News - Comment - Secretary of Health Services Removing Money from Immunization Now Used for Covid...More

 

I don't know about you all, but there is one man I can barely stand to listen to... and that is Robert Kennedy... First of all, when an entire family will speak against their relative, that tells me something. When Robert Kennedy first began a campaign to run for political positions (president - and now, under Trump, is Secretary of Health and Human Services). It was made clear by the Kennedy Family who had earlier supported both John and the first Robert Kennedy to high positiions in Washington, that they could not also support this latest candidate... 

How I wish that lack of confidence by a major political family would have made a difference across America...

Look what has happened since... And, yes, I think what the democratic party did during that election was...just...wrong... for many reasons... But, it is not worth time to lament the past, while devastation sweeps across the world... under this administration!

There are many more changes that have occurred under Secretary Kennedy than is covered here... aside, of course, from the thousands of employees who were arbitrarily dismissed, as was in other units of the government illegally--without any form of justice--due to unlawful acts such as DEI which is against federal law and the constitution! And please don't think I am one who considers that a president is Immune from anything he does in office... no matter what a rigge Supreme Court says...

You see, folks, there is nothing that is presently being done that is done as prescribed and guided by laws and/or the constitution. Yet, it is happening. Don't ask me why. I am just as confused as the rest of you; however, I do see hope--some hope--coming... Because there are millions of Americans and others around the world speaking out against the cruelty and stupidity of what this administration is doing...

They've approved a budget to take medicaid money from those individuals now being cared for from that fund. Consider the fact that the money was ONCE approved by Congress... Has NOT been removed from Congress except through manipulation and lies used to achieve approval... When you can get some republicans voting against acts requested by DJT, you can be sure that there is something very wrong...like knowing people will die without those funds... You know, like already has happened with USAID... Tell me, if you can, just where that money went! Because it certainly isn't there to help the starving children in GAZA! Just as USAID is not there to handle the arrangements for such needs...

Everytime I see money being taken from programs that were once approved by Congress, I have to believe that those monies are being used for purely selfish reasons...like the $multimillion new ballroom being added to the White House! Hundreds of years and there's been no need for a ballroom...until the gold man decides to build one and claims it will be funded by him and other donated moneys...yeah... stolen from our tax monies earlier approved for medicaid, children's food programs, immunications for Covid, measles, and so many more...

Because surely you know that much research must be done in order to create, test, gain approval for, and get funding approved for NEW meds! SO WHAT DO WE DO IN THE MEANTIME BESIDES DIE FROM MEASLES OR FROM THE NEXT VARIANT FROM COVID...

Let me be specific...I have taken every possible immunization available to me for at least the last 20 years... And I believe I've lived with good health because of those medicines! Children died because of measles while Kennedy said to just let it work its way out...but it kept spreading across the nation, into Mexico...and nobody could do anything since the government wouldn't allow it...

Remember that women also were dying or unable to get care without traveling,  because of the laws implemented against abortion that were so ridiculous that even women who wanted children, but were medically in distress...were NOT allowed treatment! If you didn't know that, there's plenty of news videos here on my blog or on YouTube...

I believe that God made our world with many of the ingredients available to be used for keeping us healthy and free of physical pain... When that science developed over decades of research is stopped, on the statement of one or a few individuals, and indiscriminately thrown out, you can be sure it is for reasons other than concern for all people... 

God Bless Us All

Gabby

The Death Code: A Remi Laurent FBI Suspense Thriller - Book 1 - by Ava Strong - An Impressive Treasure Hunt!

 “The cryptex hasn’t been seen for centuries, but back at the turn of the last century, a group of millionaires and antiquarians who called themselves the Cryptex Club collected clues to its whereabouts. Some of these were ancient objects like the Gorizia dodecahedron.

 Others were bits of medieval manuscript. They got close to finding the cryptex, but something stopped them. No one knows exactly what...

