What's Happening at Book Readers Heaven - Beginning to Read Senator Raphel G. Warnock's New Book - The Crooked Places Made Straight: Reflections On The Moral Meaning of America

 

This song now begins my mornings... It's a way to remind myself that I am now experiencing what is called AFib. I'll be having a procedure next Thursday which may resolve the issue--or may not... I've been told I'll be taking medication for this for the rest of my life... The procedure is outpatient, though, so that's good, at least. Even better, I'll be asleep through it all... YES! I'm someone who has no desire, or need, to know what happens once I've placed myself in my doctor's care... After I've had a full explanation of what will be happening, that is...

What is atrial fibrillation (AFib)?

AFib is a type of irregular heartbeat that may cause the heart to beat faster than usual. It is projected that by 2030, approximately 12 million people in the U.S. will have AFib. It is important to know that AFib increases the risk of stroke by about 5 times. Talk to a doctor today.

I've mentioned this before but things have been, not frantic, but more confusing for me since around February, when I fell here at home... Since then, I've been in the emergency room. Had a 14 day monitor on my chest which has told my doctor everything she needs to know... And I've become much more actively involved when I take Each Step these days than before. I don't really know whether, since I had no sign of heart problems before my fall, whether that was the cause (most people--or doctors--don't know why or when it begins) but when they discovered in the hospital that I had cracked ribs which were never identified - Yes, it's true that many women don't immediately think of heading for medical care for everything - I have to wonder whether it was also at that time that my heart was jolted into what is called AFib... Oh well, no matter the how...it's now here to stay in one way or another. This time I'm paying attention.

So each morning, after doing a few bedside stretching exercises, I feed may cats... And, in doing so, I have to go outside and I sing Each Step I Take as my form of prayer to have Him help me...

