The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

"Why do you want to work here anyway? Even if I tell you the recipe, you will be legally unable to use it in your writing." "Yeah," I said, "but I just have to know." Silvana merely shook her head. Since taking over Honey's three years ago, she has guarded that recipe better than the U.S. government has protected the findings of the Warren Commission on JFK. So Dex and I continue our afternoon powwows without the secret knowledge. We bitch about the Cove's rainy weather, and dream of becoming wealthy enough, one day, to buy the house on the waterfront at the west end of Panorama Park--the one with the flag in front of i t -- s o we can watch the kayakers paddle by in the early mornings. People pour into Honey's from all over Vancouver and the North Shore just to get their doughnut fix. And over the course of three years, though I haven't composed an ode of genius, I have noticed something strange: Babies are cropping up everywhere. They swell inside women's bellies and are transported in car seats and strollers. They are stuffed into backpacks and front carriers, and suck at discreetly exposed breasts while their mothers use a free hand to lift their doughnuts to their mouths. It's been a long time since I've heard a patron use the phrase "in vitro fertilization" or the word "estrogen." I never eat the doughnuts--even though I love them--because, like I said, I have to work at my size six. But Dex has his every day with his latte. Lately I've noticed he's grown the goatee I suggested. He looks at me intently and kisses the fingers of my left hand. While channeling his daily ode, he glances up from the page every so often just to flash a smile. And whenever an especially cute baby is brought in to Honey's, he nudges me to take a look. I could swear there's a twinkle in his eye. Today the smell of doughnuts hangs heavily in the air. Silvana stops by our table and offers me one on the house. "Thank you," I say, "but I'm watching my weight." Dex pushes it close to me. "Live a little," he says. Silvana goes back to the kitchen but not before giving me a wink. The doughnut sits in front of me. I stare at it. I swear my ovaries rumble. I shake my head. I wish I had an obscene amount of money to bribe one of the chefs for the recipe. The Province is lying on a nearby chair. I open it. I won't be writing any odes today. There's an article about Tatum Nash on the front page of the entertainment section. It says he's taking a break from his career because his wife became pregnant while he was shooting his last film just outside Vancouver and he doesn't want to miss out on this special time. I shrug and take a bite. There is no mention of Honey's Doughnuts. Brett Stone is an actress from Los Angeles who was happy to leave the smog and traffic of that city behind and become landed in Canada. Originally, she came to Canada for the acting work, but stayed for the beautiful, tree-filled, moody days that provide the perfect atmosphere for writing. Ode to Honey's is a tribute to her favorite hangout, Honey's Doughnuts, in Deep Cove. Guitars & Amplifiers Keyboards and Digital Pianos Pro Audio & Lighting Music Software & Recording Brass & Woodwinds Drums & Percussion Orchestral Strings Print music powered by: \f^j SALES w a r d m u s i c · FINANCING · SERVICE · RENTALS Long & McQuade MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS www.long-mcquade.com North V a n c o u v e r L & M 1615 Lonsdale Avenue P h o n e : 986-0911 Vancouver L & M 2301 Granville Street Phone: 734-4886 Vancouver Ward Music 4 1 2 W e s t Hastings Street Phone: 682-5288 January | February