The Chosen One drove with the window open, breathing in the rich smells of the New England forest. His eyes felt heavy and gritty from lack of sleep. His gut protested at the several cups of coffee he had downed during his brief rest stops as he drove in a winding route. His legs and lower back felt stiff from driving for so many hours. His neck was beginning to ache too. And yet he felt content. He was doing the Lord’s work. And what a place to do it in! Ever since leaving the Glencairn Museum with the Gorizia dodecahedron, the Chosen One had spent the last two days driving around some of the oldest churches of the land. He had headed through eastern Pennsylvania, then north and east to cut through the southern Hudson Valley before moving due east into Connecticut and then north into Massachusetts. Avoiding the highways, he took the winding two-lane county roads through villages and isolated farmland. He stopped only for gas, or to sit and pray in the old colonial churches of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, sacred relics of a time when this had been a Godly land. While time was of the essence in the great work he had been commanded to do, his meandering path was necessary. First, it calmed him. The old sacred places always calmed him, cleared his mind and strengthened his faith. He knew he was a weak vessel. After the last two sacrifices he needed to bolster his will, and nowhere did he feel closer to God than in some fine old wooden building whose walls had echoed with prayers for centuries. His large detour served a worldy purpose as well. At his stops at gas stations, he would make sure to park where his license plate was clearly visible to the camera, and he would go inside to make some small purchase or other, where in the brightly lit interior his face would be recognizable on the camera. There were those who would stop him, those who saw his liberation of the ancient secrets as theft, and his sacrifices as murder. Unwitting tools of Satan. He must fool them all. So he drove and prayed, prayed and drove. He was a Godly man, a pure man. All his impurity had been washed away through prayer, meditation, and shedding the blood of the unbelievers. And once he had been purified, he had been rewarded with a revelation. The sun dipped down behind the trees, twinkling through the thick foliage. With night coming on, his body betrayed him. He let out a wide yawn. He slammed his fist into his forehead three times. The weakness of the flesh! After all his efforts, his flesh remained weak! The throbbing pain in his forehead kept him awake and alert as he drove on. A sign told him Washington, D.C., was still 150 miles down the road. Once he made it, he’d find a motel. Too late in the evening to get started this night. These things took preparation. Thought. One should not rush the work of the Lord. For to fail would lead to damnation. So he wouldn’t break in tonight. He’d find a motel, sleep the sleep of the just, and tomorrow he’d continue on to the museum. He’d walk through the building when it was open to get a better look at it and break in once it had closed for the night. In the rapidly dimming light of dusk, he spotted a hitchhiker up ahead, walking along the verge close to the line of trees. He’d seen many on his marathon multi-state journey and had passed by them all. Something about this one made him look twice. The hitchhiker looked significantly older than the driver’s forty years. Maybe in his fifties or sixties. Wiry and bent, with a salt and pepper beard reaching halfway to his stomach, he carried a large backpack as he walked down the side of the highway with his thumb extended. On the back of the backpack was painted a large white cross. That was what had caught the Chosen One’s attention. That and the fact that they were far from any town. “A Godly man in the wilderness,” the Chosen One said to himself, his voice coming out hoarse. He slowed as he passed the hitchhiker and pulled off on the shoulder. In his sideview mirror he saw the man grin and trot up to him. “Where are you going?” the Chosen One croaked. “D.C.” “The Lord has smiled on you. So am I. Throw your pack over the seat into the back. Just be careful not to hit the dummy.” The hitchhiker knelt on the passenger seat and pushed his backpack over into the back, which was half filled with toolboxes and more than a hundred books stored neatly in milk crates. In a large, padded box, open at the top, lay a remarkably realistic three-foot-high dummy. It looked like a young boy, with shorts and a little button-down shirt, a happy smile, wide blue eyes, and a cowlick on his painted blonde hair. Only its skin looked unreal. It was gold. The hitchhiker stared at it a moment before closing the door and buckling up. The driver hit the accelerator and sped down the two-lane road. No cars were in sight. “Thanks for picking me up. With it getting dark I was praying I wouldn’t have to spend the night in the woods.” “You a Godly man?” the driver asked in his croaking voice. “Yes, I am. Saved at a service at Yahweh Evangelical Church in Carson City, Nevada, thirty years ago. Been on the straight and narrow ever since.” “Hallelujah.” The driver picked up speed. They were a bit southeast of Allentown, passing through state game lands. No houses here, nor farmland. A sign gave directions for Lake Nockamixon State Park. “When were you saved?” the hitchhiker asked. “Fifteen years ago. I wasted my life before then. God granted me the chance to turn my life around after he saved me from dying of an overdose.” The hitchhiker made a face. “I used to dabble in that stuff before I saw the light.” “I was in it pretty badly. Smoking heroin.” The hitchhiker looked at him. “I thought people injected heroin.” “Most people do. I didn’t like needles. I was afraid of blood back then. So I smoked it. It ruined my voice.” “Sorry to hear that.” “It’s all right.” The driver made a ghost of a smile. His muscles, unused to the expression, felt stiff. “I have someone else to speak for me.” A chirpy child’s voice came from the back of the van. “Praise the Lord. When I grow up, I’m going to be a soldier for Christ.” The hitchhiker looked over his shoulder, and not seeing anyone back there, he looked at the dummy and then back at the driver, grinning. “I was about to ask if that was a ventriloquist dummy. That was amazing. How did your voice come out so clear?” “One of the Lord’s many miracles,” the driver said in his own hoarse whisper, “When I throw my voice it comes out as clear and pure as when I was a boy.” “You do shows?” “Yes, I offer my services to Sunday schools all over the land. The children love that little dummy.” The ventriloquist’s dummy started to sing. “Jesus loves me this I know, because the Bible tells me so.”

