Part III
(Previously, Sam Reynolds, PI, decide to accept an invitation to a three-day retreat to learn meditation. While there, he starts to have some misgivings about a co-student.)

Sam came out of his room and remembering the almost argument next door, looked to see if the people were still around. Scanning the hall, he could see all the doors to the dorm rooms were firmly closed.

Probably already there, shit. And first day too. Gritting his teeth, he yanked the loose drawstring to the tunic pants tighter. He then scooted promptly out of the building and over to meditation.

The last one in, he silently tugged off his sneakers and tiptoed over to a line in the back. The white cotton socks he had been given glided smoothly over the hard-wood floor. He sat down and assumed the cross-legged position as much as his stiff legs would allow.

“Let us all breath in and breath out,” he heard the leader saying in a still calm voice. He felt his shoulders start to relax.

Later that day they were finished, and it was time for dinner. This time he sat right next to Brother Huang who had, somehow, managed to sit some distance from Lydia and her friend.

“So, Sam, how did you like it today?” Huang asked Sam.

“I liked it. The hardest part is getting up and down and crossing my legs. Stiff, you know.”

Huang nodded knowingly. “We will do a few yoga movements too, while you are here, and that might help.”

“Gosh, I hope something does. I feel like the Tin Man.” He helped himself to more fish and rice.

“Try the green stuff,” Huang held out a dish to Sam. “It is a lot like your spinach.”

Sam was wary, but put a little on his plate anyway. He nibbled on a piece.

“It is just like spinach,” he said and put some more on his plate.

Huang was speaking to the different people sitting around them and Sam listened. People had a variety of jobs, several were teachers looking to ‘expand their horizons.’

One young Asian man sat across from Sam and didn’t say very much.

Sam wasn’t very good at telling the difference between the different Asian groups. So, trying to not be offensive, he asked: “So, are you Korean too?”

The young man made a slight grimace before replying, “No, I am Chinese. Chinese-American.”

“Ah,” Sam replied.

“I am actually fifth generation here in California.”

“Really.” Sam was interested.

“Yes, my great-great grandfather was what was known as a coolie and came from China to work on the Trans-Atlantic Railroad.”

“Wow, some history.”

“Yes, it has been a long road for my family, but worth it in the end, I guess. I was able to graduate from Stanford, so probably.”

Sam nodded. “And what do you do?”

There was a slight pause. At first, Sam thought the young man was going to refuse to answer. He detected a faint struggle on his face.

“Ah. . .I do research. Medical research.”

“Oh, interesting. Who. . .?”

“It’s Sam, isn’t it?” The young man broke in. “I am Chan, nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand, American style.

“Oh, you too.” Sam countered.

“However, I am here on a short rest-vacation and would really like to leave all that behind. Just for a few days.” He gave Sam a faint smile.

Sam stared a moment then, looked down at his food. “Sure, sure, no problem. Think nothing of it. Are these peanuts?”

They all continued eating and Sam kept his thoughts to himself. What young man, that age,he mused, doesn’t like to talk about his work? Incessantly,in fact. Whatever. Not my business.

After dinner, Sam was back in his room and tried to read the magazine he brought but threw it down. Feeling restless, he pulled on a jacket and slipped into some shoes and went outside. Late spring, the air was still nippy.

God,I could use a cigarette right now.

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep warm and started to stroll around the grounds. The grounds of Green Veil were lush with vegetation and beautiful even at night. The facility, Huang had told him, had been the property of a wealthy dowager who, having gotten into the meditation thing, donated the entire place to Brother Huang and his school.

Chewing on a toothpick, Sam worked his way around the campus. He was starting to get familiar with where things were. Having walked some of the kinks out, he started on the path back to his room.

Maybe a hot bath. He scratched his neck. That rough cotton must be irritating…

It was then he noticed something to his right, movement. Mice? Rats? No, it’s hopping like. Looks like. . .oh, it’s a bunny. Ha. Not too much to worry about there. Probably no foxes or racoons for miles.

He was turning back when something else caught his attention. He rubbed his eyes.

Was that rabbit glowing? A light green color? Couldn’t be.

He started to walk slowly after it and was about to catch it with two hands, when the thing darted into some undergrowth.

“Bah!” he said out loud. “Sam Reynolds, it’s really time for bed.”

The next morning, after washing up, Sam remembered the rabbit.

Was I seeing things? Was it really glowing or am I on some kind of new mediation enhanced high? What’s in that tea they serve?

Dismissing it from his mind, he went to breakfast and was able to get down on the floor a little more easily this time. He noticed, with a sense of aggravation, that husband-hunting Lydia and her silent companion, Sylvia, were both able to seamlessly glide up and down from the floor.

Geeze, Sam thought to himself, looks like all those hours in the gym are not really doing the trick. He felt discouraged.

He quickly got in with Brother Huang’s crowd for lunch although Lydia waved gayly at him from the other end of the table. He gave a little wave back and grabbed for food. The mysterious young Chinese man, Chan, was a few spots down. Head down, he continued a constant low conversation with his fellow Asian.

Older, thought Sam. Maybe in his 50’s, steel rim glasses, really bad haircut.

There was a dark, brooding intensity about the man Sam found unsettling. He could not help having his usual PI observations about people. The man kept stabbing at his food with his chopsticks.

Like he’s angry, Sam mused. Somehow, I get the feeling he’s not from around here.

Sam turned from the two men and tried to focus on what the people were talking about on his right. He had to fight that old prickly feeling coming from the hairs at the back of his neck.

Meditation class was easier the second day and Sam felt like he was getting into the groove of the thing. He was able to control his thoughts a little more and focus better. However, after a few minutes, he could not help thinking back to the young man Chan and his odd companion.

Something. . . something.

“Breath in and out, focus your attention. I will play a little music to help.” Brother Huang was leading today.

Sam liked hearing him. What a calming voice he had!

After lunch he went to have a little lie down before afternoon class began. Once again, he had dozed off when he heard the voices. They were murmuring again, but louder this time.

Always the nosy one, Sam got up quietly from the bed. Still in his thick cotton socks, he moved over to the side wall and put his ear against it.

“They need your help!” came the terse words. “They are dying, every day! They can’t afford the help like these rich American shits!”

“I know that, you think I don’t know that.” Sam recognized the voice of Chan. He realized the other voice had to be that of the older man who sat with him at meals.

“If I get caught, I’ll be ruined. I’ll get fired and never work in this town again.”

Chan sounded almost in tears.

There was a pause. “We won’t get caught. The plan is fool proof. No one will ever know.”

“But the lab is so careful, they monitor everything, constantly. What if they find out?” Chan pleaded.

“Listen to me, Chan, you can always come home. We need people like you. You know how much.”

“Yes, Lee, I do know. But, Lee, I am home. You have to realize that. I am home.”
Sam heard a sound like ‘Bah,’ and eased away from the wall. His mind whirled.

What the heck were these two up to? It didn’t sound good, whatever it was. Not good at all.

He could hear the bedroom door open and close next to him. Footsteps in the hall. Sleep impossible now, he pulled out the little I-Pad that Kristie had gotten him for Christmas. He looked up Chan, Ron, Stanford.

Bingo, found him! Got to love this Internet stuff, huh? Right there, ‘Ronald Chan, PH D., graduated summa cum laude, Stanford University. Biochemistry and genetics research. Currently working at Bio-Tech, Industries, San Francisco, CA. Articles by Dr. Chan include. . .’

