A VIEW TO HEALTH CARE

OK, I admit it! I’m guilty! I’m guilty of using the sweet Kitty in the photo merely as an attention grabber. She has nothing to do with the subject on my mind this morning—and the subject is health care.



We American’s have been taught to believe that paying top dollar for a product translates into receiving top quality. But in the case of America’s health care system, this tenet does not hold true. Compared to many other countries, we pay the most but receive much less, not only in quality, but also in quantity. A further problem is that far too many Americans simply cannot afford health care coverage of any kind, or are in a position of having to choose between basic necessities such as food or a medical procedure.



I faced such a situation recently. For the last two years, my co-pay for one of my prescriptions has been $42.00. $42.00 is too much to pay as it is, but when I had it refilled a couple of days ago, my co-pay had gone up to $78.60. That $36.40 difference represents the amount I have to budget to cover my Columbia Gas bill every month. I have not received a corresponding raise in my income. This situation put me in the position of having heat in my little condo or having a medication my body needs. Luckily, I asked my pharmacist if he knew anything about GoodRx, a prescription plan I have seen promoted on TV that promises lower prescription costs. My pharmacist whipped out his cellphone, keyed it into the GoodRx web site, and got me the prescription for $43.60 through GoodRx.



Suffice to say that I have more to say about America’s broken health care system, but this morning, my message is to urge you to look into GoodRx, and similar programs, that promise to ease some of the burden of our exorbitant drug costs. -Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist, January 25, 2020

Linda Lee Greene's eBooks and paperbacks are available for purchase through Amazon.com     

WORLD WAR II BLACKOUT IS FACTOR IN AIRPLANE CRASH CLAIMING THE LIFE OF ACTRESS, CAROLE LOMBARD

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Boy, am I in trouble now! When Clark finds out that I insisted on gambling my life and that of my mother and the others in my entourage on this TWA DC-3 flight on a flip of a coin, he will never forgive me. And how will I get this past God? How will I justify to God that I wagered our precious lives in such a frivolous way to get what I wanted?

God’s fearsome voice, as I stand in front of Him to receive His judgement following the plane’s crash into Potosi Mountain, cuts my soul in two. “Just because you are Carole Lombard, famous movie star of Hollywood’s golden age, goddess of the silver screen whom every woman admires and envies—just because you are married to Clark Gable, the king of Hollywood, you had no right to act in such a flippant way. Yes, you are only 33, and some might chalk up your behavior to your youth, but I, your God, am not sure I am inclined to do so. But, as is My way, I grant you the chance to explain your motives and solicit my forgiveness.”

            What can I say to God? I can only tell the truth as I see it. “We had two choices of transportation from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, God. We could have traveled by train or airplane. But the train was scheduled to leave so much later than the airplane, and I was anxious to get back home.”

            “You are telling me that your desire to get home faster dictated your judgment—that your selfish desire overshadowed the fact that traveling by train is so much safer than doing so by airplane, especially in this age of World War II and your country is on high alert against Japanese bombers? Did you stop to consider that the airplane would have to fly blind in the mandatory blackout across America? Out of concern that the entire western USA is vulnerable to Japanese attack, the lighted beacon system for aircraft is turned off, and the only light on the ground by which the airplane traveled is at Arden, east of Potosi?”

            “The risk occurred to me, God. But it was a wee small voice in my mind compared to the urgent cry in my head to get home. Besides, wouldn’t the pilot have aborted the flight if there had been such danger?”

            “The pilot and his superiors bear guilt for this tragedy, too, Mrs. Gable. But that fact does not excuse your part in it.”

            “But God, you just do not understand. Clark and Lana Turner were shooting another film together and Clark was dewy-eyed over her again. I had to get back to Hollywood and put a stop to the whole thing.”

            “First of all, you did not know for sure that the allegation is true, and second, would arriving a few hours earlier really have made any difference if it is true?”