Especially when that 'coon comes around... but that's another story...

~~~

Today I want to highlight a just-out new book I learned about on the news...

We are in a rough place right now, fighting to save our fragile democracy. As a man of faith, I often say that I believe democracy is the political enactment of a spiritual idea. It is the notion that each of us has within us a spark of the divine. Therefore, we ought to have a vote and a voice in the direction of our country and our destiny within it. One person, one vote. This revolutionary idea of self-governance is rare, precious, more the exception than the rule throughout world history.

...despite our differences, we would be all right, communing with one another and with God for a short while in this grand cathedral. In fact, this diverse gathering of humanity affirming our faith and imagining a future big enough to embrace all of us was a small glimpse of God’s dream for the world! That work is and always will be a group project.

Most of you are aware that the bridge between Politics and Religion has been destroyed at this point in the United States. If you disagree with that statement, I urge you to begin doing some serious research. It can easily be done through TV news groups such as MSNOW, or on YouTube. The latter, however, posts videos that have questionable origin, so be careful and use multiple sources. All of the videos above are different in content, but contain important truths that must be studied and supported. There are so many books available that I've had to pick and choose from the nonfiction book proliferation. There was no doubt in my mind, however, when I chose to immediately purchase Reverend Warnock's latest...

Why was it so important to me? Of course, many of you already know that I am convinced that, in addition to seeking power and riches, there is a major effort to change/destroy the Constitution upon which the United States was formed. More concern, however, is the attacks that have reached extreme actions which are affecting every non-white race, as well as, white women. Male white supremacists are using every type of criminal action that they can dream of, and immediately acting, no matter what it does in harm to all those who now live in our country.

And lying to do so by using religion as a manipulation tool...

So, when a pastor who is also a politician speaks of his Truth and it matches my thoughts and opinions, then it confirms to me that I am speaking Truth. Hopefully, for the majority of time, meaning God's Truth... And most importantly, Senator Warnock is Black. He knows the history of our Black neighbors and easily sees what politicians are doing to stop Freedom for ALL of God's children... Personally, I believe that the Black people, have a significant lead of we white people who were working merely to deal with our own lives... It was those who had been enslaved who began to and continue to fight back... That knowledge and experience helps me and others to learn and confirm what "really" happened in our country's history...

The book is based on scripture: Isiah 40:4

4 Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: 5 And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.

Folks, I'm not ashamed that I have little ability to understand what is in the Bible Old Testament especially. By the time I had read the Introduction to Warnock's non-fiction book, I knew exactly what was being said by Isiah ... Sooo, hopefully as planned (now, at least) I want to dedicate my time reading this entire book. The publisher strictly controls copyright to use excerpts without permission. I've used a few sentences to write this first post, but what I plan on doing is taking each part of the book, read and digest, and write about the major points in my own words. Of course, after reading just the Introduction and listening to the news interviews with the author, I feel confident in saying that I recommend this book as a must-read and highly recommend that if you have to choose carefully what books to buy, I recommend you proceed to buy this one. Dealing with politics and religion and race, three of the major issues in our headlines makes this book perfect for those who are dealing with the religious manipulation issue, like I have been, a worthy study guide and, as the author claims, a sermon to be heard!

I did not purposely start to read this book last night. In fact, I was about a fourth of my way through The Violinist's Revenge and felt I needed to stop for awhile. I knew it was set during WWII, but was looking forward to adding violin music to a book with such a title... Reading this book, right now, is difficult for me. It deals with the Holocaust and all the hatred and violence of that time... because, of course, reading sections also reminded me of exactly how people are being abused, threatened, and facing violence, even leading to death on our streets, right now with no way, it seems, to stop it... Without going to court...!!!

Then too, I've been disheartened by the fact that right now religion is part of a war that should never have started, based upon violent leaders being willing to maintain or increase control through discrimination and violence. I will continue to read this book concurrently with Senator Warnock's nonfiction. We'll see how it goes as these goals are fitted around health and personal issues such as needing to repair my car because it won't pass inspection...Sigh...

And maybe I'll take a break and share my 'coon adventures... 

Or need to share about another stupid and distressful issue that this administration is forcing on the world... such of these:

Of course, Trump had to put his hand into the major bridge now open. Built by Canada, but we cannot use... Why? Because a billionaire gave Trump $1M to ensure that there will be delays on opening a bridge that would help our citizens interacting or working with Canadians... Yes, power of the rich guys stops another good event for US, and instead money crosses hands...

AND ICE CONTINUES TO ACT VIOLENTLY TOWARD LEGAL PROTESTORS...

Isn't it about time to realize that NONE of us are safe from those who speak lies... No matter what party you choose, it's irrelevant, isn't it... because with the Supreme Court's republican-placed members who have protected him from almost the very beginning, even after the January 6th insurrection incited by this president and his big-money supporters... there is a constant battle to keep on top of all the illegal acts taking place...

May God Be With Us All

Gabby

The Queen of SciFi (Forensic Science) Thrillers, Patricia Cornwell Tops Any Other Read With The Bone Bed: Scarpetta Book 20

 “It actually turned my stomach, the sound of the knife going through cartilage. And I’m thinking, if this doesn’t wake you up, lady, you really are dead.” He laughs. It is a quiet chuckle that has no joy in it. “Lend me your ear. Play it by ear. Think of all the lame clichés with the word ear in them. You never listened. If only you had listened. Why did God give ears to people who don’t listen?” 

“He could have just showed up late at night and shot him, stabbed him, strangled him, but that would have been obvious. He got some of it right but not the rest of it, because he’s unable to anticipate what normal people do."

I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY A KILLER WHO HAS ELABORATE fantasies and premeditates and seems meticulous makes so little effort to hide evidence that matters. In fact, I’m baffled...

--Portrait of the Villain

I didn’t recognize the sender: BLiDedwood@stealthmail.com. There was no message, just the subject heading: ATTENTION CHIEF MEDICAL EXAMINER KAY SCARPETTA, in a bold uppercase Eurostile font. At first I was simply puzzled by the eighteen seconds of video with no audio, a cut-and-pasted jetboat ride in a part of the world I didn’t recognize. The film clip seemed innocent enough, and meant nothing to me as I viewed it the first time. I was sure someone had e-mailed it by mistake until the recording suddenly stopped, dissolving into a jpg, an image meant to shock. I launch another search engine into cyberspace, unable to find much useful about the pachyrhinosaurus, a thick-nosed herbivorous dinosaur with a horned bony frill and flattened boss likely used to butt and gore other animals into submission. A uniquely strange-looking beast, somewhat like a two-ton short-legged rhino wearing a grotesque bony mask, I suppose, as I look at an artist’s rendering of one. A reptile with a face that’s hard to love, but Emma Shubert did, and now the forty-eight-year-old paleontologist is missing an ear or dead or both. The anonymous e-mail was sent directly here to the CFC, the Cambridge Forensic Center, which I head, the point I can only assume to taunt and intimidate me, and I imagine a jetboat skimming over a river thousands of miles northwest of here in what looks like a lost part of the world. I study the overexposed ghostlike shape sitting in back, possibly on a bench seat, directly facing whoever was filming. Who are you? Then the steep rocky slope, what I now know is a dinosaur dig site called the Wapiti bone bed, and the image dissolves into a jpg that is violent and cruel.

https://www.cambridgeday.com/2012/11/05/patricia-cornwell-visits-the-scene-of-her-crime-writing-tuesday-for-30000-gift/

One of my favorite sayings is that a book never grows old, so when I saw The Bone Bed by Patricia Cornwell, I knew I wanted to do a little catchup with one of my favorite authors... It was Cornwell and many other writers that first introduced me to the CSI type of drama that quickly caught my interest. No, I'm not a science fan, but I am a fan of details that are molded into a story. And those choosing science were ones that taunted me, with big words that I had no idea what was meant, but that were deemed important to solving a crime... Some words I ignore because I know I'll never remember. Others are those from which I gain new information... BTW, there is now a new series, Scarpetta, which will be based upon Cornwell's books!

And the first thing, that excited me most, was that she gave me a topic to discuss with my nephew, Avi, since he's now into dinosaurs of all kinds... And I learned about one that has potentially escaped extinction--at least for this book, and its evolution... As well as the devastating issue of what "man" has allowed done to our oceans and how sea animals are affected... This rescue, alone is worth reading the book related to how it had to be carefully managed... 

Kay Scarpetta came into her facility prepared for a new day and only a court case at 2 is scheduled... She's upset that the courts have made it even more difficult for those who are experts in their field as it relates to court cases. As of now, there is nothing she can do but attend... 

It used to be that my autopsy report was enough for the defense, my appearing in court not necessary or even desirable, but since the Melendez-Diaz decision by the U.S. Supreme Court, life has changed for every forensic expert in America. Channing Lott wants to confront his accuser. The billionaire industrialist faces a murder charge for allegedly placing a contract on his now presumed dead wife, and he’s demanded the pleasure of my company this afternoon at two.

But with death, there is no way to plan for emergencies except to respond. And that morning, Kay had been sought out to deal with a tragic situation which involves a potential loss of the important life of a leatherback turtle thought to be about 100 years old, and a potential murder victim for whom she will be responsible...

(worth the detour and back to YouTube)