Sam stopped reading. Biochemistry, genetics research. Glowing rabbits?
His head hurt. He popped in some more words into the Internet and read how scientists had learned to take the florescent glow DNA from jellyfish and transfer that DNA gene into small animals like rats and mice.
And rabbits? Sam thought warily to himself. What the Hell is going on here?
Getting up, he pulled the grey tunic over his T-shirt and pulled the drawstring tight on his pants. Pushing some shoes on his feet, he slipped into the hall and rapped on Chan’s door.

“Chan, you in there? It’s Sam. I heard you and it sounded like you. . . were sick or something.”

He was greeted with silence. He looked right and left. The hallway was empty.

Probably either still asleep in their rooms or had already left for mediation.

For a moment, he tamped his mustache. Then, cautiously, he tried the door handle. It was locked. Turning, he made his way to the end of the dorm corridor and out the exit to the grounds. Walking alongside the building, he found the window to his room, checked for his stuff and counted over one room. Chan’s room was behind a large bush. He peeked inside. No one there. The window was open a little.

Glancing around, he saw that the only people were yards away, busy getting to the next class. Sam got behind the bush and put both hands under the wooden window casing and pushed up. It made a creaking noise. Sam winced but felt sure no one was around to hear it.

Pushing the window more, he was able to stick a leg through and then pull his body in. He tried to ignore the twinges. Doing a quick reconnoiter, he confirmed he was the only one in the room. It was slightly larger than his, with room for two twin beds; although, still sparsely furnished and no bath. The beds were made, and he could see suitcases hurriedly shoved under the beds.

On tiptoe, he checked at the door, leaned his ear against the wood and heard nothing. He locked the top lock from the inside.

If one of them comes back, he smiled, they’d have to fumble with the key and lock. That will give me time to get out the window again.

He pulled the first case out from under the bed. It was a modern, hard-clam shell design. Kristie’s daughters both had this type. He popped it open and confirmed quickly this belonged to Ronald Chan. A California Driver’s license was in a leather wallet stuck under some clothes.

“Nothing much there we didn’t know,” he whispered.

On his knees, he inched over to the other bed and pulled out the second suitcase. It was old and worn with an old-fashioned boxy shape and travel stickers stuck to the outside.

“Geese, looks like one my grandma had.”

He had to jimmy the locks to get them open. There had been an attempt to lock them, but they were so old, it was easy to get them undone.

Sam rummaged through worn underwear and found what he was looking for. A dark red Chinese passport issued to one Dr. Yang Lee, Ph. D., Department of the Interior. The rest was in Chinese and Sam couldn’t read a word. He did see that the last port in China had been Beijing.

About one month before, so…

Sam heard voices coming down the hall. He jammed the passport back into the suitcase, carefully closed the lid and pushed the locks back in place. Shoving it back under the bed he scampered back to the window. His foot banged against something and he almost cursed. Looking down he saw an empty metal cage with a little food bowl with pellets and another bowl for water. It was empty but looked just big enough to hold a rabbit.

He slid through the window and then scraped along behind the bush to his window. Repeating the same action, he pushed the window up and climbed back into his room. He tiptoed over to the wall again and could hear curses from outside the next door.

“Why doesn’t this damn lock open?” Rattling.

“Let me try my key.” Shuffling sounds. “There, it was just stuck.” The door opened, then closed.

“No, I told you I have to have more time to think. Plus, there’s Fluffy. I need to get him back before we leave. We can’t just leave him here for someone to find.” Chan’s voice.

“I told you not to bring that animal. Now he’s evidence. If I get my hands on him, I’ll. . .”

“No, you won’t! He’s my rabbit. I’ll find him.”

“See that you do. Now at least one of us has to go to that damn class or we’ll be missed.”

“I’ll look for Fluffy.”

The door banged open then shut. Sam was still listening. He thought he heard soft crying. He decided to get to class if, for no other reason, then to see what Lee was up to.

Sam entered the big hall from the rear and sat in the very back row. He moved so he could keep his eye on Lee. Unfortunately, the man simply followed along with the group and did nothing unusual.

Sam tried hard to focus but found it impossible. His eyes kept popping open and searching the room for Chan. Lee stayed in place and Chan never showed. By the end of mediation, Sam felt more aggravated than ever.

Why didn’t that asshole, Lee, just do something already?

Exasperated, he got up and followed the group out. Most people sprinkled out on the grounds for an hour or so before dinner. Sam followed Lee back to the dorm and let himself into his own room. He sat silently on his bed listening. He could hear the creaking of bedsprings, but no more conversation.

Where was Chan?

Sam set the alarm on his phone and dozed off. Ninety minutes later the alarm rang off and his eyes opened. He lay still and listened. There were voices drifting in from the grounds, but the room next door was quiet. He waited a few moments, got up and listened at the wall. Nothing.

Washing his face, he combed his blond/white hair and scowled at his own reflection. Blue eyes looked back at him. He hated inaction and he was overwhelmed with a feeling of nameless dread. That something bad was about to happen or had already happened. Leaving his door, he paused again outside Chan’s room. It was silent. He knocked and there was no answer. A frisson of fear washed over him.

He scurried to the dining hall. Ignoring the waves and calls from Lydia, he planted himself heavily next to Huang. Straining his neck around, he looked to see if the kid was here. No Chan. Sam swallowed some bites of food. Washing it down with some tea, he leaned over to Huang.

“Can I talk to you, after dinner?”

Huang turned slightly toward Sam. A look of surprise was rapidly followed by one of concern.

“Certainly.”

When dinner was over, the usual contingent of people crowded around the master, but he was able to gracefully wave them away. He looked over at Sam.

“Needs to be in your office,” Sam told him.

Huang nodded and headed back to the main building. Settled in the sanctum-sanctorum, Sam closed the door. Huang raised an eyebrow but sat back in his chair.

Finally, “Yes?” was all Huang asked.

Sam hardly knew where to start. It was all so fantastic. Red Chinese, glowing bunnies, disappearing scientists. Was he crazy?

“It’s like this,” he started. Pretty soon it was all tumbling out before Sam even knew it. Huang nodded, his face serious.

“So, what now, Sam-Shi?”

Sam pause and took a deep breath. He thought.

“We need to find Chan. We need to find him now.”

Huang nodded. He picked up a little brass bell and rang it. His major-domo appeared and there was some rapid-fire conversation between the two. The language, which Sam now knew to be Korean, was a complete word salad to him. He understood nothing. The conversation stopped abruptly, and the Domo bowed, turned and left. Sam could hear him calling out to other staffers giving what sounded like commands.

“What now?” Sam asked.

“We wait.” Huang replied.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. Huang responded. “They will find him. If he is here.”

They sat in silence. Huang poured out some of the golden tea he always kept simmering in a side pot. Sam savored the taste and light flower aroma of the tea. A long twenty minutes passed. Suddenly, there was a commotion at the front door. It was the Domo, he was back, waving rapidly.

“Come, come!” he shouted.

Huang and Sam hurried out of the building and were herded over to the laundry facility. The door was open, the light on. Sam could see people inside the room, bending over something. He rushed inside to see Chan slumped against the wall, legs stuck straight out in front of him and bleeding from the forehead. He ran to the young man’s side, terrified he was dead.

“Chan, Chan.” The eyelids fluttered; a huge red shiner rising on his forehead.

Chan groaned.

