give me a call 819-665-1133 and let’s start the discussion.
I am looking for surface level waiver holders but will make consideration of 250 waiver holders if they offer something that blows me away. Tail wheel experience is a must and a good dynamic fit with the team is essential.
I intend on holding an early spring, late winter training camp and am looking forward to rebuilding the team.
Looking forward to hearing from you.

Photo by Martine Giroux

The tale of the two
So there I was, a French, socialist wingwalker in the midst of a decidedly male dominated, Anglo industry with some seriously conservative tendencies, looking for a new pilot.
I held a boot camp in Virginia and Marcus was one of the two new recruits. He managed not to dump me off of the wing and we decided that working together would be a good idea. The next several years saw us form a union, that while unconventional, served our purpose.
Neither of us expected the full extent of the friendship and complicity that would come from our time together.
Marcus was decidedly Marcus. If I stuck out like a sore thumb in the Airshow industry by being an outspoken tyrant of some small repute, Marcus’ aversion to homogenizing himself into the fold was by far, more evident. I had several excuses for my behaviour. I was French, I was a wingwalker who walked around in leathers and was dubbed the Janice Joplin of air shows. What more could one expect of me if not a little eccentricity?
Marcus had none of these excuses. He was a ranger, served in the special forces, he was a paratrooper, a father, a POW and he had gone through law school. He, however, didn’t require excuses. At some point in his life! Marcus had made a conscious decision to be exactly who he was and then he proceeded to live that life every single day, unapologetically.
In a world that expected me to change, Marcus simply accepted me with all of my shortcomings and encouraged me to keep being me. I did the same for him and out of this conspiracy, our bond grew stronger. It came to include a deep mutual respect of each other which included much squabbling over our differences, way too many raucous nights at the bar, sometimes ending with us delirious with laughter, sometimes yelling obscenities at each other, depending on wether we felt someone deserved a verbal spanking that day or not.
With the passing years, our conspiracy turned into solidarity. A solidarity that saw us through many trials. He had my back and I had his. It was as simple as that. We never shook on it. No pinky swears. It was just a fact that we both knew.
He was my pilot and I was his wingwalker. He was my long haired, tie dyed t shirt wearing hippie. I was his overbearing package of TNT.
Marcus proudly proclaimed to the world that we would get along just fine as long as he had more a$$ than I had teeth for chewing it off. He never did run out of a$$. In the end, he just ran out of time.
To know Marcus was an impossibility. He had so many different facets, interests and experiences. His true talent laid exactly in his ability to relate to others through his wealth of interests. He could connect with almost anyone because he had a real desire to know people and he took an intense interest in them and what they had to offer. He made connections the world over with the most unlikely individuals because he had an authentic appetite to love and to discover his fellow brothers and sisters of the world.
He was raucous. He was charming. He was brutally authentic. He was outspoken and well spoken. He never hesitated to champion a worthy cause or call BS when he saw it. He was my friend, my buddy and my favourite if only accomplice. I will be less without him by my side.
You need not ask yourself what Marcus would do, you need only ask yourself what a free man would do because Marcus epitomized the true essence of a free man. He dared to live life and to live it large.
I can’t bring myself to say goodby to my dear friend. Some day I will but today just ain’t that day.

I once had a friend named Bill. I trusted him with my life.

Although I can’t be certain, I’m pretty sure that I was first introduced to Bill at Oshgosh. I had known him for several years before we actually, well, go to know each other.
We had talked about him flying some for my team and we ended up in a training session in upstate NY in March. There was still snow on the ground. He had no issue telling me that he thought I was crazy.

Once I had arrived, I found home in a hangar and was putting the AC together when Bill showed up on his Harley, decked out in full leathers and sporting his rad stash. He dismounted his ride like a rodeo pro and sauntered into the hangar, cool as hell. At this point, I made a comment about his assless chaps matching his rainbow coloured flight helmet. He threw his helmet at me with lethal intent. I knew then that we would be great friends.

Every subsequent time that we were together, I learned a little more about Bill. He was an absolute treasure trove of delightfully conflicting qualities. He was most known for being as saccharine sweet as a lollipop wrapped in cotton candy. He was generous with his time and knowledge. He was also like the Hulk on a bad meth trip when he got mad.

We were once at a show together when the FAA threatened to ground him for want of a current inspection date on an emergency parachute. His exchange with the representative got pretty vocal. After a moment, he walked over to me and asked if he could borrow my parachute. While explaining himself, he informed me that he had picked out the perfect spot on the fat f**ks chin were he was going to land his fist……and watch him crumble like a f**king house of cards. This last part was yelled as Bill towered over me, body rigid, fists clenched and near trembling with rage. Because I liked him, I lent him my pack…but not before laughing at him a bit by explaining to the FAA rep that he suffered from a protein deficiency.

Bill was an incredibly shy person….always understated until he decided otherwise. Once that toggle flipped over, he was a wild card with a distinctly warped sense of humour, one that I could appreciate.