The fireman named Jack scans the water with field glasses. “One hell of a story. Like capturing Nessie, and the media doesn’t even know the half of it yet.” “What does the media know, exactly?” I ask him. “Well, they know we’re out here, obviously, and the sooner we get this big boy back in the water, the better.” “Should be releasing him in a few, which is damn good, for a lot of reasons,” Klemens says to me. “You can see how low we are.” The dive platform is level with the bay because of the weight of the turtle and the rescuers attending to it, water rolling around them as the boat lifts and settles on swells. “Rated for twenty-five hundred pounds and maxed out, never seen anything like the size of this one,” Klemens says. “We run into entanglements and strandings all the time, and it’s almost always too late, but this one’s got a real good chance. What a monster.” Klemens balances himself against the tender, a rigid-inflatable rescue RIB with a gray tube hull and a 60-horsepower engine. I note that on the other side and still under its red tarp is the A-frame and hydraulic winch that can be used to retrieve people or other deadweight from the water, including a monster turtle. Obviously the winch isn’t what got this creature on board, I remark to Klemens, and I’m not surprised. Whether it’s an eight-hundred-pound gray seal or a huge loggerhead or dolphin, marine rescuers won’t run the risk of causing further injury and typically refuse the help of a winch. “Anything that might cause the slightest transfer of trace evidence or artifacts.” I remind Klemens I need to know everything that’s been done. “Well, I don’t think the turtle killed anyone,” he says, with mock seriousness. “Probably not, but all the same.” “No machinery was used,” he confirms. “Of course, my feeling about it is if we can sling human beings on board without hurting them, we sure as hell can do a turtle. But they did it their usual way, pulled him in close, harnessed him, got a ramp under him, and inflated the float bag. Then it took all of them and us to pull him on the platform. That was after they got his flippers restrained, obviously. He gets going with those things, he could tear the damn boat apart and knock a few of us into last year.” I direct his attention to a yellow boat fender. Not far from the boat, it’s attached to a buoy line, and I ask if that was what the turtle was entangled with. I notice that nothing has been cleated off. “Nope,” he says. “Some kind of fishing gear, possibly snoods from a longline or a trolling line that got wrapped around his left-front flipper.” “He wasn’t entangled with the same line the body is attached to?” I don’t understand. “Not directly. What he got wrapped up in was about fifty feet of monofilament lines, three of them, and wire leaders with rusty hooks. I’m guessing the rig got free of its fisherman float at some point, drifted on the current, and got snagged up with that buoy line.” He points to the one attached to the yellow boat fender. “And then the turtle got snagged in the fishing line. But like I said, that’s just a guess,” Klemens says. “We won’t know until everything’s recovered, and I’m assuming it will be you doing that?” “Yes. When we’re done here and he’s safely back in the water and out of range.” “Seems like he’s got very minor injuries, so they won’t be trying to transport him, not that they could have,” Klemens says. “You’d need a flatbed truck, and he probably wouldn’t have survived rehab anyway. There’s never been a leatherback from around here that did. All they know is the open ocean, swimming from continent to continent. You put them in a tank and they just keep swimming into the side of it until they beat themselves to death. Pelagic creatures don’t understand what a wall is. Kind of like my sixteen-year-old son.” 

I watch the rescue team in green Windbreakers and latex gloves, the leatherback puffing out his throat and making ominous sounds, whistling and clucking, and I scan the bright choppy water. I think about what I need to do. There must be at least a dozen boats around us now, people attracted by the strobing red lights and the stunning creature on board, and no telling what’s already hit the Internet. I don’t want an audience when I recover the body, and I sure as hell don’t want it filmed by smartphones and the media. What terrible timing for me to retrieve a dead body from water, and I think uncomfortably of Mildred Lott and my idiotic comment about her turning into soap. 

“The blond girl there.” Klemens nods at Dr. Pamela Quick. “She says he’s the biggest one they’ve ever seen, maybe even the biggest on record, close to ten feet long and more than a ton, and could be a hundred years old. Take a good look, Doc, because you’re not likely to ever see something like this again. They don’t survive long enough to get this big anymore because of boat strikes and entanglements and ingesting trash like plastic bags and party balloons they confuse with jellies. It’s just one more example of us wrecking the planet.” Two transom steps lead from the dive platform up to the recovery deck under us, which is crowded with four marine biologists, and piles of towels and sheets, and tough plastic cases, ski bags, and other field kits containing emergency drugs and rescue and medical equipment. From where I’m standing, downwind of the leatherback, I detect his briny smell and hear him scraping the platform as he strains against his yellow harness, his every movement slow and heavy and suggestive of enormous physical power. The loud blasts of his breaths remind me of air moving through a scuba regulator, and then his throat expands again and he emits a deep guttural roar that makes me think of lions and dragons and King Kong. “You hear that behind you on a dark beach, it would be a heart attack,” Klemens says. “What else have they done so far?” I ask. “Cut the lines off of him.” “I hope they saved them.” “I’m not sure what you could tell from them.” “You never know until you look,” I reply. “PIT tagged him right before you got here, and I can tell you he doesn’t like needles,” he adds. Pamela Quick works a spinal needle deep into the neck for a blood draw, while a second rescuer, a young man with brown shaggy hair, reads a digital thermometer and announces, “Temp’s up two degrees. He’s starting to overheat.” “Let’s get him covered and wet him down,” Dr. Quick decides, and she glances up at me and for a moment we are eye to eye. They drape the ridged carapace with a wet white sheet, and I recall her tone to me on the phone earlier, her adamant way of telling me what she needed to do. It was my distinct impression that she didn’t believe she required my permission and didn’t want my involvement, and now she just looked at me resentfully it seemed, as if I have something personal with her that I know nothing about. She squeezes ultrasound gel on the turtle’s neck, moving around a handheld Doppler probe with a built-in loudspeaker to monitor the heart rate. The sound of the massive reptile’s blood flowing is like the roaring of a river or a rushing wind. “Normosol to replenish his electrolytes.” She tears open the packet of a solution set, a twenty-gauge needle attached to an IV line. “Ten drops per one mil. He’s stressed.” “Well, I would be, too. He’s probably never been around humans before,” Klemens observes, and I’m aware of the weird familiarity I feel that isn’t about him. A sad curiosity runs through me like a low-voltage current, then is gone, and I imagine my father seeing such a marvel. Sometimes I wonder what he’d think of the person I’ve become. “They say a turtle like this one’s been on land only once in his life. Right after he was hatched on some beach halfway around the world and crawled across the sand and into the water. And he’s been swimming ever since.” Klemens talks expressively with his hands the way my father did until he was too weak from cancer to lift them from the bed. “So he’s not happy resting on top of something, in this case, the platform. Not to be crude about it, but the only other time he’s got something under him is when he mates. 

What do you want to do about her?” He looks at the heaving water where the large yellow sausage fender bobs, which strikes me as quite odd, and I say so. “You think it’s attached to a conch pot or cinder blocks?” I point out. “Why?” “When they were pulling the buoy line close with the grappler to cut the fishing line and get the turtle on board?” he says. “For a couple of minutes the body was at the surface. Her head was.” “Jesus. I hope we’re not going to see that on TV.” I look up at a second helicopter that has moved in, hovering directly over us, a white twin-engine, with what appears to be a gyrostabilized camera system mounted on the nose. “I think all they’re interested in is the turtle and got no clue what else is on the line.” He follows my gaze up. “The first chopper got here just as we were pulling him on board, so I don’t think they filmed the body or know about it. At least not yet.” 

“And what’s gone out over the radio?” I ask. “Not a distress call, for obvious reasons.” He means any calls about the dead body didn’t go out over the usual channels that might be monitored by mariners and the media. “Did anybody touch it with the grappler or disturb it in any way?” “Nobody got anywhere near it, and we recorded the whole thing with our onboard cameras, Doc. So you got that if you need proof in court.” “Perfect,” I tell him. “When the body was just at the surface you could barely make out the shape of a wire mesh pot about four foot square, I’m guessing.” He continues staring at the sausage buoy, as if he can still see the pot he’s describing. “It’s attached by maybe twenty, thirty feet of rope and obviously has something in it that’s heavy as hell. Rocks, cinder blocks, I couldn’t tell.” “And the body’s tethered to this line? We’re sure it still is? We’re sure there’s no way it got loose when they were pulling the turtle in and cutting him free?” 

“I don’t think it’s possible that poor lady’s going anywhere. Tied around the lower part, possibly the legs, the ankles.” He stares at the yellow bumper moving brightly on the water and the yellow line dropping taut and straight below it, disappearing into the dark blue bay. “An older woman with white hair is what it looked like to me, and then when they got the turtle cut free, she dropped below the surface again, the weighted conch pot pulling her back down.” “She’s tethered to the buoy line, which is tied around her legs, possibly? Yet she’s upright?” I’m having a hard time envisioning what he’s describing. “Don’t know.” “If her head appeared first, she’s upright.” “Well, she definitely was headfirst,” he says. “If the conch pot, the body, and the buoy are all part of the same line or rig, I find that very curious,” I insist. “It’s contradictory. One is pulling her down while the other is pulling her up.” “I’ve got everything on video if you want to duck into the wheelhouse and take a look.” “If you could get me a copy, I’d really appreciate it,” I reply. 

“What I need to do now is to take a look at the turtle.” It isn’t mere curiosity on my part. From where we are on the upper deck I can see a wound near the leatherback’s black-and-grayish-white mottled neck, on a ridge at the upper edge of its carapace, an area of bright pink abrasion that Pamela Quick is wiping with Betadine pads. “I’ll leave the body in the water until I’m ready to recover it and transport it to shore,” I tell Klemens, as Marino climbs up the ladder with white Tyvek coveralls, boot covers, and gloves. “The longer it stays cold the better,” I add. “I’m certainly no aficionado of fishing tackle,” I then say, as I take off my down jacket, “but why would someone pick a boat bumper as opposed to fishing floats for a conch or lobster pot?” “These watermen are like magpies and collect all sorts of things,” Klemens says. “We don’t know that a waterman has anything to do with this,” I remind him. “Detergent and soda pop,” he continues, “and Clorox bottles, Styrofoam, bumpers that come loose from docks, anything you can think of that will float and is easy to find, not to mention cheap or, better yet, free. But you’re right. That’s assuming this has anything to do with fishing.” 

“It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with fishing,” Marino says bluntly. “More likely, the point was to use a line with a lot of weight and dump her overboard,” Klemens agrees. “You wouldn’t use a float of any type if that’s what you were up to.” Marino has no doubt about it as we suit up in protective clothing. “You sure as hell wouldn’t attach a big yellow bumper unless maybe you wanted her to be found damn fast.” “And hopefully she has been,” I comment, because the better shape the body is in, the better chance I have of finding out what I need to know. “Using a bumper or float at all? I agree. I think someone wants her found,” asserts the firefighter named Jack. “And I bowled against you before,” he says to Marino. “You’re not half bad.” “Don’t remember you, and I would if you were half decent.” “The Firing Pins. Right?” “That’s us. Oh, yeah, now I’m remembering. You’re the Shootin’ Blanks.” Marino picks on him. “Naw.” “Could’ve sworn it.” “You mind I ask why?” Klemens watches me pull on heavy-duty black nitrile gloves. “How come you’re treating my fireboat like a crime scene?” “He’s part of one.” I mean the turtle is, and that I intend to handle him like evidence...