“Oh, thank God,” Sam said holding Chan’s cold hand. “Can you hear me?”

Chan’s eyes fluttered open. “Sam,” the eyes closed. Someone had called 911 and Sam could hear an ambulance siren wailing in the distance. Soon, paramedics arrived and took over.

An hour later, Chan was on his bed with a bandage around his head. He had been cleaned up and given a pain killer.

“He’ll have a slight concussion,” the medic told Sam, “but he’ll be okay. Don’t let him drive.”

Sam and Huang both nodded and waved goodbye as the ambulance left.

They were now both in Chan’s room sitting on chairs next to him. He was coming around. Sam could see that Fluffy was back in his cage and that Lee’s suitcase was gone.

“Tell us what happened, my son,” Huang prodded gently.

Chan started to cry. “I’m going to get fired. I’ll never work in this state again. I’m going to jail.” He leaned forward and held his head in his hands.

Huang looked at Sam and back at Chan. “Breathe, my son, breathe. In and out. In and out.”

Chan finally started to slow his breathing and calm down a little. He opened his mouth several times but nothing came out.

“One step at a time, Chan. One step.” Sam said slowly.

There was a little gasp. “He took my card.” Chan pointed to the lump on his head.

“Your card?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“My, my ID card for Bio-tech. He’s got my card to get into the lab.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam tried to stay calm himself. “That’s not a problem is it? Certainly, there are other levels of security there?”

Chan started to cry again and began rocking back and forth.

“You don’t understand. You don’t understand.” He sobbed incoherently.

Huang put a hand on his arm. “Tell us Chan, so we will understand.”

Chan sucked in a big breath. “He got my finger prints.”

“Your fingerprints,” Sam asked, “how?”

Chan’s eyes got wide. “He had these soft plastic gloves.” He stuck out his hand to demonstrate. “You put your hand in the glove and press down. It molds to your fingertips and leaves an impression of the prints.” He pointed to his own fingertips. “When it dries and hardens, it’s a permanent glove with a set of your prints.”

Sam and Huang looked at each other blankly.

“Don’t you understand?” Chan’s voice started to rise. “He can get past the second layer of security and into the lab with my prints.”

There was a long pause. “What does he want?” Sam asked.

“The embryo,” Chan answered simply. “He wants the embryo.”

Sam felt fear wash over him. “We got to go,” he told both men. “Get him up, Huang!” he ran for his room to get his phone and car keys. He hustled the two men out and into his truck, starting the engine and hitting the speed dial for the FBI.

Sam Does Meditation – Part II – Courtney Webb
(Previously, Sam Reynold, PI, gets very bored with life and needs a change. He gets an invitation from Green Veil Monastery to come for a weekend retreat and decides to go.) Part II
Later that week: Green Veil Monastery

Sam checked in at the office and confirmed his payment. Going out the door, he was greeted effusively by Brother Huang.

“Sam- shi! So, good to have you back!” Huang made a low bow and then put his hand out for a shake, American style.

Sam extended his hand and the brother pulled him into a hug and clapped his back.

“Nice to be back, Brother Huang.” Sam said somewhat uncertainly. He was still not convinced this was a totally sane idea.

“Yes, yes. You unpack your things and we have lunch, yes?”

Sam was a fit sixty-six years and worked when he felt like it. He had met Brother Huang a few months before when he had tracked a missing woman to the Green Veil. Brother Huang had helped Sam with the woman and then offered a invitation to come back and learn meditation ‘sometime’.

Sam nodded and was led to his tiny dorm room by the silent major-domo of Huang. A tall, skinny young man, he waved Sam into the room and promptly left.

At first, Sam felt like the young man was being rude. Then, as he unpacked his bag he thought to himself, He’s neither friendly nor unfriendly. He’s just neutral. That’s different. Oh well, time for lunch.

Sam took his shoes off at the door and was lead to some low tables. With an uncomfortable grunt, he lowered himself to the floor. Immediately, one of the servers handed him a big pillow to sit upon. He schooted his butt onto the fluffy square with relief.

Getting up will be fun, he grimaced, thinking about the arthritis in his hips.

However, he forget his aches as he was soon chatting with Brother Huang and other guests. The servers ran back and forth with big aluminum trays covered with an array of dishes.

The table was soon covered; a female server brought him a fork wrapped in a napkin and bowed. He thanked her. He realized, looking around, other people at the table were eating with chopsticks.

Hum, he told himself, one step at a time, maybe tomorrow.

His senses were entranced by smells coming from the mix of little separate bowls. Many of the items he did not recognize. He started with fish and rice, two things he knew. He began to eat. Ah, surprisingly good! He wolfed down some more of what looked like trout and started to gingerly pick at a couple of other offerings.

There was an assortment of guests at the table. A couple of middle-aged female school teachers were to one side. They babbled incessantly at Huang about the benefits of meditation. On another side, were a couple of millennials on short holiday from the IT tech business. They mostly talked and laughed with each other about people and events only they knew. An assortment of other types were scattered down the row. The staffers were also having lunch. Sam could hear them practicing their English with the Americans. They would frequently lapse back into their native tongue. Sam, not a language expert, thought maybe it sounded like Korean.

“So, you new here?” The little woman to his left peered up at him with enormous blue eyes. She smiled brilliantly. For a moment, he was taken aback by her silver jewelry. Trinkets occupied every spot on her neck, ears and fingers. They tinkled when she moved, and various stones winked at him.

“Ah. . .” He mentally shook himself. “Yes, first time, very first time.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” She gushed. “We just love it. Don’t we, Silvia?” she turned to her companion. Silvia sat bent over her food. She had drab, straight brown hair cut in a plain bob. Steel rim glasses adorned her nose and she wore what looked like a dark green painters frock.

Silvia nodded dumbly and kept eating.

“I’m Lydia. Lydia Glass. And you are. . .?” She extended a tiny hand.

Sam managed to put down his fork a moment to shake her hand.

“Sam, Sam Reynolds, ma’am.” He grabbed his fork up.

“Oh, Silvia, he called me ma’am! Isn’t that just adorable?” Lydia gushed some more.

The younger woman nodded slightly.

“Silvia’s my daughter,” Lydia explained with a wave.

She turned back to Sam. “So, what are you in for?” She beamed.

“In for. . .?” Sam stared a moment. “Oh, you mean, why am I here?” he tamped down his mustache.

“Drugs, alcohol, broken heart. . .?” The little lady gestured expansively around the room. Sam noticed her thick, hot pink fingernails.

Acrylic? He thought. Aw, Kristie would know.

Lydia leaned toward Sam and batted extremely long eyelashes at him. They reminded him a little of black spiders.

“We came for weight loss, didn’t we, Sylvie?” Sylvia kept eating.

“You. . .?” she dazzled Sam with the whiteness of her teeth as she smiled again.

“Ah. . . smoking.” He managed to get out. “Stopped smoking on my own, but still keep having cravings and I don’t want to go back to it.”

“Ah, smoking! The Devil’s own handmaiden. I know, I know.” Lydia inched closer to Sam. “I never smoked, of course. My dead husband would have never stood for it. But, I understand from all my friends who are ex-smokers that it is the very worst thing to quit!”

Sam started to choke from the intense smell of Lydia’s perfume. It had a musty, cloying aroma he didn’t like. He looked up to see Brother Huang watching him, eyes twinkling.

“Sam-Shi, are you about finished? Would you like a tour?” Brother called out.