The hitchhiker laughed. “We used to sing that in Bible camp. I wish I had embraced the Lord then instead of straying from the path.” “Bible camp,” the Chosen One grumbled. “It’s no wonder you strayed if you went to one of those pits of sin.” The hitchhiker gave him a curious look. “Pits of sin?” “Pits of vice and sin!” “Easy, brother. I don’t know what Bible camp you went to, but my—” “A nest of vipers! Satan’s kindergarten!” the driver shouted so loudly his voice cracked. He rubbed his throat and winced. Don’t be shy, kid. Where in Scripture does it say we can’t do this? And remember, the Bible says you must obey your elders. The hitchhiker raised his hands. “Whoa! Whoa! No need to get upset.” “The Lord will wreak his vengeance. I am only a weak vessel, submitting to His will,” the driver said, his voice a gravelly whisper. The hitchhiker stiffened and looked out the window. They drove in silence for a couple of minutes, the darkness gathering over the land. The headlights shone on an empty highway. Softly, the ventriloquist dummy began to sing, its pure voice lilting from the back of the van. “Sinners all burn in hell, And the Lord smiles at the smell, The righteous slay the unbelievers, And tear the throats of deceivers.” The hitchhiker cleared his throat. “You know, I think I want to camp for the night. You see, um, I forgot I had promised to meet up with someone back in East Brunswick. So, I’ll just camp and hitch a ride going the other direction tomorrow morning. Sure is nice to meet you, though. Now if you could just let me off here, that would be fine, and God bless you.” The driver slumped his shoulders. Another weak will. Another half Christian. A sign for a scenic view appeared in the headlights. “I’ll drop you off at the vista point. That way it will be easier to get a ride in early morning when people stop to see the view.” “That would be real Christian of you,” the hitchhiker said in a tight voice. He took off his seat belt, turned in his seat, and pulled his backpack over the seat. Just as he did so, two things happened: an approaching car with its high beams on sped up behind them, shining light through the windows of the van’s rear doors and illuminating the back; at the same moment, the hitchhiker yanked his pack up and accidentally knocked over a toolbox. It fell open, and wire cutters and a large knife fell out. Stains on the blade could just be made out in the dim light. Stiffly, the hitchhiker sat down, pretending he didn’t notice. But the Chosen One noticed. He slowed, and as the overtaking vehicle passed and the pull-off came into view, he turned onto it. He stopped in a small parking lot with a descriptive sign looking out over a small, forested valley, half hidden in the dark. “This will be fine right here,” the hitchhiker said. “I’ll get you a bit away from the highway, so the noise doesn’t disturb your sleep.” “That’s all right. I can walk.” The hitchhiker’s voice had an edge to it now. His hand rested on the door latch, even though they were still moving. The headlights revealed a narrow Park Service road of cracked concrete leading out of the parking lot and down into the valley. Here and there tufts of grass pushed out from the asphalt. “I can walk from here,” the hitchhiker repeated. The driver didn’t seem to hear him or didn’t care. Instead of responding to his statement, he said instead, “For the rare seeker, the one who keeps to the true path, there is a way to know God better than anyone other than the Apostles themselves. There is a lock, but before one can open the lock one must find it, and to find it one must assemble the key. That will both tell you the location of the lock and give you the means by which to open it. And when the right man opens it, all will be revealed, and the man so blessed will be like one of the Apostles.” The driver coughed and rubbed his throat. He was unaccustomed to talking so much with his own voice. When he threw his voice into Little Peter, it didn’t hurt his throat. Only when he spoke for himself did his sinful old habit cause him pain. He licked his lips, swallowed, and continued as he drove slowly down the Park Service road and the hitchhiker fidgeted beside him. “I have been searching for the key for many years. Its pieces have been scattered and hidden. It is a difficult path, and few stay on it for long. I’ve met many who try and quickly fail. Godless fools, mostly. I know of only one other seeker who is truly committed. She may be Godless too. I don’t know. I hope not. I have learned so much from her. Someday I’ll meet her. If she is Godless, I will correct her. If she is Godly, I will make her my wife. She will bear me many children I will put on the right path. Together as a family we will wash this sinful land clean the only way sin can be cleaned from the land.” From the back, Little Peter said, “The streets will run red with the blood of the unbelievers.” The driver slowed the van and stopped. “Thanks, brother!” the hitchhiker said, already jumping out. “This will be just fine.” The hitchhiker took off running, struggling to put on his pack. Calmly the Chosen One put the van in park, switched off his headlights, looked around for the lights of any approaching vehicle and, seeing none, reached in the back and retrieved the knife. He did not rush. The hitchhiker was loaded down with a pack and had nowhere to hide. Plus, as an instrument of God’s will, there was no chance he would not manage to chase down his quarry. In the last dim light of dusk, the driver could just make out the hitchhiker. He had left the road and tried to cut across the woods, only to trip in the gloom and fall. Now he struggled to get up. It looked like he had hurt his ankle. The driver walked toward him, hand gripping the knife. “Stay away from me!” the hitchhiker cried, shucking off his backpack and managing to get up. He turned and hobbled off. The Chosen One increased his pace, narrowing the space between them. But he did not run. He did not need to. God had hurt this false Christian, this devil in disguise who might go to the police, those Pharisees who pervert the words of the Lord. The Chosen One’s heavy boots crushed the undergrowth and gave him firm footing on the wet, uneven ground. The hitchhiker, trying to hurry in worn old sneakers, kept slipping or getting caught up, slowing him further. “What do you want!” the hitchhiker pleaded. “To open the lock,” the driver replied. “To reveal God’s hidden secrets and purify the world. But I do not have to wait to purify the world. I can start purifying it right now.” The hitchhiker’s eyes bugged in terror. He picked up a rock and threw it. The driver dodged it easily. As he bent to pick up another, the Chosen One rushed him. “Please!” The hitchhiker grabbed the Chosen One’s knife arm, but with his free arm the Chosen One gave him a powerful punch that knocked him flat. The Chosen One grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up, putting the keen edge of the knife to his throat. “No,” the hitchhiker whispered. “You’re a Godly man. I can see that. You’re a good man. Think. Would God want this? This is not God’s way.” The driver snorted. “You don’t know God’s way. So few people do.” He cut deep into the hitchhiker’s throat, the blood gushing onto the damp forest soil. “Thy will be done,” the Chosen One intoned. As the man flailed and choked on his own blood, the Chosen One began to gather stones and brush to pile on top of him. A low ditch and some bushes provided cover to hide the backpack. The body and backpack would not remain hidden forever. Sooner or later, the Devil would lead someone to them. But he did not have time to bury it properly. He had to hurry on to the capital of this accursed nation. He prayed God would grant him enough time to do His work. Once he had hidden everything as well as time allowed, and cleaned the knife on some leaves, he walked back to the van, feeling at peace, his mind clear. The Lord had sent this false Christian into his path as a sign. The Lord wanted to test his fortitude. He had been tired, worn down, needing his little road trip around the old churches in order to buck up his spirit. What he really needed was greater faith in God’s master plan. Where once he had felt weary, now every nerve sang with energy. His hooded, gritty eyes now sparkled. The stiffness of hours of driving had vanished. As he climbed into the van, he felt like he could drive all the way to California that very night and kill every sinner in the state. Leaving the door open so the light remained on, he quickly checked that no blood had gotten onto his overalls. He did not see any. He was getting good at slaughtering the unrighteous without leaving traces. Having that knife in the top of a toolbox, a toolbox he had forgotten to latch, that was a slipup. Slipups were unacceptable. He smacked his forehead with his fist three times. “A weak vessel,” he shouted. “I am a weak vessel!” He gripped the wheel, his heart pounding fast. The calm he usually felt after sending a sinner to Hell was tinged with the realization that he had stumbled, made mistakes. God did not accept mistakes. “I will try to do better, my Lord,” he whispered.