~~~~~~

This series has a set of ongoing characters so it was fun getting reacquainted to their ongoing story, even if there is one lead character who Scarpetta has decided has both good and bad points. For me, at first at least, I was ready to have this character be disappeared... But he was right there at the end, when needed, so be prepared to decide how you feel about these main characters, just for the fun of it...

“What’s he doing here this early?” I puzzle. “He decided to be on call last night and sent Toby home.” “What do you mean he decided to be on call? He just got back from Florida last night. Why would he decide to be on call? He’s never on call.” It makes no sense. “It’s just a good thing no big cases came in that required someone to go to the scene because I’m guessing Marino slept. Or maybe he was tweeting,” she says. “Which isn’t a good idea. Not after hours, when he tends to be a little less inhibited.” “I’m confused.” “Did he tell you he’s moved an inflatable AeroBed into Investigations?” she says. “We don’t allow beds. We don’t allow people on call to sleep. Since when is he on call?” I repeat. “Since he’s been having fights with what’s-her-name.” “Who?” “Or he’s ornamenting and doesn’t want to drive.” I have no idea what Lucy is talking about. “Which is rather often these days.” She looks me in the eye. “What’s-her-name he met on Twitter and had to unfollow in more ways than one. She made a real fool of him.” “‘Ornamenting’?” “Minis he turns into ornaments. After he drinks what was in them. You didn’t hear it from me.” I think back to July eleventh, Marino’s birthday, which has never been a happy occasion for him and is only worse the older he gets. “You need to ask him yourself, Aunt Kay,” Lucy adds, as I recall visiting him at his new house in West Cambridge. Wood-sided on a sliver of a lot, it has working fireplaces and genuine hardwood floors, he likes to boast, and a finished basement, where he installed a sauna, a workshop, and a speed bag he loves to show off. When I drove up with a birthday basket of homemade asparagus quiche and white chocolate sweet salami, he was on a ladder, stringing strands of lighted small glass skulls along the roofline, Crystal Head vodka minis he was ordering directly from the distillery and turning into ornaments, he volunteered before I could ask, as if to imply he’d been buying empties, hundreds of them. Getting ready for Halloween, he added boisterously, and I should have known then that he was drinking again. “I don’t remember what you’re doing today except maybe another pig farm somewhere that you intend to put out of business,” I say to Lucy, as I push away every horrible thing Marino’s ever done when he’s been drunk.

