#Russia-United States Weird

/LisaHaganBooks

The Cold War. I mean, have you ever really thought about it? People died all over the place. Families were separated and never saw each other again.  Why? In part because Stalin got hurt feelings. Like most dictators, he had an ego of glass. His people had won the European Theater and didn’t get all the credit they deserved. (America won the Pacific, so you have that, people.) Churchill and F.D.R. remained chatty good buddies, never inviting Josef for a smoke after dinner.  This stung.

In the swirling post-WWII hurt-feelings, Russia and the United States began playing the games you see on your television set today. (See Impeachment Hearings.)  Vladimir Putin is a man in search of an economy, trying to conquer more lands to satisfy his greedy oligarchs; his citizens sure aren’t eating very well. Crimea, DA! Ukraine, DA! Arctic, DA! United States of America’s President! Double DA!

Back in the day, the game was a little different; it wasn’t such a smash and grab. It was zany. And the zaniest of all the tit-for-tat of the Cold War was the dueling UFO programs. Fake rockets were launched and elaborate photographs of crashed saucers were staged in the woods. Rubber corpses were autopsied and filmed and, in a stroke of sheer genius, the U.S. military planned to broadcast the voice of God over Cuba to encourage them to smite the evil communists. Thousands of government personnel worked these capers, huge facilities housed complex machinery and scientific tools, and jets were scrambled over and over and over and over…….

Take heart. All those taxes you pay go to so much more than trash collection…….

You’ll see when you check out Flying Saucers Over the Kremlin by Nick Redfern

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Visit Nick online at Nick Redfern’s World of Whatever

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THE SECRET INGREDIENT IN MARITAL ARGUMENTS

By Dr. Phil Lee, author of Argument Addiction

Death Move Marital Arguments contain a toxic message, akin to ‘the poison on the tip of the dart (Gottman/Bumberry).” The apparent question isn’t really a question. Like the body of the dart, the question is only a delivery system for the poison. “Why are you such a slob?” is not a question looking for an answer. “What color are your eyes?” is a question looking for an answer.

“Why are you such a slob?” is a poisonous counterattack mas- querading as a question.

“You are defective, and one evidence of that is you are a slob.” The initial question, “Why aren’t you ever interested in sex?” wasn’t a question either. It was a poisonous attack: “You are defective, and one evidence of that is you are a frigid bitch.”

Whether disguised as question and counter question, or sarcasm and counter sarcasm, the death move marital argument boils down to one refrain, repeated endlessly:

“You’re no good.”

The “Death Move” is a phrase borrowed from legendary golf instructor Jim McLean. He espoused the belief that there was no one perfect swing in golf, rather that there were a range of possible planes. However, he held that if you wandered outside the acceptable range, then you had initiated a death move, from which there is no recovery.

“No, you’re no good.”

The “You’re no good” is inaudible. It’s inaudible but understood; it is boilerplate. Jen will fill in the blank. “You’re no good because _____________________.”

To which David will respond, “No, you’re no good because________________.”

They will simply hurl the fill-in-the-blank post-boilerplate at each other. The post-boilerplate is the part written into the blank space after ‘because;’ it is the modern equivalent of the crockery couples hurl at each other in old movies.

Instead of plates and dishes flying at each other’s heads, we have accusations flying through the air. Now the “You’re no good” portion is unspoken. If the allegation is “You’re no good because you never take out the trash,” what Jen will say is “You never take out the trash!”

Dave’s response is “No, you’re no good because you are always late,” though the audible portion will be “You’re always late.”They almost seem to be speaking at cross-purposes until the secret writing is revealed. It’s like when kids write secret messages on a paper with milk. The page looks blank before “you never take out the trash,” but when held over a candle, the secret message appears: “You’re no good because…” And the important part is the secret message: “You’re no good.”

SO, IT’S AN ARGUMENT ADDICTION? 

In marital shorthand, if the “You’re no good…” gets left out, and whatever filled in the blanks becomes the repetitive and choreographed exchange. Leave out “you’re no good” and what do you get?