~~~

It has been an interesting experience since I decided to find bargain books at BookBub as my main source of e-books... I have always been somebody who is willing to read just about any book that comes my way. You are right, I don't support book banning for any reason. Indeed, it is part of our precious freedom of speech, even though many times I might be personally offended by what I choose--or not choose--to read. One of the most offensive for me is the corruption by those who merge religion, politics, and violence, supposedly having the violence blessed by God...

When you read The Death Code novel by Ava Strong, you may quickly realize that the villain is a religious fanatic... We find that at a church camp in his early life, he was sexually abused by a counselor... In today's world where, now, religion is being used as a political tool, we find that many, many people are being swayed--controlled by false narratives about what is happening being the plan God has for America... More and more people are discovering that the lies which have led to violence, prejudice, war, theft and more have no relationship to God's Love and Truth...

The Death Code--outside of the more obvious psychopathic serial killer with a fanatical lifestyle, is a extraordinarily written story that I call "treasure hunt" books... You know, those books or movies that have a main charactr that is sent to stop the bad guys from obtaining secret documents, or hidden treasures and keep them safe from being used to "destroy the world" as we know it...

In this first book in a new series, we find that an FBI agent has been picked out to be moved to a new FBI unit covering Antiquities... Daniel Walker was to be the only agent, based upon his educational history background, which was really more than that, even though not documented due to traveling with his mother during his early life... But Walker was not happy to be moved, having a good record in hunting down serial killers for years...

Who knew that the very first case in his new unit would be to find a serial killer, who happened to be on the hunt for hiddle antiquities!?

Walker soon realized that he really had no choice--that the various shortcuts he'd used in the past had caught up with him and he was to work to save his career in this relocation... The thing is, that, the first murder and theft had already occurred! Walker knew the mechanics of investigation, but how did he find out about the information needed on the various antiquities?

Enter Remi Laurent, who, you should immediately know, is "almost" as obsessive as the religious fanatic... But her obsession, from a professional standpoint, was to find the exact set of antiquities that the Fanatic was hunting! Right now, Laurent was teaching “History 330: Codes, Ciphers, and Hidden Messages in Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Art.” In fact, her credentials was that she was known as one of the leading professors in this field... It didn't take much research for Walker to find Laurent...

“So you’ve heard of the cryptex?” she asked. “You know of my research?” “Yeah. After the second murder, I searched the Internet for info about secrets or treasure hidden in medieval art collections. He isn’t the typical thief. He could have taken any number of priceless artifacts and didn’t. He was looking for something hidden. It didn’t take long to find you and your research into that cryptex thing. I want to talk to you about it.” “What did your research tell you?” Professor Laurent asked. For a moment Daniel felt like a student getting a pop quiz. “It’s sort of an early version of the Rubik’s cube. A series of ivory cubes all connected that have letters and numbers on them. It supposedly held great secrets if someone could crack the code and open it.” “What did you think of that?” “Well, I got to admit I began to get bored. It sounded like a conspiracy theory cooked up by Internet addicts who have bad spelling and write in all caps. But then I found you, a real academic from a top university who took it seriously. That made me think it’s real.” “It is real.” Did he detect a note of defensiveness in her response? Maybe she got ragged by some of her colleagues. It was a bit of a wacko subject, after all. Probably a good idea not to ruffle her feathers too much...

So, it also didn't take much time to convince her to help him with this case! Remi had come to Georgetown from France and had been somewhat shocked that the students here were not as enthusiastic about her choice of study as many were in France... So, when the FBI said they could seek her full-time support, she wasn't too upset... Especially since she had also learned that the second murder and destruction of an antiquity had occurred!

“So you think this is the same man?” A rising suspicion of a motive pushed itself into Remi’s consciousness. It seemed too crazy to take seriously, but she could not shake it. “We have security video of what looks to be the same man. In both cases he picked the lock on a door and disabled the alarm and security cameras. It has to be the same guy. It got me to wondering why he targeted those museums and that got me to researching what those museums had in common.” Remi’s heart was pounding hard now. In a tremulous voice she said, “And that led you to me and my research into the cryptex.” Agent Daniel Walker nodded, and all of Remi Laurent’s hopes were fulfilled. And all of her fears.

The book never says exactly why the villain was in such a hurry, but, as they started on trying to figure out where he would go next, it soon became possible that he would be traveling to various universities which might house relevant antiquities. Trouble was that there were over 10 and they could not travel in time to be ahead of his own schedule. Soon they started to check for where antiquities were on loan, but had at least one false choice which lost credibility for Remi--at least in her mind... But, readers will begin to find that Daniel Walker was finding that Remi was not only a beautiful and warm person, but that she was indeed an expert in what was involved in this case... The problem was time. Because the Fanatic was moving nightly, even having broken into another location without anybody realizing it, which did not require another murder... But then, the Fanatic began to worry that God was not happy because he had not "sacrificed" blood upon receipt of the next clue...

And then, one day, Remi was alone at an exhibition and when she turned around, she saw a man with his eyes on the antiquity she had been examining... And their eyes met and held...

And Remi did not share than encounter with anybody, especially her FBI partner... Yes, she was obsessed as well...

Really enjoyed the cat-and-mouse chase and the exploration of where and why the next clue might be... Yeah, it is indeed like a puzzle that you find you must solve in order to move on... This one is highly recommended simply for the brain exercise! LOL

GABixlerReviews

J.D.Robb Reminded Me, Again, Why This is My TOP Favorite Series - Portrait in Death Book 16 - Spotlight on Roarke!

 

The world within a world the boy he’d watched become a man had created. Now that world had been shaken, and needed to be put steady again. “You’ll go back to Ireland. You’ll have to go back.” “I will.” Roarke nodded, unspeakably grateful to be understood without having said the words. “I will, yes.” “When?” “Right away. I think it’s best to go straight away.” “Have you told the lieutenant?” “I haven’t.” Unsettled again, Roarke looked down at his own hands, ran the gold band of his marriage around his finger. “She’s in the middle of a difficult investigation. This will distract her from it. I’d considered telling her I had business out of town, but I can’t lie to her. It’ll be simpler, I think, to make the arrangements, then tell her I’m going.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she? In this picture, she’s already dead.” “Probably.” Eve shifted the image aside, and read the text of the transmission. 

SHE WAS THE FIRST, AND HER LIGHT WAS PURE. IT WILL SHINE ON FOREVER. IT LIVES IN ME NOW. SHE LIVES IN ME. TO RETRIEVE THE RECEPTACLE, GO TO DELANCEY AND AVENUE D. TELL THE WORLD, THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. A BEGINNING FOR ALL.