Because for the majority of the book, you'll be totally involved in a tense, fast-paced, serial-killer murder case that is compelling as well as totally impossible to identify the villain... I was stumped until the great reveal at the climaxing scene that reads as if you were right there with Scarpetta as she faces the fact that she was now his latest captive!

But that's a long way off... First, Scarpetta is caught in a major conflict of time use as she is called to help save an ancient turtle that needs to be return to the water. The thing is that it has been caught in so much debris placed in the ocean that the weight has become so heavy that the turtle cannot easily swim. And that includes a female body that has been attached in two ways which includes weighted material, so tight that special expertise is needed to free the turtle, while not damaging any part of the body.

It is from this point in the book that you will meet the heart-and-soul of Kay Scarpetta as she acts on behalf of the victim to discover and document exactly what caused her death. Almost immediately, there are major issues that causes confusion. Kay, herself, does the dive necessary to bring the woman to the surface. An almost impossible task when the weighted material is working to hold her body and move it down further. While another rope is being used to bring her to the surface. Extreme care is necessary and Kay trusts nobody but herself to accomplish this important first step...

And, then, she realizes just how badly the body has been damaged. If extreme care is not used, the body could be broken apart and begin to disintegrate. Suddenly Kate was caught between a need to give assistance to the woman who has clearly been murdered or at least hidden in the ocean. Or, attending the required court session. All I can say is that, if this part of the book is true, I have to agree with Cornwell... Yes, a judge ordering somebody to appear in court normally has priority, unless, the reason why an individual doesn't show up for court is an emergency case... in this case ensuring that the body is acted upon as quickly as possible, so that proper legal procedures can help determine what has happened. This subplot was an interesting exploration of just how laws and legal procedures should have more flexibility than is now occurring, as witness all of the court cases that take so long to accomplish their tasks... In this book, also, is a Defense Lawyer who is using the court as a means of ensuring her client is not convicted.  Fortunately, Cornwell later smooths out this turn of events in the book which serves to allow the reader a better understanding of the situation. Me, right now, I'm questioning a lot about Supreme Court's actions, so I was satisfied with how it was covered in this book... But, clearly, communication by the courts has become questionable to the point of our unwillingness to accept seemingly biased actions... Meaning something is very wrong...

As either disappearances or discovery of bodies of women continues to occur, readers will be caught in such a fast-paced set of activities that I,

for one, lost track of the who, what, when and where... of the various women, especially when, at the same time, Cornwell gives no real hints as to who the villain is. While I did miss my usual attempt to identify that villain, at the same time, the book was moving so fast that readers had only one choice, follow Kay Scarpetta's work and analysis of each of the women and forget about the villain. LOL  This, then, is a true Thriller novel that keeps you involved to the very end. For me, it was a recognition that Cornwell is indeed the queen of her genre and somehow wins out over Bones... Maybe that's because Scarpetta pays more attention to the people surrounding her, while Bones' main character, Temperance Brennan, is shown to be more concerned with the work over the concerns of the involved people--at least that's my opinion, although I enjoy both programs... in different ways... 

Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

This is What America Looks Like: My Journey From Refugee To Congresswoman By Ilhan Omar

 That meeting altered my relationship with the media. It wasn’t just their willingness to exploit vulnerability in order to sell papers that disgusted me. It was also the way they were talking to Andrew, as if he weren’t a human being.

...op-ed for the Star Tribune: I am a 31-year-old Somali-Muslim woman, a mother of three and an unapologetic progressive. Some suggest that as a woman, I meddle in political affairs and need to be “put in my place.” Some say I deserved what I got because my opinions are contrary to those of a few male political leaders in our community. In addition, a small group has decided that one Somali elected official is enough and now the community should sit down and be quiet. I would never be quiet, even if threatened with violence. If a Somali candidate wants to run for office of his own free will, no permission from the political establishment is required. What I have found in organizing and my political career is that anyone who believes gatekeepers can assure victory is always proven wrong. It isn’t true just in the Somali community. No leader in a true democracy can promise that the election is in the bag. Although I still have nerve pain in my neck from that night, it is nothing compared to the strength I take from the fact that the people who attacked me made a huge mistake. I know they wish they hadn’t carried out their threats on me, because if they had done nothing, the system would have functioned as it had before. My standing up to their violence allowed me to make a much bigger statement than I ever could have on my own. Your success and the successes of others you inspire can heal your wounds. Of all the wounds I have suffered, this is the one that is most healed, because every day I see the system I fought against get dismantled by people who used to feel so small but know now they too can be big.

See Introduction of Book First...

In a world of conspiracy theories and propaganda, which flourished with the rise of Donald Trump, no answer was ever going to be good enough. Indeed, in 2019, President Trump repeated the baseless conspiracy theory that I had committed immigration fraud, nearly three years after I thought I had answered it once and for all. 