            “I was just so jealous. I wanted to get to Hollywood and scratch Lana Turner’s eyes out. I couldn’t stand the thought of their spending the night together. I had to get there. Nothing else mattered to me.”

            “Onboard with you were 15 soldiers from the Army Air Force Ferryman Command, warriors in your country’s fight against the Axis enemy. They were returning to the west coast after having delivered aircraft to a new bomber base. The wife of a soldier also lost her life in the airplane crash. Of course, I do not implicate you in those death.”

            “Doesn’t the fact that I was returning home from a tour across the nation in which I raised over two million dollars in War Bonds for the war effort count in my favor, I ask you, God? And it is well known that I have worked tirelessly in humanitarian causes, helping Hollywood’s down and out and advocating for women’s rights.”

            “I can foresee the headlines now, Mrs. Gable. There will be a seductive temptation on the part of the press to label you as a patriot who died in service to her country. I suppose that will have to be part of the mix that I will consider in milling over your case. However, I want you to know that I am not happy with you. Many of my wise children label what you are to face as ‘Karma’. You will not soon make amends for your recklessness. You movie stars are just so spoiled. If I thought it would do any good, I would turn you over my knees and spank you until you call ‘Uncle’. Go! Go! Leave me now. I command you to spend the next hours watching your poor husband’s suffering. See him down there in that saloon on the edge of the crash site swilling booze and smoking cigars in an effort to numb himself of the terrible outcome of this event? Look! Look now and see what you have done!”©

Image: Clark Gable and Carole Lombard, circa 1939

The above is a work of historical fiction by multi-award winning author Linda Lee Greene. It is based on true events. Greene’s eBooks and paperbacks are available for purchase through Amazon. Her latest novel, A CHANCE AT THE MOON is described below:

Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys.

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

Amazon Buy Links:

https://www.amazon.com/CHANCE-AT-MOON-Betrayal-Murder-ebook/dp/B07Z44YN9X/  - EBOOK



https://www.amazon.com/CHANCE-AT-MOON-Betrayal-Murder/dp/169984402X/ - PAPERBACK

MANHATTAN LIGHTS IN WORLD WAR II

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Since the maiden descent from the top of One Times Square of the New Year’s Eve Ball, only in 1942 and 1943 was the tradition put on hold, and then it was due to the wartime “dimout” of the lights of New York City. While during those pivotal years of World War II crowds still congregated at the head of the forked square, they were eerily quiet compared to previous years, and a moment of complete silence at the stroke of midnight punctuated the poignancy of the ringing chimes atop the 25 story building.

On the night of January 13, 1942, the lights of Manhattan are still alight just enough to make of her an irresistible target to those wishing her harm. As the eyes of the unsuspecting, never-sleeping city are turned westward toward their Japanese enemies in the Pacific, a deadly-hungry German U-boat lurks off Manhattan’s eastern shore. Smelling choice meat, silently it surfaces, and its commander, like an overjoyed kid let loose for the first time with his daddy’s hunting rifle, takes aim and fires a whistling torpedo into the hull of an American oil tanker moored at Gotham’s watery fringe. His Aryan face flushed red with the adrenalin-rushed blood of his coup d’ état, with an all but silent hiss, his sleek submarine breaks the frigid skin of the water once more. Stealthily it slips back down into the murky sea, noses to the warmer waters of the south, and hunts for another twelve hours off the Atlantic shore of dazzling America. The German commander of that vessel stalks his quarry well. He adds seven more defenseless American ships to his kill-score by the time the night is through.

The many years of the Great Depression hollowed out the coffers of the United States, a condition worsened by its program of providing war supplies to Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and other allies during their several years of fighting Germany and its war partners. Following Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, and Germany’s subsequent declaration of war against the United States of America, a sense of near hopelessness clouds the nation’s war effort, a despair owing to an American military that is almost non-existent, and what there is of it is ill-equipped and ill-trained to take on two formidable enemies in two separate theaters of war. In addition, Japan at Pearl Harbor crippled critically America’s Pacific air and sea fleet, involving the loss of life of 2,500 servicemen. In addition, Japan captured both American and British territory throughout the Asian Pacific, as well as the independent kingdom of Thailand. Between December 1941 and the spring of 1942, the Japanese are the dominant force in the Pacific and impose their will against a stretched and an anemic Allied military.

