Charity Shane' Presents Candid Moments - Fate? Or Something Else... A Delightful Love Story Valentine!

 My heart will heal because I love myself more than I ever loved him.

Even though I have my own studio, Candid Moments, and a very successful career, Corey only sees my photography as a hobby. That’s an argument I curve every time.

“Make sure she looks good.” ​“Are you assuming that I wouldn’t do that naturally?” I ask with my lips pursed. ​While shaking his head, he says, “Nah. You got this. Like I said, worth every penny.” ​“Every,” I utter as he walks off. ​When my light’s adjusted, we begin. Halani is a natural and the shoot is a breeze. It takes longer than expected because the journalist kept interrupting. So, it’s after four when I leave my studio. I race home and storm inside of my bathroom as soon as I enter my condo. I’m too excited for this date with Denim. If I wasn’t in my late twenties, I would describe my entire mood as giddy, like a teenager. ​Honestly, I don’t care what we do or where we head tonight. I’m just elated to see him again. Although Denim and I were forced together because of two selfish cheating pieces--the resulting  connection is organic, honest, and electrifying. He has single handedly restored my faith in men. He is proof positive that real ones do exist and they know how to properly treat a woman. After switching his flight to my airline, he upgraded my ticket to first class and we flew comfortably together back to Crescent Falls. When he escorted me to my door and wrapped his muscular arms around me, I wanted to beg him to come in. I had no desire for him to go. My body instinctively molds to his and I’m already addicted to his mouth and hands. Unadulterated chemistry and attraction are rare and when they are with a sexy, educated, and solicitous, fine ass, Black man, it’s practically a miracle. I’m lucky because that miracle happened to me. While in my shower, I take a mental tour of my closet and decide on my chocolate denim skirt set and brown, distressed, over-the-knee, heeled boots. By the time he rings my bell, my skin is thoroughly hydrated with my Brown Sugar Bae Rich Aunty body oil, my hair is bone straight and luxurious, and I’m dressed, looking sexy as hell. As soon as I open the door, a smile spreads across my face. His chocolate skin and the color burgundy are a match made in melanin heaven. He looks sexy as hell in a burgundy and black turtleneck, burgundy jeans with specks of black, and burgundy Air Force ones. His single platinum chain and watch only accentuate his handsome look. Without saying a word, he steps to me, wraps his arms around me, then kisses me like it’s our first kiss. The moment he releases my mouth, I moan. Damn. “You look amazing,” his baritone sings and I blush. “So do you. Where are we going this evening? I would hate to waste all of this sexiness standing in my doorway.” “Our first destination is a surprise but the last one is your choice. Just know, at that location... His words flow through my ears, travel down my body, then land in the very spot he’s promising to place his head. This man! “Then that better be right here at your place,” I say. “Again, lady’s choice.” His hand swipes across my ass then he grabs it before releasing me from his hold. “Let’s go. We have a reservation.” We leave my place, take the elevators downstairs, then get into his ride. During the entire ride, his right hand rests on my thigh and I practically drool over his sexy side profile. Although he is close-lipped about our first location, I start to get a clue when he hops on the Parkway. However, when he takes the Garden Street exit, butterflies fill my stomach, pun intended. We are going to the Butterfly Garden.