WHAT IS THERE TO SAY ABOUT THE ELECTION OF DONALD Trump as the forty-fifth president of the United States? It was tragic. This was a man who at a campaign rally held two days before the 2016 presidential election at the Minneapolis–St. Paul airport singled out Somali immigrants as radicals who shouldn’t have been let into the country. “A Trump administration will not admit any refugees without the support of the local communities where they are being placed,” he told thousands of supporters who showed up to the event. “It’s the least they could do for you. You’ve suffered enough in Minnesota.” For months we had knocked on doors and held massive rallies to get out the vote for his Democratic opponent, Hillary Clinton. I traveled across the state, sharing the message that we in Minnesota “don’t get mad.” Instead, I implored people to respond to Trump by voting—in record numbers. A lot more immigrants voted in that election cycle than ever before, but it wasn’t enough. Clinton won Minnesota—but by less than 50,000 votes, just 1.5 percentage points ahead of Trump, compared to Barack Obama’s nearly 8-point margin in 2012. This was a state a Republican presidential candidate hadn’t carried since Richard Nixon! Just as I was supposed to be celebrating my victory as the first Somali American lawmaker in the United States, I was grappling with how Trump’s hateful divisive message had resonated with our neighbors. In the car ride home on election night, after the results had come in, I admitted to my team it was “scary that his hateful rhetoric can find a partner in the hearts of so many in our communities. How different the world of tomorrow is going to be for many of us.” The fight-or-flight instinct that was already overdeveloped in my brain flared. The only antidote was deconstructing his success, which took some time. I still spend time analyzing it and have come to the conclusion that there is no one answer. There are many explanations that make sense. Clinton wasn’t the best candidate. Economics also played a part. Many farming and labor communities in Minnesota, desperate for solutions to the lack of opportunity in a rapidly changing world, handed their precincts to Trump. And then there was his signature style that contributed to his success. As Americans, we think of ourselves as bold and brave. The vulgarity of Trump’s character is appealing to people for whom it doesn’t feel very American to speak in politically correct terms or conform to the rigors of empathy or subtlety. You tell people what they should think. Not the other way around. In a game of political chess, some ultra-liberals also voted for Trump. There was a contingent that thought he was too stupid and corrupt to inflict as much of what they considered damage as the neoliberals who would have advanced with Clinton could. Antiwar, anti–status quo, these voters thought that by the time Trump figured out how to move the smallest piece of his absurd agenda, it would be too late. They were all in for a rude awakening. Trump, whose sole motivation is his own self-interest, was willing to hand over the reins to anyone as long as they gave him what he wanted. And it didn’t take him very long at all to do some very real damage.

~~~~~~

Finishing a book--a memoir--of the life of an individual who has already faced so many attacks of one form or another has left me ashamed... Ashamed that after thousands of years, we have gone no further in moving toward God's Love for our neighbors... Instead the desire to hurt others who are different remains as a stumbling block for countries across the world, as we watch, knowing that, right now, it is worse than it has been for hundreds of years.

As I read, I found myself finding common ground with Ilhan, especially as a woman who knew she needed to be strong and ready to speak out, yet had not seen her own potential within the political realm... The only difference I found was that because of her original country's environment, she was much more willing, than I, to fight back on behalf of those who are betrayed by the government--those who are supposed to be working to help, not hinder, our individual lives. Ilhan had been fighting all her life. I had only realized the need in 2015 right before the presidential election...

Ilhan had a father who showed no difference related to the sex of his children. He encouraged Ilhan to work toward whatever she found she wanted to do... But, as with millions of others, Ilhan was caught in an area where war and fighting was the predominant method by which the country was controlled. Readers will discover exactly what that type of environment leads to--the devastation that is lost through a few men who choose to attack somebody or a group of people, just for the power of being able to do that. And, surely, we have watched right now as there is no end in sight with a war that should never have started--in Iran--as it continues daily. Mainly because there is no real plan of action on the part of the country who started that war, to even really taken hold...

Indeed, during the first term of the president, he immediately tried to place a travel ban on Muslim and other immigrants. It was based upon inciting lies about various groups. All they had to be was "different..." In my opinion, we all know exactly what coming to America was all about. It was to escape discrimination... in those countries that people fled. Now, the United States acts as if we are just like those countries who have authoritarian leaders who work for power and control over their people. So, while I feel the shame on behalf of our country of what we have done during this decade. I also can be grateful that there are people, such as Ilhan, who already are in America and who have chosen to speak out to claim their rights as defined under a constitution that has existed for over 250 years. We watch daily as a person who has been judged, or groups who have been pinpointed are working within the only way possible, in the courts, to work to retain it. It cannot be said enough, because there are many who do not realize just what could happen to our country!!! Because freedom is being denied and fought in courts, right now, daily, to stop a few who want to claim our tax dollars as their rightly income! To create monumental birthday events, to build ballrooms or architectural memorials... to place one name wherever he can as if he were...a king... 

Yes, it is extremely hard to not talk about the corruption of the government as we see how Ilhan Omar, just one woman who has taken the challenge, to fight--to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, to provide support to those in need, and do what was once a routine part of congressional action. I would very much like to ensure that this book was in the hands of anybody who wants to read and know a personal account of how she has worked to support both her people and her state. I recommend this book to all who seek documentation of exactly what happens when somebody chooses to speak up...

Because, Ilhan Omar is not the only one that has been attacked by an opposing party... Remember that Liz Cheney, a congressional leader, who, when confronted with what was happening, chose to speak truth instead of following the party line...

And, many of us watched during the last decade as more and more actions of the Supreme Court has led to unbelievably biased changes to our laws... including that the president was immune for any act while he is in office!!!! There is no way to convince many of us that the members of this Court has not become a politically motivated majority, while those who try to support the law are only able to write dissent statements... an impossible situation!

Finally, many of us have opposed Marjorie Taylor Green, mainly for her tactics, but it has always been clear that she supported MAGA. Whether or not you, too, have supported the republican party, I wanted to include her decision to leave Congress based upon actions by the present administration. Personally I have found it extremely difficult to watch the acts of one party to blame another over and over and over through lies. Lies that have been established at the highest level and required obedience by party leaders and citizens. As we now watch we see many republicans turning against acts that have no meaning other than to call attention or gain wealth. Will we ever be able to regain a semblance of true governmental dedicated people? We can only hope...

Finally, I want to close by sharing the work of Ilhan Omar as a congresswoman... She may appear aggressive--maybe even pushy to some. I find it very refreshing, though, because, to me, she is doing exactly what Congress is supposed to do. Without doing any research on what this discussion is about, it is clear that Omar is extremely well-versed in having prepared specific questions to be reviewed... While at the same time, the individuals who are testifying is NOT prepared to be responsive on a topic that apparently has been going on for quite some time... This, then, is why we must look for people to vote for to become members of our Congress. Those who will work to research and verify if those who are being paid as our representatives and are indeed doing their job! And not just working to ensure their party is in control!

We have, also, watched as members of Congress attempted over and over to do onsite inspections of actions performed by ICE and have, instead, been abused, accused, and sometimes jailed rather than be welcomed into these questionable facilities! 

Clearly, we can see the destruction of our government piece by piece, without any type or ability to change things except by voting, which, as you know, is already being corrupted through gerrymandering and others attempts to lose control of our voting systems... We MUST work together in every way possible to speak out and ensure our voters are able to respond and fight for our democracy, now under attack...

GABixlerReviews

L. J. Breedlove Presents Sins of Omission: Sometimes what they leave out is Deadly - A Newspaper in Texas Book 1

When I was growing up, my grandfather used to preach about sins of commission and sins of omission. One was just as bad as the other, he thundered. To know it's wrong and do it anyway was sin. But knowing right and failing to do it was also sin.

Why not just lynch her? I thought. I had always noticed how much politicians resembled wolves, but I'd never seen them turn on one of their own quite this way before. But then Gloria wasn't really one of their own. She was a woman.

Even boxes of papers and news clips from previous jobs, normally stored in a hall closet, were strewn from the front door through the living room. I almost giggled at the thought of some burglar reading five-year-old news from towns a thousand miles away in search of whatever he was looking for. But most of my dismay was reserved for what the bastard did to my books. I owned somewhere near 2,000 books. Most of them weren't worth more than 50 cents at a second-hand store, but they were mine. When I moved to Texas, I had 17 boxes of books, three boxes of clothes, and two boxes of kitchen items. The burglar had pulled all the books off the shelves, of course. But they'd trashed a bunch of them, exactly how many I couldn't tell for sure. They'd stomped on some, torn others. I just stared in shock. I valued many things more than my books, but I had to admit destroying books ranks high on my list of despicable acts. As I wandered through my apartment, the police asked me questions for their report. I answered absently. It was hard to focus on when, where, who, and what, when your mind can only scream “why?” at you. But then, I was sure I knew why. Those damn papers of Anderson's. I hoped the person was convinced now that I did not have the things. I doubted it, however. There were too many other places I could have kept them. Including the newspaper office. I asked the officers to have a patrol swing by the office frequently during the nights to come, and they agreed to file a request for surveillance. I wasn't too worried; we had excellent security at the office. Newspapers tend to be paranoid. “You can't stay here,” Carolyn said gently, as I stopped to pick up the fragments of a clay figurine I'd bought the summer I'd worked in the fish camps in Alaska. “Come to the house; we can clean up tomorrow.” “Can you see anything missing, Katy?” the officer asked. I shook my head. “No, nothing obvious.” “Well, it isn't your typical B&E,” he observed. “That's too good of a VCR to be passed up. And you didn't surprise him.” “They were looking for something specific,” I said. “I don't think they found it.” The police took their reports away and Carolyn and I locked the apartment door and went around the corner to her place. She escorted me to a bedroom, gave me clean towels for the morning and turned back my bed. “Katy,” she said, and paused. I looked at her. “Tell me honestly, do you know where the papers are?” “No,” I said. I could tell she believed me and was relieved. “You know the ironic thing? I wouldn't have even known the papers existed if the murderer hadn't started looking for them.” She turned to leave, then looked back at me curiously. “Why assume it's the murderer who's looking for the papers? Couldn't it be someone else?” That question haunted me as I tossed and turned throughout the sleepless night. What made me so sure I was looking for one person?