Sam stuffed in a last mouthful of rice and nodded. He began the laborious process of uncoiling out from under the table. At 5’11”, Sam wasn’t the tallest American going. Still, he was having a devil of a time trying to figure out where to put his long legs and an equally tough time retreiving them.

With some more grunting he managed to get up. He immediately felt sharp twinges in his back.

Lydia began to protest that they were almost done and could come too. She began shoveling rice into her mouth.

Huang put out a stopping hand, “No need, no need, ladies. Take your time, please. They will be serving coffee very soon. You can tell some of our newer members about the benefits of your meditation practice.” He bowed low and placed a hand under Sam’s elbow, quickly steered him out of the dining room.

Outside, Sam had to stop, bend over, hands on knees, and take a couple of deep breaths.

“Oh, my. That perfume she was wearing.”

Brother Huang laughed lightly. “Ah, the lady Lydia. She is a widow and is what I think you American’s call ‘husband hunting.’ ”

“Wow, I guess so,” was Sam’s reply. “What a get-up. Why not take a cruise? I hear that’s a great way to meet new people.”

Huang glanced over his shoulder and continued walking. “Between the two of us, that is her very next stop.”

“Does she really do the meditation thing?”

“Oh, yes. I think maybe it is to calm anxiety and get rid of wrinkles.” Huang laughed.

Sam was breathing again and had to chuckle. “Well, I don’t know about wrinkles. But, it is true about the smoking thing. I have been craving cigarettes again and it was dang hard to stop the first time.”

His companion nodded. “Understood, understood. I have heard such a thing many times. Come, we will get you some proper clothes for mediation and we will begin in the big hall at 1 pm.”

Huang led Sam into a little laundry/clothing facility. The girl started to measure Sam for the tunic/pants combo he would be wearing.

“You are very tall, Sam-Shi but I think Yumi will be able to find you something. I will see you at 1:00.”

“Yes, you will and Brother Huang,” Sam was sincere, “thanks for rescuing me back there.”

Huang smiled, did a low bow and disappeared out the door.

Sam got his clothes and went back to his dorm room for a wash-up and a little lie down before the class started.

He lay down on his bed, which was mercifully not on the floor, and texted Kristie.

“I here, the weather is great. XOXO.”

“Oh, good, sweetie. Thanks so much for understanding about the kid thing.” She texted back.

“No problem, have a good time.”

She texted back a row of kissy faces. He turned off his text and closed his eyes.

He dozed for a few minutes when he became aware of the sound of voices. The voices were fairly close. Male? The sound was muffled. It didn’t sound like an argument exactly, but certainly edging toward a disagreement.

“Jesus. Can’t you leave that stuff behind for three days,” he mumbled and turned over pulling the pillow over his head.

The alarm on his phone went off and he sat up. Damn, the class starts in five minutes. Got to hustle.

End of Part II

by Courtney Webb

(Sam Reynolds, PI, is home alone feeling very bored and thinking about his life. Thoughts about some old cases come up.)

The next case was a forty-five-year-old married woman. Sam found her working as a waitress at a bar in a coastal marina, two hours away. The formerly brown hair was now blond. The woman sported a new tanning-bed tan and a hot pink tube top over some very short shorts. She took his drink order and retreated back through a flower patterned bead curtain next to the bar. Sam pulled out her picture again and squinted at it. Yup, same woman, different hair.

Returning, Marilyn Cummings plunked down his cold Budweiser; he handed her a ten. She turned to leave. Quickly, he held up a picture of Benjamin, her cubby, balding husband of twenty-five years.

“Benjamin sent me,” he told her.

The woman’s mouth dropped. She looked stunned, then angry.

“How the hell did you find me?” The freshly applied lipstick formed a tight line.

“Would you like to sit, Ma’am?”

“For about one minute and don’t call me ma’am,” she replied tersely, sitting.

“He misses you, Marilyn. Mr. Cummings would like you to come home.”

A shadow flickered over her face but passed.

“Well, tell him I’m not coming home. I am sick to death of church meetings, picnics, and the Lord. Then, those Sunday dinners with that old bat he calls his mother. Her nitpicking me to death. . ..” She seemed to run out of steam and stared off into space.

“He needs to know you’re alive, so he doesn’t file a missing persons report with the police.”

Her head whipped around and she stared at Sam a moment.

“Do you have to tell him where I am? Jesus, I don’t want him mooning around here bothering me!”

“If you can give me something to prove it’s you and promise to contact him, I won’t have to give him specifics.” Sam sipped his beer and eyed her over the rim of the bottle.

She stared into space again. Stuffing the ten into her apron, she got up.

“I’ll be back in a second.” She disappeared through the curtain and was gone several minutes.

Sam played with the label on his beer. The weather here was beautiful. Clear sunlight with a light breeze blowing through the cheery cantina. The place was decorated with lots of yellow, orange and acid green posters. Banana leaves peaked over the veranda and there was an excellent view of the ocean. He wouldn’t mind working here himself.

The beads on the curtain clicked together. Marilyn reappeared with a small, white envelope in her hand.

“Give him this,” she handed the envelope to Sam. “Tell the little turd I will give him a call. Or, my lawyer will.”

Sam looked at the envelope. “Benji,” was written on the front. He nodded and stuck it in a pocket.

“Can I get back to work now?” She waved at customers sprinkled around the bar, talking and laughing.

Sam sensed his cue, took a last sip of his beer and got up. He patted his pocket. “I’ll give this to him Ma’… Mrs. Cummings. Thank you.”

She nodded curtly, and he made his exit.

Back in Tranquility, California, Sam’s hometown, he drove the truck up to Cummings Insurance Agency. He got out and went into the office. A young lady with an outdated Farrah Fawcett hairdo greeted him.

“I’ll get Mr. Cummings.” Sam sat and waited. Benjamin Cummings hustled out and greeted him.

“Sam, Sam. Come into my office, please.” The same cubby man in the photograh appeared.

Sam followed Ben Cummings into the man’s office and sat. Cummings closed the door and came around to his desk and sat in a big brown leather chair. He looked eagerly at Sam.

“You found her?” He reminded Sam of a lost St. Bernard puppy.

Sam nodded and pulled the little package out of his pocket.

“I did, sir. She asked me to give this to you.” Solemnly, he handed it over.

With a questioning look, Benjamin Cummings slowly took the envelope and stared at it.

“That is her handwriting, isn’t it, Mr. Cummings?”

Cummings nodded silently. He reached out a pudgy hand for a silver letter opener. He sliced the letter open. When he turned it over, something fell out with a little clunk. He picked it up. It was a gold wedding ring. The man began to cry.

Sam shifted uncomfortably and tried to look away.

Fidgeting, he thought, Geese, I could use a cigarette right now. He patted his moustache instead.

Cummings grabbed some Kleenex and blew his nose.“What did she say?” He looked at Sam with emploring eyes.

Sam told him and advised Mrs.Cummings agreed to be in contact.

Cummings nodded numbly. “I guess I owe you the balance of your fee, since you found her.”

“Well, if this is a bad time. . .”

“No, a deal’s a deal.” Cummings reached into a drawer and pulled out his check book. He wrote Sam a check and handed it to him. Sam looked at the check. It was for the exact dollar amount agreed upon previously.

“Thank you, sir.” Sam got up and was about to leave when Cummings stood up and held out his hand. Sam shook it.