Prior to the bombing of Pearl Harbor, American military commanders believed Hawaii to be beyond the reach of the fighting forces of Japan, and the same attitude held true regarding the continental USA. But if Japanese naval and air forces are destroying Allied interests in the Pacific and German U-boats are blowing up ships on the east coast of America, what might they do to Seattle, Sacramento, San Francisco, and San Diego? the American populace asks itself. Shaken to its core and in fear of a fate similar to that of Pearl Harbor, western Americans shroud their dwellings with blackout-curtains, issue official air-raid instructions, and stack the exterior walls of buildings from their foundations to rooflines with sandbags.

            His country barely holding on against German Luftwaffe bombings, in London, Great Britain’s Prime Minister, Winston Spencer Churchill solicits greater material aid from the United States and an increased number of escorts of Allied merchant ships as they maneuver the supply lanes of the frigid North Atlantic. Made perilous by wolf-packs of deadly German U-boats, like the oil tankers moored along America’s eastern shore, the merchant ships are easy prey for the cunning submarines.

Engaged in the bulk of the fighting against German troops along her lengthy and frozen front, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, Josef Stalin resents his place at the bottom of the food chain of American aid, even as he revels in his role as the savior of the west at that time. It is a position he plans to use to his advantage at the end of the war when it comes time to divvy up the conquered territory. In his only resemblance to Stalin, other than hatred of the Nazis, Churchill has his eye on some choice new territory as well. Only Roosevelt bears no interest in gaining territory, even though his country will finance and supply the bulk of the equipment and the warriors of the conflict.

            America’s fighting men, most of whom are still in late-stage adolescence according to modern-day definitions, are called to service in the war through the first draft in the history of the country, and the people – bewildered – fearful – saddened, drop to their knees in prayer, and stunned mothers and fathers console one another as their homes systematically and rapidly empty of the brightest and best of their beloved, young sons. Reliance on their families, neighbor/friends, and faith in FDR sustains them, as well as the creed of their souls that “there never has been – there never can be – successful compromise between good and evil,” as their commander-in-chief reminded them from Washington, DC in his State of the Union Address at the opening of 1942. His cultured voice, reaching out across the radio waves and into the living rooms of his people, reassured them and inspired their commitment to the war effort.

Thus, America begins the long and torturous journey toward victory on the battlegrounds of World War II, the conflagration that is perceived by the force of its very magnitude as the lowest point in the history of the world.©

Image: Manhattan Skyline 1942

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s eBooks and paperbacks are available for purchase through Amazon.com. A CHANCE AT THE MOON, her latest multi-genre novel featuring romance, intrigue, and paranormal elements is described below:

Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys.

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

Amazon Buy Links Paperback - Kindle

WHAT'S UP WITH CARBOHYDRATES?!

 By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

I first heard the word “agita” voiced in New York by my friends of Mediterranean heritage. It turns out that it is Italian-American slang for the Italian “agitare,” meaning “to agitate;” translated in English as “heartburn” or “acid indigestion” or “stomach-ache” or “a general feeling of upset of the digestive system.” A person like me with a history of digestive disorders is right familiar with painful and gassy “agita.” For nearly three decades, antacid tablets were such a staple of my daily cuisine that they might have passed as after-meal mints. But no more! I found my cure for “agita.” It came down to simply removing specific foods from my diet. “Such and such food just doesn’t agree with me,” is a sentiment replete in our lexicon, and oftener than not, we let it go at that without further investigation as to why it is that so much of our food makes us sick and/or obese and/or a too-early arrival at St. Michael’s heavenly door.

