Wiccan Harassed By Grand Traverse Sheriff Department

Greetings,

I want to share my experience with them in hope you will help me receive justice and let others know that they are not alone. I have been doing research and have learned the police abusing their power has become increasingly frequent, yet they are not held responsible for their action. Although telling has not been easy, it worth keeping the wound open in order to reach out to the others it has happened to and to help it from happening again. I have documentation not only for my complaints against the Grand Traverse Sheriff Department and Phillips Settles, but the medical documentation proving the physical and emotional damage it has caused me.

On October 18, 2006, I was driving home from my job at a small factory. I was pulled over by a deputy sheriff, who refused to tell me why he stopped me or to tell me his name. He ordered me from my car and began searching it. He dug my purse out of the back seat of my car and went through it. In the bottom of the side pocket, he found my athame set. Athames are ritual daggers used for directing energy in the Wiccan and Pagan religions. Mine were two small decorative daggers; the largest was 21/2 inches, including the hilt. Without telling me why, he arrested me. At the jail, he told me I was stopped because I was swerving and I was arrested for felony-concealed weapon. He led me inside and turned me over the deputies behind the desk. Even though there were female deputies on duty, I was searched by male deputy. He asked me questions until the other deputy behind the desk went to do other things. He then insisted on searching me again. Only this time, he groped my breasts and groin. When the deputy behind the desk came back into view, he immediately stopped and stepped away from me. I was placed in a hallway. The stress of the situation caused an asthma attack. When it first started, I asked for my inhaler, which was in the pocket of my purse. They denied me access. The attack became severe to the point I vomited and urinated on myself. They ignored my requests for my medication. Eventually, they gave me access, but not before damage was done to my lungs. Later, I was photographed and fingerprinted by another male deputy, who also groped my breasts and called it a search. He only stopped when another deputy came into his line of sight. My bond was set, but when my representative called to find out where to pay it, the deputy who answered the phone discouraged him from immediately paying, saying that I would be going before the judge at 2pm and it would be reduced. My paper work was never processed and I didn’t go before the judge until the next day. When my representative didn’t hear from me by 3 pm, he went to the courthouse and searched for the proper place to pay the bond. Still I was held until after 5:30. The next day at the courthouse, I sat next to a man who told me the deputies were teaching me a lesson. His name is Timothy Jon Smith; the phone number he gave me is 258-1493. Why they would want to teach me a lesson I don't know; I have never really and any contact with them on or off duty. The only thing I could think of was that about a month earlier I was at the Pagan Pride Day in Grand Rapids. There was a rumor that the officers on duty were writing down license plate numbers. The deputies involve were very good about keeping behind me and concealing their names. This was not the first time they had done this to someone. Nor was I able to learn the arresting officer's name until after I received a copy of the arrest report. It was then that I learned that it was Justin Revnell.
I asked for a court appointed lawyer. Phillip Settles of Acme was assigned. From the beginning, he refused to push the religious aspects of the case and the civil rights violations, nor did he want to hear about the assaults or the medical neglect. His position was that it didn’t matter their size or the reason I had them. Instead, he did his best to make me fear for my safety. I wanted to file a complaint against the Sheriff Department immediately. Mr. Settles told me that not only wasn’t it safe, but it would do no good. He told me that in spite my clean record, nor had I even thought of hurting anyone, if the case went to trial, I would be convicted and sentenced to five years in prison. During the preliminary hearing, he got Revnell to admit he didn’t have permission to search my purse, nor did he ask for my athames to be presented into evidence at the hearing. Both were just cause for the case to be dismissed, yet Mr. Settles said nothing. Mr. Settles filed two motions on my behalf; however, they weren't well researched and were very superficial. There are two recent cases he could have used; one was not only directly on point, but was a Michigan case. Eventually he persuaded me to accept a plea bargain of a misdemeanor. I don’t know if Mr. Settles was incompetent, lazy or working for the other side, but he wasn’t working on my behalf. One thing I found puzzling. The only people I mentioned suiting to was the deputies, yet on our first meeting Mr. Settles immediately told me that he couldn't represent me in a civil suit.
If you compare the arrest report with the transcript of the preliminary hearing, you will find many discrepancies. First and foremost, I didn’t volunteer the information about my athames. I honestly answered the deputy's question. Secondly, I didn’t give him permission to search my car or my purse. There was no reason for him to do so. I was being cooperative. In the report, he photocopied my athames without anything for scale or perspective, because he enlarged them. The images shown in the report wouldn’t have even fit in the pocket of my purse. I have signed statements from friends with their contact information, stating the actual appearance of my athames. Revnell also stated under oath that they were easily accessible and that I used them for self-defense. My athames were in the bottom of the pocket of my purse, which was buried beneath two jackets and a blanket on the floor of the back seat of my car. In order for me to use them for self-defense, I would have to ask the attacker to wait until I search not only for my purse but for my athames as well. In addition, the blade was so thin, it would have snapped off at impact.
On February 17, 2007, I finally got the courage to file a complaint. Instead of going to the office, I sent it certified return receipt to Sheriff Fewins and Alan Schnerder. I never heard from Mr. Schnerder and it wasn’t until the first week in March that I heard from the Sheriff’s department. Captain Dave Meachum called me and said they were going to investigate my complaint either in house or through another department. Two days later, I received a phone call from Detective Kevin Gay of the Traverse City Police Department; his badge number is 299. March 5, he and a member of the TC police departments Internal Affairs interviewed me. I answered all their questions both then and sense to the best of my ability, yet nothing has been done. I have questions, yet they refuse to give me any answers. The incident report number is 781-7281-07. Since then I’ve heard rumors of a couple of deputies bragging that the “witch deserved it” and that investigation was taken care of. May 18, Detective Gay called and told me he could find no basis for my complaints. Since I had waited to file the sexual assault complaint and since I didn’t stress it, he didn’t believe it happened. Many women not only wait, but some never report at all. In November when I talked to the councilor at the Women’s Resource Center, I talked about the sexual elements of the search. I also told several friends who are experienced therapists. I didn’t stress the sexual assault because it stemmed from the civil rights violations and frankly, it’s easier to heal from being groped than from suffocating to death from an asthma attack. Detective Gay has closed the case and once again the Grand Traverse Sheriff Department is getting away it.
After doing research, I realized just how inadequate my defense was. I sent a letter of complaint to Mr. Settles. He responded by repeating many of the same statements he made before, but never addressed my core complaints. I have also filed a formal complaint with the Attorney Grievance Commission and the Attorney General Office.
I have been physically, emotionally and financially harmed. The asthma attack caused damage to my lunge that is still causing me pain when I breathe. In November, I was diagnosised with PTS. The panic attacks were made worse by the continuing harassment. On November 30, I was pulled over for illegal beeping. On other occasions, I was followed from my job. On March 5, a patrol car followed me a car length and half for miles on the icy roads. If I had to stop for any reason, he would have rear-ended me. The harassment made it difficult for me to leave my home for months afterwards. For months, I was unable to function on anything more than a basic level. The moment I had in October, promoting my novels vanished. Continuing absences because of panic attacks and being unable to breathe nearly cost me my job and my home.
I am asking you to help me receive justice for the harm done to me and the others who have been harassed by the Grand Traverse Sheriff Department. Help me bring the blue wall down so that we can get ethical officers working in our community. If you have