When the you’re no good gets left out then the familiar exchange is heard:

“Can’t you ever take out the garbage??”

“Can’t you ever be on time?

It is so important to understand this, because it reveals why Judge Judy doesn’t work. It is not that the Judge isn’t wise, and it is not that the solutions offered by the Judge are unreasonable. It is that, as we will see, no amount of sensible divvying up who takes out the garbage, or when each partner is ready to leave, — no amount of adjudication will address the underlying “you’re no good” that is the heart of the problem.

 

If you can stop the “Death Moves” and rebuild and you’ll make a bad marriage good and good marriage great. We’ll show you how, we promise.

81m8QFMwBHL._AC_UY218_SEARCH213888_ML3_.jpgTo read more, click on the title Argument Addiction

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How’s the sex?

By Dr. Phil Lee,  author of the ARGUMENT ADDICTION

The first and most obvious sign that your partner isn’t enjoying sex is your partner is not having an orgasm. This may be clear to Captain Obvious, but it eludes Captain Oblivious.

Therapist: How’s the sex?

Dave: It’s getting so much better.  Last night she gave me a blow job!

Dave thinks this is a positive sign, but it is not. This becomes clear when the therapist asks what happened then.  Dave says he felt so good he drifted off to a wonderful sleep.

Dave, who thinks he is on the highway to happiness, is in fact speeding down a dead end street.  He has been complaining of not having enough sex, but he has forgotten or never learned the cardinal rule.  If you want to have more sex, you have to make it fun for your partner; and this certainly at least includes making sure your partner has an orgasm.

“We had intercourse; she didn’t come but she felt really good and enjoyed it.”

Polite is not the same as positive, and sat still for it does not equal satisfied by it.

Polite wears down, polite doesn’t last.

Another sign that your partner isn’t enjoying sex is the timing argument.  Here the sex itself may be “fine,” but that won’t matter if the romantic encounter never occurs.

In our book Argument Addiction we write that couples differ over how frequently they want to have sex. There are many variations of this argument.  Here’s a typical story we hear.  Dave comes home from a business trip.  He walks into the kitchen where Jen is preparing dinner and grabs her ass.

Dave: Are the kid’s at hockey practice? Let’s do it!

Jen: God! Is that all you want from me?

There is a ‘chicken or the egg – which came first?’ quality to this argument.  Dave is saying “First we’ll have sex, then we’ll feel close.”  Jen is saying, “Not so fast: first we’ll feel close, then we’ll have sex.”

If you are having this argument, the antidote is to appreciate rather than resent a fundamental  difference between the sexes.  Men often achieve emotional closeness through sexual intimacy. When they have sex, they feel it is a way to be closer to their partner.  Women, on the other hand, often need a sense of emotional closeness, understanding, appreciation, and connection in order to feel interested, in order to feel ready for sexual intimacy.

How to talk to your partner about sex:

People have trouble talking about sex because there is so much self-esteem tied into sex.  Neither partner is comfortable with the idea that they might not be the best, not only the best in the present but also better than all who came before. A tall order!

The trick is not to be defensive, and not to attack.

Attack is basically telling the partner they’re no good.  “Other guys last longer,” “my high school girl friend gave better head,” “you take too long to come.”

Many avoid attack by being silent.  Partners who are more than free with feedback in other areas (“Is that any way to stack the dishwasher?”) are curiously silent on the subject of sex.

The fix is to be steadfastly curious, while giving helpful rather than critical feedback.

The default position is “What can I do to make this the most fun possible for you?” Of course you can only make it easy for your partner to give feedback, you can’t waterboard them.  On the other hand, if they summon up the courage to give some actual feedback, (“Right there is better” “Slower” “Like this”) then you had better be happy to hear it.  If you are resentful or defensive, this will be the last feedback you get!