~~~~~~

It's a known fact that newspapers and news agencies are under attack, even more so these days... We have learned through the last decade that owners of news companies have chosen whether they wish to report the news... Or, respond to political pressures... It's happening at every level of government, unfortunately.

Kate Williams had come from a very different type of news agency into Texas, where not only the state was so very different, but also the political environment was as well. In fact, a man had just been killed. He was a member of the City Council--now he'd been murdered... He had left a message for Kate that he wanted to speak with her regarding a possible story. By the time she got the message, it was too late.

The book takes you directly into the news business where readers can learn the process of putting a newspaper out each day. A time-controlled activity that puts pressure on each staff member to get their work done to the mandated and tight schedule. Kate carried most of that responsibility, while the Editor's time was his own... This diversion of the overall story is quite interesting and actually acted to pull the new editor more into his overall responsibilities. Kudos to the author who brought a sensitive topic into play amidst an overall larger scheme of political control...

Bob Anderson also worked at the local bank. Interestingly, his murder occurred around the same time that the Federal Deposit Insurance group had sent two men in for a routine review--seemingly. But with Anderson's death, many began to be concerned about what actually was going on... And a major owner of Texas banks was already sniffing around, working to learn whether the bank would be forced to close...

I winced. I don't care how cynical some think I am — 

I never can accept man's brutality. Knocking him out would have made sense from the burglar's point of view. But kick in the ribs of an unconscious man? An unconscious 80-year-old man? 

“If you don't mind, can you tell me what happened?” Thelma took a deep breath. “Do me good to talk about it, I think. “William plays cribbage at the VFW on Thursday afternoons. I went shopping with some friends in Dallas. When I got home, I let myself in the front door. The place was a disaster. Papers everywhere — I didn't know we owned that many papers. Cushions tossed out of the sofa and chairs. I started calling for William.” She paused and took another steadying breath. I said nothing, but just squeezed her hand again. “I found him on the floor in the kitchen. The back door was swinging open. I checked to see,” her voice broke, then firmed up again. “I checked to see if he were still breathing, and then I called the cops.” “Do you know what they might have been looking for?” “The cops think money; but there wasn't any. I don't know. We've been getting anonymous telephone calls at night asking us where the papers are. They didn't make any sense, but then neither does this.”

So what had happened at the bank that had caused such turmoil? Katy knew something was up since he'd called her to meet. Now she was hot on the trail as to what actually could be behind his death as well as with the bank. I enjoyed the character of Kate Williams. She seemed to me to be exactly what a news rep should be... When she learned about the bank auditors, she went to meet with them and successfully began to share information beneficial to both the town and the federal employees. And she started meeting with people--everybody was looking for papers that Bob Anderson supposedly had gathered--and they thought she had them...which put here in danger... But that didn't stop her from, since she didn't have them, working to either secure them or figure out what the issue was that he'd wanted to share with her.