Chuck you Farley!
By
Theresa Chaze

When did the generation who coined the phase "Chuck you Farley" become cowards? The sixties and seventies were decades filled with political and social change. Yet in the past six years, most of the civil rights that were hard fought for have been rapidly chiseled away without much protest. The anal-retentive traditionalist and bigoted jerks that were mocked and openly confronted now have free run to trample the civil rights. When did the Civil Rights generation become so politically correct that they no longer have the courage to stand up for civil rights, the environment, and individual freedoms. It was just about the time when being called a liberal became an insult or a point of view to be ashamed of; instead of meaning open and fair minded, it has come to mean weak and cowardly. Coincidently it was about the same time that ignorance and bigotry were suddenly promoted as positive aspects and wisdom and fairness were suddenly seen as a liability.
The sole purpose of Bush’s last national speech was to elicit fear and encourage bigotry. Repeatedly he warned that the boogieman was out to get every American. It is true that the world is a less safe place since 2001, but Bush’s policies have only increased the threat on the home front. Not only do terrorists from other nations hate Americans, but also Bush’s suspension of civil rights has given the home-ground bigots and nuts the power to intimidate, harass and degrade people they don’t approve of. No longer do citizens of this country have free speech, religion or are safe from unreasonable searches. Law enforcement no longer have to apply or acquire legal search warrants to search a person, vehicle or home. The presumption of innocence has disappeared, as the police only have to have a suspicion to in order to stop and search an individual. It has become common for law enforcement to attempt to silence dissenting political voices by harassing and intimidating those who speak out. Those who refused to be silenced are labeled as anti-American, traitors, or just dismissed as being ignorant--except for Rosie O’Donnell’s case; she has been labeled as fat and ignorant by traditionalists who hate that she is a strong minded, independent woman with a venue they can’t control. Instead of sticking to the facts, they chose to make personal attacks against those who disagree with their opinions; hence, the labels of treason and ignorance have become attached to those who have a liberal viewpoint.
During the sixties and early seventies, burning draft cards and marching for peace were acts of courage. However, those who protested and refused to go to war are now silent as our sons, daughters, in some cases grandchildren, die or are mutilated on the battlefield. The current administration went to war without justification or proper preparation. Many of the deaths and mutilations could have been avoided with the proper safety equipment. There was over a year debate, but instead of preparing by building up the troops and equipment, the administration continued to think the Iraqis would welcome the American troops like liberators. The US is only the latest of a long line of invaders who have come and gone throughout history; the Iraqis out lasted the others, unless there is a major change in tactics and intelligent preplanning history will repeat itself. The Bush administration either didn’t study the history of the region or they slept through the classes. A true leader stands out front and leads the battle; he doesn’t hide under his mommy and daddy’s bed or play dress up in soldier's clothes. The Bush administration had no trouble sending other people’s children in war, while keeping their family well out of harms way. When the injured return home, they are met with substandard care at over crowd facilities. Many are returning home with permanent physical and emotional issues, yet they are given little to no support.
Women’s rights, medical freedoms, and lifestyle choices are under attack as the “ole boy’s club” is trying to reincarnate themselves. Once again, discrimination is on the rise as people of color, non-Christians and women lose the jobs, children and find themselves profiled by law enforcement. Incidences of police abuse have been increasing since 2002 according to an article in the New York Times. “Random” stops and searches have increased 40% in the last five years; coincidently minorities, women, and non-Christians are more likely to be searched than white men. Violence against women has been rising, yet the Bush administration failed to support legislation, which would have provides addition protection for the women and children at risk. July 2005, five white South Carolina teens, ages 17-18, attempted to lynch a black teen. The attackers were allowed to plead guilty to lesser charges, receiving only 2-6 years in prison instead of the 30 years for the brutal attack on the 16 year old. Although the federal government could have intervene with the civil rights violations, it failed to do so stating they didn’t believe race or ethnicity was a factor in the teens actions. Equal protection under the law has once again become situational. Justice is for sale to the highest bidder. Those who have the resources are protected; those who don’t, are ground up by the system.
Once again, employment, wages and benefits are based on whom you know not what you know. Governmental services and protections are based not on need, but economic and political clout. The poorer sections of New Orleans didn’t receive the aid they needed at the time of the hurricane, nor has it yet to arrive. Conservatives and religious zealots point out that more money is being spend per student than ever before; they complain that they are paying too much for an educational system that doesn’t support their beliefs and traditions. Supplying a good education to all students is not only good for the whole country financially, but it makes the country stronger when all voices have the means and knowledge to contribute. It costs more because modern technology is more expensive than a number 2 pencil. In addition, if the funds were evenly distributed there wouldn’t be the current imbalance in the system. Some schools have more than they need, while others schools don’t even have the basic necessities. If there was a level playing field with every student receiving the same equipment and resources, there wouldn’t be such a radical difference between the level of education between graduating students.
So where did the civil rights generations disappear to? Did they change sides along with their clothing? Are they cowering in the shadows, hoping no will remember their past? Or are they simply afraid to stand up for the beliefs they used to hold as truths? Just how many people have to be subjected to harassment, intimidation, or be degraded before the independents, moderates and the liberals who used to stand for civil rights decide they have had enough? It’s time for society to take back its power and say Chuck you Farley.