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Want sex? Schedule an appointment.

by Phillip Lee, MD Co-head of Marital Therapy at Weill Cornell Medical Center in New York City

For a look at his new book, click on Argument Addiction

Why Scheduling Sex Beats Waiting To Be In The Mood

There are no couples where each wants sex the same amount. There is always someone who wants sex more, and someone who wants sex less. To be fair, the roles can switch: perhaps Dave wanted sex more often before the enforced diet of sex when the couple were trying to get pregnant. But in any case, it would be safe to say that right now, today, someone wants sex more, and someone wants sex less.

Things certainly didn’t start out this way. When the couple first met and — as Shakespeare would say — first started coupling, everyone was eager.

Of course, this dynamic is the same with same sex as with heterosexual couples. To make it simple we’re going to talk about Dave and Jen. When Dave and Jen first met at work, or on Tinder, or at a party or on blind date, or in a bar, or wherever — when they first met they were “hot” and sex was great.

What happened? How did we get from there to here?

When they first met the potent chemicals of infatuation flowed through their brains and bodies. It was almost like a visit to the crack den. Dave was amazing, thought Jen. Jen was fantastic, thought Dave. They were in love.

The crack den is great, the people are great…until the crack wears off. Then the place is full of cockroaches, the people have rotting teeth…

When the chemicals of infatuation wear off, it’s not as bad as in the crack den. But certain characteristics of your partner, to which you may have been blind (or deaf) previously, now come to bother you. Furthermore, there may be characteristics of your partner that he or she was not rushing to reveal in the infatuation phase. Same for you.

In any case, you are less enamored.

All this is natural, and not that far from normal. The question is how you deal with it.

Both people are less happy, and they start to blame the partner.

Now think about this: If last night they went to a cinco de mayo party, drank half a bottle of tequila, and had a jolly time…then today they would not be blaming each other because they were now less jolly. They would realize that last night jolly came out of a bottle. But no one says, “Gee I’ve got a hangover from those infatuation chemicals.” Instead they blame their partner. He/she/they used to make me happy. Now not so much.

After that, the arguments start:” All day and still you didn’t take out the garbage!”

“This is how you stack the dishwasher? The spoons are nesting with each other.”

“Late again? Can’t you ever be on time?”

There are countless arguments, and as the relationship sinks into argument addiction, sex very commonly gets added to the pile of disagreement.

“Let’s fool around.”

“I’ve got a headache.”

That is so common that it has become a punchline for comedians. Over time it becomes less comedic for those who live it

Let’s say Dave, because that’s how this would be portrayed in most dramas, wants sex. Jen is tired, or not in the mood, or has that “headache”, or the kids are still up, or may wake, or whatever.

He continues to push it, she fends him off, and so it goes.

He either becomes more angry or more sulky.

She becomes more convinced that he doesn’t understand her feelings. becomes more convinced that he doesn’t “really” care about her, doesn’t appreciate her, and becomes more determined not to “give in.”

Then sex turns into a power struggle. He wants it, she doesn’t.

On top of this is the fundamental difference between men and women regarding sex.

Men think: We’ll have sex, then we’ll feel close.

Women think: First we’ll feel close, then we’ll have sex.

Sex turns into a point of contention. Worse yet, it turns into a competition: if you win (and have sex) I feel like a loser. Meanwhile, if I win (and thus no sex) you feel like a loser.

We have the zero sum game, someone always loses.

Wouldn’t It would be so much better if sex was like the Mexican/Italian argument?

Dave: I’m up for Mexican food.

Jen: I was thinking of pizza.

Probably this will get resolved: ideally Mexican, and then next week Italian, or vice versa.

What would work best is if sex got resolved the same way.

Ideally, this would be relatively easy to resolve. (Mexican this week, Italian next week, etc)

The difference is that personal self esteem is tied up in sex. If she doesn’t want to have sex with me I’m not worthy, If he just wants to have sex with me I’m a doormat.

The argument about sex usually revolves around frequency. The argument can be like an

expansion of the old New Yorker cartoon.

Dave: How about sex?

Jen: Not now.

Dave: When?

Jen: How about never? Does that work for you?

Better to get the competition and the self esteem out of sex. The problem is that other disputed areas bleed into sex.