He listens. “Denim! My favorite spot,” I gush when he pulls up to valet. “I promised this would be our first date.” “You are going to love it here.” Excitedly, I practically jump out when the valet opens my door. Denim meets me and we walk up to the main entrance. The Butterfly Garden is a beautiful, indoor, dome-shaped glass structure that houses an array of butterflies, flowers, and plants. Patrons are free to tour and explore the garden year-round. The back entrance of the garden has a stoned path that leads to the Bella House, a historical home converted to an event space and upscale restaurant. There’s a huge iron butterfly, colored by beautiful flowers at the entrance of the garden and wrought iron benches with butterfly shaped backs are stationed throughout the garden for patrons to sit and enjoy nature in its glorious state. Even during the winter months, the garden is vibrant and full of color. As soon as we enter, I walk him over to the digital display board. The curators constantly update it with the current species inhabiting the garden. A black butterfly with yellow and blue on the tip of his wings fills the screen followed by its name, Mourning Cloak. According to the screen, it’s one of the few butterflies that spends their winters as adults. “I’ve never seen a black butterfly,” he utters. “You will tonight,” I say, beaming. I really love this garden. Butterflies are so amazing and the species and variations of them provide an almost unlimited supply of beauty. The second butterfly appears on the screen and this one is just as colorful. It’s golden and black, resembling a bee. Just like the Mourning Cloak, this Angel-Wings also spends its winter as an adult. When the screen changes again and it’s back to Mourning Cloak, we walk through the garden. A few times, I catch the awe in his hazel eyes as he marvels at the pretty creatures fluttering around the garden. At the back entrance, we check in at the hostess stand then walk across the path of sea glass stepping stones. Each stepping stone has a unique butterfly design. This date is already perfect and we haven’t even sat down for dinner. The restaurant has three dining rooms and he has reserved a table in the Metamorphosis. It’s the butterfly-themed room. One thousand species of butterflies have been hand painted on the walls and ceiling. It’s truly amazing. I only have one regret and that’s leaving my camera at home. The moment we are seated, a sommelier approaches the table with wine glasses and a bottle of the Metamorphosis Room house selection, Butterfly Effect Blend. As he explains the wine and pours our samples, two waitresses and what looks like a chef approaches. We both taste the wine and agree to a glass. After the sommelier pours the wine, the chef and waitresses approach. “Good Evening, Dr. Morris. I’m Chef Roland Piqueen. I will be preparing the tasting menu for your enjoyment tonight,” he says and I’m impressed. Denim pulled out all of the stops. He clearly put a lot of thought into this date. “First up is this delicious artichoke soup with winter truffles and tiny brioche crisps on top. Bon Appetit.” The chef walks off and the two servers place the small soup bowls in front of us. They also tip over our other glasses on the table and fill them with ice water. It appears we each have a waitress. The moment they walk off, I grab his hand. Truly appreciative, I squeeze it, then express my sincerest gratitude. ​“Denim, this is absolutely…everything. Thank you. Listening to me when I speak and following through with what you said means a lot. This night is beautiful.” ​“Not as beautiful as you,” he says before raising our intertwined hands and kissing the back of mine. “I’m just glad that you like this.” ​“I love it and the chef and his tasting menu is…hell, chef’s kiss,” I say and we both laugh. ​“But hey, sorry,” he says and my eyebrows furrow. Nothing about tonight warrants an apology. “Sorry for what?” I ask. “Not telling you to get your camera. I’ll remind you next time.” ​The fact that he even thought about my camera widens the smile on my face. He acknowledges and shows interest in my passion. How can I not adore this man already? ​“I can live in the moment with you tonight. No camera needed,” I admit.

~~~~

The plot is not unusual, but the characters involved are... Two couples who have been involved for months are attending a reunion. Corey is the graduate while Jamila is his guest...  Readers will begin to form their own opinions about these two being involved shortly after starting to read...

The second couple is Maddox and Denim, who have been together for 12 months...Maddox is the coordinator for the reunion and readers will quickly begin to wonder whether she brought Denim along for his muscle--only... Ok, it doesn't take long, to have the plot entirely switch... Because Maddox and Corey are caught by the other two in a private room almost immediately... Like, they couldn't even wait? Duh!

Now I can also share that Jamila had already kinda met Denim as they were passing each other and Denim was certainly worth of being eye candy for her to follow a few seconds... If you know what I mean...

A smile creeps across her face then she shakes her head. “For your momma and because I’m pretty pathetic and homeless right now in this shitty ass town, I will but can I see your license?” “My license?” “Yes, please,” she insists with her hand held out.   “My name is Denim.” “Okay. Your license please, Denim.” After pulling my wallet from my pocket, I produce my driver’s license and place it in her awaiting hand. She examines it. “Crescent Falls? I definitely know where this is and so do my Manor cousins,” she says, smirking. The Manor neighborhood is notorious in Crescent Falls. She knows my town. “Are you from Crescent Falls?” I ask. “Born and raised in The Manor but currently reside in The Millennium,” she says proudly. CFers will represent and I love that about us. “I’m Jamila, by the way.” “Nice to meet you, Jamila. You good now?” She presses her phone dramatically, then looks up to me. “License sent. Now, I’m good. And for the record, I do have a taser and mace.” “Calm down, killer. You won’t have to use either on me. Scouts’ honor, I am a gentleman and I’m my momma’s son.” While eyeing me suspiciously, she asks, “Were you even a boy scout?” After pressing the up button on the elevator, I mumble, “Hell no.”

We don't really know if it was an actual switch of partners... What we do know is that once Jamila and Denim caught the other two, they promptly concluded their connections... Both planned to immediately go back home. But a snow storm interfered. And a shortage of rooms resulted in Jamila having to accept Denim's invitation to share the small suite which included a couch, bed, and kitchenet... Soon, however, you will discover the Jamila you will soon get to know, when she immediately asks to see Denim's license--proof of identify! LOL Hey, She'd been dating Corey for 18 months and only that day learned that Corey was a nickname and not his full name! Caution? Thy name is now Jamila... and she was not in the mood to be fooled again!