“Thank you, so much for your service, Sam. The Lord be with you and have a blessed day.”

Sam forced a smile on his face and turned to escape. He got into his truck and shook himself.

“Geekville. Good luck, Marilyn.” He went to deposit his check.

‘#’

Memories of these events stirred in Sam’s brain as he stared out into the soggy landscape.

Plunking a broad-brimmed hat on his head, he went out and did a walk around the front yard. Neighbors were jumping in cars and charging off to work and school. A couple waved as they drove by. He waved back and stared around. More grey, wet dampness everywhere. Depressing.

Turning back to the house, he checked the mailbox and discovered a little envelope he hadn’t noticed before.

“Hmm.” He read the return address: Green Veil Monastery. “Wonder what they want?”

He took it inside and got out the silver letter opener Kristie had given him. He slit the light green paper open.

“Mediation for the Soul — Come for a three-day retreat at the beautiful Green Veil Monastery. Learn to master your inner mind.”

“Don’t know about mastering my inner mind,” Sam chuckled. “Is that like the inner child?” In a moment, he realized what was wrong with him. “I am bored to shit,” he told the room. “I am, 100%, bored out of my ever-loving mind.”

He turned the card over and looked at it again.

The price isn’t bad for three days, he thought, and I bet they serve meals too. Might have to sleep on the floor on one of those matt things.

“Oh, what the hell.”

He underlined the phone number with his pen and went to get his phone.

“Hello? Yes, this is Sam Reynolds. I’d like to speak to Brother Huang. Yes, he knows me. Thanks, I’ll wait.”

Sam started to hum a little tune. He needed a change of scene and he had liked that place. Very green, pretty.

Months before, a distraught mother and grandmother hired Sam to find their child. A possible kidnap/suicide victim. Using intuition and tracking skills, he located the girl at Green Veil Monastery, east of San Francisco. He made a short acquaintance with Brother Huang who ran the monastery. Sam liked him.

“Brother Huang? Yes, Sam Reynolds here. Remember me? Of course you do. Well, I got this little invitation in the mail. Something about a retreat. Oh, you sent it. Well, I guess I’ll have to come then. Right, talk to your assistant. Okay, will do and see you then.”

Sam gave the assistant his credit card information. He got off the phone and started humming a jaunty tune. This could be fun. He couldn’t wait to tell Kristie.
“#”

“Meditation!” Kristie broke into a laugh. “You’re kidding. You?”

Kristie leaned forward and held a hand over her mouth to cover the laughter.

Sam frowned and smoothed down his mustache.

She finally took a deep breath and straightened up, saw his face and quickly composed her face.

“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s. . . well . . .” she waved a helpless hand his way.

Sam looked hurt but tried to recover himself. “I know, I know. It’s a little different is all.”

“Well, yes, you could say that.” Kristie, Sam’s longtime squeeze, sidled over and gave him a big hug.

He smiled a little.

“It’s . . . a little unlike you, I guess I should say.” She pecked him on the cheek. Grabbing her coffee cup, she moved away a little and looked to be trying to overcome another case of the giggles.

Sam pursed his lips. “You think I shouldn’t go?”

Kristie slid her eyes sideways at him then started inspecting the morning paper. “No, no. It might be . . . good for something. Blood pressure, that kind of thing.” She studied the paper, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, yeah.” He paused a little uncertainly. “I quit smoking you remember. All by myself. No nicotine patch or nothing. Powered through it.”

She nodded. “True, true.”

“You want to go with me?”

Kristie looked up,stricken. “Go with. . .? Ah, what do they do there, other than hum?” She started to smirk again but caught herself and stopped.

“Well, I don’t know for sure. I went that one time and there was a bunch of them in a big room, sitting on the floor. They were following the master in the front.”

“Following the master. . .” Kristie goggled a little. “Ah, well. . . I don’t know about that. Sounds a little religious to me and I get plenty of that every Sunday.”

Sam looked disappointed. “You might like it, something different.”

“Well . . .” Kristie was teetering on the brink of indecision when the phone rang.

Kristie picked it up. “Chelsea? Yes, it’s mom. How are you? It’s been ages! This weekend? Well, I don’t know?” She cast a pleading look Sam’s direction and he gave a dismissal wave and pointed at his watch.

“Yes, yes. That would be okay. No, not doing anything. Sam? Well, he might be out of town. I know you like seeing him but . . . “she gazed at him again, “He might be doing something else.”

Sam went over and gave her a quick hug and tousled her curly, dark blonde locks. At fifty-five years, she was still a looker. He kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be going,” he whispered. She nodded back and blew a kiss in the air.

“Boyfriend? You have a new boyfriend? Want to bring him by? Well, sure, that would be great. I’ll have to clean house of course, which is a big bother, but . . ..”

Quietly, Sam let himself out the front door and went and got into his pickup truck. He patted the little green envelope.

“Yep, this might be a very quiet weekend indeed.” He drove off home.

Continued – Green Veil Montastery

by Courtney Webb

It was early spring, and the weather was overcast and drippy. Rain was intermittent in the valley and the ground, soggy underfoot.

Sam Reynolds stared gloomily out the glass slider at his backyard. He clutched a hot mug of coffee in one hand. Slow drips of water followed one another down, drip, drip, from the eves. He gave a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh and turned back to the kitchen table. The morning news was spread out and he turned some more pages with a listless finger.

“Jesus, even the sports section is a zero!” he told the still air.
He had to admit, if only to himself, those last two cases had left him feeling flat. “Uff,” he shook his head. Sam, a self-employed PI, had successfully completed two missing persons cases. Two missing persons who had not wanted to be found.
‘#’
To celebrate his sixteenth birthday, Thomas Dolby, Jr., had run away from home. A pair of concerned parents had hired Sam to find him. It wasn’t difficult to track the kid to a dive in the southeast section of town.
Sam checked the address,parked his truck, being sure to lock it carefully, and walked to the run-down, clap-board house.

In his clean white T-shirt, blue-jeans and cowboy boots, he was aware that he was still better dressed than many residents of this neighborhood. He knocked on the door. He could hear some shuffling inside. The door eventually creaked opened.

“Yeah?” The desultory inquiry oozed from behind a tattered screen door.

“Sam Reynolds.” Sam held out his wallet with the PI license tucked behind a plastic sleeve. “Like to speak to Thomas Dolby.”

“What’s for?”

“Just want to speak to him.” Sam looked around. Neighbors were peeking at him as he stood on the porch. There was a small pistol in his right boot, but he really didn’t want to have to use it. “I have something for him he’d like to have. From his parents.”

Sensing the smell of money, the hook was undone and the door pushed open. A shabby young man, in dirty clothes and barefoot, stepped back and stared at Sam. Sam grabbed the door and went in. The living room was an indescribable mess of clothes thrown everywhere and bits and pieces of food, drinks, trash and clutter. His host was shuffling away toward the kitchen. Several other teens were lying on old sofas, half-asleep.

“He’s in there,” his greeter waved down the hall.

Sam had several pictures of the boy and knew he would recognize him. He got to the second bedroom and pushed open the door. Thomas Dolby was lying on a mattress on the floor, in his boxers. His arm was around a skinny red-headed girl with impossibly white skin. His eyes were closed. Sam went and stood over the two. He nudged Thomas with the toe of his boot. The kid opened his eyes.

“Thomas Dolby?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m Sam Reynolds and I’ve been sent by your parents to bring you home.”