Jen is angry about the kids, or the division of labor, or something, so now she doesn’t want sex.

Dave is angry about how she berates him, or how she watches cable news and won’t talk to him, so now he is “turned off.”

Now, let’s step back. In the real world if you have a problem in one area, you don’t want it to spread into the next area. In a large office building, if there is a fire, everyone will shut the fire doors so it doesn’t spread.

In a hospital, if someone has a contagious disease, the effort will be to contain it, to use an isolation room,and prevent spread.

In marriages, there needs to be an equal effort to prevent the spread of discontent.

If Dave and Jen disagree over where to eat, there is no need for that to spread into a disagreement over what movie to see.

The target is to contain disagreement, as opposed to encouraging its spread.

The same is true with sex. Sex at least was fun; let’s keep it that way.

It should be the opposite of you didn’t do x so I’m not interested in sex. It should be you did x but I’m not letting that affect my interest in sex.

That said, there is tremendous argument over when sex will occur.

Obviously, we propose that the couple schedule sex on a mutually agreed basis.

How would this work?

Let’s imagine that Dave wants to have sex once a day, and Jen comes up with once a month. Suppose they settle on once a week.

We maintain that marital happiness will markedly improve.

Doubters most often complain of the “loss of spontaneity.”

The question is what spontaneity?

The spontaneity of demanding, pleading, threatening — and the inevitable responses of evasion, denial, and postponement? For many couples the spontaneity ship has already sailed.

If you were having a bounty of spontaneous sex you wouldn’t be reading this.

Forget spontaneity. Focus on preserving a source of nourishing fresh water well in a possibly increasingly arid landscape.

Sex can be a positive in your relationship. Couples that are having a sexual relationship generally get along better than their counterparts who aren’t. You may feel that scheduling will inhibit “stick your finger in the wall socket” sex. But if that isn’t what you are having then you are not giving that up. Stop swinging for the fences, and striking out.

Of course, both partners have to enthusiastically undertake this plan, or it will devolve into the old conflict. If the “once a month” partner starts finding excuses to avoid the once a week, encounter things will soon return to where they are now. Likewise, if Mr. once a day continues to complain that once a week is not enough, then the partner will lose interest.

But if both partners enthusiastically embrace the compromise, then the relationship will markedly improve, and not just sexually.

Surprisingly, degree of compatibility and satisfaction in your relationship can dramatically increase in short order when sex is scheduled.

To explore the book, click on the title, ARGUMENT ADDICTION

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Nassau’s Negligent Murderers

/bethwareham

Psssst! Something happened to me and I saw the future. The end is not nuclear and its not aquatic. It’s human beings willfully leaving their brothers and sisters to die, for money.

Let me explain. I was taken off a passport line in Nassau, Bahamas, suffering from severe dehydration. American Airlines would not let me fly and rightly so. They put me and my husband in an ambulance to Princess Margaret Hospital, the great killing machine of the Bahamas.

In the waiting room, gurneys are everywhere, end-stage AIDS and Alzheimer’s patients, smeared with their own feces, lay groaning and screaming. They get up and wander around and all the nurses and doctors do is call security. I saw a dead man on a gurney – no way that man was a color that could have sustained life – with his dinner of baked chicken leg and rice strewn all over his body.  In fact, bodies are stacked up in every hallway, waiting to be delivered to another part of the hospital or to the morgue.

After 5 hours, a little man – he’s a nurse it turns out – appears all sweaty and beleaguered and begins taking blood pressure readings and everyone’s temperature. It is the first time anyone has asked my name — in five hours. He turns my rehydration tube back on – it’s the first liquid I’ve been given in 5 hours – and that’s it. I will find him again before I leave and tell him what I think of him.

They take me to the back of the hospital and once again ask me my name and begin filling out a form. A mother is chasing her son who is wrapped in bloody bandages up and down a hall. A janitor, complete with milky eyeball, pushes a broom in front of me, asking me to pick up my feet every two minutes.  Then, I have the vision thing.