The thing is, Denim is just the opposite of Corey in all ways that were important to Jamila. If you begin to feel like Jamila has just met Prince Charming, you just might be right... For this certainly appears to become a "happily-ever-after" merger being negotiated, of course, starting that first night of betrayal that both of them had suffered through together...

His hand grazes the side of my face then lands under my chin. After lifting my head, he locks his mesmerizing eyes with mine. The lust and desire in his eyes match mine because I want this. I want him. “What else are you ready for?” he utters in a deep, sexy timbre. “You,” I admit honestly.

This story is short, sweet, and sexy... The POV moves between Jamila and Denim, so you learn what each is thinking as we read...

Fate or some other fxxxed up thing brought us together and I don’t know why but I do know I’m glad it did. She’s unlike any woman I’ve been with, definitely a stark contrast to Maddox. Even when I invested in her business, Maddox wasn’t as passionate about it as Jamila is about her photos. Her eyes don’t sparkle with excitement like Jamila’s.

BTW, no music was involved in this book, so all videos are of my choice and my memory of songs that seemed appropriate to the storyline... Yeah, oldies but goodies, don't you think? Both Denim and Jamila seemed to know immediately that they had wasted months with somebody else, but, fate seemed to have brought the right match for each... exactly at the right time....

GABixlerReviews

 HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Francis Hamit - Author, Playwright and Award-Winning Screenwriter - Contributes Essay: Trump's War of Words Targets Us All

 

When an author and screen wordsmith speaks, I tend to listen, so I wanted to share this as a professional verification of my and many others' Truth...

Trump's War of Words Targets Us All

Cognitive Warfare Is The Latest Weapon In His War To Attain Total Control

Francis Hamit

Author, playwright and award-winning screenwriter

Lies, Lies, Lies and more lies. Donald Trump does not even try to convince us that what he says is true, given that he has been proven a liar so many times, he just keeps repeating his version of the truth. Here is the probable cause; he believes every word he says and he no longer has anyone in his immediate circle, as he did in his first term as President, who can remind him that he is wrong. The first person a con man has to convince is himself. The result is chaos on steroids. And that is the intent. To wear the rest of us down so that we just go along to buy a little peace.

The cost of that is too high. It’s our freedom and our democracy. Tyranny abounds. It is just not the firing of journalists and entertainers by their craven billionaire bosses whose fears only begin with the loss of a little revenue. Beyond that it is phony accusations and government investigations that carry legal and publicity defense costs and the psychological costs generated by the name calling and lies. Easier by far to buy peace without honor. Most of us just want a quiet life.

Trump doubles down with the lies, adding threats and bullying. Over and over again. His actions are robotic and performative. This leads me to believe that he is simply a front for other actors intent on destroying the nation. This reaches beyond Project 2025, parts of which he and his toadies are executing. Those closest to him continue to flatter him and pour rhetorical poison in his ears. His words are weapons they can deploy, while accommodating his worst instincts. His racism and hatred of people of color has emerged into full view. Ridiculous claims about Haitian workers in Ohio eating people’s pets are comical and easily refuted, yet he persists, as he does with his claims about the 2020 presidential election, also disproven en masse and in detail. Those he keeps alive and it seems that he may try, to steal another election this Fall. His tactics are crude but he is directing the FBI and the DNI to seize ballots and murmurs about a Federal takeover of elections. That sets a precedent that excuses tyranny and a slide into a fascist state.

Trump et al fears an educated and thoughtful electorate. That is why they use anti-DEI to attack institutions ranging from high school libraries to national museums to advanced education, especially military education. Those 800 senior military leaders that Secretary Hegseth summoned rewarded his rants with a stony silence. Every one of them earned multiple advanced degrees. Such credentials are as essential to attaining flag rank as airborne and combat infantry badges. The world is too complex to employ generals and admirals who do not understand the world or the enemies they face. Ignorance can be fixed. Stupid is forever. Hegseth’s military career simply does not impress them. Why would it? Why listen?

The Trump administration favors stupid. Since the 1990s the US military has elevated Information Warfare to another combat arm, deployed alongside Cyber Warfare to overwhelm enemy sensors and perceptions. The point of this particular spear is Cognitive Warfare. Repetition of memes that crowd out the enemy. This is how Trump won his first election. Unprecedented name-calling, false accusations, outright lies repeated to the point where your attention shuts down. You don’t want to hear any more and stop listening.

And there is the genius of Cognitive Warfare. It is cheap, easy, and insidious. Writing recently in the Small Wars Journal, Sara Russo said, “The real question is why (Cognitive Warfare) works so persistently. The explanation does not lie in the novelty of the phenomenon or the technological superiority, rather it is about cost. … It is cheap to start, hard to pinpoint the perpetrator, and a lot more expensive to counter. One single ambiguous action, may be it legal, narrative, administrative or informational - has the the potential to trigger a cascade of reviews, coordination mechanisms, public responses and internal alignment activities that overwhelm the initial investment... Most of the time the aim of cognitive warfare is not to maintain a decisive victory or escalate the situation. Rather it is to survive by making the defenders assume a position that is permanently costly.”

This is our position with Trump and his crew of misfits. He has deliberately chosen people like Hegseth, Patel and RFK Jr., not for their expertise and ability but for their facility to cause chaos and eventually bring down his own government. As they spin out lies to confuse and mislead the rest of us, he stuffs his own pockets with billions of taxpayer dollars and corruptly undermines the Constitution he swore to uphold and defend, while an impotent GOP sits by and…

But you’ve heard that all before haven’t you? That’s the heart of the matter. You’ve heard it all before You are tired of hearing it. Tired of waiting for yet another fresh outrage as Trump establishes his own secret

police in ICE and tries out the mechanisms of tyranny. If you are weary (and God knows I am) it is time to take fresh courage and sharpen your attention.

If Trump is not the master of his own house and merely a puppet for rich and powerful interests, then the coming elections matter more than any that have come before. So, if you love this country and cherish freedom, pay attention. Ignore the buzz of Trump’s words and really, really pay attention.