“Fuck off.” The dark-haired youth rolled on his side toward the girl.

Sam looked around the filthy room. A pair of newish jeans were thrown in a corner along with a pair of very expensive Ugg boots. He grabbed the jeans and threw them at the kid. “Get up.”

“No!” the kid rolled into more of a ball, clutching the girl who mumbled protest.

Sam came over to the side of the mattress and squatted down. He tried to not touch anything.

“Thomas, it’s like this. You get out of that bed, put your pants on or I’m calling the police. They will come and arrest you, your little girlfriend and everyone else in this flea-bag dump for being under-age and on drugs. Then, your parents can pick you up at County jail.”

Sam stood back up. “I’ll give you ten minutes to decide. I’ll be outside.” He turned and left the room.

Picking his way gingerly through garbage and bodies, he pushed through the screen door and stood on the sagging wood porch. Some people on the sidewalk had paused to gawk at him.
Jesus, I could use a cigarette right now, he thought to himself. And, I don’t want to be here a minute longer than necessary.

“Shit!” erupted from inside the house. There was some mumbled conversation and a very angry Thomas Dolby banged out the screen door, pulling up his boots.

With no further conversation, Sam walked off the porch and headed toward his truck. He didn’t bother to look back. He unlocked the passenger side and opened the door. The kid got in. Getting into the driver’s side, Sam put on his seat belt and started the truck.

“Fasten your seat-belt.”

“I don’t want. . ..”

Sam gave the kid a long cold stare.

“Crap!” Thomas grabbed the belt and jammed it in place.

Sam smiled pleasantly and pulled from the curb. “Starbucks?”

Forty-five minutes later, they were both nursing tall Starbuck’s coffees. Thomas had wolfed down two large scones at Sam’s expense.

“Good to see you’ve still got an appetite.”

The kid was sullen and said nothing.

They pulled into the huge drive of the exclusive home on the northeast section of town. Sam had already texted the mom that he had Thomas and they were on their way.

An anxious, but ecstatic mother burst out the front door as soon as they pulled in and grabbed the boy. Thomas allowed himself to be hugged and hustled inside. Dr. Dolby, Sr. was standing at the front door watching this scene. He waved at Sam.

“You found him,” the man said simply putting out his hand for a shake.

“Yes, Dr. Dolby, I found him.” Sam shook hands.

“Let’s go into my study.”

Sam followed the doctor past the grand foyer into a smaller, side room. They went in and his host shut the door. Dr. Dolby went and sat behind his desk and pulled out a large check book. Sam sat in an ox-blood leather chair with brass stud details. He liked this chair. In fact, he liked the entire office. Sort of an Old World, navigational feel to it.

If only I could decorate, he mused to himself. If only I had the money!

“So, give me the details,” the doctor asked. Sam did.

Frowning, Dolby busied himself writing out a check for Sam’s fees. He looked up and handed it to him. Sam looked at the check and his eyebrows shot up.

“Well, thank you, sir.”

Dolby waved his hand dismissively. There was a sad, pained expression on his face.

“Like I told you before, Sam. I don’t know what I am going to do about my son. His grades, his friends. Now this. . .running away, not answering his phone. His mother half sick. . . not knowing what had happened to him. He’s in the best school in town.” He shook his head. “I’m at my wits end.”

“Are you asking me what I think, sir?” Sam folded the check and put it in his pocket. Dolby nodded, head down.

“If it was my son, I’ll let him flunk. Start to appreciate some of the consequences of his actions. Keep the curfew going. If he doesn’t comply, take away his key. Then, if the drugs and alcohol thing keeps on, he’s sixteen, right?”

Dolby nodded.

“I’d stick his ass in a rehabilitation place and maybe they can talk some sense to him.”

Both men got up. “That’s a thought, Sam.”

“Yes, sir.” Dolby reached for the door. “Finding him this time was easy,” Sam added. “Next time. . . might not be so easy.”

They walked to the front door and went out.

“Thanks again, Sam.” Dr. Dolby held out his hand again. Sam shook it.

“I love your money, Doctor, but really, I hope you won’t need me again.”

The doctor sighed and shrugged his shoulders. Sam gave a little wave and left.

to be continued

https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=thomas%20more%20catholic%20tucson%2C%20az&epa=SEARCH_BOX

In 1991 my little family made a trip to San Bernardino, CA to see the folks. On the Sunday of the visit, we got breakfast at the Bob’s Big Boy Restuarant, (I think they are closed now.) My husband ordered eggs and hash browns. When the hash browns came out, I didn’t like the way they looked and told him they looked faintly blue.

Being the macho kind of guy he is; he went ahead and ate them anyway. On the drive back to the San Fernando Valley; he had to pull the car into the center median on the freeway, open up the car door and throw up on the pavement.
By the time we got home, he could barely walk up the stairs and was running a fever. The fever climbed to, I think, 102.

I made a call to my GP and told him what was going on. I told him we were short on cash and couldn’t really afford an ambulance, etc. The doctor called in a script for antibotics which I ran to get. The next day, my husband was almost completely well. I really doubt any doctor in town today would do that.

This week I had a flare up of lower colon inflammation. It took me a week to realize what it was. However; while at my usual medical offices, the nurse took my temperature and it was one degree elevated.
I then went to the front desk and asked to speak to my regular doctor’s nurse. She was in a meeting. Could I write down everything and they would give her a message?
An hour later, I got a message from the nurse that I should go to ER if the symtoms were bad. It was only a message so there wasn’t anyone to speak with.

I felt the symtoms were not good but that I could wait until the next day, Friday, to see a nurse in their system since my doctor is gone on Friday. I got onto the patient portal and picked an appointment for the next day. The appointment was for a different office.

When I got to there, I was informed that they cancelled the appointment because I was not an established patient in that office. After much back and forth, I advised the receptionist I would have to speak to someone and eventually the office manager came out. More words exchanged; i.e., why did they let me book an appointment if I couldn’t be seen? Lastly, I told her, my situation is getting worse and I need to see someone today. Both young ladies at the front desk kept pointing across the street to an ER clinic that was open and telling me I could walk in there.
At long last, the office manager managed to get me an appointment at yet another one of their clinics further away. I took the appointment; saw the nurse. She prescribed the usual antibiotics and I paid my copay of $35 and went to get the pills. A day later, I’m on the mend.

The cost for the walk in ER clinic would have been at least $100 to $150 dollars. The last time I was in a hospital ER (stuck contact lense) the cost was $1729. Mericifully, the insurance paid most of it.

So, the question remains; why are nurses and doctors both pushing hospital ER’s and walk in ER clinics? Are doctors not treating illness any more? Maybe just doing a lot of tests to be sure the patient is ‘on tract’ and prescribing medication refills. Not once since I have been with this medical provider did I have a conversation with the doctor over the phone. It is always a medical assistant or maybe a nurse. What is going on here?

Here are some satistics about the difference in the prices of hospital ER’s and private walk-in clinics. The walk-in clinics are much cheaper. Still, both are still more than a visit to your regular doctor with whom you have a relationship and wherr the office has all your health records. I have gone to ER’s only on weekends when the medical offices were closed. These days, I would not consider calling the doctor on a weekend short of death or dismemberment.

So, the last word here is the unbelievable journey I had to go on to get medical care on a Friday, not a holiday, when the medical offices were open and patients were being seen. I was pushed, pushed, pushed to go to a hospital ER room. I understand many doctors now take Fridays off, but really? So; in conclusion -just don’t eat any blue hash browns.