            From the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper and able to understand such pronouncements, my mother informed me often that I had been a fussy baby. “Colic!” she asserted. She had removed me early-on from her breast and put me on warm and thick cow’s milk in a bottle, drawn directly from a cow, for we lived then on my grandparent’s farm where fields were scattered far and wide with bovine creatures whose mammary sacs literally leaked the white poison. I think now that my mother’s milk made me ill because it was laced with nicotine. She was a heavy smoker. And it wasn’t until decades later that I figured out that I am lactose intolerant. People who study such things swear that humans should not consume cow’s milk anyway, lactose intolerant or not. I am convinced that my mother’s proclamations about my being a fussy baby were her unwitting way of vindicating herself for the sin of too soon extricating her body from the ritual of nursing me, and of rationalizing to me the fact that I was always too much for her to handle. Through my early childhood, stomach-ache was as much a part of my identity as were the blue of my eyes and the yellow of my hair.

            My strongest sensory memory of my pre-school years is the blissful aromas emanating from my grandmother’s wood-burning cook-stove. Light breads; yeast cakes; biscuits; peach pies; apple pies; chocolate-cream pies; blackberry cobblers, all dressed up in snowy white flour and sparkling crystals of refined sugar, seeming as pure and sweet and alluring as Cinderella on her evening with the Prince. The entrees comprised one of the farm’s free-range chickens, slaughtered, butchered, coated in white flour, and sizzled to a crisp on the stovetop in lard or left-over bacon grease, all accomplished at my grandmother’s competent hands. Side dishes oftener than not were mashed potatoes and white flour gravy, creamed corn, and green beans boiled in water and flavored with bacon grease. Sunday menus might feature chicken and dumplings, the dumplings floating in their starchy bath as golf-ball-sized bundles of gooey white flour and other ingredients, each dumpling delivering a punch of carbohydrates (carbs) equivalent to the human system’s requirement for an entire week. And piled on were the additional carbs of the light bread and the pies. My point is that there was venom in all that tasty goodness as surely as if the wicked stepmother had woven toxins into the swanky threads of Cinderella’s frock.        

Of course, none of us was conscious of the evil lurking in our carbs-laced food. My parents and grandparents were loving and solicitous guardians of the welfare of their progeny in every way available to them. At about age eight, though, something strange happened to me. I absolutely could no longer eat the food served up at table at our house. My appetite for it just up and walked away. By then, residence on the farm had exchanged itself for life in the big city. But even so, my parents always maintained a vegetable city-garden in the backyards of our homes: corn; tomatoes; scallions; radishes; potatoes; cabbages; cucumbers; and a brand of single-leafed lettuce. And mom always kept a head of iceberg lettuce and stalks of celery bought at the grocery store in the refrigerator. Some intuitive food genius inside my body set me to nibbling on those raw vegetables like a rabbit. I often consumed an entire head of iceberg lettuce in one sitting. I still drank milk because I loved the stuff, and also because there was only water and coffee and sickeningly-sweet Cool Aid as alternatives. Mom could get me to eat a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup now and then—but that was about it in terms of my food consumption for the next twelve years. During that time, my stomach was as docile as a lamb.

And then I met and married a man of Latin ancestry and moved to New York with him. My Puerto Rican/Spanish mother-in-law took one look at me and proclaimed, “Ju are too skeeny, Leenda! I wheel put some meat on ju bones!” And she did just that. She introduced me to a cuisine that at the time I could only describe as “exotic.” Steaming pinto beans plump and soft in a savory mix of olive oil, onions, green peppers, garlic, and tomato sauce, cradled in a fluffy nest of Spanish rice tangy with olive oil, olives, capers, chicken broth, onions, green peppers, garlic, and tomato sauce. On plate was also a thick slice of pork, roasted to tender perfection in a wash of delicate juices. To top off the meal was ‘flan’ a delectably quivering wedge of oven-baked eggs, milk and sugar swimming in caramel. This was custard like I had never come across. The aroma alone was like entering food perfume heaven. My head was already spinning from the red ‘Paisano’ wine—my Spanish father-in-law’s contribution. I took to this cuisine as naturally as if I were born to it. But it didn’t take long for the digestive distress to show its nasty head again, and for my body to begin its steady expansion to alarming dimensions.  