~~~~

This is the first of a very few I've heard to actually say what I've thought since this second administration  started. Trump, in my opinion, is not capable of doing what he claims to be doing. Of course, he is lying, stopping the projects funded by Biden for New Jersey/New York, as is now being litigated... But his childish bargaining to name "things/places" after him is nothing but that--childish... There are many though that have funded this venture from the far right--literally far right--so right that it is not even a part of the republican party, in my opinion. These are people who use other people for purposes of power. They can remain secret because their money speaks for them and they are used to getting what they want. How sad!

Yes, Sad... because millions of people who have hooked their lies to a false god--Trump--who has no real power, other than he is willing to spew his lies openly and be seen as the man responsible... Look at his record. He's had more bankruptcies than successes. That tells me that he is unable to actually run a business...No wonder he lies about everything. He has no knowledge of the government and legal nomenclature for the breadth and depth of a federal government such as we have. He has only one skill, he lies and thinks fast to formulate somewhat credible responses, while actually saying or claiming nothing. Quite a skill for a conman, but not for a united states president...

Good to have you here Francis! Keep writing!

Gabby

B. F. Randall Presents Three Gates to Hell: Hell's detours can lead to heavenly destinations!

I put on a serious expression. “Amazing, isn’t it, how creative we’ve become in devising such lethal tools.

“Good morning.” Alan smiled. “An excellent job was done this morning by three of our officers. Officers Bob Richards, Alford Jackson, and Gary Alison. They observed and arrested three professional burglars making a rooftop entrance to the Safeway Store on Alhambra.” He pointed at me. “Good job.” Several officers turned and gave me a thumbs-up. “Those arrested were Willy Johnson, his wife, Carol Johnson, and Curtis Mitcham. The Johnsons are three-time losers who got hooked up with Mitcham because Carol worked at the Safeway Store and knew the layout. She and her old man aren’t going anywhere. They don’t have the connections or resources to bail out.” The lieutenant put a booking photo up on the screen. I recognized one of the people as the fellow who had a bladder problem earlier today. “Mitcham, on the other hand, is a different story. He’s part of the Savages motorcycle club and is being looked at as the primary suspect in the assassination of two rival gang members in Phoenix. Intelligence Division says he’s a big moneymaker and enforcer for the club.” “Good to have him off the street,” one of the officers said. “That’s the problem.” Miller frowned. “He’s being discharged right now.” A collective groan resonated through the room. “His attorney was at the gate before his booking was done with a release order from a federal court judge. Seems he’s working with the Feds on some interstate thing. I called Phoenix PD to see if they could put a hold on him for their case, but they don’t have enough yet.” “Any time line on when Phoenix may go to warrant?” I asked. “No, Bob, but they assured me that they would notify me personally.” After a long pause he said, “There’s something else. While he was in lockup, he was going off about taking care of the one who brought the cops down on him. He was making all kinds of threats.” “Threats are a norm in lockup, LT. If he feels froggy, let him jump. Then maybe we can put him away for good.” “This guy is dangerous. Don’t underestimate him, or those he hangs with. Truth is, I have no problem with him facing up to any one of you, but his threats weren’t aimed at you. When they were taking him away at the scene, he saw the old lady who owns Dee’s store standing out front and one of our police cars at the back corner. He thinks she called us.” Turning to Sargent Alan, “I want extra patrols around the clock on that little store. I’ve called Concord PD about keeping an eye on her house.” Tapping the screen for emphasis, Miller said, “Don’t forget that face. You’re dismissed.” On the way home I made a slight detour to stop by Dee’s old store. Pulling my canary yellow, 1972 Dodge Charger R/T up to the gas pump, I could almost hear every one of the 440 cubic inches say, “I’m thirsty.” This chunk of metal eats and drinks more than all three of my sons put together. “Sweet ride, Officer,” came a voice from the garage. “When are you going to let me tweak it up a bit?” John Steller, Dee’s eldest son, walked over and reached for the pump lever. He was a good man and a good mechanic, and if I really needed work done, he would be the one to do it. “Not now, John, but I’ll keep ya in mind.” “I assume you don’t put anything but High Test in this buggy.” “You got it. Last month I was choking on thirty-nine cents a gallon, but this recent spike to fifty-five cents is killing me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a hole in the tank.” He held the pump nozzle in the air like a handgun. “There is, it’s called a four-barrel carburetor. I hear it could be as much as seventy-five cents by this time next year.” With a big smile he pointed the nozzle at his mother’s Pinto. “You might want to trade this guzzler in for something else.” “Don’t tempt me, John. Listen, I was out here early this morning, over at the Safeway Store. We arrested a couple bad guys, and well, this area hasn’t built up that much yet so be careful out here, okay?” “Sure will. That will be $7.70.” Handing him the cash, I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Leaning into the open driver’s window, John looked me in the eye. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Officer?” “Those are some really bad guys we took down this morning. They’re making all kinds of threats to anyone and everyone, including those around here. Just be careful and call us if you see anything that concerns you. Okay?” “You bet. Thanks.” Stepping back, John smiled and gave me a salute. I slowly rolled out onto the hot pavement of the Alhambra and could see John in my rearview mirror watching me. I had to make an impression. Dropping it into low, I punched it. The roar was sweet as all three hundred and seventy horses under the hood pushed me back into the seat like a rocket. The rear of the car got squirrely, as a high-pitched shriek resonated off the tires, and a thick cloud of rubber filled the air. Within seconds I was doing sixty and searching the rearview and side mirrors for any sign of red and blue flashing lights appearing through the thick smoke. 