Statistics from Debt.org.
https://www.debt.org/medical/emergency-room-urgent-care-costs/
Condition Emergency Room Cost Urgent Care Cost
Allergies $345 $97
Acute Bronchitis $595 $127
Earache $400 $110
Sore Throat $525 $94
Pink Eye $370 $102
Sinusitis $617 $112
Strep Throat $531 $111
Upper Respiratory Infection $486 $111
Urinary Tract Infection $665 $112
The Annals of Internal Medicine study found that the average cost of an urgent care visit for three common illnesses — middle ear infection, pharyngitis and urinary tract infection — was $155. Other estimates place the average urgent care visit at anywhere from $71 to $125. The bottom line is that an urgent care visit is substantially cheaper than an emergency room visi

After reading some of these articles, I gave away my packaged bread and my long time friend – seasoned salt. I have gotten bread and rolls at the French bakery. Guess what? They taste better anyway! Going ‘all natural’ is a real challenge; but the crock pot is heated up and homemade soup is cooking. That plus the bread and Viola! Dinner is served!

LIFESTYLEHEALTH & WELLNESSNUTRITION – The Sydney Morning Herald
This was published 2 years ago

How preservatives can make us gain weight
By Evelyn Lewin
Updated August 19, 2017
When choosing what to eat, we all know fresh, unprocessed food is probably best.

After all, processed foods usually contain more sugar, salt and fat than their unprocessed counterparts, all of which can cause our waistlines to bulge.

But there’s another reason why processed foods can make us gain weight: because of the preservatives they contain.

Those were the findings of new research published in Nature Communications.

The research found that preservatives interfere with our hormones, disrupting the process that tells us when we’re full.

They do that by distorting the chemical structure of those ‘signalling’ hormones. That disables the process by which hormones are transported out of cells, making them ineffective.

Without that signal telling us we’re full, we’re more likely to keep eating and gain weight.

“This is a landmark study that substantially improves our understanding of how endocrine disrupters may damage human hormonal systems and contribute to the obesity epidemic…” said Clive Svendsen, director of the institute.

For the study, investigators used hormone-producing tissues grown from human stem cells.

They then exposed the tissues to three different types of chemicals, including Butylhydroxytoluene (BHT) which is commonly added to breakfast cereals and other foods.

The other two chemicals they investigated can be found in seafood and cookware.

Of the chemicals tested, BHT produced some of the strongest detrimental effects, said investigator Dhruv Sareen.

The problem these days is that most foods we eat contain some level of preservatives, says dietitian Kathryn Hawkins.

She says preservatives play an important role in preventing health risks from food being spoiled or becoming toxic.

But some foods contain more preservatives than others.

Foods with the highest amounts of preservatives include canned foods, processed meats, cheese and wine, Hawkins says.

So if preservatives can mess with our hormones and cause us to overeat, should we try to eliminate them from our diet altogether?

Such an aim is unrealistic, says Hawkins.

However, she says there are steps we can take to minimise our intake.

Firstly, we should aim for the majority of our diet to be fresh food.

Then, we should wash fruit well before eating it, opt for organic meats and eggs and include plenty of legumes and nuts.

Scouring farmer’s markets for preservative-free food and making foods like bread from scratch at home can also help.

But even Hawkins says we don’t have to be evangelical.

“It takes a lot of preparation, organisation and a bit of extra time, and not everyone can do this every day!”

Of course, going organic is also an option, though she notes such options are not always “completely chemical-free”.

Or we could opt for foods that use natural preservatives.

They include substances such as salt, sugar, lemon juice, vinegar and rosemary extract.

But they’re not perfect, either.

“Obviously salt is not ‘better’ for us [than other preservatives],” says Hawkins, who explains that a high salt intake is associated with high blood pressure and cardiovascular disease.

“Sugar is also not appropriate to eat in large quantities.”

Perhaps the ‘best’ preservative is ascorbic acid, also known as vitamin C, says Hawkins.

While it’s commonly used in bread, jams, fruit juices and other snack food, she says its use as a preservative is limited.

(That’s because, in high doses there is a risk of vitamin C toxicity. Plus its flavour can affect the taste of food.)

Instead of trying to find the ideal preservative or eliminate our intake of them altogether, Hawkins believes our focus should simply be trying to eat well.

If you’re worried about how preservatives are affecting your weight, she says your best bet is to cut back on foods that both contain preservatives and offer minimal nutrition, such as sweets and packaged snacks.

You should then consider the health and nutritional benefits of what you choose to eat.

If you opt for fresh, minimally processed foods, you will naturally reduce your intake of preservatives while filling your body with healthier options.

And that can only be good news for your waist.

HealthDay Reporter

WEDNESDAY, April 24, 2019 (HealthDay News) — If you’re watching your weight, you probably know to avoid sugary and fatty foods. But what about preservatives?

Eating a preservative widely used in breads, baked goods and cheese may trigger metabolic responses that are linked to obesity and diabetes, an early study suggests.

The additive, called propionate, is actually a naturally occurring fatty acid produced in the gut. When it’s used as an additive in processed foods, it helps prevent mold.

But in the new study, researchers found that feeding mice low doses of propionate gradually caused weight gain and resistance to the hormone insulin — which, in humans, is a precursor to type 2 diabetes.

And when the researchers gave healthy adults a single propionate dose, it spurred a release of blood sugar-raising hormones — and a subsequent surge in insulin.

None of that proves propionate-containing foods raise the odds of weight gain and diabetes, said senior researcher Dr. Gokhan Hotamisligil, a professor at the Harvard School of Public Health.

“The point is not to say this additive is ‘bad,'” he stressed.

Instead, Hotamisligil said, his team is interested in understanding the effects — good or bad — of the various “molecules” humans consume in their diets.

“There’s a scarcity of scientific evidence on a lot of the things we put in our bodies through food,” he said. “Propionate is just one example.”

Still, Hotamisligil said, the findings do raise an important question: “Could long-time consumption of propionate in humans be a contributing factor to obesity and diabetes?”

When it comes to processed foods, the concern is usually directed toward ingredients like added sugar, sodium and trans fats. But there’s also a host of additives that, according to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, are “generally recognized as safe.”

Despite that “GRAS” status, though, there is typically little known about how those food additives might affect metabolism, according to Hotamisligil.

Dr. Emily Gallagher is an assistant professor of endocrinology at Mount Sinai Icahn School of Medicine in New York City.

Speed dating for the Middle Aged: articles on getting it right.

It’s the good news and the bad news. The good news is that, unlike some
of your friends, former classmates and relatives, you have actually made it to middle-age. Yeah! The bad news is if you are divorced or widowed it is harder and harder every year to get a date.

Reality folks. Bum deal. And it is true for both men and women(ha,ha!) So, on days you feel lonely and are cursing the mirror, think for a moment on the dearly departed and well….could be worse, right?

Okay, given the fact that you aren’t 25 any more, what are some of the components that make up middle-aged dating. Well, evaluation of partners is the starting point. The following article talks about the reality of how fast a person ‘sums up a future partner.’ And, wow, it’s pretty fast.