Cinderella or Fairy Godmother
By
Theresa Chaze

One of my favorite movies of all times is Rogers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. Not for the romance and the prince, but the concepts that when someone loves you miracles can happen and that love externalized as kindness opens doors like no other. In a broad sense both notions are related; it is one person going out of their way to help another for the simple reason of caring enough to be helpful without expecting anything in return.
When the prince appeared, Cinderella was afraid of her Stepmother so she was reluctant to give him a drink of water, yet her kindness over ruled and she helped him without knowing of his royal status. The Stepmother and sisters with all their negativity used fear and condescension to keep Cinderella in her place and to elevate themselves to false superior positions. However, it was Cinderella who did all the work; the stepfamily existed to look good and to fit in their expected positions. Whereas Cinderella still had the ability to envision a brighter future, they were only capable of seeing through society’s eyes of perfection, which made the sisters’ small imperfections into major defects. Their obsession with achieving material status, kept them from filling themselves from the inside out. Whether it was her pet mice, the prince or her stepfamily, Cinderella was able to remain a loving person in spite of how she was treated. Being left behind as the others went to the ball, she did her best comfort herself because she thought she had no one else. Yet she quickly learned that wasn't true as her Fairy Godmother appeared in a ball of light. Made from her best hopes and dreams, she taught Cinderella that nothing in life is impossible. It was her unconditional love that created the magic, which turned mice into horses and a pumpkin into a carriage. With a wave of her wand, she gave Cinderella the ability to go to the ball--all except for the shoes, which were separate from the magic. She handed them to Cinderella as a special gift. Created with love outside the enchantment, they were the only gift that remained after midnight. They were designed for one person and would fit only her. In the end, Cinderella’s kindness went beyond the magic to reunited her with the prince as she again offered him a cool dipper of water.
The characters symbolically represented the challenges we all face in life. The prince symbolized Cinderella's hopes and dreams. He was more than a person or a love interest; he was her idealized version of what made her happy. With the exception of the physical description, everything she said about him, could be equally said about her.
The stepmother was society's pessimistic messages of who we should be and what we should expect from life. The stepfamily represented the limitations, which are meant to keep people sensible by stifling dreams. Their message was stay in your place and don't want more from life. The Fairy Godmother was made from all Cinderella‘s beautiful hopes, dreams, and wishes. She represented total unconditional love. It is this love and Cinderella’s ability to have faith that made her dreams a reality. Without bartering, the Fairy Godmother made Cinderella's wish came true. However, the magic only last until midnight. In the end, it was Cinderella, herself, that brought her dreams into reality by offering a kindness. If she had given into the despair, her dreams couldn’t have come true. By having faith and continuing to be a loving person, she drew the love she sought to her through her courage and compassion.
The magic happened because someone loved her enough to make it happen.
In the scene when the Fairy Godmother and Cinderella sang about the sensible people seeing dreams as a waste of time and dreamers as “daft and dewy eye dopes”, I nearly always cry. It's a very happy scene as The Fairy Godmother proves the impossible is quite possible, yet it makes me sad. Like most people, I have always wanted someone to love me enough to help my dreams come true. That has yet to happen. So maybe I’m not that far along in my fairy tale. I’m still living with my stepfamily and my faith is being tested. If that be true, then I can hold on. But more than that, I can play a dual role. Until it’s my turn to be Cinderella, I can be some else’s Fairy Godmother--as long as I don’t have to appear in a ball of light; I haven’t learned that trick yet.

Messages From the Universe--An Ezine of Many Voices

Valkyrie Publishing is proud to announce the beginning of it second year publishing, Messages From the Universe. This ezine’s goal is to give a voice to diverse points of view and spiritual wisdom. However, unlike most spiritual ezines, Messages From the Universe encompasses all aspects of life, not just those who follow mystical topics. Instead of differentiating between the spiritual and the mundane, this ezine intertwines all aspects of life in a single forum.


With a rapidly growing readership, Messages From The Universe gives writers a venue to share their wisdom or challenge the status quo. There are no taboo topics except those that spread hate, bigotry or ignorance. Many spiritual ezines limit the articles to the mystical, healing or otherworldly issues. However, Messages From The Universe sees life as being interconnected. Like a stone dropped into a pond causes ripples that radiate across the surface to the shores, so does every action send out wrinkles in the universal energy. Whether on a spiritual or on a mundane level, every act affects life on some level. It is Valkyrie Publishing’s goal to show how politics, religion and metaphysics can be successfully intertwined in a single medium.

To have this free ezine delivered to your email address on a monthly bases go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MessagesFromtheUniverse/ and join this Yahoo group. If you are interested in advertising your product or service in Messages From The Universe, email Theresa@theresachaze.com for the current rates and submission deadlines.

Awakening the Dragon-Book One of the Dragon Clan Trilogy--an excerpt


Awakening the Dragon-

Book One of the Dragon Clan Trilogy:

an excerpt.

Awakening the Dragon--Book One of the Dragon Clan Trilogy is a magical fantasy in the style of Marion Zimmer Bradley and Anne McCaffrey with a little J R Rowlings mixed in. The main difference is that Theresa Chaze is a Wiccan Priestess includes working Wiccan rituals in her fiction. She believes that she doesn't have the right to deprive her readers of the truth about the Wiccan and Pagan religions. It is available in paper back through fine bookstores and as an ebook at www.theresachaze.com

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rachael awoke. The room was dark and unfamiliar. From the corner came the comforting sounds of scratching and the litter box being used. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. She lay back in the peaceful quiet, allowing herself to be warm and safe. The day crept up on her. She rolled over trying to avoid it. The memories followed. Yawning, she stretched, tucking her arms under her forehead. She wanted to drift back to sleep. If there had been a problem, someone else had dealt with it. Her stomach rumbled. Shush, she mentally told it, live off the fat of the thighs for a while. Her bladder wasn't so easily quieted.

One of the kids jumped on the bed. From the walking pattern, she suspected it was Ralph. He crossed the bed and curled up across the small of her back. The added pressure she didn't need. Licking the front of her teeth, she lifted herself on to her elbows. Gently sliding Ralph onto the bed, she sat up, her feet searching for her shoes. She slipped them on and stood. Her fingers trailing along the bed to the foot, she walked toward the table with the lamp on it. At the foot of the bed, she held her hands out in front, trying to find obstacles in front of her before she tripped over them. Good in theory, but the practice left a little to be desired. She ran into something hard where there shouldn't have been anything. Startled, she stopped. Stooping she followed it around to the table with the lamp on it. Turning it on, the brightness blinded her. She closed her eyes, giving them time to adjust. Moments later, she tested them again. Blinking rapidly, she looked around the room. Boxes were neatly stacked wherever there had been free floor space.

Merlin sat in the window looking out. He turned to her and blinked, before returning his attention to the darkness.

Both Tara and Ralph lay on the bed. Tara was asleep. Ralph stretched out on his back, where she had rolled him. He looked at her with a kitty smile on his face; he wanted his belly rubbed.

She walked across the room and sat on the bed. Smiling back at him, she scratched his belly. He purred.

Merlin jumped down from the sill onto the bed. Rubbing his full length across her free arm, he also asked for attention. She scratched his head and he harmonized with Ralph.

Rachael yawned. She was still tired and needed more rest, but not until later. She gave both a final scratch and headed for the bathroom. Some things can only wait for so long. She opened the door, quickly closing it behind her. Feeling along the wall, she found the hall switch and turned it on. The light shone into the spare bedroom, across a twin size mattress with three inhabitants. It must be later than she thought. Quietly she looked in the room. All three seemed to be breathing. That was good. She closed the door so the light no longer shone on them and went downstairs.