Pleased with the results, I slowed down and settled in for the ride home. Approaching the house, I turned the corner and parked at the curb just out of sight. In the front yard were three little ragamuffins, each just a few inches taller than the other. Striking across the lawn, they had a clear objective in mind. In the center of the yard was a large pile of autumn leaves I had taken an hour to rake up, but it was about to be scattered like snowflakes. With shouts and squeals they dove into the leafy mountain, redistributing fall’s foliage in every direction. It was worth the work, I thought as I pulled into the driveway. The first head to pop up through the leaves was Joseph, named after his grandfather. From the moment he was born, the two were inseparable. “Little Joe” is my oldest. He has a heart as big as his mother’s. Even at the age of seven he was always looking out for his brothers. The next head to come up for air was my second boy, Stefan. His mother would sing him to sleep every night, “Climb upon my knee, Sonny Boy, though you’re only three, Sonny Boy, you’ve no way of knowing, there’s no way of showing, what you mean to me, Sonny Boy.” The name stuck. Sonny is our artist. He draws on everything. One head didn’t make a showing, my youngest Casey, or Critter as we call him. When his mother washes his clothes, she doesn’t reach in and turn out the pockets to empty them of rocks, marbles, and the like. With Critter’s britches, she drops them on the floor and stomps on them a few times. Because of several unique finds, Casey had earned the handle “Critter.” Standing at the front door, like a centurion at the gate, was the feared fixer of fabric, the daring defender of dinner, the controlling Commander in Chief of the Republic of Richards. In her hand glistening in the noonday sun, was her weapon of choice. Slowly she raised it toward the helpless children and, with a Cheshire-cat smile, looked at me as if to dare me to make a move. “Watch out!” I shouted just as she opened fire. A long stream of water shot from the nozzle as the boys began to squeal with laughter. Breaking into a dead run, I zig-zagged across the lawn, scooping up Little Joe and Sonny in my arms, holding them in front of me as a shield. I felt a tug and found Critter clinging to my pant leg. Squirming and giggling I moved toward the adversary as she took aim and drenched us unmercifully. Putting them down I shouted, “Let’s get her.” With eyes as wide as her smile, Rosie dropped the hose, turned, and ran back into the house. Just before the boys reached the door, I leaped over three steps, spun around, and stretched out my arms, stopping their attack on the porch. “Hold it guys. We can’t go inside all wet. I’ll get some towels, and after we’re dry, we’ll go get mom.” Returning with the towels, I stopped dead in the hallway. Stepping back, I turned to the bedroom and said in a loud whisper, “Baby, get out here, quick.” Stepping into the hall she looked to the open front door, and there stood three naked little troopers, with their clothes in a pile at their feet. It took everything we had to keep from laughing. “Well, go give them a towel before the neighbors call the cops.” 

My life was on track. I had a beautiful wife, three great kids, and a job I loved. We just moved into our first home, and the future was looking bright. Watching little bundles of energy fidget and fuss as their mom wiped faces and ruffled hair, I wondered what I had done to deserve all this. A decade earlier I was cutting a firebase for the 101st Airborne in the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I spent my first week in Camp Alpha, Saigon, waiting to be assigned to the 1st Cavalry Division where I would man a 106 recoilless rifle, a direct fire cannon mounted on a jeep. After three days I explored the camp and found three pieces of heavy engineering equipment: two International Harvester TD-24 bulldozers and a field stripped John Deere road grader. Climbing onto one of the dozers, I sat back in the seat, put my feet up on the hood, and took a nap in the warm afternoon sun. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was jarred awake by Master Sergeant Buck Bennett. “Wake up, Private! Where the hell do you think you are?” Rolling my legs off the hood, I missed the floor plate and dropped onto the tracks. From there it was a gymnast’s nightmare, as I landed face down at Bennett’s feet. I lifted my head slowly and looked into eyes that had seen things I didn’t want to imagine. “On your feet, Private,” he barked. I jumped to my feet and stood as ridged as I could, although I was shaking like a leaf on the inside. “This is not your home, boy. This is a war zone, and that’s not your cradle; it’s military equipment. Do you understand me, Private.” “Yes, Master Sergeant.” “You operate that dozer?” “No, Master Sergeant. I’m eleven-bravo. Infantry. Waiting for orders to the 1st Cavalry.” “Okay.” He looked down at my nametag. “Stay put, Richards. I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the command tent, then looking over his shoulder, “Don’t go to sleep again, boy. The next voice you hear may be Charlie’s.” I waited for over an hour and was tempted to just go back to my bunk when Bennett appeared from a row of tents with another soldier. 

“Richards, this is Specialist Kippell. Just call him Kip. He will be showing you how to use that dozer. You have three, maybe four days. Use them well. You’re now twelve-bravo, Combat Engineer. Stay alive, boy.” And with that he turned and disappeared out of my life forever. I went from Infantryman to Engineer in less than an hour. Later I learned that the two guys I bunked with, and who would have been part of my crew manning the 106 recoilless, were hit just two weeks after joining the 1st Cavalry. Only one survived. He sustained serious injuries and was sent home. 

Why them and not me? Would I ever really know the answer to this question that would interrupt countless nights of sleep? A tear ran down my cheek as I watched three naked little dudes hug their mom and scamper off down the hall to their rooms. What had I done to deserve a life like this? Why me?

A tiny God Incident occurred when I read the pages above... Why Me? was not listed as a song by the author, but my mind immediately thought of it. As I finished the book, and began to write this morning, I realized that the song is actually the plot of the book. You see, Bob Richards, our main character, has spent quite a bit of time asking "Why?" and before the book closes, he's actually asking "Why?" and saying "No!" Only to return to the words, "Why me, Lord, What have I ever done...?"

Bob Williams is a cop. A good cop. Well-respected by both his fellow officers as well as those individuals to whom he's connected on the job... The only two words needed to describe him is that he is both empathic and sympathetic. A combination that is often missing in officers of the law, it seems, especially these days...

This book is dedicated to:

To those who must stand blameless in the throes of adversity, who are the first we call, and the last we thank. To the men and women who, each day, face what most will never experience in a lifetime and are the first to run toward what the rest of us will run from. Thank you!

The first chapter provides a hint, but it really didn't sink in to me until much later... You will learn there, that Bob Harris, is also a prison chaplain... But by the next chapter, readers are brought into a crime scene and somehow that first chapter doesn't really make an impression...

You see, Bob has not yet gone through the Three Gates to Hell...