These are snapshots of my back-and-forth, bittersweet relationship with food throughout the years of my life. When at the age of 49 I was struck down with Crohns Disease, I had no other choice than to undertake a close study of my nutrition habits. A flood of controversy is afoot about this subject of carbs. My own experience has shown me that “bad” carbs found in packaged and “white” foods, certain fruits, as well as sugars are the devils in my diet. I feel safe in stating that the ubiquitous danger of sugar (sucrose - C₁₂H₂₂O₁₁) is widely known and accepted, unless of course, a person has lived under a rock for the last several decades.©

Recommended Reading: SUGAR BLUES by William Dufty



Essay Image: DINNERWARE - acrylic painting by Linda Lee Greene



Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene’s eBooks and Paperbacks are available for purchase on Amazon. An overview of her latest romance/thriller/paranormal novel, A CHANCE OF THE MOON, is below:

Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys.

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind the movie-star and gambler’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

Amazon Buy Links Here> Paperback - Kindle

   

STAY TOASTY WARM

Wednesday, January 08, 2020

from Linda Lee Greene,  a repost from Sloane Taylor's blog

Winter, and especially the high-holiday season that is winter’s centerpiece, brings with it for me an air of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the Thanksgiving Days of old, the days when at the end of a long country lane, the white square farmhouse of my maternal grandparents came into view, and within its walls my large family would soon gather around an immense table groaning with a homegrown Thanksgiving meal. With the elapsing of time, the torch has passed to my aunts and uncles, and then to the members of my generation. The work of keeping the traditions of our family alive and well continues to be handed down.

This past Thanksgiving my immediate family gathered at the home of my daughter, Elizabeth, the person who often as not, has hosted our celebration for several years. I am so grateful for the young people of my family, and for the time and space to hunker into the winter of my life, to gather my provisions, as well as to relax into my unbound hours and make the most of them.

Turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, cranberries, and several other side dishes, sweetened at meal’s end with pumpkin pie and whipped cream, and a wide selection of additional heavenly desserts was our traditional fare. Last year, we broadened our menu with some new dishes. My contribution was a lovely ‘Farmhouse Cheese Soup’ laid at table as an appetizer. The recipe comes from Stacey Pirtle of ‘Southern Discourse,’ where it is described as “…oogey, gooey, goodness…a zesty comfort food even the pickiest eaters will enjoy.”

Savory Farmhouse Cheese Soup
1 stick (½ cup) butter
⅓ cup onion, diced
⅓ cup carrots, diced
⅓ cup celery, diced
1 tsp. garlic, minced
32 oz. chicken broth (I prefer the low-sodium brands)
½ cup roasted red peppers, diced
1 cup of Chardonnay, optional
6 cups sharp cheddar cheese, grated
6 cups of half-and-half
2 tsp. paprika
1½ tsp. fresh thyme, chopped
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. white pepper
Bacon bits
French bread, small chunks

Melt butter in a large stockpot or automatic cooker over medium-low heat. Add onions, carrots, celery, and garlic. Cook until vegetables are translucent.

Add broth and peppers. Simmer about 5 minutes. Pour in Chardonnay and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes.

Add cheddar cheese, 1 cup at a time, and stir well after each cup until cheese is melted. Blend in half-and-half a little at a time, stirring continuously.

Stir in paprika, thyme, salt, and white pepper. Cook on very low heat for another 5 to 10 minutes, stirring every 2 to 3 minutes.

Sprinkle bacon bits on top of each savory bowl. Sprinkle on bread. Shredded chicken is a nice add-in. Enjoy!

