<div class="floatleft">(http://i63.tinypic.com/2eqf9j4.jpg) <br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Peter Warcaof</span></strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">CGDA Benefactor</span></strong><br/>‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾</div></div></div>I can tell.  Jaclyn is definitely lighthearted.  Perhaps it’s that all the items in advance of our actual arrival at the project are now checked off.   (We don'y have clothes, but there is no doubt of that with our guide in place).  She spins with me providing the slight essential of my hand above her head.  And she determines the direction, oddly in the direction of music and the smell of food.  I look at her ruefully, smiling,<strong>“Weill, if you’re sure, let’s go.”</strong><em>Hee-hee!</em><br/>