The kitchen was dark, but there was a light on in the living room. Turning off the stairway light, she went into the bathroom and took care of business. Crossing the dining room, she heard a low growl emanate from the living room. The closer she walked, the louder the warning became. Rachael stopped at the archway.

Carmen reclined on the sofa, her feet up and the largest German Shepherd Rachael had ever seen lay on the floor in front. The dog stared, his teeth bared; ears erect. Seeing her, he half rose to his feet. Carmen reached over and scratched his ears. He licked her hand, but kept his attention on Rachael. Carmen turned the page.

"Well?" Rachael leaned against the archway.

"Well, what?"

"You going to introduce me to your bud or do I have to get a whip and chair to walk into my own living room?"

Carmen lay the book face down on her lap. "Chester, meet Rachael."

The dog looked over his shoulder at his prone mistress.

Carmen drew a pentagram in front of him and pointed at Rachael. The dog immediately relaxed. "Rachael meet Chester."

Again she drew the pentagram and pointed at Rachael. Taking his cue the dog crossed the room sniffed her feet and her crotch. Standing on his hind legs, he placed his front paws on her shoulders and licked her face. Carmen snapped her fingers. Chester's paws hit the floor and he returned to his position next to Carmen.

Rachael wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Ick. Doggy breath."

Carmen picked up her book. "You slept through dinner. We tried. You weren't interested."

"I suspected."

"You're awake, alive and vertical. Go make your own dinner."

"Gee thanks mom." Rachael half turned toward the kitchen. "How are the girls?"

"Well fed. Tired. Confused."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Carmen laid the book back down and looked at Rachael, "will be."

"One of us will have to stay with them."

"I volunteer you. What needs to be done at the Den, I can do. The stuff here only you can deal with."

"I agree." Through the window, Rachael saw the reflection of moonlight on metal and movement around it. "There's someone outside."

"Our escort."

"Didn't you invite them in?"

"They won't." Carmen pointed around the room. "They're afraid. The cottage has a rep. It's why I didn't want to stay."

Rachael unfurled her hand in front of her. "Why?"

"Stories. What people have seen and heard coming form here since Sarah died. Even Kevin doesn't stay long since his grandmother died." Carmen paused. "I must admit. It's nothing like what I expected. I wouldn't call it the welcome wagon. But I've felt safer here than in town."

"Kevin said something to that effect."

"Did the two of you talk much?"

"Jealous?" Rachael's stomach growled.

"Go eat." Carmen picked up her book and proceeded to ignore her.

Pushing her hair back over her forehead and tucking it back behind her ear, Rachael pivoted and head for the kitchen. "It' not over until--"

Carmen immediately broke into single high-pitched note which sort of resembled opera.

"You don't qualify for the role." Rachael shouted back, turning on the kitchen light.

The howling started. The singing stopped, followed by giggling.

Laughing, Rachael opened the refrigerator. Her mind filled with the image of Carmen wearing long, flowing robes, a breastplate, and brandishing a sword. The horned hat kept slipping off and rolling away. Carmen kept picking it up and proudly displaying her sword. Snickering to herself, she scanned the full shelves. Nothing looked good. Again her stomach complained about the neglect.

The shelves were full, but nothing looked good, sounded good, or smelled good. She didn't feel like cooking. It was a dilemma. She laughed at herself. Who was it who said, 'ten bags of groceries, you should be able to find something. She closed the door. What to do? She looked through the cabinet. She checked the refrigerator again, just to make sure nothing changed. It hadn't. Rats!

A black nose, attached to a brown and black furry body, appeared next to her, also looking inside. He looked up at her.

"See anything good?"

He cocked his head to one side, as if he was thinking. His head straightened. Snapping forward, he grabbed the cheese and dashed toward the dining room.

"Your son just swiped the Muenster."

"Chester. Take it back."

The taping of nails on the dining room floor halted and reversed. He dropped the unopened package on her foot. Looking up at her, he seemed to say, "you offered."

Rachael picked up the cellophane package. "I meant for me." She looked at the package. He waged his tail. He had such sad puppy-dog eyes. After all she did imply-she zipped open the bag and gave him a slice. "Don't tell your mom."

He ate it, standing next to her.

She closed the package and returned it to the fridge. Bribery was good. It didn't help her situation. Closing the door, she leaned against it, trying to imagine what would taste good. Sugar. Coke-a cold, bubbly bottle of caffeine at its best. Sighing she slide down, her touche bumping on the floor. Looking straight into the brown eyes, she whined. Chester sat down; tell me your troubles, his eyes said.

"Caffeine is my drug of choice. One sip and it'll be a six pack before breakfast by the end of next week."

"Then don't take that first sip."

Startled, Rachael snapped her head back to look up at Carmen. "Pet therapy."

"Huhu. Don't say that to anyone but a devotee of pets or they'll lock you up."

"I know." Rachael folded her arms across her chest. "What am I hungry for?"

"Food."

"Nothing sounds good." Rachael whined.

Carmen took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. "What are your favorite foods?"

"Lobster. Shrimp."

"Didn't see any." Carmen drank.

"Blueberries."

She placed the empty glass in the sink. "You bought blueberry yogurt and waffles."

"Don't sound good."

"Life's rough. I have to take your therapist for walk, so he can do his thing." She snapped her fingers; Chester jumped to attention. "Go for walk Weasel-boy."

Chester wagged his tail throughout most of his body.

"Ok, handsome. Let's go." She walked toward the back door, stopping just at the threshold. "Let me know how your dilemma works out."

"Sure thing."

The twosome exited through the door, carefully closing it behind it behind them. Seconds later the outside door opened and closed. Chester happily barked. Carmen laughed at him.

For an instant, she was jealous, but then she remembered the love upstairs. Dogs were great, loving and protective. Cats walked in realms most people could only imagine. Their voices grew more distant and Rachael turned her attention to the business at hand. Toast with jam and butter. Scrambled eggs with syrup and a large glass of milk.

She stood and looked around the kitchen. The covered toaster sat in the corner of the left part of the counter. She pulled the cover off. It was clean inside. She hoped it worked. She plugged it in and pushed down the lever. The elements turned red. "Good."

Gathering the ingredients for her meal, she placed a frying pan on the stove and started the butter melting. Scrambling the eggs in a bowl, she added milk, garlic and spices. Suddenly the scrambled eggs became an omelet. Turning off the heat, she diced mushrooms and onions. She tossed them in the pan and turned the heat back on. The veggies sizzled. Stirring them with one hand she reached for a tomato with the other. She placed it on the cutting board and poured the egg mixture into the pan, lowering the heat. The yellow mixture engulfed the veggies.

The sizzling from the pan was the only sound in the house. Rachael yawned. It had been a long day of reacting and more reacting. No time to think or feel-to absorb any of the changes in her life. So much needed to be sorted through, literally as well as figuratively. She hated clutter. She diced the tomato and pulled the cheese from the fridge. The eggs bubbled. She laid the Muenster on top and covered the pan. She started the toast, promising herself to start organizing first thing in the morning.