Bob and his partner was a group who were assigned to the time slots where most of the criminal actions took place. A major effort to break into a store had occurred but had been stopped by the police officers on duty. Arrests were made, but one of those involved had been released as he was already working with the FBI on a case. This man was one of the cruelest of the cruel and even as he was set free, he was already looking to revenge... A series of events took place, people were hurt... And, one of their own, a police officer had been murdered. Mitcham was the killer and he led a motorcycle gang, called the Savages.

The story moves from Bob being on the job to those times when he is with his family... or with other personal relationships... But at some point, Bob had been targeted, necessitating that his family relocate from their home...

And then one day he met Mitcham with the FBI at an elevator, and he looked at Bob and asked about his family...Bob was furious, knowing that this man had many opportunities to go after his family! On that day, a man saw him and came over, placing a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was alright... He was the Chaplain at San Quentin!

He handed me a business card. “I’m sitting right over there if you want to talk. You can also call me any time you want to. Bless you, son, and thank you for all you do. I know it’s hard to be a police officer in times like these, but I suppose that is true about any time.” He walked back to the bench along the window, and I read his card, “Howard Hays, Senior Chaplain, California Penal System.” I decided to go to the range and spend the afternoon annihilating paper bad guys with hundreds of rounds of ammunition. When I was through, I went home to a world absent of guns, chaos, and crime, but full of little boys’ laughter and love. Joe, my father-in-law, once read to me a Bible verse when I was angry and depressed about what I had seen on the streets: “Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.” Good advice.

~~~~

Well, one thing Bob knew, he was NOT chaplain material! There was no way that he could ever consider going into that prison to actually talk to--to meet with--those men he had worked so hard to get placed there!  He didn't recall what he'd done with that name card, but months went by and he got a call from somebody, wanting to talk to him about completing his application. Once Bob understood what she was asking, he kinda flipped and said he had never applied! Even though he remembered getting the card. But, folks, sometime later the Chaplain called him--again... Explaining that he had learned that he wasn't interested, but that considerable time had been used to do references, especially since he was a police officer... Bob could feel himself growing angry...

But, finally, agreed to meet to learn more about the program... Instead... He was caught after entering the first gate to hell...

I'll be quick to tell you that none of what occurred after Bob first was touched by the chaplain was anything like I might have expected to happen. This is an extraordinary story that must be read to understand exactly what happened thereafter... 

“A Coincidence Is God at Work Incognito.”

With Rule There Is Order—

With Order There Is Peace.

“Bobby, this wasn’t an accident. I have the best doctors in the world, but all they do is put parts together. It’s God who gives life to the tissues and brings about healing. There is no way you and I could have planned to run into each other like this. Only someone bigger than us, with a plan in mind, could have orchestrated today’s meeting,” Hillbilly said.

“Sir, I have been sent to inform you that condemned inmate Curtis Mitcham has requested you to be his spiritual advisor and that Warden Kilpatrick has approved his request and yours to speak with him before his execution.” 

I know I say this often, but, really, I hope you'll consider this a must-read!

GABixlerReviews

Reuniting with Brother Manny Monolyn Moreno - Elder - Poet - Author - Painter - Friend

We Are ALL God's Children!

 

Who cares anymore?

I feel like I'm wasting my time trying to preserve what I've been taught by elders, and others, and have learned over a lifetime, through my books now. My commitments and dedication. But then I remember why I must.

I didn't dedicate and sacrifice myself to do the painstaking works to be liked or admired. I've looked, listened, learned, and produced to share and pass on, our stories, of our time, of our ancestors, and our struggles.

I'm at the age where I should be pacing myself. Taking it easy. Giving back. But it's turned out to be impossible. So I cope with it. No one is to blame. Not bitter.

Anyway, may Grandfather have pity on me, and us all.

( me and Elder Lee, RIP )

Books I've written :

The Bridge is Gone / poems
The Elder / A Tribute
Longview Road / poems
Santa Nella Blues / poems
Scared - The Healing / memoir
revised and edited.

Scared- The Healing 243 pgs. has been completed and in process to get published hopefully soon with help.

https://cash.app/$mrmonolin

https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/monolin

Manny reads from his latest award-winning book

Santa Nella Blues

https://www.facebook.com/YAQUIME

Folks, like me, Manny has suffered through having his Facebook site lost, along with work that he had shared over many years. He now uses Manny Anthony Moreno on Facebook, adjusting, just as I did, to whatever "problems" that seem to occur much too often without explanation, in my opinion. In fact, I had lost touch with Manny for so long I began to track him down... I don't want to allow that to happen again. And, I hope you will choose to follow Manny, and me, GA Bixler, on Facebook since we both lost our "history" on this site... Both of us had many contacts which are not easily able to be rebuilt... 

It was reported this morning on MSNOW that the supposed removal of the 700 ICE members from Minneapolis, might actually be moving into the areas of where indigenous tribes are located in the same state!

It is quite clear that ICE is being used as a private army by this president working to respond to his DEI program which he announced immediately, to remove any individuals who are not, essentially, white males... Please consider that these people have already had to fight for some amount of dedicated land even though they were here on the north america continent before WE WERE!

Accountability.

To hold yourself to account for your actions. Not to shift blame on others.
Trying to hide the misguided crap you do to make yourself look righteous, when others know the truth, hurts only you.
That's foolish.
Growth comes from being honest about and with yourself, for what you've done, and working on change. But that takes self-honesty and courage.