Bill loved warbirds. He loved history, moreover, he loved living it through flight. His passion in this was surpassed only by his passion of family. He had an extensive library, was a speed reader and probably more intelligent than I would care to know. Bill was a man who toiled and laboured in the dirt so that he could fly in the sky. After the toggle switched, he would have a drink with you and you knew that it was going to be a Jack and coke.

He was the guy that would say no to me…more than once. Whenever I would call with a harebrained scheme, he was the one who would text me the simple response of “not a good idea”. He never had much to say but what he did say was always worth severe consideration.

He liked my truck. He liked my driving and he liked my airplane. This alone would have earned him a place in my heart but it went so far beyond that. He made time for my friends. He made time for my family and I watched him reach out to those in need, in our aviation family, time and time again. He was my go to guy. He was everyone’s go to guy. When you needed maintenance, when you needed advice, when you needed a pilot, when you needed storage even when you just needed someone to kick you in the ass…..Bill was that guy. I along with so many others will feel his absence for years to come.

Bill was my friend and one of a handful of individuals who was willing or even capable of acknowledging and respecting my work.

My last meeting with Bill was at ICAS in December of 2015. He came over while I was setting up my booth and he told me about his wife passing. I started to cry and Bill was comforting me. It was his loss, yet he still made time to care about me during his pain. That is the kind of guy that Bill was. I think that we should all be a little more like Bill when we can. It would make the world a better place for us all.

I once had a friend named Bill. He sometimes called me a bitch. I sometimes called him a Queen. I trusted him with my life. It was the easiest thing that I ever did.

Old airplanes and young men: More please.

What are these mad desires that smoulder deep within my little black heart? What are these smells, sounds and feelings that leave me breathless and always wanting more? Finally, a change that I can embrace or at the very least, enjoy for a spell. It hasn’t always been this way for me. In all truthfulness, I have always had a mad love affair with old aircraft but the young men….they never really held sway with me.

How could one simply not be enamoured with vintage aircraft? The lines, the curves, the turnbuckles fastened tight with impeccably twisted wires……all so sublime. When I see fresh fabric stretched taut over a wooden frame and then discover that the stitching lines up with military precision, I am left awestruck. I doubt that there is a more sensual sight in the entirety of the universe. Stinky old radials, barking and coughing to life with the ever present threat of conflagration has always tickled me. Wooden floors, powder coated tubing and leather o rings in the primer, leaking until they get wet…Sigh! Yeah, I’ll take more of that please, all day long.

When I was a young thing, barely old enough to date, I opted for the older boys. They had cars, a bit of money and their parents were not interested in chaperoning us every single minute of every single day. My parents were not amused by any of it, unfortunately. I distinctly remember a party that I once attended. I was obviously younger than most but I was welcomed there nonetheless. As the evening progressed, one young man decided that it would be a good idea to start streaking around the place. Let’t face it, there is always one crazy white boy in the mi that just needs to get naked. Oh well. The following week, when I went back to school, our history teacher was absent but guess who our new substitute was? Yep. It was crazy, naked white boy. My silence was bought at a very high price. Since he was a reappearing substitute, I got away with murder that year! It was short lived however.

When I awakened to my twenties, guys in their twenties seemed ridiculous to me so I bumped my minimum age requirement up to the forties. Again, these guys had all the right toys. This time, it was aircraft in all shapes and sizes. When I was in my thirties, I decided that maybe I should settle down a bit. I opted into a very serious relationship with a gentleman who was twenty years my senior. My parents were somewhat relieved, to say the least.

Fast forward a decade and all of a sudden, I am not finding the old boys so hot. As a matter of fact, I am liking those guys that I wouldn’t have given a second thought to when I was cresting my second decade of life. By some weird twist of fate, they are liking me back. The more I ponder on it, the more I realize that they share a great deal with the aircraft that I find so evocative.

They are simple in their construct, simple enough that you can figure them out after a good hard look. They are both made for preening and show. They don’t require excessive maintenance if you play nicely with them. They come to you honestly, not pretending to be more than they are because being what they are is enough for them. They are real. They are rugged. They are precarious. They are flammable and infallible. They are hard and yet so fragile. I have to try very hard not to break either. Mostly, I have just come to accept that I really like riding them…airplanes, that is. Yeah, that is what I meant!

Throttle it up Baby!

Photo by Katrine Laframboise

It is with great pleasure and humility that I have accepted one of two Bill Adams Memorial Foundation Legacy Prizes. I was contacted last night by Mr. Adams and informed that as first runner up, I was being awarded one of the unclaimed prizes.

It is an honour for me to help commemorate such an astounding Airshow pilot. Bill Adams truly was a cornerstone to both Barnstorming and to the art of Wingwalking. The videos of his flying have left me awestruck and while I intend to use his namesake prize to help relocate my talent to the back cockpit of my own Stearman, I highly doubt that I will ever replicate his signature Stearman triple snap roll…..at least for now.

Taking this prize over the top for me is the fact that it has awarded me an opportunity to fly with a living legend of air shows and aerobatics. I have admired Patty Wagstaff for a very long time. She is nothing short of a hero to me and in a great twist of fate, I am also privileged to call her my friend. I have no doubt that it will be the funnest training session in history. My most sincere gratitude to the Adams family.