THIS is how the world ends; doctors who no longer care if people live or die. THIS is how the world ends, with a country whose GDP is 40% tourism, but lets cab drivers and boat operators and waiters die without a thought to them. This is how the world ends, with a Prime Minister, a Minnesota educated physician. who comes home to kill his people.

So this is it. The poor die by the road like a donkey. The middle class save all their lives so they don’t have to die by the road like a donkey, and the rich jet into Nassau for rarefied medical treatment unavailable in the United States. Yeah, that’s how it ends.

In the sixth hour on the killing room floor, I went and found my sweating nurse. I asked him how much longer and he said, “at least 2 hours.’ I blew sky high. Rage, tears. Even security was frightened. I found my husband who shouted over the writhing bodies, “WE’LL CHECK INTO A HOTEL AND TAKE JET BLUE OUT OF HERE!” I whirled around toward Nurse Sweaty and ripped him a new one.

I recovered with the help of  $60 in gatorade and a case of bottled water. And at every meal, the wait-staff told me their stories:

“My little brother went into the Princess Margaret Hospital one morning and by evening, he was dead.”

“My father checked in with a huge stomach like a pregnant woman. In three days, he died and no one knew why.”

And on and on it goes. Even in our hotel room, we could not escape. A local cable channel station ran death announcements and guess where every death had taken place: Princess Margaret Hospital.

The young people of the Bahamas want to do something; I talked to at least 20 of them while I was rehydrating. They brought me their friends who had stories after telling me their own. Napkins with scrawled phone numbers were slipped to me as I stood in the buffet line. “She has a story. So-and-so lost her baby.” The suffering was unspeakable.  The people of the Bahamas – dignified, hardworking, deeply spiritual, kind and funny — deserve so much better than this.

The beauty of the country was thrilling but I think I’ll steer clear of the Bahamas going forward; I’ve seen their killing machine. Africa was kinder to me when in distress and even in the remote bush, there were better medical facilities for human beings.

I don’t know if Prime Minister Dr. Hubert Minnis took the Hippocratic oath; he was educated at the University of Minnesota before going on to medical school in Jamaica. I know he did his residency at Princess Margaret Hospital (OB/Gyn for god’s sake.) I also believe that just as a doctor should be sued for malpractice on an individual, he should be sued (or put in jail?) for MALPRACTICE ON A COUNTRY.

And by the by, Dr. Minnis’s personal wealth is estimated at over $10 million. Not bad for a doctor, eh? And believe me or not, on a one website, he relaxes playing the cowbell. I’ll bet it’s one hot cowbell, swiped from the hands of people who need healthcare.

Follow on twitter @giantsweettart 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Real Monsters

by beth wareham, Founder, Editor-in-Chief, Lisa Hagan Books

I don’t believe in monster monsters; there are just too many horrifying people to get past.      I believe what you see can hurt you so don’t worry about beasts in the forest. (Nor the fins in the sea; shark attack stats are stacked high in your favor.)  I moved through the world without fear.

That’s before I walked into the room where my husband was watching a documentary about the Menk, the Russian Yeti, or Big Foot to you. In 1959, nine students in Siberia set off on a camping trip and never returned. Rescue parties found them later, scattered half-way across a plain before the land rose up toward the Mountain of the Dead.

The tent had been ripped open from the inside; none of the students were there.  One group had run into the tree-line; another in the other direction. One group was slumped around remnants of a fire, as if they had been trying to stay warm.  The cause of death would later be judged exposure. The other group was scattered about. All died of  internal injuries; it was almost as if they had been tossed in the air and brought down on a rock. One young woman had her tongue pulled out.

The bodies and their belongings were brought down out of the mountains and examined.    A camera with film — all the shots taken – was found and developed. This photograph (above) was the last one on the roll. (If you ever find yourself in Siberia, there is a museum dedicated to this event. You can even see the negatives.)