News - and Comment - The Texas Walkout and What It Tells Us About Democracy's Prcarious Moment

Today, Texas Democratic lawmakers did something remarkable—and notably, not unprecedented.

They boarded planes and fled their state, effectively halting the legislative session and blocking a deeply controversial Republican congressional map from coming to a vote. At first glance, it’s easy to dismiss this as political theater. But what’s unfolding in Texas is deeper than theatrics: it’s symptomatic of a broader democratic crisis that is increasingly defining our era.

This new Texas map, introduced by the state's Republican majority, isn't subtle. It openly carves out five additional safe Republican seats, solidifying GOP control even further. Republicans currently hold 25 of Texas’ 38 congressional seats; under the new plan, that number could rise to 30 – an astonishing consolidation of power in a state growing increasingly diverse and politically competitive. For Democrats, blocking the map isn't simply about gaining partisan advantage; it's a defense against a rigged electoral playing field.

And to do it, they resorted to the only effective tool at their disposal: denying Republicans the quorum they needed.

The politics here aren't subtle, either. Democrats fled largely to Illinois, a choice that isn’t accidental.

llinois Governor J.B. Pritzker, known nationally as one of the Democratic Party's most substantial financial supporters, quietly and effectively backed this maneuver. Pritzker, who has spent heavily supporting progressive causes across the country, provided not just logistical support, but a clear political statement:

Democratic solidarity in this fight against aggressive Republican gerrymandering transcends state lines.

But even as Democrats rally around the Texas delegation’s symbolic stand, it's worth acknowledging the complicated dynamics that define redistricting nationwide.

In states controlled by Republicans, gerrymandering has become something close to an art form – precise, strategic, and increasingly ruthless. Texas, Florida, North Carolina, and others have aggressively redrawn district lines to ensure partisan advantage. But Democrats, where they have the power, have often responded in kind. Illinois itself is no innocent: its most recent congressional map was graded "F" for fairness by the Princeton Gerrymandering Project, illustrating that partisan redistricting is a bipartisan disease.

Yet there is an important difference emerging between how many Democratic-controlled states and Republican-controlled states are handling this process. California, Colorado, New York, and Washington, all Democratic-leaning states, have shifted control of redistricting to independent, non-partisan commissions. This approach, while imperfect, attempts to depoliticize district-drawing and restore fairness into a process that shapes the very foundation of representation.

Texas Republicans, by contrast, are moving aggressively in the opposite direction. They aren't just playing partisan politics – they're actively reshaping political geography in ways designed explicitly to dilute the power of Democratic-leaning voters, particularly voters of color.

This isn't just political strategy – it's fundamentally anti-democratic.

The Democrats' flight, therefore, should not be dismissed as mere spectacle or partisan brinkmanship.

It is a desperate measure born from a political system increasingly rigged against fair competition. It’s worth remembering that this isn't Texas Democrats’ first act of defiance; they did something similar in 2021 over voting restrictions and in 2003 to resist another GOP redistricting plan. Each time, their dramatic acts have drawn national attention – but ultimately, Republicans have prevailed. And yet, Democrats continue to return to this strategy because it illuminates how few options remain when democratic processes themselves are compromised.

JB Pritzker's involvement, quietly facilitating this moment, points to an emerging strategic solidarity among national Democrats: understanding that local battles over redistricting have national implications.

As Republicans across the country increasingly redraw districts to entrench minority rule, Democrats like Pritzker see state-level fights as central to the future health of American democracy itself.

His funding and support underscore how the fight in Texas isn’t just Texas’s fight – it’s America's.



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Folks, I have no long history of political bias one way or the other... More specifically, I was among those Americans who paid surface attention to what was happening in Washington, but the demands of our daily lives far exceeded the time it could take to keep abreast of what was happening...

The time when Washingtonians were trying to scare everybody about communists--accusing anybody and everybody... was quite some time ago. However, those who choose to disrupt America for their own purposes has surely been ongoing... But, it is clear that, right now--yes, right now... those individuals have succeeded in placing an individual perfectly suited for the type of leader that already was a conman in his own world and only became worse when given the power of the presidency. Obviously none of us who were "living our lives" had sufficient time, nor, perhaps, interest, to see the direction that was evolving through the years.

What that means is that we have reached a point where criminal acts have resulted in total control, including the Supreme Court to a great extent, in the presidency. A total rejection of all things that once made America what it was, has been, and was always intended to be... FREE.

Let me be very clear, it is impossible for anybody who believes in God OR, not religious, but still cannot accept starving an entire group of people is just wrong, would never consider that what Israel's leaders are doing right now (and Russia) is the right thing to do... Further, the pretension of actions here in America by the government that declares any action against Israel as illegal... is...also just... plain... WRONG! Anything done, as is/was being done to rig our elections in America is just as criminal as is all other actions now taking place under the present administration... May God Be With Us and All those Who are Being Damaged in some way, including death, as we struggle to be freed from such extreme and lawless activities! 

Can America survive the minute-by-minute actions against humanity by the rich and powerful now in control? Only if we all fight in every way possible to stop the MADNESS OF HATE, RETRIBUTION, AND, MOST OF ALL, GREED!

So, we come back to Texas, where people apparently do not matter... Remember that little has been done to help those who lost so much, including their lives in Texas' greatest losses during unprecedented flooding.

Because of course, the politicians have all been involved in working to ensure that the majority of Texans are not fairly treated in our upcoming elections... Yes, that means that the majority (non-white-male) of Texans have been gerrymandered within a "MAP" CREATED TO ENSURE THAT HAPPENS! And it had nothing to do with the redistricting done in association with the last nationwide census... So many lies...how can we keep up???

So many innocents affected for being non-white...

Do you believe in Liberty?

Do you Seek Freedom?

For ALL People???

Fight for It!

Gabby

Mixed Blessings by Cathy Marie Hake is, indeed, Love Inspired~

 “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Clearly, yesterday’s lunchtime prayer wasn’t a mere ritual. Marie lived her faith. Good thing she does. Only God will be able to solve this for us...