While your soup is simmering how about a peek at my latest crime thriller?

Was it chance or destiny’s hand behind a man and a woman’s curious encounter at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas? The cards fold, their hearts open, and a match strikes, flames that sizzle their hearts and souls. Can they have the moon and the stars, too? Or is she too dangerous? Is he? Can their love withstand betrayal? Can it endure murder?

While the cards at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas fail to distract them from their troubled pasts, on the side, the actress and the gambler play a game of ‘will they won’t they’ romance. Meanwhile, an otherworldly hand also has a big stake in the game. Unexpected secrets unfold brimming with dangerous consequences, and finally, a strange brand of salvation.

Amid the seductions of Las Vegas, Nevada and an idyllic coffee plantation on Hawai’i’s Big Island, a sextet of opposites converge within a shared fate: a glamorous movie-star courting distractions from her troubled past; her shell-shocked bodyguards clutching handholds out of their hardscrabble lives; a dropout Hawaiian nuclear physicist gambling his way back home; a Navajo rancher seeking cleansing for harming Mother Earth; and from its lofty perch, the Hawaiian’s guardian spirit conjured as his pet raven, conducting this symphony of soul odysseys.

The Cast of Characters
Actress, Olivia Montoyo Simms escapes the shadow of her mother’s gruesome murder and the relentless demands of Hollywood and loses herself in the cards at Las Vegas casinos. But like hounds on the scent, the scandal tracks her. And true to her history, it shows up in the person of dashing Hawaiian gambler, Koa Kalua’i. Neither of them are strangers at taking risks and too often losing. Will they win in their chance at the moon this time?

In Hawaiian cosmology, Aumakuas are guardian spirits whom many believe to manifest in physical form. Koa Kalua’i knows the tenet to be true, because Raven has not only been his winged-pet since the earliest days of his childhood on his family’s coffee plantation on Hawaii’s Big Island, but also his Aumakua. They make a remarkable pair, dedicated to righting wrongs.

Born and raised in Las Vegas, and orphaned as little kids, twin brothers Nicholas and Tobias Plato grew up tough but tenderhearted, qualities they put to use as actress, Olivia Montoyo Simms’ bodyguards. Who knew that Nicholas would play such a pivotal role in Olivia’s life: her most trusted friend and guardian, and in the end, her savior?

Navajo rancher and computer geek, Sam Whitehorse uncovers a secret, terrorist stockpile of materiel burrowed in the side of one his people’s sacred mountains in Nevada. It is a threat that he and Las Vegas gambler, Koa Kalua’i must expose and eliminate, but potential government involvement in the matter complicates such an offensive. And why does actress, Olivia Montoyo Simms insert herself into the whole affair?

Amazon Buy Links Paperback - Kindle

Multi-award-winning author and artist Linda Lee Greene describes her life as a telescope that when trained on her past reveals how each piece of it, whether good or bad or in-between, was necessary in the unfoldment of her fine art and literary paths.

Greene moved from farm-girl to city-girl; dance instructor to wife, mother, and homemaker; divorcee to single-working-mom and adult-college-student; and interior designer to multi-award-winning artist and author, essayist, and blogger, it was decades of challenging life experiences and debilitating, chronic illness that gave birth to her dormant flair for art and writing. Greene was three days shy of her fifty-seventh birthday when her creative spirit took a strong hold.

She found her way to her lonely easel soon thereafter. Since then Greene has accepted commissions and displayed her artwork in shows and galleries in and around the USA. She is also a member of artist and writer associations.

Visit Linda at her online art gallery and join her on Facebook. Linda loves to hear from readers so feel free to email her.

Sharon Ledwith: I came. I saw. I wrote.: 2020: A New Decade. A New Perspective…

Sharon Ledwith: I came. I saw. I wrote.: 2020: A New Decade. A New Perspective…: First Book Launch in 2012 Wow, that decade zoomed by! I honestly don’t know where those ten years went, but what I do know for sure (q...