Tonight, Wednesday April 3, our favorite monster hunter Nick Redfern joins The Travel Channel’s new series In Search of Monsters, traveling to the spots in the United States where you are most likely to catch a glimpse (and hopefully that’s it) of our Menk, Big Foot. Here’s some recent data on sightings from the Big Foot Field Researchers Organization:

Washington                 2032 registered sightings

California                     1697 registered sightings

Pennsylvania               1430 registered sightings

For more information on Big Foot\ destinations, tune into In Search of Monsters on The Travel Channel.

Check out Nick’s books on monsters and the paranormal.

Visit his publisher on Facebook at Lisa Hagan Books or tweet to us at @LisaHaganBooks

 

 

Searching for a Lost Son

Joe McQuillen is just a regular American dad who, after his son’s early death, embarked on a journey to reconnect with his lost child, soul to soul, in any way possible. His journey became a great love song to the bond of father and son, a relationship that extends far beyond the line between life and death.

Visit Joe McQuillen, author of My Search for Christopher on the Other Side https://mysearchforchristopher.home.blog

Q     When you were meeting with mediums since Chris’ death you kept very good notes.  Did you know you would eventually write a book?

A     Absolutely  not.  I thought I was keeping notes so that at some later time sitting on a porch  in a rocking chair I would have something to refer back to.

Q     Did you buy into mediums from the beginning.

A     From the beginning I was given enough evidence to know that I was communicating with someone I loved on the other side.  The more evidence I was given the more convinced I became

Q     Did you ever meet with a medium and flat out strike out

A     I did.  It was on his birthday about 3 ½ months after he crossed.  But I wasn’t about to throw in the towel.  Like chefs and relief pitchers I believe a medium can have an off day.  I also believe spirits are more comfortable with some mediums than others.  And the reason for that is …… I have no friggin Idea.

Q     Give me a few examples of mediums telling you things no one else could know.

A     On June 30th 2016 I met with Andrew Anderson for the first time and he told me Chris acknowledged that I was planting something recently at his grave and that I was wearing a bracelet Chris gave me.  I was in fact at his grave that vey morning planting shamrock seeds.  I had also put on a bracelet Chris gave me in Disney World when he was 5 or 6 years old.  I hadn’t put in on in 16 years but it was indeed under my right cuff.

Q  Writing had to keep you in grief.  Did you ever consider just walking away from it

A     Not once.  While the writing at times did keep me in grief it also kept me connected to him.  And although sometimes the grief felt overwhelming it was worth it…. Every time.

To order My Search for Christopher, click on the title 

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Book People

Lisa Hagan Books

When I first saw this picture, I fell out. I cried and cried, inexplicably, and spent days sorting through my reaction.  Here was my business partner’s grandmother paused in the shop she owned – now long closed –  book clutched to her chest while staring into the middle distance.  What was she thinking? Was she dreaming about the life she wanted to live next? Was she full of regret? A little of both?

Was she thinking, “if I were Madame Bovary, I would have just split…” or “if the Greeks had worked out as much as the Spartans, they wouldn’t have lost.” Maybe she was pondering using living room curtains for a dress to impress Rhett or the fact that Gatsby was alive in East Hampton. But she’s not talking and that’s the point. Books are someone else’s dreams that you get to hold, change and make your own. Books start the conversation between you and your God about who you want to be, what life you want to live.

This woman brought the book life to her small rural corner of Virginia; a town called Bracey. Her daughter would grow up and move to New York City, became a literary agent and pioneer a genre on her own. Her daughter’s daughter joined her there, three generations of Virginia women building a massive legacy in books. I admire them all.

This picture, this picture. She is certainly in her golden years but could also be 10 or 12, under the covers with a flashlight learning about all the things that are out there beyond her room.   She only got as far as Washington D.C before marriage pulled her back home to the tobacco farm.  Thank goodness it did because if it hadn’t, she wouldn’t have opened a bookstore and taught Bracey how to dream some new dreams.

 

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WEIRD EDITING

On June 5, 2018, Lisa Hagan Books publishes the latest from the master of weirdness, Nick Redfern. THE BLACK DIARY is a book so dangerous you’ll conjure THEM up just by opening it. And I should know.