Suddenly she was a caretaker to three children who trusted her to protect them. At times she couldn't take care of herself. How long would they be together? Goddess give me a clue. She lifted the lid and turned off the heat. Grabbing a handful of tomatoes, she spread them on top and folded the omelet over, sliding the whole thing onto a plate. The toast popped up. She filled the glass with milk and returned the carton to the refrigerator along with the rest of the extra food.

She sat at the table and looked at it. It was a picture perfect meal, except she was no longer hungry. Even her stomach had changed its mind. Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she tried to clear her mind. There was so much to think about, so many decisions to be made. Her brain felt foggy. She needed it to be clear. She took a bite. It was food, not good or bad. Just food. She swallowed, chasing it down with milk.

Her furniture had to be moved out of the Den. Tomorrow supplies would start arriving; there wouldn't be room. Tomorrow she needed to make order of the mess. But tonight she needed to find her toothbrush and night stuff.

Tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day...she still remembered the speech from high school. It's funny what the mind will dig up from the past when the present is on overload.

She forced down several more bites of the omelet, a piece of toast and the milk. Pushing the plate away, she licked the milk off her lip and lay her head down on her folded arms. So much to do; so little time. Her eyes felt heavy. She yawned. Reality began slipping, giving way to an in-between meditative state. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to it as easily as a lover's kiss.

Around her the house remained quiet. Mentally she surveyed the room. Upstairs, all the kids slept, both Meredith's and her own. She sensed it'd been a long time since the girls had an opportunity to peacefully dream of children's matters. She made a mental note to check their blankets. Returning her attention downstairs, she wafted through the dining room into the living room. As if she was standing in front of the picture window, she watched the two men. One smoked a cigarette. . The other tucked his hands deeply in his pockets. They no longer spoke. She whispered to them her gratitude and it was time to go home. The one with his hands in his pockets nervously looked around. He spoke to his companion. Rachael couldn't hear what was said, but the companion looked around and laughed. It was not her intention to frighten them. She decided to speak to them before she went to bed.

Looking out the window, she watched the leaves reflect the partial moon, casting movable shadows on the ground. Both the light and the shadows seemed muted in the little more than quarter moonlight. In a novel, there would be crickets and frogs; an owl would look down high from a tree and a mystery brewing. But this wasn't a novel. It was a peaceful moment, set aside before she went to sleep. Smiling, she enjoyed it. Some how she knew tomorrow was already well taken care of.

She wanted to remain, enjoying the picture of perfection. Instead she was compelled to return her consciousness to the kitchen. With the speed of a thought, she returned. Seeing her body in the third person, she realized her hair needed brushing and washing if it got any closer to the omelet.

Her consciousness made a dip. She snapped awake. Carefully raising her head, she pushed the plate further away. .

Outside, Chester barked; Carmen shushed him. Moments later the back porch door opened. Chester pushed his way in, followed by Carmen. He sniffed Rachael, just to check identity and turned his attention to his water dish.

"Still up?"

"Barely. Your son eat people food?"

Carmen shook her head. "Not good for him."

"Understand. How was the walk?"

"Chilly. But good. About our guard-"

"They should go home. It's late. We're safe." Rachael stood. "I'll go tell them."
Carmen motioned for her to sit. "No reason for both of us to be cold."

"Want some tea?"

Carmen shook her head. "Be back."

"Before you go. Know which box has my toothbrush in it?"

"It's in the bathroom. The girls were nice enough to unpack boxes while I made dinner." Carmen sadly shook her head. "They're good kids. Deserve better than they're getting."

"Ain't that the Goddess's honest."

Carmen slapped her thigh and walked toward the front door. Chester immediately followed.

Rachael followed only as far as the bathroom. Through the window, she watched them walk across the yard. The guys met her part way. Few minutes later, they started their bikes and were headed back toward town. Carmen picked up a stick and threw it. Chester caught it. She chased him. He chased her.

Definitely true love, Rachael thought, turning on the bathroom light. Five toothbrushes hung in the holder. One she recognized as her own. There were three children's and a yellow one that must belong to Carmen. The towels were hung. A new bar of soap was in the dish. All was clean and shiny. The girls did a spectacular job. Maybe she could hire them as maids. Smiling, she reached for her brush and squeezed toothpaste on it. It was a normal act; how refreshing. Finishing she rinsed her mouth and washed her face. Drying she felt a bit more like herself. Gratefully, she reached for the moisturizer; waking up like a prune didn't appeal to her. Looking into the mirror, she applied the creamy liquid. It was a wonderfully boring act. She finished her bathroom routine by brushing her hair.

Carmen and Chester had returned. He lay on the floor beside the sofa. "Going to bed?"

"Right after I check the girls and get you some bedding."

"Upstairs."

Rachael nodded, walking toward the stairs.

"I'll follow oh great glorious leader." Carmen whispered a few feet behind.

Rachael stopped at the foot. "Do I detect sarcasm oh mighty Tonto?"

Putting on a bad Mexican accent, Carmen touched her chest with her open palm. "Nots me Quicksdraw."

"Mixed metaphor."

"The white hat and silver bullets wouldn't suit you."
"Don't be so sure."

"Right." Carmen pushed her toward the top. "Kids. Blankets. Sleep. Norman's bringing the crew at nine to work your castle."

"Yea and ick." Rachael led the way up. Stopping at the small bedroom, she cracked the door open.

All three girls slept soundly. The stress lines around their eyes and lessened, but hadn't disappeared. Shawna lay in the middle, blanket wrapped around her arm with both hands tucked under the pillow. Melanie had partially rolled off the mattress onto the floor.

Quietly Rachael tip toed in and rolled her back, recovering her. The child stirred in her sleep, but did not wake. She reached across, pulling the blankets up over them and rejoined Carmen in the hall, closing the door behind her. "Do you think they'll be warm enough?"

"Three blankets. Each other. The house isn't that cold."

"Long as you're sure. The blankets are in the closet in my room."

"Me, sure?" Carmen followed her down the hall. "I don't know nothing 'bout no babies."

Rachael stopped and half turned, giving her a can-we-stop-now look.

Carmen snapped her hands up in front of her, palms toward Rachael feigning defensiveness. "Don't beat me, Miss Rachael. I'll stop. I'll stop."

Looking upward, Rachael shook her head. "Give me strength." She opened the door. The light was still on. "My kids." All three were curled up on the bed.

"We met when I brought your stuff up."

"They didn't try to get out?"

"I parked Chester at the top of the stairs. They were real cooperative."

Rachael's jaw dropped. "Don't ever do that again."
"Nobody got hurt. And you'll have fresh undies for the morning." Carmen held out her arms. "My blankets and pillow please."

