Breaking Wild Horses By Cindy Gray Sometimes my dreams, even the ones I don’t really remember, leave me with a strange feeling of exhilaration. It&rsqu ...continued...

Once again it's “Deja vu all over again.” Never ending white entitlement, delusional history and the usual threats of violence are now playing out at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Eastern Oregon, one of the more important bird and wildlife sanctuaries in the country and located in an isolated corner of Oregon. Malheur is being occupied by a handful of white (Christian?) terrorists with the apparent and enthusiastic support of ISIS no less. The Refuge, however, happens to belong to all the people of the United States. But like a shopworn moral ...continued...

From the start it was like a secret society. You needed to know the handshake or password to get information. I guess that is why it took so long to start this incredible journey as a writer. Since the age of six, when I first started to read, a book was always under my nose. This started it, and from that point reading the written word became a very important part of my life. I could not tell you how many books I have read, or plan to in the near or far future. It started in 2011, when an uncontrollable desire to write short stories took over. I would hammer out words between work assig ...continued...

THE POST OFFICE FLOOR© KIRKUK, IRAQ MARCH 2004 SOMETIMES ...continued...

I set my briefcase on my gritty kitchen counter and traced the raised gold lettering on the thick ivory card. “You are Invited to a Holiday Cookie Party,” the note read. The invitation was from a fascinating, creative, high–powered executive I had met several months ago. I was surprised and thrilled that she had invited me to such a gathering. Each woman would bring a batch of home-baked cookies, she wrote. We would then get to sample all the cookies and bring a bag of treats home to our families. I adored the idea of getting to bring my teenage dau ...continued...

A SPECIAL CHRISTMAS EVE &nbs ...continued...

North Pole ...continued...

i don't sing at birthdays I pedaled my Schwinn Autocycle along the gravel road beside the Waterman's south pasture. The rutted road rattled the front fender almost enough to drown out my rendition of Gloria in Excelsis Deo. Almost, but not quite. Four of Charlie Waterman's cows standing by the fence-line mooed in tune to my song. I switched to Christ the Lord Is Risen Today near the intersection of the gravel and paved roads. Two lanky, flop-eared, black-and-tan hounds crawled out from under the front porch and added their howls in accompaniment. They ...continued...

Although I never thought of myself to be 'prejudiced' or 'biased', I do understand that my beliefs would great impact my work as a healthcare professional. When I had taken the Cultural Competence Self Assessment Survery, I quickly came to a scary realization that I did know as much as I thought I did. For example, there was a question regarding non-verbal communication (pointing fingers, thumbs up, etc) that I had thought was universal. In fact, I was wrong, as I did not realize there are many different ways facial expressions and gestures could be interpreted as. Not surprisi ...continued...

Primary Care for Underserved Populations: Navigating Policy to Incorporate Occupational Therapy Into Federally Qualified Health Centers. Murphy, A. et al. American Journal of Occupational Therapy, Vol. 71, Jan 2017. http://ajot.aota.org/article.aspx?articleid=2599871 This article provided information about how people belonging to underserved populations, including minority groups and low-income people, have limited access to much needed occupational therapy services. Using a case example of a federally qualified health center serving American Indian/Alaska Native popul ...continued...

Today was brutal. The cold was so intense you had to think long and hard before you took off your gloves to decide if what needed doing was worth a period of intense pain. By far our coldest day yet. During the day I realized how many arctic visitors, like Scott's expedition, had met their fates. Don't get me wrong, Mike and I are in very capable hands and doing quite well, but today's intense cold, with the addition of a stiff breeze, made me understand how many of these explorers, who all embraced life, could simply give up and succumb to the cold. With no food or limited shel ...continued...

To get these posts out every night is quite an ordeal. The cold saps battery power so quickly you can watch the meter tick away. Every piece of electronics needs to be warmed against the body to restore power, then used quickly. We generally collaborate on our posts then, just before dinner, we will hook up all the various devices and start the long process of uploading our posts. I have to admit it is a pain, but something we both look forward to every night in our tent. I believe Mike is going to write about the noise we heard last night so I won't go into great detail, but I will tel ...continued...

Blue Hole By Rolland Love The following are a couple chapters from my mystery suspense novels "Blue Hole" and a sequel "River's Edge" which have received over (300) four and five star reviews. ☂ In River's Edge I aged Dub (12) and brother Tommy (15) by 50 years and made them Grandfathers who take their Grandsons to Blue Hole where a murder occurred the last time they were there in 1949. They become a family of cold case detectives. It's not easy to solve a (50) year old murder but they prove to be up for t ...continued...

The Marvels of Movement Dancing is like dreaming with your feet! ~Constanze: During my mom’s dementia journey, movement often inspired and connected us. Here is one of those magical moments, excerpted from my book, Love in the land of Dementia: Finding Hope in the Caregiver’s Journey. The story is set in my mom’s memory care unit. ** Rochelle, the activity director, sticks in another tape and soon Stardust is playing. images “Let’s dance,” she says, motioning everyone to stand. Mom looks up and I offer her my hand. ...continued...

Kansas 1886 Jason Cahill sat in front of his stone fireplace on a bitter cold January night, a medical book in his hands. But every few minutes he would glance up at the clock on the mantel. A minute later he looked sideways at the front door. “What is taking so long?” he murmured. At almost the same time he had spoken these words, there was a loud rap on the door. Jason stood up quickly and unlocked it. Outside, a full moon at their backs, two tall men in ankle-length coats and Stetsons waited. Between them they carried something long and heavy, concealed in a canvas bag. ...continued...