“Ricky and I will have lunch with you and Luke.” She looked at her son—her biological son—and whispered, “I didn’t know it was going to be this hard.” The housekeeper’s arrival cut short Peter’s response. The aproned woman pushed in an elegant, inlaid wood tea cart laden with four china plates and beverages. She proceeded to set the small trestle table over by the window with linen napkins. Marie thought she must be hallucinating. It looked like someone had clipped this scene straight from a soap opera. She glanced at Peter and Luke. Neither of them paid any attention to the housekeeper. Marie gulped. A very ordinary woman who lived an average middle-class life, she knew she was in way over her head. Peter nudged Luke toward the table, then plucked Ricky out of Marie’s arms. “We’ll have to get you a booster seat just like Luke’s. Today, you’ll sit on my lap.” Marie hesitantly took the seat Peter pulled out for her, then looked at Ricky. He’d curled his fingers around Peter’s collar and grinned up at him, so she couldn’t very well protest, even though her heart twisted at the sight of them together. You knew you’d have to learn to share him. She daintily settled her napkin in her lap, then reached over to take Ricky’s outstretched hand. She cast a wary look at Peter. He took Luke’s hand. “Do you normally say grace, too?” She nodded. Too. That one word relaxed her a bit. At least they held some common ground. Building bridges between their families would be easier if they shared a foundation of faith. Luke and Ricky singsonged, “God is great, God is good…” in a sweet duet, and Peter’s voice quickly blended with them. Marie finally caught up and added, “Amen!” Peter’s intense stare made Marie shift in her seat. “What?” “If you’re upset about missing church, you can attend ours.” She broke eye contact and picked up her sandwich. “I’m so confused.” She put down the sandwich without taking a bite. “I’m torn between needing to stay and needing to go.” “Staying is only right. There’s no question. You can’t tease me with one short hour of being with my—” he paused and shot a quick look at Luke, then back at Ricky. His voice vibrated with restrained emotion “—With my flesh and blood, then snatch him away!” Despair flooded her. “I care for my sister. She was injured in an accident.” He frowned. Marie wasn’t sure whether it was from vexation that she didn’t accede to his wishes at once or concern for Sandy. “How is she managing without you today?” “She’s at the rehab facility. One of our church family is picking her up. He’ll keep her company at home until I get there.” “Surely he can watch her overnight.” Marie winced. “The gentleman involved isn’t exactly versed in giving her the particular type of care she’ll require.” “That’s not a problem. We’ll call and arrange for a private nurse to stay with her tonight. You can’t leave.” “Mr. Hallock,” she paused and watched as Peter playfully stuck an olive on Ricky’s thumb. Both of their faces lit with glee. Cuddling Ricky closer, Peter grabbed another olive and did the same to Luke. All three of them laughed. If it’s so cute, why do I want to cry? Peter looked at her and raised his brows. “What were you going to say?” “I know I said it before,” she whispered, “but this is even harder than I thought it was going to be.” His smile faded. “We have to work together, Marie…for their sakes.” “I know.” He shook his head. “It’s so hard to believe. We’ve got a lot to do.” He accepted a carrot from Ricky. “First off, I—” “I think,” she interrupted, “we’d be wise to not make any immediate decisions. It’s going to be complicated. Can’t we please have today to just share our sons?” “That would be easier if you’d change your plan to flit out of here.” She tried to calm down with a sip of iced tea, but it didn’t help. Her hand shook as she set the crystal goblet back down on the table. “Mr. Hallock—” “Peter. It seems crazy to be formal when we’re going to be sharing kids.” Marie dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Peter, I learned about this a week ago. The first day, I was in shock. You’re that way now. I’m falling apart, and you’re acting like nothing is wrong. In a day or two, the reality will hit you full force.” “So you’re dropping a bomb, listening to it tick for a few minutes, then running before it detonates?” She granted him a wobbly smile. His words were clever, but the reality hurt too much. Her eyes burned and her nose tingled with suppressed tears. “Hey,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. That joke was in poor taste. I think you were incredibly brave to come here. I don’t know what I would have done.” “I admit, I’m frazzled. I prayed all of the way here, but my focus was on the boys.” She shrugged. “I’m not ready to think about all of the consequences or plot a future course.” “Okay. We’ll just concentrate on the guys today.” Marie didn’t eat much. Her nerves were strung too tight. Nothing seemed to fit past the big ball in her throat. By the end of lunch, Luke started rubbing his eyes. Marie looked at Peter. “Would you mind if I tucked him in for his nap?” He rubbed his chin on Ricky’s crown. “How ’bout if we let Ricky nap a while, too?” “He naps well in his car seat. It might be easier if we slip out while they’re sleepy. If you’re free next weekend, why don’t you and Luke come for a visit?” “Nothing is more important than this, Marie. We have to make a pact that the boys come first. I’ll clear my calendar and jump through whatever hoops I have to.” Peter sat on the couch and held Ricky while Marie tucked in Luke by herself. Those few moments she spent alone with Jack’s little son were bittersweet. Even after he’d fallen asleep, she held him close to her heart. Finally, she whispered a prayer over him, slipped him onto his bed and covered him with a satin-edged baby blanket. One kiss wasn’t enough. The second and third were just as precious. She knew she had to leave. It felt like a giant was reaching in and tearing her heart from her breast. Each step she took from his room and down the hall took monumental effort. Peter rose from the couch as she reentered the playroom. Ricky lay in his arms like a boneless cat. He’d fallen asleep, just like Luke. “I’ll carry him out for you.” She blinked back tears and reached out. “My arms feel too empty. Please—” To her relief, Peter relinquished Ricky. Peter’s face was pale and taut. Marie suspected his composure was starting to crack. Part of her wanted to stay so he wouldn’t have to bear the anguish alone, but she had no emotional reserves and couldn’t do anything to lessen the impact of this disaster. Left alone, he’d at least keep his dignity. She made it to the front door, but Peter pressed a hand to the oak panel, blocking her exit. “Marie—” “Peter, you have to let us go.” His troubled gaze held her captive. “For now—but things are far from resolved.” Marie nodded. Ricky stirred and lifted his head. Marie shrank as Peter completely closed the few inches between them. Back pressed against the wall, she gulped and her eyes widened. Then his head dipped. “Bye-bye, tiger. You’re a wonderful boy. I was so happy to meet you. I’ll see you again, soon.” He spoke the words very softly, very tenderly, before he kissed Ricky’s cheek and rumpled his hair. Genuine affection glowed in his eyes. His sweetness to her son meant the world—until he whispered to her, “You take good care of him until I can.”

The phone rang as Marie crossed the threshold. Too tired to care, Marie let go of Ricky’s hand and smiled wearily at her sister. “I don’t know how people commute long distances to work.” Sandy gave her a sympathetic look, then glanced at the still-jangling phone and made a wry face. “You’d better answer that. Some guy named Peter has been calling every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. He’s frantic.” “Great.” Marie rubbed her aching back as she headed for the phone. “Hello?” “Marie! It’s eight forty-seven! You’ve been driving long past dark. What took you so long? Was there a problem?” Her purse strap slid down from her shoulder, and Marie let her bag drop onto the battered, white kitchen counter with a muffled thump. Shoving her hair back from her forehead, she sighed, “We’re fine.” “What took you so long?” Peter’s voice sounded ragged with concern, but Marie didn’t want to think about him or his feelings at the moment. His parting words kept echoing in her head. You take good care of him until I can. All the way home, she’d worried that Peter meant to try to take Ricky away. She’d been so absorbed, she’d failed to look at the gauges and run out of gas. “I said, we’re fine.” “Thank heavens! Marie, your car is leaking oil. I saw a pool of fresh oil right where you were parked. I worried you broke down or something.” “We made it home in one piece.” “Good!” His sigh of relief flowed over the line. Marie cleared her throat. “When I stopped to get gas, my license and cards were in the wrong places in my wallet.” The line went silent. “Mr. Hallock? I believe an answer is in order.” She could hear his steps as he paced back and forth on a hard surface someplace. The silence told her he was considering several possible explanations. That fact irked her. She wanted the truth. “While you were in my house,” he said in a well-modulated tone, “the security officer did a search of the car and your purse. He copied your identification and put it back.” I wanted him to be honest—but I also hoped he’d be honorable. Fatigue gave way to anger. “I’m so mad, I could spit nails! How dare you do such a thing!”

