Plan B-by Margie Lawrence When I was living and working in the city, I belonged to a recreational curling league that played one night a week over the fall and winter months. Although we were probably the most non-competitive team, we played hard and laughed even harder. Often, our skip would make a call, one of us would throw the stone, and then we'd be pleasantly surprised to discover that although our stone didn't land where it was supposed to, it landed somewhere meaningf