I hadn’t thought of ghosts and the paranormal since the days when we held  flashlights under our chins to tell a late night story. I lived in the daylight; business in Midtown, fluorescent lights, swimming pools, beaches.

Then my business partner and her client, the great monster hunter and weird meister Nick Redfern, entered my life. The first Men in Black manuscript arrived and within a week, they began popping up in my world. All the cliched Men in Black characteristics were there; endless telephone interference; black-suited men with pale skin,  fedoras and sunglasses, jerking in and out of view, and strange photographers arriving to snap pictures of the house.  In the midst of a telephone call to Los Angeles, I was talking about a deal getting done and a rasping male voice said “you just think so”  when I remarked it would go forward. My callee did not hear him; the deal fell apart in days.

Being me, I got mad. Things got quiet until one night, I was looking into a mirror and saw two pairs of those skinny, jerky, black-suited legs running down the hall behind me.  I did what any red-blooded American woman would do: I told them off, loudly and with swear words. They didn’t come back. No, those particular ones did not come back.

After Men in Black  was published, Nick sent in another manuscript, Women in Black.  Great, I thought. Now a bunch of skinny women in dark suits will jerk through here. I couldn’t have been more wrong.  The process was peaceful, uneventful, boring almost. The women weren’t interested in me, I thought. Phew! We published the book.  I felt that great sense of accomplishment I get whenever another book launches out into the world. It wasn’t until Nick was doing his publicity that I saw her across the street on the stoop. She looked to be an octogenarian or older and was dressed like a 19th century Sicilian widow, all black lace and long black skirts. I jumped into the street and charged toward her, calling “ma’am! ma’am!” just as a Comcast van bore down on me. It passed and she was gone.

Did I make her up? Did I make all of them up? Am I that suggestible? I suspect I am. At the same time, I find it thrilling to think about parallel realties, one where everyone wears black and knows the future. But be forewarned; opening this book will open you up to something. Its origins? No one is sure.

To order your copy of THE BLACK DIARY, click on the title

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TIME FOR SUMMER

From Gabrielle Myers, celebrated chef, poet and author of HIVE MIND.

“In powerful lyric prose that sometimes can’t help give way to poetry…Gabrielle Myers sings her own, very personal love song to the soil under all of our feet. The voice in Hive-Mind is complicated, edgy, vulnerable and deeply in love with fig trees, cherry tomatoes, and the sound of crickets on a hundred and ten degree summer day.  In these dark, environmentally catastrophic times, we need books like this one to shake us out of our slumber, remind us where we came from, reconnect us to what we are.”

Pam Houston, Author Contents May Have Shifted

THE RECIPE

The late spring BBQ season comes with a rush as cherry trees flush with fruit and tall grasses tangle against our ankles. Rather than rely on additive and sugar-packed store bought BBQ sauces, follow this recipe to make your own savory sauce. Ridiculously easy to make, BBQ sauce should accentuate the fattiness of the falling off the bone rib meat. Instead of the odd and likely chemically processed liquid smoke, use naturally smoked paprika to give the sauce a smoky kick. The lycopene in the tomato paste and the Manganese and Magnesium rich molasses make this sauce leap with health benefits.

Rub for the ribs:
1 teaspoon hot red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon ground fennel seed
½ teaspoon black pepper
Salt, to taste

BBQ Sauce:
7 ounces organic San Marzano tomato paste
2 tablespoons organic blackstrap molasses
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
2 teaspoons smoky paprika
½ teaspoon garlic paste (make fresh)
Salt, to taste

1. Put all the ingredients in a stainless steel bowl.
2. Mix the ingredients well.
3. After the ribs have cooked for 1.5 hours at 315 degrees Fahrenheit, lather the sauce on both sides of the ribs.
4. Turn the ribs about every 30-40 minutes as they cook for another hour or hour and half. Add more sauce to cover the ribs as necessary. Once they pull away from the bone, the ribs are done. If you like to grill, place the ribs on a low flame and gently grill them for about 10 minutes to finish cooking.

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