"Just don't do it again."

"You sleep real sound. For a minute I thought you were dead."

Rachael opened the closet and pulled out a pillow. "Surprised you didn't try a mirror test."

Carmen reached for the pillow. "Couldn't find one."

"Pillow?" Rachael hit her in the chest with the pillow and reached for the blankets. "One or two."

"To be safe, two." Carmen stepped back, preparing for incoming projectiles.

Grabbing two blankets and a set of sheets, she turned and held them out to Carmen. "Night."

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she accepted the offered bedding. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Not funny. Out."

Carmen pivoted on her toes and sauntered to the door. Shifting the weight in her arms, she opened it. Slipping out, she stopped, stuck out her tongue and closed the door behind her.

Yawning, Rachael shook her head. It was going to be interesting. She walked to the bed, stripping as she went. At the foot of the bed, she remembered the light and turned it off. She felt her way back to the bed. "Make room for mom.

No one moved. Gently she nudged and prodded until she found comfort. Rolling over on her stomach and tucking her arms under the pillow, she said her nightly blessing of protection and gratitude. Tara walked up the bed and curled up beside her shoulder. She closed her eyes.






















CHAPTER NINE

Rachael woke with a start, as she was suddenly ripped from the dream and thrown back into her body. She lay there dazed. The room was dark. The house was quiet. There was no reason to leave her sexual liaison. She rolled over and tried to make the jump back into the realm of sleep. Something tugged at her sense of awareness. It was annoying. Frustrated she turned over, disturbing the kids. She apologized. She sat up. She felt like a puppet with its strings being pulled taunt. She looked upward. "Ok. I'm up. What?"

Downstairs. A voice whispered in her head.

"Downstairs." She stood and felt her way to the light switch. It was covered by something warm with no real texture. "I need to find my robe."

No light.

"Swell. She felt in the darkness for her jeans and shirt. Her toe found the post of the bed as she discovered he shirt. "Shit." She whispered. "Why always at night?"

She found her jeans and slipped them on, carefully zipping them up. Arms extended she searched for the door. Crouching to prevent any escapes, she turned the knob. A late night dog-cat fight wouldn't be fun for anyone. Walking down the hall, she listened at the girls' door. She heard them breathing. Carefully she continued downstairs to the dining room. She looked toward the kitchen. It was dark. The living room was the same. Maybe Carmen called. She walked to the archway and listened. It was quiet. Hesitating, she whispered. "Carmen?"

"Rachael?" Carmen's voice quivered from the darkness. "Did you hear something?"

"I'm not sure. I just woke up."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Why are you?" Rachael retorted, unable to raise the volume of her voice. "Turn on a light."

"You."

"I can't. Something told me not to."

"Me too." The sheets rustled. "Chester yelped once and hid behind the couch."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Walking across the room, Carmen bumped into a chair. "Owe!"

"Aren't you supposed to be a sensitive?

"I am. It hurt."

"Very funny. You didn't wake me for this?"

Carmen bumped into her and stopped. "It wasn't me."

Three pair of headlights were parked on the road on either side of the driveway. Doors opened and closed. Male voices drifted across the distance.

"The cellular is in the kitchen. I'll get it." Carefully Rachael turned and held her arms in front to warn her in advance of obstacles.

"Come here, Chester." Carmen whispered.

The dog whined once and was silent.

Rachael reached the kitchen. First she checked to make sure the back door was locked. She propped a chair against the knob and reached for the phone. Outside she saw only darkness. The predicted storm must have rolled in obscuring the moon and stars. She turned it on. The buttons lit up and the dial tone buzzed. She pushed 911.

After three rings a female voice answered. "911. State the nature of your emergency."

"My name is Rachael Franklin. I'm at…oh, shit, what's the address?"

"You don't know your address?"

"I just moved in. It's the cottage on the Mitchellson property. There are some men outside."

"So?"

"They're not supposed to be there. Send some help! Now!" Rachael's voice rose.

"Quiet!" Carmen snapped from the living room. "They're walking toward the house."

Rachael stumbled back to the living room, nearly dropping the phone. "Can you tell how many?"

"Hello-hello?" The disembodied voice started to sound concerned.

"I saw at least seven in the headlights."

Rachael brought the receiver back to her mouth. "There are at least seven. Maybe more. I was threatened today by the House of Christ."

"I understand Ms Franklin. I found a note about you. Hold on." The line went silent for a moment.

As if on cue a dim band of light appeared in the yard, as a hole in the storm clouds drifted over. It illuminated part of the yard, but was not strong enough to penetrate the trees.

Another female voice came on the line. "Ms Franklin we've dispatched officers to your location. Please stay on the line."

"How long?"

"Five to seven minutes."

Two men stepped into the yard. Someone called to them. They looked to the right and stepped back into the shadows.

"Lady, " Rachael whispered, "that's not fast enough."

"I'll get a knife." Carmen whispered.

"Back door is locked. I put a chair against it."

"Thanks. I'll check the window." Carmen made her way to the kitchen. Moments later silverware rattled. "Shit. I can't see anything."

"Two knives in the sink. I didn't wash them after dinner."

"Thank Goddess for messiness."

"Ms Franklin-Ms Franklin?"

Checking the front door lock, Rachael brought the phone to her mouth. "Lady, we're a bit busy. Don't have time to chat. Just send help." She dropped the phone on the desk. The woman at the other end continued to talk. Doing her best not to be seen through the window, Rachael pushed the desk in front of the door. The weight of the computer made it heavier than she expected. The dragging sound echoed through the house.

Carmen ran back. "What?"

"Moving the desk to block the door."

"Good. Here." Something touched her shoulder. It was Carmen's hand with one of the knives in it. "Next time use something bigger than a paring knife."

Rachael took it. "Warn me in advance and I will."

The hole traveled beyond the lawn, leaving darkness behind it. A man crept around the perimeter toward the house. He waved his hand forward. Two more joined him. Only their movement revealed their locations.

Chester whined.

Both Carmen and Rachael jumped, startled by the sound inside the house.

"Carmen, what's wrong with him. He didn't seem like the nervous type."

"He isn't. That's what scares me. He once took on two muggers. No problem." Carmen's voice quivered with fear. "I don't understand. They shouldn't be able to get so close."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard the cottage had special protection--a guardian who wouldn't allow men to do harm."

Suddenly a piece fell into place and Rachael understood what she needed to do. "Guardian spirits, I give you leave to protect me and mine. To do what is necessary to defend us and prevent them from doing harm." The air around them quickly charged with a high pitched buzzing, which radiated outward.

Carmen grabbed her arm. "What did you do?"

'What was necessary."