You’ve got 7 seconds to impress me: How we size up men in next to no time.
By MICHELLE O’CONNOR – http://www.dailymail.co.uk.
UPDATED: 03:47 EST, 13 December 2010

Would you pass ‘the seven-­second test’?
‘It takes only seven seconds for us to judge another person when we first meet them,’ says Linda Blair, clinical psychologist and author of Straight Talking.
‘It’s not a conscious process, so we don’t even realise we’re doing it – but it goes back to our primitive roots when we couldn’t afford to make wrong decisions.’

Under pressure: We subconsciously judge people within the first seven seconds of meeting them. Judi James, author of The Body Language Bible, agrees: ‘Judging other people in the first few seconds of meeting them is part of our survival response. So, although we might understand that it’s a flawed and prejudiced way of evaluation, we can’t stop ourselves doing it.
‘We’re looking primarily to see if we should feel threatened, but we also make several assumptions about attraction and personality. This is also known as the attribution effect.
‘Because we tend to be time-poor, we use assumption as a short-cut, meaning if you don’t get it right first time you might not get another chance.’
But she warns: ‘Although we instantly judge others, we slip up on signals we give out, meaning we lose ground by arriving at business or social events looking dour, anxious, shy or hostile, usually without realising it.
‘We’re happy to warm up as we go along, but we should put in some effort to hit the ground running – defining who we are and what we’re like accurately at first meeting.’

So, the experts in the field tell us that actually, both sexes do ‘size up’ the potential partner in less than a few seconds. That is just the first step in wanting to know you. Since we are not sixteen anymore and are in less of a hurry; generally people who are older spend more time deciding if they want to invest in the relationship or not. According to studies, women take more time than men, but men can take their time too.

What do men/women want the most? There are a lot of personal qualities that men want in women and that women want in men. These involve dependablility, truthfulness, reliability, trust, understanding, friendship and so on. However, before we even get to that level of the relationship, there has to a be a relationship to start from and that is where age plays a big part.

What Men Want: 7 Traits Men Look For In The Lady Of Their Dreams
BY ANTHONY D’AMBROSIO
UPDATED:elitedaily.com/dating
NOV 1, 2019

For years, we’ve talked about finding the right woman — someone we can ride the waves of life with, who will stand by our side for better or for worse.
As a man, committing to The One is among the most important decisions we make in life; some may even argue it is the most important.

“A healthier and more balanced approach might be to understand that there are many people you can connect with, but that they might not all be relationship material because of one reason or another,” Melamed said. “We have many chances in life to meet and connect, it’s just whether or not we allow ourselves the opportunity to do so.”
There’s so much that can go into deciding who to share your life with, so I compiled a list of the qualities to look for whenever you feel a spark with someone new.

1. They’re Reliable.
When you’re building a life with someone, one of the key tenants of your relationship is trust. The ability to trust someone, to rely on the fact that you’ll be there for each other through the ups and downs, can be crucial in any relationship.
2. They’re Respectful.
Another foundational aspect of any healthy relationship is mutual respect. If you and your partner struggle to respect each other’s boundaries and bodies, you might not be dating your life partner.
3. They’re Supportive.
A relationship is made up of two (or more) individuals with their own dreams, goals, and desires. It’s vital that all members of a partnership are supportive of each other’s intentions in order for everyone to thrive.
4. They’re your best friend.
If you’re building a life with someone, your relationship will encompass not just the serious stuff, but the silly, trivial, more intimate moments, as well. Dating someone who is not just your partner, but your partner-in-crime can make even the smallest of moments into an adventure.
5. They listen.
Active listening — not just hearing, but taking in everything your partner is saying and engaging with it — can be a fundamental part of any working relationship, romantic or otherwise.
6. They’re self-aware.
Self-awareness in no way means perfection, but it does imply that both partners are working on themselves individually. Self-awareness can create security, which makes room for vulnerability, communication, and trust.
7. They communicate.
Say it with me for the people in the back: Open and honest communication is the foundation of any happy and healthy relationship. If you and your partner are building a life together, it’s crucial that you feel comfortable communicating with each other.
Additional reporting by Iman Hariri-Kia.
This article was originally published on May 4, 2015

A woman has to determine as quickly as possible whether the middle-aged man is chasing the dream of youth and of maybe becoming a father the first time or the 5th time. If that is the case, there is no point in chasing a guy like this because ‘younger’ is all he is looking for. On the part of the man, he needs to determine if the lady is looking to hook up with a check book. If so, regardless of how you feel about her, God forbid you should have a business or financial set back. The lady could be out the door in a nano second.

For myself, I stay pretty active physically and get to the gym a lot, watch my diet, etc. and with that (plus good genes) I’m told I don’t look my age. I may meet a guy who is very interested at first, but then after time, while I don’t announce my age over the loud speaker, by virtue of reference points and past experiences, they figure it out.

It is when this realization dawns, that I will see the men pushing away. Oh, no, she’s that old? What would people think, etc. etc. etc? As the following article suggests, it is really important to try and not take rejection personally. Realize that a lot of it has to due with the age factor, social pressures, and peoples’ natural programming to mate, procreate, etc. However, once I sense rejection once or twice, I don’t wait for the third or fourth time. We are done. As indicated before, men and women both make decisions about who they want to be with very quickly. Don’t beat the dead horse or the ‘dead bed’ as a fellow once said to me. It is not worth it. Move on quickly and give the next potential a chance.

Coping with rejection: 7 ways to deal with it
1. Don’t take it personally. Although it may feel very hurtful it is not you as a person that is being rejected. …
2. Don’t generalise. …
3. Stay positive. …
4. Let them go. …
5. Keep trying. …
6. Ghosts of the past. …
7. Be conscious about how you turn someone down.
Coping with rejection: 7 ways to deal with it – eharmony Dating …

https://www.eharmony.co.uk › dating-advice › dating-coping-with-rejection

How do you recognize the signs of rejection? Due to social pressures in our society, the signs of rejection may be very subtile (no one wants to look like the bad guy.)However, there are some pretty clear markers – such as: no eye contact. The individual never looks at you or glances your way and immediately looks away. No physical contact. The person may deliberately sit as far away from you as possible. No engagement; the person will respond but only if spoken to. They never initiate conversation. They may respond to phone calls, emails etc., but will never initiate any on their own. This can be true of romantic partners and/or same sex friends.
On the other hand, a person who is interested in knowing you will: smile when they see you, maybe wave. They will start a conversation, regardless of how brief. They find reasons to be somewhere at the same time you are there. They may make the phone call, send an email, letter, card, etc. Frankly, I have found to my surprise, these rules apply to female friends as well as male ones.

Once you have been rejected by a certain individual, there might be some changes in your life. For example: you lose 50 pounds, inherit money, win the lotto, get a big promotion, sell a book, whatever, and the person comes back, looking interested again. Just say no; don’t look back. If you weren’t good enough 50 pounds ago, or without the car, money etc., you aren’t good enough now. That man/woman is a user/taker who are looking for what they can get. Their real interest is not now and never was, you the person. Have enough self-respect to honor that and honor yourself.

Speed dating is just that, reacting with speed. We know enough now to know that others judge us; as potential partners, neighbors, employees, employers, dance partners, etc.,very quickly. We need to accept that as a fact of life, recognize that, realize when we have been ‘judged’ as not… something enough and simply move on. Stop agonizing about it. Remember, when you are on this side of the grass, it is not a bad thing. Hold on to your same-sex relationships, they could be the longest lasting ones you ever have. Develop hobbies and friends, get your hair cut, keep on self-grooming because you are worth it and stay open to the possibilities life has to offer. Be grateful and happy to be alive.