~~~

When a book immediately says "Love Inspired," any reader is going to assume love will be the ending, so I kept that in mind, even though it was not a journey full of joy that occured in this wonderful book, Mixed Blessings, by Cathy Marie Hake... In fact, it starts with major heartbreak...

Marie Cadant had already been through personal pain when her husband, a cop, was killed on the job... Needless to say, when another major event occurred soon thereafter, she was upset, to say the least, because she believed that her baby was not hers--that there had been an accidental switch at the hospital... And since there was no way to prove it, she was out to deal with the issue herself!

Diligently doing needed research, she had discovered a possible individual who could have her and her late husband's son... At the same time, she had grown to love the little boy she had taken home from the hospital when released... They had grown close and she knew that she would not be able to give up contact with him either... But could another family adjust to such a situation?

Let's just say that the first contact was very disturbing, especially when the possible father saw her child, who was identical to him! But, at the same time, when Marie saw his little boy, she knew right away that he was her husband's child as well. Two boys could not have looked more like their father... At least there was no dispute about whether a mistake had indeed been made.

But Marie became concerned almost immediately. She realized that the man was extremely rich, which was quite different from her life. Further, immediately he began to act authoritatively as if he would be dealing with all issues to get this mistake corrected... NOT! Marie was a mother, most of all, and she planned to ensure both of these boys were in her life, no matter what this rich man tried.

But, no matter what each of the parents was thinking, the two little boys were almost instant friends as if they realized that a connection was meant to be...

Finally the two parents (yes, the father was divorced), decided to allow time for everybody to get acquainted by visiting at each other homes... Sounds ok from the father's standpoint who had help to run his very large and modern home. But Marie was making do even though the local cops were helping her as much as possible since her husband's death. Automatically, the money availability was quickly noticed with offers from the rich to give to the poor--car, etc... Marie was soon feeling distressed, and in fear that the man would try to take both of the boys, using financial care as a reason for legal action... But at least both of them were willing to work toward an agreeable solution...

“You knew I hummed in the shower?” He chortled softly. “Yep. Sunday mornings, getting ready for church. It always struck my funny bone when you chose a hymn that said something about water or a fount or the ocean.”