One man screamed and pointed. He pushed past the three men. Another shouted at him. The man ignored him, continuing down the driveway toward the trucks. To the left of the house, a man yelled for help; the fear in his voice becoming terror. Suddenly he was silent. One man ran a few steps into the center of the yard, calling to him. The all around screams intertwined with growls. Pain flooded another man's incoherent voice. A shot ran out; quickly followed by another.

In unison, Rachael and Carmen jumped, startled by the shot.

Another break in the clouds illuminated the yard. Two men joined the one in the front yard. They tried pulling him toward the road. . He fought them, pointing at the house and yelling. A Tiger leaped from the shadows. It pushed him to the ground. He disappeared beneath its sheer mass His companions were knocked away. He screamed. They ran toward the road. One was caught nearly immediately. He screeched once. The other one didn't look back. Zigzagging, he raced to the pickups. The felines close on his heels.

A man banged on the front door, begging to be let in.

Startled, Rachael jumped away from the door, bumping into Carmen. She knew what was about to happen. She had called them--gave them permission to do what they must to protect them. She could stop it with a single thought. But that was not really an option. To stop them now would only lead to more blood shed in the future. The banging increased. The doorknob rattled. The man attempted to break in. The door vibrated. He screamed obscenities. The door violently shook. The growling came down to the porch. The screaming increased in pitch. A heavy object was thrown against the door. The screaming suddenly stopped. Something was dragged away and down the front stairs. Outside suddenly became silent. The hole in the clouds closed in on itself. Once again the yard was dark.

From the road, engines started. The lights shot backward. Tires screeched. One truck swerved into the ditch. The horn blasted.

In the distance, police sirens raced closer.

Rachael watched the pickup dance with an unseen partner. She gripped the knife in one hand, Carmen's forearm in the other. Beneath her fingertips, she felt Carmen's pulse racing.

The truck lights bounced and stopped. The wheels whined. Glass broke. Muffled screams intertwined with growling. Only it was different. The guardians hadn't followed them past the yard. When they were no longer a threat, the attack ended. What was happening out there had nothing to do with them. Another force had intercepted them as they had tried to escape. More canine than feline, the growling and snapping continued as the men were dragged from the pickups. The largest shadow howled, taking the physical shape of a wolf. The other three followed suite. The men dashed, running blindly. The wolf toyed with them. The men screamed. Car lights appeared in the distance. The game was over. Unlike the guardians, it was not a quick kill.

Egg Protection Ritual
This is only one ritual available through Theresa Chaze's Book of Shadows, Out of the Shadows and into the light. This ebook contains Wiccan and Pagan rituals for the modern day world. It is only available at www.theresachaze.com



The Egg Ritual

Eggs are considered symbols of the soul and are used in many rituals.

What you will need:

Eight eggs or an egg for each of the phase you intend to use.

A frying pan

A shovel

A place outside to bury

A symbol or picture of the person

Place the frying pan on the stove and with the picture behind it. Concentrate on the image or symbol.

Break an egg before each line and pour the egg in the frying pan:

"I shatter your ability to lie to me or about me."

"I shatter your ability to manipulate me."

"I shatter your ability to control me."

"I shatter your ability to physically harm me."

"I shatter your ability to frighten me."

"I shatter your ability to find me."

"I shatter your ability to know or understand me."

"I shatter your ability to talk to me or about me."

(You may add more but do not cross the line and start controlling what they may think about. You are just removing yourself from the situation.)

After you have cracked all the eggs, scramble them and turn on the burner and say.

"As this these eggs become one, so the magic has begun. As they cook, the universal energy charges the message."

When they are fully cooked, put the symbol or picture on top and say.

"With the will and justice of the universe (the person's name) is forever banished from my life."

Take the mixture, outside and dig a hole, dump the mixture in the hole, saying:

"I ground whatever (the person's name) sends to me into the earth"

Bury the hole and walk away.

Solar Flashlight Lets Africa’s Sun Deliver the Luxury of Light to the Poorest Villages
By WILL CONNORS and RALPH BLUMENTHAL
FUGNIDO, Ethiopia — At 10 p.m. in a sweltering refugee camp here in western Ethiopia, a group of foreigners was making its way past thatch-roofed huts when a tall, rail-thin man approached a silver-haired American and took hold of his hands.

The man, a Sudanese refugee, announced that his wife had just given birth, and the boy would be honored with the visitor’s name. After several awkward translation attempts of “Mark Bent,” it was settled. “Mar,” he said, will grow up hearing stories of his namesake, the man who handed out flashlights powered by the sun.

Since August 2005, when visits to an Eritrean village prompted him to research global access to artificial light, Mr. Bent, 49, a former foreign service officer and Houston oilman, has spent $250,000 to develop and manufacture a solar-powered flashlight.

His invention gives up to seven hours of light on a daily solar recharge and can last nearly three years between replacements of three AA batteries costing 80 cents.

Over the last year, he said, he and corporate benefactors like Exxon Mobil have donated 10,500 flashlights to United Nations refugee camps and African aid charities.

Another 10,000 have been provided through a sales program, and 10,000 more have just arrived in Houston awaiting distribution by his company, SunNight Solar.

“I find it hard sometimes to explain the scope of the problems in these camps with no light,” Mr. Bent said. “If you’re an environmentalist you think about it in terms of discarded batteries and coal and wood burning and kerosene smoke; if you’re a feminist you think of it in terms of security for women and preventing sexual abuse and violence; if you’re an educator you think about it in terms of helping children and adults study at night.”

Here at Fugnido, at one of six camps housing more than 21,000 refugees 550 miles west of Addis Ababa, the Ethiopian capital, Peter Gatkuoth, a Sudanese refugee, wrote on “the importance of Solor.”

“In case of thief, we open our solor and the thief ran away,” he wrote. “If there is a sick person at night we will took him with the solor to health center.”

A shurta, or guard, who called himself just John, said, “I used the light to scare away wild animals.” Others said lights were hung above school desks for children and adults to study after the day’s work.

Mr. Bent’s efforts have drawn praise from the United Nations, Africare, Rice University and others.

Kevin G. Lowther, Southern Africa director for Africare, the largest American aid group for Africa, said his staff was sending 5,000 of his lights, purchased by Exxon Mobil at $10 each, to rural Angola.

Dave Gardner, a spokesman for Exxon Mobil, said the company’s $50,000 donation in November grew out of an earlier grant it made to Save the Children to build six public schools in Kibala, Angola, a remote area of Kwanza Sul Province.

“At a dedication ceremony for the first four schools in June 2006,” Mr. Gardner said in an e-mail message, “we noticed that a lot of the children had upper respiratory problems, part of which is likely due to the use of wood, charcoal, candles and kero for lighting in the small homes they have in Kibala.”

The Awty International School, a large prep school in Houston, has sent hundreds of the flashlights to schools it sponsors in Haiti, Cameroon and Ethiopia, said Chantal Duke, executive assistant to the head of school.