"You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time".
Be true to yourself. And maybe healing will take place. Why mask the shame to look righteous?
Today feeling ill all day and now, I recieved some very productive calls from people excited about the talking circle, women and men. Even from a deported veteran who would like to have one on zoom.
Seeds are being planted and hopefully people will come together to find some healing.
Thank you all who called. I'm inspired by you.
My heart feels your hope.
May our prayers guide us and bring it to fruition.

A'ho 

You'll be seeing more from our friend, Manny, moving forward!

God Bless

Gabby

Marta Perry Shares the Reunion Revelations Book 6 - Final Justice - Riveting Inspiration Romance - Featuring Music by Josh Grobin

 If you search for good, you will find favor, but if you search for evil, it will find you. —Proverbs 11:27

“If Penny thinks she has been wronged, she’ll go to any extremes to get even. Any extremes.” A shudder went through her. “Be careful, my dear. Please be careful.”

She was afraid, but God was with her.

PROLOGUE He was about to meet the daughter he’d never known existed. He sat alone on a park bench, watching the spring sunshine filter through veils of Spanish moss and trying to make sense of the changes that had turned his life upside down. Across the park, a father pushed his child on the rustic swing set. The little girl—four or five, maybe—laughed, her light voice floating toward him on the sultry air. “Higher, Daddy. Higher.” A cold hand seemed to squeeze his heart. What did he know about being a father? His own father certainly hadn’t set much of an example. In fact, if his father were alive today, he’d be quick to point out that this was just another opportunity for him to fail someone. He couldn’t fail this child. She didn’t deserve that after all she’d been through. But he was probably the last person in the world who should be trusted with the responsibility for her. He glanced at his watch. They’d come soon, and his life would change irrevocably. But it already had, hadn’t it? It had started to change months ago. He just hadn’t recognized it at the time.

Magnolia College 10-year reunion had brought many back to campus to find old friends, to laugh, to share... What they didn't plan to find was the body of a former classmate...

Jennifer Pappas had come but she had been hesitant when she thought of all the questions she would be receiving... She had a secret that there was no way, and certainly, no place to share...with...anybody...

Actually she'd been back living with her father for about a month and he had been very supportive, but even he suggested that she share what had happened with a few of her close friends... But would they remain a friend if she did? And while she was pondering how to deal with this event, she turned around and there was...Mason Grant. Her heart stopped for just a moment upon seeing him. She remembered how she had once felt about him... Was that love just hidden? And now?

But she immediately saw, though his eyes shined on seeing her, that he had changed. There were shadows on those eyes. From pain? Or Worry? She had heard that he was now head of his father's company, but would that bring about such a change? He admitted he'd not been in church lately, that the stores kept him so busy that he didn't have time for much more. She automatically want to reach out to the child he seemed to be at that moment... And without thought, she asked "Too busy for your faith? For your friends?" But Mason was startled with her questions. He didn't feel differently, and yet... He could not continue and walked away...

Months had gone by and the same small group of friends began to meet occasionally. It was only when one of them commented that they had found another of their classmates, with a child, who looked just like a friend who had disappeared--Josie! And within a short time period, a discovery of a body was found when a new construction project began on campus...

The body was Josie, who had disappeared soon after graduation...The shock spread through the campus and town quickly... And Mason pulled back into that...one...and...only...night... He'd never again heard from her or even seen her. Now he knew why!

And he was now being asked to pay a large sum to buy a daughter who he had never known existed... 

She couldn’t sit here, letting herself get more frightened by the moment. She had to move. She switched on the tiny microphone Nikki Rivers had taped to her skin under her shirt, and then adjusted the earpiece. It crackled to life instantly. “Miss Pappas? What’s happening?” Rivers’s voice spoke in her ear, so close it was as if she sat behind her. Just speak naturally, they’d told her. The microphone will pick it up. “I’m fine.” She thought of Mason. He’d be in the truck with the detectives, listening to her voice. She didn’t want to sound like a wimp in front of him. “I’m parked in the lot. There’s no sign of anyone else here.” “She may be waiting for you somewhere along the trail,” Rivers pointed out. “Just remember not to say anything once you’re out of the car until you meet her. You don’t want to tip her off that you’re wired.” “I know.” They didn’t have to remind her to be careful where Penny was concerned. She wasn’t likely to forget. “I’m getting out now.” She grasped the handle of the case that lay next to her on the passenger seat, a shiver going down her spine. Money—a lot of money. Probably more than she’d ever seen in cash before. The police had suggested loading the case with cut paper, but Mason had gone ballistic at that. What if something went wrong and Penny opened the case before the police reached them? Penny might take it out on Jennifer. He’d insisted that she carry the real thing, and he’d provided the money. She hated the idea of being responsible for that much cash, but his attitude had warmed her. She slammed the car door, shutting off the comforting glow of the dome light, and switched on the heavy flashlight she carried. Not even Penny could expect her to wander down that trail through the woods without a light. Breathing another prayer, she started down the winding path. The parking lot disappeared from view almost immediately when the path curved, seeming to close her in with the dense growth of pine and live oaks. She was afraid, but God was with her. If only she could speak, could be connected to those waiting a mile away in the police van, even if just by voice, it would not be as frightening. But she couldn’t. She had to play her part if this were to have any chance of success. It would be worth any amount of fear if the police caught Penny and resolved this once and for all. Then they could all stop living in