He paced back and forth with long, impatient strides, then walked to Ricky’s bedroom door. Bracing an arm against the doorsill, he looked at his son, then drew in a deep breath. Without turning around, he said, “We’ll compromise. I’ll split the cost with you.” “No, I can rework my budget.” He pivoted sharply and snapped, “I don’t want you to!” Glowering at him, Marie said, “This isn’t about what you want. This happens to be you trying to impinge on my private life.” His lips parted, then closed for a second. He came closer and rumbled, “Marie, this isn’t about money—it’s about keeping you, Ricky and Sandy safe.” “No, it isn’t. Clearly you have vast funds and I don’t, but I’m not going to allow you to do anything financial.” Peter groaned. “I’m not trying to buy my way into your lives.” “It feels like you are,” she admitted all too promptly. “Then I’ll ask you to forgive me, Marie. I don’t know what more to say.” “I believe in forgiveness, Peter, but I also know I have to exercise common sense and wisdom. I don’t know you at all, and I don’t know just how much trust I can put in you. People with wealth are inclined to try to buy their way out of problems or patch things up with money, but there are some things in life that don’t have a price tag.” “I only want to take care of a few car repairs!” “This time,” she said. “But then where do I draw the line? It’s a subtle form of control, and I’d be a fool to even think of it. I won’t tolerate you tossing your money at me as if I were a charity case or a poor relation. Am I clear on that issue?” His face stayed grim. “Will you at least go to the guy my man recommended? It’s probably something minor, but mechanics see a woman like you coming and a cash register in the back of their brains starts chinging. At least we’ll know he’ll be honest.” He’d scrawled the mechanic’s name and address on a piece of paper and held it out to her. Marie let out a rueful laugh. “If Ricky or Luke end up half as stubborn as you, I’m going to wear my knees flat, praying for patience!” “Then we’ll match,” he countered as he pressed the paper into her hands. She fingered the slip. “I guess we’ll see you Saturday.” He tilted her face up to his. “No, Marie. Friday evening. The nice part about flying is that you’ll be able to spend more time with us. My secretary will make the flight arrangements. She’ll call you with the details and have the tickets waiting at the counter. Her name is Paulette.” She gave him a tentative smile. “We’ll see you Friday.” Friday, Peter could hardly wait for them to get off the plane, yet a long trail of passengers came toward the baggage-claim area and Marie still didn’t appear. Did she chicken out? He’d wanted to call her every single day this week—both to talk to his little son and to reinforce how much he anticipated their visit. It took all of his self-restraint to phone only twice. Did I push too much? Did I act too casual so she decided it wasn’t important? Luke rode his shoulders to keep from being mowed over by travelers. Just about the time Peter decided to ask one of the passengers if they’d seen Marie, Ricky and Sandy on the plane, they came into sight. Marie held Ricky in her arms and walked behind Sandy’s wheelchair. Peter’s heart sped up another notch. “There they are!” Luke clapped his hands and shouted, “Ricky! Ricky! Marie!” Peter watched Marie’s reaction as he jogged toward them. The time he’d spent using the photos and teaching Luke to recognize Ricky and Marie had paid off in spades. Marie stopped in her tracks. Her breath caught and tears glossed her eyes. Peter swept Luke into Sandy’s lap. “Give Auntie Sandy a big hug, Luke.” Luke wound his arms around Sandy as Peter gathered Ricky and Marie together in one, all-encompassing hug. He gave Ricky an extra squeeze, then smiled at Marie. “Luke recognized you from the picture. I got the film developed and have been showing your photos to him all week. Smart kid, huh?” “Luke takes after his aunt,” Sandy declared as she hugged her nephew. “At least in the brains department. He certainly took after you with his looks, Marie.” “Here, Marie. I’ll take him.” Peter eagerly curled his hands around Ricky’s ribs and tugged. “This little monster is too heavy for you to carry!” Marie relinquished him and turned to get Luke. “Then I’ll take Luke.” Sandy shook her head. “Nothing doing, sis. It’s my turn to hold him. Besides, he weighs more than Ricky, and you still have a gigantic bruise from the lab drawing your blood.” Peter looked at the dark purple splotch at the bend in Marie’s arm and frowned. “That looks sore. Luke bruised, too—but not like that.” She tugged at her sleeve to cover the mark. “Ricky wasn’t happy at all about getting stuck. How did Luke do?” “I bribed him with ice cream,” Peter confessed. He noted how Marie redirected the focus to the boys. She wasn’t one to want to be the center of attention. He didn’t let on how seeing her held almost as much appeal as seeing Ricky. Instead, he directed them toward the baggage carousel and let the boys start up some nonsensical chatter. The boys continued to prattle to one another the whole ride home. During one of the phone calls, Peter mentioned he’d gotten a car seat for Ricky, so Marie didn’t need to lug one along. On the ride home, Peter pointed out a few sights and pulled into his drive. “Wow. Marie told me you lived in a nice place, but she didn’t say it was a mansion!” Sandy gawked at it. Peter grinned at her. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here...” 

“Just for us. God gave us a blanket of stars.” “Just for us?” “Absolutely.” He turned his head and winked at her. “He whispers His love on the wind, too.” “Mmm,” she hummed. “I like that.”

And of course you can guess how the story ends... But it's a lovely read--heartwarming and inspirational... Enjoy this one!

GABixlerReviews

Poet John Herlihy Visits to Present - A Part of Me and I Never Met the Love I Lost -- Lovely Poetry to Ponder! And One Responsive Poem

 

A Part of Me

John Herlihy

When I get an idea

And sit down to write a poem,

I go to that secret place

Where writing poems takes me.

Far from the maddening crowd,

Near to the heart of things.

The door of the mind flung open,

Windows of imagination crystal clear.

Sometimes I smile,

For all the happiness the verses bring.

Sometimes I weep,

Listening to the sad adagios the verses sing.

In perfect solitude, poised to imagine,

In this one true place I call my own.

Every day brings a new journey to fathom,

But this place I call home.

The one place I find solace,

Writing poems feels like grace.

Whether ancient sage or novice,

I lift the mask revealing a true face.

When I finish writing the poem,

I get up and walk away.

Back into the world,

But not all of me.

A part of me left behind,

Between the lines of the poem.

Therein lies my true face.

- - - - -

Copyright © John Herlihy

Saturday 15 March 2025