“In places where there is absolutely no electricity or running water, having light at night is a luxury many families don’t have and never did and which we take for granted in developed countries,” Ms. Duke said by e-mail. Mr. Bent, a former Marine and Navy pilot, served under diplomatic titles in volatile countries like Angola, Bosnia, Nigeria and Somalia in the early 1990s.

In 2001 he went to work as the general manager of an oil exploration team off the coast of the Red Sea in Eritrea, for a company later acquired by the French oil giant Perenco. But the oil business, he said, “didn’t satisfy my soul.”

The inspiration for the flashlight hit him, he said, while working for Perenco in Asmara, Eritrea. One Sunday he visited a local dump to watch scavenging by baboons and birds of prey, and came upon a group of homeless boys who had adopted the dump as their home.

They took him home to a rural village where he noticed that many people had nothing to light their homes, schools and clinics at night.

With a little research, he discovered that close to two billion people around the world go without affordable access to light.

He worked with researchers, engineers and manufacturers, he said, at the Department of Energy, several American universities, and even NASA before finding a factory in China to produce a durable, cost-effective solar-powered flashlight whose shape was inspired by his wife’s shampoo bottle.

The light, or sun torch, has a narrow solar panel on one side that charges the batteries, which can last between 750 and 1,000 nights, and uses the more efficient light-emitting diodes, or L.E.D.s, to cast its light. “L.E.D.s used to be very expensive,” Mr. Bent said. “But in the last 18 months they’ve become cheaper, so distributing them on a widespread scale is possible.”

The flashlights usually sell for about $19.95 in American stores, but he has established a BoGo — for Buy One, Give One — program on his Web site, BoGoLight.com, where if you buy one flashlight for $25, he will buy and ship another one to Africa, and donate $1 to one of the aid groups he works with.

Mr. Bent, who is now an oil consultant, lives in Houston with his wife and four young children. When he is not in the air flying his own plane, he is often on the road.

Traveling early this month in Ethiopia’s border area with Sudan, Mr. Bent stopped in each town’s market to methodically check the prices and quality of flashlights and batteries imported from China.

He unscrewed the flashlights one by one, inspecting the batteries, pronouncing them “terrible — they won’t last two nights.”

On his last day along the border, Mr. Bent visited Rapan Sadeeq, 21, a Sudanese refugee who is something of a celebrity in his camp, Bonga, for his rudimentary self-made radios, walkie-talkies and periscopes.

The two men huddled in the hut, discussing what parts would be needed to power the radio with solar panels instead of clunky C batteries. “Oh, I can definitely send you some parts,” Mr. Bent said. “You can be my field engineer in Ethiopia.”

Will Connors reported from Fugnido, Ethiopia, and Ralph Blumenthal from Houston.

Police Abuse: The Blue Wall Again Protects Its Own

Most of you know about my arrest last fall. Mid February, I finally got the courage to file a complaint about my treatment against the Grand Traverse County Sheriff Department. March 5, I talked to Detective Kevin Gay of the Traverse City Police department; he was assigned to investigate my complaint of sexual assault. He refused to listen about the illegal search, the falsifying the arrest report, Deputy Justing Revnell lying under oath, the religious descrimination, or the refusal to give me by asthma medication. I kept touch with him over the the past couple of months. He kept telling me that he was investigating, but wouldn't give me details. This morning Detective Gay called. He found my complaints to be unfounded and the deputies will not be help responsible for the harm they caused me. I did my very best to have faith in the system, but the blue wall protects its own. The reason he gave was that I didn't emphasis the sexual assault fast enough or well enough for their satisfaction.



Although I have contact the local paper, the reporter I talked to has received so many complaints about the local law enforcement, that he wasn't sure how much he could do. Part of me still held out hope that justice would be done. I feel as if was assaulted again. I am asking for help. May 31 is the next full moon. Will all those who believe in justice pray that the Grand Traverse County Sheriff department, the prosecuter and the attorney who failed to represent me properly, Phillips Settles, recieve full measure of justice for the harm they caused me. I'm not asking for vengeance, but justice in full measure.



Thank you for your help, support and protection.

Theresa/Tirgana

Valkyrie Publishing--a new e-publishing house

Valkyrie Publishing--a new e-publishing house
By
Theresa Chaze
Valkyrie Publishing provides a formatting conversion service, which translates word documents into PDF files and creates unique graphis fro those who are time and technically challenged. Not only for ebooks, PDF files can be usesful for newletters, ezines, or any document that will be needed to be easily opened by many computers.


An advantage electronic publishing has over print is that graphic can be added through out the text without much additional cost. A nearly unlimited amount of elaborate graphics can be added giving each book a unique visual experience. No longer are authors limited to what can be printed on the page. Instead, they are only restrainted by the length and depth of their imagination.


As many have already realized using the free online service to convert their document into a PDF file doesn't always happen easily. Sometimes the formatting process moves paragraphs and chapters so they no longer properly aligned on the page. Valkyrie Publishing checks the placement before returning it to the author for formatting errors. In addition, the documents are ad free. Since the author is hiring a service, all rights are retained by the author. This service will provide a way for more authors to publish their work while maintaining total control over the distribution and sales.


Graphics will be composed using Photoshop by using of both royalty free components as well as original art. The image will be returned in a jpeg format in the best quality possible. From ebook covers to ezines, Valkyrie Publishing will provide unique art that will make your project look professional. I also have the capability of adding your graphics as is or I could modify them to your specifications

There are also other uses for PDF files. Newsletters and ezines are becoming more technically advanced as they become more popular. By converting to a PDF file, the publisher has the option of either sending the file out in the body of an email or uploading the file onto their server and sending out the address. By doing the later, it increases readership possibilities as it makes the smaller email and removes the need for an attachment. It's a simple and easy way of distributing newsletters and press releases. However, any documents that are going to shared or read on many different computers will benefit from being converted. Employers are now accepting job applications online and require the resumes to be submitted in as a PDF file. On my site, instead of having pages and pages of pictures of my kids and gardens, I created PDF files of each category and posted the link on my site. It makes the site load faster and gives a more quality look to the presentation.

The costs:

Small projects: 1-10 pages $5.00

Ebooks: The first 100 pages 40.00 and 10.00 for every 50 additional pages.

newsletter and ezines under 100 pages: flat rate of $25.00 each issue.

Graphics: It will depend on how complex the image.


Referral fee: I will pay ten percent for all referrals once payment has been received.

Here is May's Issue of Messages From the Universe. As always you are welcome to share the ezine, but the articles remain the sole property of the authors. If you would like to receive this ezine to your individual emal box go to

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/MessagesFromtheUniverse/ to join the free egroup.



You may need to cut and paste the address into your browser.

http://us.share.geocities.com/tirgana/MessagesMay2007.pdf

Tirgana