the shadow of suspicion. The flashlight beam caught a pair of eyes, glowing red in the reflected light, and her heart thumped in her chest. A possum turned, waddling slowly out of sight, and she could breathe again. Did the silent listeners detect her fear? She hoped not. If they did—well, they could hardly blame her. She’d been to the nature preserve several times during the day, but alone, at night—that was a different story. She had been here once at night. Not on the forest trail, but at the picnic grove on the far side of the parking lot, overlooking the small lake. Early May, their senior year. It had been the last Campus Christian Fellowship event of the semester, and the final time for their little group of seniors to be together. She seemed to see the laughing faces reflected in the glow of the campfire. Kate, with her beautiful voice, had led the singing, moving easily from one favorite gospel song to another. Jennifer’s heart seemed to clench. They’d been so young then, so untried by life. Ten years made a huge difference. After college one had to sink or swim out in the big wide world. They’d been on the cusp of that, teetering between eagerness to get on with their lives and fear at leaving the familiar cocoon of college behind them. Maybe it wasn’t so accurate to say they’d been untried by life, though. Certainly Josie had been. She must have known by then that she was pregnant. What had she been thinking? Had she been afraid? Longing to tell someone her secret? Mason had come before the evening was over, surprising all of them. He hadn’t been around much that semester after his father died. Too busy trying to manage the family business and complete his coursework so that he could graduate with his class. But he’d come that night—arriving late and leaving early, as she recalled. She had no trouble remembering how the firelight had flickered on the strong planes of his face, cast shadows around his eyes. They’d been happy to see him, with everyone in a mood to reminisce, but he’d been quiet and withdrawn. Because Josie was there? She tried to look at that evening through the lens of what she knew now. Had he and Josie spoken? Impossible to remember that, even if she’d noticed at the time. And whether they did or didn’t, it wouldn’t prove anything. Only the cold science of DNA testing would reveal the truth about the identity of Alexis’s father. She did remember one thing, though, the image as clear in her mind as if it had happened yesterday. She’d seen Mason walking toward his car and, on impulse, she’d run after him. “You’re not going already?” She’d caught up with him at the edge of the parking lot. “We haven’t even made the smores yet.” His eyebrows had lifted. “Tempting me with chocolate, Jennifer? I’m sorry, but I have to get going.” “I’m sorry, too. For everything.” She had reached out, touching the sleeve of his shirt lightly, longing to say something that would chase that somber look from his eyes. “What do you mean?” He looked startled, but then his eyes narrowed. “Why, about your father. What else? I haven’t had a chance to talk to you alone since it happened.” “That.” He shrugged. “Thanks. I’m doing okay. I just have a lot on my plate with running the stores and looking after my mother.” “I wish there was something I—we—could do. All your friends are concerned about you,” she added quickly. He’d given her a look she’d found impossible to interpret. Had he wanted to speak then? If so, he’d changed his mind. He’d shaken his head, a lock of blond hair tumbling onto his forehead. “Sweet Jennifer. You always want to fix everything for your friends.” His face seemed to tighten. “Some things can’t be fixed.” He’d turned and walked toward his car, and in a moment he’d pulled out of the lot and basically out of her life for ten years. Until the reunion had brought them all back together again, for good or ill. A splash somewhere off to her right jerked her attention back to the present, her pulse quickening. A splash meant she’d already reached the lagoon. She shivered. Alligators. Water snakes. She’d seen both from a safe distance when she’d wandered along the trail during the day. She had no wish to encounter them at night. Alone. Penny would almost be preferable. She swung the light around, catching a glimpse of water through the thick growth of trees. She was almost at the end of the trail. Where was Penny? Was this all her idea of a sick joke? Another sound, louder now, as a branch snapped and something rustled in the undergrowth. She froze, gasping, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. Rivers’s voice sounded instantly in her ear. “What is it? Is something wrong? Do you see her? If you do, say something.” Jennifer’s nails bit into her palms. If she spoke to them and Penny lurked in the bushes, she’d know it was a trap. “Penny?” she called out, her voice wavering a little. “Penny, is that you? Come out where I can see you.” Surely that sounded natural enough, and at least it alerted the police. And Mason, waiting with them. Another sound in the bushes. Fear clutched her throat. “Penny?” She tried to ignore the chatter in her ear and focus on the sound. “Where are—” A dark shape hurtled out of the bushes toward her. She stumbled back a step, letting out a cry, losing the torch as she hit the ground. In the instant Mason heard Jennifer’s cry, the breath went out of him. Someone shoved him out of the way as police erupted out of the tech van. He stumbled, then jumped out after them. Jennifer was in trouble. He had to get to her. “Wait here.” Paterson flung the order over his shoulder as he and Rivers jumped into a waiting car. Ignoring him, Mason yanked the back door open and fell inside as the cop accelerated. “What—” “Never mind,” Rivers said. “Just get there.”

~~~~

Alexis was a child waiting for somebody to trust... To know that she would be safe... To know that she would be loved... She hesitated when she met her father... But she seemed to naturally lean on Jennifer, a woman who openly showed her love and concern for her... And, with that trio coming together, Mason found his love expanding toward Alexis in a way he'd never known he could love... Soon she, too, felt his new, powerful love and came willingly into his arms for his protection. But the one who sought to sell her didn't want to deal with Mason. She demanded that Jennifer be involved whenever a meet was scheduled. She had already turned and attacked Jennifer once. Would she be willing to again be the intercessory?

But this time, the police would also be involved. Still, when Mason heard Jennifer scream, he had to go, leaving the car and running... For Love had captured the three of those lonely people into a unit that had God's Blessings! I urge you to read this book...

GABixlerReviews