Actually, it was a fairly simple issue--a project where many could make millions of dollars versus something to respond to the whole community... You see, a park for the town had been built in a location that was perfect for community use. But it would also be perfect for a major housing development which would bring both money and people into the area... Instead of looking at it as a list of priorities to be considered, some were working behind the scenes to ensure city council members were going to support major new development... And power and money was driving the decisions so much so that other deaths would be added before the whole sordid mess was discovered...

“Trust me, Johnny,” I said. “I'd have printed it if I had it. If I find those papers and there's proof to it, I will still print it. But I don't know where they are, and I haven't got them.” Johnny looked at me, his face white. “Then who does?” I shrugged again. “I don't know. All I know is that more than one person would like to have them.” Johnny snorted. “Honey, that's the understatement of the year. If those documents have what I think they do — and knowing Bob, I'm pretty sure I'm right — every developer in the state would want a copy. And behind them would be every politician in this neck of the woods, and some beyond.” “Not to mention the law?” It was half statement, half question. “Honey, there's enough evidence available, and I don't doubt Bob found most of it, to make some assistant attorney general a fancy career.” “And the banking authorities?” Johnny didn't touch that one. “Johnny, what is in that stuff?” He grimaced. “I may be an old man, but I'm not dumb enough to tell you that. It'd make fame and fortune for a reporter too. I've already said too much to you, thinkin' you already knew. Believe me, Katy, you're better off not knowing any more than you do.” “Damn it, Johnny,” I said forcefully. He jumped at my swearing; good girls don't say damn. “My neck is on the line, and I haven't the foggiest idea why. You could at least tell me that.” Johnny shook his head. “It goes back many years, Katy. A lot of ancient history. I wish Bob had left it at that.”

There is an understanding world-wide that news agencies are being attacked--or they are being forced to choose which "side" upon which they want to build their business... As with the title, Sins of Omission, has taken over... Lies and power grabs attempt to respond to what is often corruption, rather than a routine and steady investigative reporting that brings out the truth.

First Amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Some have raised the question of whether the Free Speech Clause and the Free Press Clause are coextensive, with respect to protections for the media. Continue on - Overview of Freedom of the Press

Over the last decade, especially, we have watched as special interest groups have worked to change or decrease the power of the Press. It is my thought and recognition that books such as Sins of Omission is a fantastic, yet clear, way to learn more about what concerns all Americans--Assurance that Truth is to be spoken consistently without attempts to obfuscate and confuse readers rather than enlighten all readers, by providing solid documented information. Truth!

For me, and for many people this book will allow us to see what happens when lies or manipulation is used to change reality purely for personal reasons, including corruptive acts. Breedlove certainly puts readers right in the midst of an editor's work to provide prompt, timely, and yet, totally-documented stories that ensure we are prepared to live daily in a safe and secure manner, without fear of later discovering that we have been lied to... I highly recommend the book for these reasons...

Besides the fact that, it is a great book that keeps you reading, guessing, and working along with the characters to solve murder mysteries, it also provides examples of how those who are rich/powerful or corrupt may use violence to get what they want, no matter what.

Folks, if we don't work to ensure fiction is "only" fiction and not, mainly, reflective of the acts of evil men, or women in a few cases, we might never know the Truth that sets us Free to Be all that we can be...

GABixlerReviews

Ongoing Contributor, Manny Anthony Moreno Shares The Tree - Drum - Poetry from a Yaqui Elder...

 

Welcome Brother! Good to hear from You!

The Surems & The Talking Tree: Yaqui People's Legend

Decided to go ahead and post here--it's worth heading to YouTube...

THE TREE 

A twig from an ancient tree was planted in this valley

 one hundred and eight years ago

 with grandparents' post-migration arrival

 propagated with a labor of love and dream songs which

 sprouted roots rich 

with indigenous sacred hope,

 and over decades this twig branched-out

 into an ancestral tree 

lush with a heritage of scattered leaves,

 

some have prevailed on the railroads farm fields

 and overseas warriors in battlefields, 

some have crooned and swooned

 on saddles of assimilation

 not total though to gain an education, 

some have hummed commitments to heaven

 in humble jubilation,

 some have whistled weary in whirlwinds

 on life’s meager means,

 some have not forsaken chanting

 enchanted traditional ancient cosmic conscious themes, 

and now in this soul-deadening 

out of balance Y2K millennium

 infancy 

I reflect in the autumn years of my being 

standing somber in the shade of our tree; 

what will become of it and me?

 For the tree expands into five generations

 perpetuating a pristine perpetual dream

 in this valley reality

 like enormous hawk wings 

encapsulating us with a shade of simplicity

 celebrated in a social status of invisibility 

and I native son shy of eloquence

 irrigate the tree with common words 

to nourish-in nutrients of this life force

 flowing in crimson canals of flesh

 in the fertile soil of San Joaquin

 in the plants and critters

 in the rivers and pulses of little towns

 being shredded for progress

 and malls in the decades 

deciphered from a million memories

 fertilized for posterity prestige

 and dignity of the tree and landscape

 and panorama of our souls. 

From my first book The Bridge Is Gone

Drum

 My hand drum made of buffalo hide

  in sis’ Atwater apartment on a glass table

 cradles the sun and harbors the moon

 next to photo of dad by the window

 each time I pass 

the drum woos my weary eyes

 I try not to notice 

no matter how much it cries,

 still, this heartbeat of the people

 powerfully works its way into my conscience

 flooded with thoughts too heavy to mention

 I know someday

 when my sullen spirit surfaces

 from the ashes of dreams 

dosed in flames

 when my eyes again penetrate

 through clouds of doubt

 then together

 heartbeat of the people

 we will ceremony in harmony

 in the sun and in the moon .

I believe it is important to learn more and more about other people such as we learn about through poets and other creators of historical blessings. May you find a way to learn and you will quickly realize that in all the important ways, we are all the same - God's children...

Donations. ( Art and books) - The Elder- A Tribute / 12.00 / 4.00 shipping

@monolin

thank you.